Void Legion

by Terry C. Simpson

  Nebsamu shrugged. “No one knows for certain, but I suppose it might be possible.”

  “Frost,” Tia said. She’d been so quiet for so long that he’d forgotten about her. She was pointing back down the road.

  There was a telltale shift, a commotion in the crowd some distance away. It resolved into several Blackguards and Azureguards on crevids and lupines, galloping for all they were worth. With the sight of them came a matching sound: the drums from minutes ago. Crevids’ thundering hooves. People cleared ahead of the animals like insects scurrying for cover.

  “In Nif’s name, faster, Melori! Faster!” Nebsamu yelled. He yanked a dark cloth across his face, drew his daggers, and crouched.

  “Tia.” Frost pointed toward the wagon’s rear. “Get all the way in the back.” After she complied, he turned to Nebsamu. “Help me throw out some stuff to make a space.” Frost grabbed a box and tossed it over the side.

  The scavenger stared at Frost. “My precious things? Are you mad? Just pile them up.”

  “And have something fall on me when I’m letting loose with this?” Frost gestured with the cannon.

  Nebsamu closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and shook his head. Then he opened his eyes, grabbed a metal container, and threw it over the side. They continued in this vein until they’d cleared a large enough space.

  The Battleguards were closer now, to the point Frost could single them out. A dozen were Blackguard marauders and dementers. A dozen of this nome’s deadliest fighters in their nightmare armor, bearing huge crescent axes or korbitanium fists or vambraces. They rode atop lupines whose maws gaped.

  Six were sword-bearing Azureguard reavers, cloaks flapping behind them. He was glad it was them and not sorcerers, marksmen, cannoneers, shadowmancers or some other ranged attackers. He still had the advantage. At least until they got to the wagon.

  Perhaps three hundred feet separated them. The gulf was closing rapidly. The hooves beat to match the drumbeat of Frost’s heart.

  He shifted a cushion on the wagon bed, placed Noobstick beside it, and then got down on his belly, legs stretched behind him. It was the same position he’d used countless times in sims. He took the aether cannon by the handle and front grip, rested his elbow atop the cushion, and sighted down the barrel. With his finger over the trigger, he flicked the lever to full power with his thumb, aimed at the charging warriors, and targeted a Blackguard.

  The distance closed. He took a breath. Squeezed. Korbitanium Projectiles burst from the flashing muzzle with a vibrating whine that was equal parts hammer drill and buzzsaw. The sound stretched and faded.

  The shots flew across the distance in streaks of fire. Empty shells spewed out and pinged as they fell to the wagon bed. Smoke vomited. The recoil jerked his arm. All almost simultaneously.

  Cobbles exploded a hundred feet ahead of his target. The Blackguard did not falter. If anything, he dug in his heels.

  “Shit. That’s supposed to be accurate up to three hundred feet.”

  Frost adjusted, took aim again, braced for the recoil, and this time chose Aether Shot and its five-hundred-foot range. The ensuing sound was a deep whomp, or a croak, like a giant bullfrog.

  Cyan light pulsed from the muzzle. It streaked through the air. Right by his intended target: an Azureguard who wore no armor. An explosion echoed somewhere behind the Battleguards. A dust cloud kicked into the air.

  The Battleguards were within two hundred feet.

  He repeated the process, faster this time. His target’s torso exploded. All that was left was legs attached to a bloody stump and a spine atop a lupine. IM made Frost aware of group exp gained. The lupine stopped, threw its head to the sky, and howled. Its brothers and sisters repeated the cry.

  “Yes!” Frost fist-pumped.

  His elation was short-lived. There was no way he could get them all in time. To worsen matters, another group had appeared behind the first.

  Remembering Sidrie’s claim of actual lasting physical effect on the world, he took aim at the ground just ahead of the Battleguards. Whomp. Blue streak. Recoil. The impact blasted a hole in the ground, sent cobbles and dirt flying, stone ricocheting in a hundred directions.

  Frost stared. That was incredible.

