by Frank Morin
The commander screamed, his blood spraying in a wide arc. Paul repeated the process, yanking the man’s other arm off as easily as a child might pop the head off a dandelion.
Italian forces all opened fire, pouring everything they had at Paul. Most of the Tenth and Yurak joined in, and Gregorios didn’t bother telling them to save their ammo.
Some things were worth the effort, even if only symbolically.
The only thing they managed to do was end the commander’s suffering. The barrage of bullets and grenades did nothing against Paul and his blazing rune. The still-living heka fighters scrambled north into the ruins of the broken colonnade.
Gregorios spoke into his mike above the din of gunfire. “Where are the heavy weapons?”
“We’ve got mortars,” Harriett reported. “But they’re not going to do anything against him.”
Eirene spoke, and the sound of her voice eased one of Gregorios’ secret fears. Paul might have acquired the rune, but at least Eirene was safe. “We’re on the way with support troops and all the big guns. Five minutes.”
“Don’t stop for traffic lights.” It was going to be a long five minutes.
“I’ve got a pair of F-35s we acquired from the Americans,” Harriett reported as she jogged over to join him at the front of their lines. Paul stood in the center of the square, waiting calmly for the furious barrage from the Italians to fade. “They can get here in thirty seconds.”
“We’ve got a lot of people in the area,” Gregorios said, weighing the risk of collateral damage and innocent deaths against the potential for a strike powerful enough to take down Paul. “What’s their payload?”
“They’re armed with the British Brimstone missiles,” Harriett said after conversing with one of her officers. “We’ve got laser guidance capability here on the ground and can guide them onto the target.”
“Do it,” Gregorios ordered. The brimstones were a good missile, but he’d prefer a bunker buster right on Paul’s head. Still, it was worth a try.
“The Italians will be furious we invaded their airspace,” Bastien commented.
Gregorios waved toward Paul, who looked like he was enjoying all the attention. “They’ll be fine if those missiles make a dent in his parade.” He added over the group network, “Hold your fire until we have a plan.”
His soldiers reluctantly obeyed. The Italian forces continued to fire, their faces locked in expressions of rage and terror.
Overhead, news helicopters gathered in ever-growing numbers, cameras rolling.
The carabinieri radio squawked and Gregorios put it to his ear. Another officer was ordering his forces to retreat, to take cover for air support. They were also calling in a raid.
“I’ve got an inbound aircraft,” Gregorios warned the man. “Laser-guided, precision strike.”
The commander hesitated before saying, “We’ll take it.”
It said a lot about the man’s desperation that he’d accept a bomb strike in the center of St. Peter’s Square.
“Everyone double-time back up the road toward the Castel,” Gregorios ordered. “I don’t know what the Italians are launching, so let’s give them some room.”
His soldiers ran for the eastern end of the square and took shelter behind overturned trucks at the end of the Via della Conciliazione. Gregorios left them with Bastien and ran the other way, circling the southern end of the square toward the towering facade of the Basilica. He passed the retreating Italian forces, who were bearing away many wounded.
He caught sight of Spartacus and three heka fighters slipping into the Basilica, ignored since the arrival of Paul. Just as he suspected. Paul was a threat Gregorios could not contain without heavy weapons and a coordinated assault, but Spartacus was only a little less deadly.
He had hoped to turn the Thracian, but they’d missed their window. He couldn’t allow Spartacus to remain at large, even though he was hunting those forbidden runes in the wrong place.
The news helicopters scattered. Paul looked up, but if he understood what that meant, he didn’t look worried. Instead he drew a small knife from his belt and began marking an intricate rune onto his abdomen.
Gregorios shot the little knife out of his hand.
Looking irritated, Paul glanced in his direction. “I’ll deal with you momentarily.”
He continued cutting into his skin, using one of his own fingernails.
Gregorios shot him in the finger, but Paul ignored the bullet. So he shot him in the groin. Again the bullet ricocheted away, but Paul cast a disgusted look his way.
Gregorios waved. He couldn’t defeat Paul, but maybe he could keep him distracted long enough for the big guns to arrive.
Scowling, Paul completed the rune. He worked with remarkable speed. The man was a master runesmith to rival the best of the hunters. The new rune on his stomach began to burn with blue-white light.
With a little smile for Gregorios, Paul threw his arms out wide.
“It appears you plan to be obstinate. You who could have enjoyed the blessed position of my first subjects will instead suffer my wrath in slavery.”
Statues positioned atop the facade of the Basilica and the colonnades around the square began to move. They stood and flexed, as if awakening from a long sleep.
Gregorios grimaced. He’d seen the animation of dead objects before, but the runes were complex and could drain a single soulmask in seconds. Animating so many statues had to be burning through the soul force of thousands.
Master runes possessed tremendous power, somehow tapping into souls woven into history, but such a display of raw power still amazed him. Gregorios wished he could guess how much energy remained available. From what he was seeing, Paul was accessing more power than any one person had ever wielded before, and that changed the nature of the fight in ways that were still unclear.
There were one hundred and forty statues positioned above the colonnades alone, although several had been destroyed by the thrown obelisk. As Gregorios paused in the doorway to the Basilica, the newly-animated statues of popes, martyrs, and other religious figures jumped from the heights.