  The crevids and lupines closest to the explosion leaped into the air above it. Stone and pebbles struck them but did little to slow their advance. The ensuing blast ruffled thick fur and hair and illuminated snarling visages. Shrapnel bounced off the Battleguards’ armor. The mounts landed and bounded forward. The lupines howled for blood.

  “The buildings,” Nebsamu shouted above the tumult of wagon wheels, thundering hooves, and howls. “Strike the buildings with Aether Shots.”

  Frost scowled at the man. “You gotta be kidding. I can’t do that. People are in there. Fellow Khertahkans. Innocent people.”

  “This isn’t the time for morals.” Nebsamu glared at Frost, scarred features bunching. “This is life or death. Them or us.”

  “I can’t!”

  “Give it to me.” Nebsamu held out his hand.

  “No. Hell, no.”

  Nebsamu snatched Noobstick and knocked Frost aside. “I’m not dying today because you’re too weak and emotional to do what needs doing.”

  The Blackguards had closed the gap to where Frost could make out their scowling visages, the slobber flying from their lupines’ jaws. For a moment Frost considered kicking the scavenger off the wagon but then he glanced over at Tia. And saw Kai. He hung his head.

  From his knees, Nebsamu aimed to the left. A clicking noise issued from his mouth. He squeezed the trigger. Whomp. Blue pulse. The sound hadn’t faded before the base of the building exploded. Whomp. Another blue pulse. Another detonation. The structure toppled.

  Nebsamu fired at the street’s other side. He continued like this, from side to side every few seconds, a cyan glare lighting up his scarred features and single horn. Buildings exploded. Brick and wood and dirt tore apart, careened into the air. People screamed. When he expended all his aether, he turned to Korbitanium Projectiles, firing wildly into the cloud of dust and smoke.

  Lupine howls cut off. The drum of hooves stopped. So did Nebsamu.

  But Frost still saw the cyan light. Still heard the whomps. The bullfrog. Echoing in his head. The screams. He wanted to be anywhere but there. “You’re a murderer,” he spat. “A damned murderer.”

  “So are they.” Nebsamu stood. “But we are alive.”

  “Killing innocents shouldn’t come so easy.”

  “It never does,” Nebsamu said softly. He shook his head. “In Nif’s name, it never does. May she embrace them.” He stared toward the devastation left in their wake. “This is war, boy. There isn’t any clean ground to stand on. It’s all death and dirt. To play in dirt, you must be willing to get dirty. Don’t die over a ridiculous conviction.”

  Within the next few minutes they reached the East Gate and were rushed outside by Nebsamu’s men. There were perhaps thirty of them. Fresh crevids were at the ready. Nebsamu gave instructions for a wagon train to be made for his valuables.

  Gilda approached Frost in those willowy strides of hers, a smirk on her face, her phosphorous green eyes mocking. “I had expected more from the former top dog.” She shook her head, disappointment thick in her tone. “Hope you don’t chalk up that performance to playing a cannoneer. The class rocks.”

  Frost sighed. “I did my part.”

  Smiling warmly, Gilda raised her hand, an inch of space between her thumb and forefinger. “About this much. I bet the action was more than you expected. A little too real. Too intense.”

  Frost said nothing. He was disappointed in himself. But he wasn’t about to admit it to her.

  She continued, “Reminding yourself it’s a game and that most of them are NPCs helps, but whatever they’re pumping into us takes over
at times. Took me a while to get used to it also. This is my third alpha with Total Immersion.”

  “Third?” Frost whistled.

  “Yeah.” She turned a ring on her middle finger. “Which is why I knew where to find you.”

  “Find me?” Then Frost chuckled. “I remember now. My boy, Hughey, told me you said I was lucky I quit. If you wanna duel, at least wait for me to hit max. Then it’s no prob. With all your rep, I don’t see you as one for killing noobs.”

  “You’d already know if I was here for that, trust and believe.”

  “Really?”

  “No doubt.” She deadpanned.

  Smiling, Frost nodded. “You don’t back down from anyone. I like that. I really like that.” He glanced at the medium-sized chakrams hanging from special quick release metallic belt loops on her hips. “What’s up with those? I thought you were a cutthroat.”

  “Maybe, I am. Maybe, I’m not.”

  Someone yelled a warning. A clash of weapons and spells echoed from just inside the gates.

  The battle spilled outside. Most of Nebsamu’s fighters engaged. Spells, projectiles, and explosions lit up the area.

  “Follow me.” Nebsamu hurried to waiting crevids, and he, Frost, Tia, Melori, Gilda, and a few others fled, abandoning the scavenger’s precious wares.

  Behind them, Niba burned.

  Escape from Niba

  Objective Complete

  Escaped Niba:

  1000 experience points

  Sister kept alive:

  1000 experience points

  Defeated Battleguards:

  1000 experience points

  Level 3 gained

  200 Khertahka dominion credits

  Nebsamu slowed a bit until he rode beside Frost. “I intended to sell these, but now they might be better used to help us keep ahead of these bastards,” he shouted over the beat of their mounts’ hooves. He tossed a pouch to Frost. “Think of them as your reward for helping to save me.”

  Frost caught the pouch. Inside were two skill shards. He absorbed them.

  Skills acquired:

  Divergence

  Cast time: 1 second

  Recharge Time: 8 seconds

  Consumes: Aether

  Available shard slots: 3

  Effect: Fire a five aether shot spread up to 250 feet. Gain 1 percent aether for each successful hit, up to a maximum of 5 percent aether.

  Aether Bomb

  Requires level 4

  Though he appreciated the gifts, Frost’s thoughts wandered to his experience so far. A part of him wished he could log out, wished it was a dream. Another part of him swore to see it through. He would save Mom, Kai, Regi, and Rayne. And make Sidrie Malikah pay. Thoughts of the future made him stroke his aether ring.

  He would bide his time, but when the chance presented itself, he would ditch this group and play the game the way it was meant to be played. Solo. He hefted Noobstick. With the power of the aether cannon at his disposal, it would be a breeze.

  CHAPTER 10

  Nomarch Setnana Botros could not stop dry washing her hands. Neither could she stop her lips from quivering. Nor the weakness in her knees, the urge to flee. She tried. And failed every time she looked through the glass at her son, at the blood and broth dribbling from Perihy’s colorless lips, at skin that was once a deep glowing chocolate but was now rife with gray splotches, drawn tight until she could count each rib, see the outline of bones along his elbows, shoulders, and face.

  His face! Perihy’s once beautiful face! Instead of the disfigured skeletal features before her, she pictured the son she loved: intelligent golden eyes, full cheekbones, a brilliant smile, and dark horns polished to a shine. The gorgeous boy who had every mother of station across the Kadi nome vying for his affections on their daughter’s behalf.

  She clung to that last image. That was her Perihy.

  Until a year ago. When he contracted the Gray Death at the tender age of nine. Nine! What had he done to the gods to deserve this? What have I done, dear Nif?

  She remembered when the first splotch appeared. It was the same day a deep blue wave of light slithered across the sky, spread like a disease, seeped into the clouds. Thunderheads had formed, swirled into a great maelstrom, a voidstorm, its center a gaping black maw from which shot lightning bolt after lightning bolt.

  The voidstorm tore across the land, devastated cities and towns, ravaged forests, turned savannas and lush plains into wildernesses before it came to rest over the Empyrean Sea. The ocean boiled and bubbled, rising into mountainous tidal waves that destroyed any coastal habitation without stormcallers to protect them. When the voidstorm died, leaving behind its volatile remnants, it had birthed Maelpith Island.

  And her son had become this… this hideous thing. She grimaced.

  On the other side of the glass in the sealed room, five grand kora mystics worked feverishly. Dressed in specially designed germ suits, complete with hoods and cloth masks over their noses and mouths so only their eyes showed, they seemed like something out of a nightmare, one of the stories of strange beings who worshipped the vampire god Bodek and siphoned aether from bodies by drinking their victims’ blood. Hands moving in tandem like some exotic dance, they hovered over Perihy, pooled their aether. With their power magnified, they cast Purifying Touch, Vitalize, and Suppression. Nomarch Botros felt their power, envied it, and was tempted to draw from it to see how much she could strengthen her own sorcerous abilities.

  Perihy changed. Transformed. The splotches shrunk until they disappeared. His flesh reinvigorated. Atrophied muscles and tissue swelled with life. Deep chocolate crept across his body, flushed across his skin like the sky at the birth of a new dawn. He became the son she remembered. Beautiful. Perfect.

  Setnana tentatively brushed her hand on the glass. She trailed her fingers down it as if she caressed Perihy’s face. She lingered on one shiny horn and then the next.

  Perihy gasped. His eyes shot open. Beautiful and golden.

  Smiling, eyes brimming with tears, Nomarch Botros pressed her palm against the glass. She craved to enter the room, to hug her son, to kiss him, talk to him, laugh with him. “Nif, I beg you. Please let it work this time. As your humble servant, it is all I ask.” She made the sign of the X on her forehead.

  She’d scarcely uttered the prayer when Suppression faded. Perihy sucked in a breath. His eyes bulged, his expression one of abject terror. He clawed at the air.

  Through the glass, Setnana heard the choking sounds he made, as if something sucked the very life from him. His body deflated. Healthy skin grew diseased, riddled with gray splotches. She cupped a hand over her mouth despite having witnessed this reversal on other occasions. Unable to watch the rest of it, she fled the room. The door slammed shut.

  Objective Ended

  Heal Perihy Failed

  As if I don’t already know. Chest heaving, head down, her back against the wall in the long lamplit hallway, she hugged her arms and wished she could wipe the thought from her head, tear the memory away. She ignored the next thought, the one that recommended burning. She still felt the heat from a thousand pyres, the odious fumes of burning flesh after they had gathered almost every person in Aprunis afflicted with the Gray Death. A few had managed to escape. Most had been recaptured later and burnt. Others disappeared.

  A door opened down the hall. She took a last quick breath to compose herself. And grimaced at the reek of decay and disease that had not been in the air moments ago.

  One of the grand kora mystics stepped through the doorway, dressed in hooded white robes trimmed with blue, the back emblazoned with the Coalition’s tan and blue insignia, the Mountain and the Aetherstream. The mystic closed the door, turned, and flipped back the hood to reveal Citri Madiga’s pale yellow face. A face that was middling at
best. No wonder the woman could not rise above her current station.

  And no wonder she loathes me. Setnana brushed her hair behind her right horn, one of two that personified elegance. Citri Madiga dipped her head in recognition of her betters, ears twitching behind her hairy ossicones.

  Setnana offered a tight smile. She would not confuse Citri’s show of respect as genuinely offered. The grand kora would much prefer to have Setnana as a slave, or have Setnana’s horns to grind to powder to be used in some ointment to keep Citri’s skin glowing and light, or as part of one of the infamous art displays cherished by grand korae. As evidenced by the way Citri’s eyes shifted to Setnana’s beauties as Citri approached.

  Citri seemed to try to fight the urge, but it came as natural as breathing. As was the jealousy grand korae harbored because their ossicones would never develop into coveted horns.

  Savages, Setnana thought.

  “Your son’s condition is deteriorating,” Citri said when she reached Setnana, her voice echoing like a wind chime.

  “I saw.”

  “Another attempt like the last could kill him.”

  Setnana clenched her hands behind her back and fought the threatening quiver of her lips by picturing the Perihy she loved. I will show no weakness. I am a Botros. “Could kill him.” She shrugged. “But he could also survive, yes?”

  Citri’s eyebrow arched. “Possibly. However, it wouldn’t improve his health. He wouldn’t be cured.”

  “What are the other options?”

  “We’ll keep him stable for as long as we can, but curing him requires power we don’t possess. Not even linked.”

  Setnana allowed her face to go slack. She dropped her hands to her sides. When next she spoke, her voice was flat, her eyes dead. “That is not the deal I made with Exarch Chaten. I did not betray my people for failure. Promises were made. Promises will be kept.”

  Citri licked her lips. “I… I didn’t say the task was impossible, but that the mystics here lacked the power.”

  “Who among you has this power?”

  “Exarch Chaten knows. She’s arriving here soon to inform you.”