They landed in the square with resounding crashes that echoed through the deserted square. The statues had looked impressive standing atop the sixty-foot colonnades, but were far more menacing at ground level. The ten-foot-tall statues might have represented saints, but the animated stone was now directed by evil incarnate.
“Some days just keep getting worse,” he growled.
Gregorios shuddered to think what else Paul might be able to do.
More statues began pouring out of the Basilica, nearly trampling Gregorios. He dodged aside, feeling as helpless as a child in the face of Paul’s power. He hadn’t felt anything like it since he’d been bronzed and hung on Spartacus’ wall.
They had to figure out how to break that rune, and fast.
First thing was to duck.
Italian fighter jets roared in from the east, straight up the Via della Conciliazione, over his crouching forces, and dropped bombs on the most famous square in all the world. Gregorios slipped between two lumbering statues and into the Basilica just before the square was consumed by fire.
The shockwave rocked the foundations of the mighty Basilica and cracked the outer facade. The thunder left his ears ringing. Flames poured through the entryway, forcing Gregorios deeper into the gigantic building, his exposed skin burned. Dust billowed around everything, tasting of charred stone and burning chemicals.
A second, smaller concussion rocked the square.
“Our brimstone run was a bust,” Harriett said, not hiding her frustration.
Gregorios pushed through the gloom, back to the now-burning doorway. The square was a blackened ruin, littered with stone from shattered columns and broken statues. Craters pock-marked the once-smooth expanse.
Paul stood unscathed in the center of the square, surrounded by half a hundred animated statues, some of which looked cracked or partially broken. At least as many statues had sha
ttered under the recent bombardment. Gregorios was disappointed so many had survived.
Paul’s voice bellowed through the square again. “All nations and all religions shall bow to me. Let’s start with the mother church so many of you groveling mortals link your faith to. Bring me the pope and those who lead this insurrection.”
Statues scattered in every direction.
Gregorios retreated into the Basilica. He had to find the pope first and conceal him, then figure out how to respond to the newly proclaimed king of the world.
A hand tapped him on the shoulder. He spun and found Spartacus standing behind him.
“Greetings,” Spartacus grinned, then punched him in the jaw.
The blow knocked Gregorios from his feet, but he embraced his nevra core and came up, hands burning with purple fire. He might not know how to deal with Paul, but he knew exactly what to do with Spartacus.
The other heka fighters who had entered the Basilica with Spartacus stood in a half-circle around Gregorios, weapons aimed at him. Gregorios could take any of them easily, but he could never take them all before they destroyed his body. He stood in the midst of them, waiting for one of them to come just a little closer.
“You were always one of my most worthy adversaries,” Spartacus said, retreating to stand with his men. Two tall statues entered the Basilica with strides that shook the ground and left cracks in the polished floor. “I am thinking you will not survive.” He saluted with his sword. “Die today with honor.”
As a statue with part of its face missing lumbered closer, Gregorios could see no way out of the situation. Eirene had better arrive fast with some bigger guns, or the day was about to get a lot worse.
“I’m not dead yet,” he promised as the statue grabbed him by the collar of his tactical vest and lifted him off the ground. It carried him like a helpless child out of the Basilica and into the square toward the waiting Paul.
Across the square, he saw other statues returning with their prizes. Bastien had been collared, as had a couple of the Italian commanders. The Italian regulars had wisely retreated farther, some of them still firing futile shots.
“Retreat to more secure positions,” Gregorios said into his throat mike. “Alter, get to Harriett and siphon as many of our men as you can.”
“Do you think that’ll help?” Alter asked. Gregorios was relieved to hear his voice. He’d lost track of the young man in the fighting.
“Of course. Charge up, kid, and look for your chance. And find your useless brother.”
Before Paul acquired his new greater rune, Alter had been the one best suited to take him down. If they could find a way to break through his rune, he still might be.
“Where’s Sarah?”
“Almost there,” Sarah said. “I’m in the truck with Eirene.
“The heavy weapons aren’t going to work,” Gregorios said. “Paul just ignored both bombing runs. They didn’t even tickle him. I’ll try to send a photo of the rune. I’m about to get a close-up look at it.”
“What do you expect me to do?” Her voice was tight with fear.
“Study hard, and hope those instincts of yours hold up.” She and Alter together represented their best chance at defeating Paul. If they failed, many of them wouldn’t survive the day. He hated the idea of retreating and fighting a guerrilla campaign from the shadows while Paul consolidated his hold on the world, but they might not have a choice.
The statue stopped in front of Paul and held Gregorios out like a prize, his feet dangling a foot above the ground.
“Welcome,” Paul said. “You get a front row seat to witness the inauguration of my new world order.”
“Where’s the popcorn?” Gregorios asked as he clicked the transmit button of the tiny video recorder integrated into his collar.
Chapter Ninety-Three
In the employ of the great Khan, I came and went, hither and thither, on the missions that were entrusted to me. Thus I visited a greater number of the different countries of the world than any other man not blessed with many lives. In all my travels, I met some few heka, but no facetakers in that region. There were rumors of a great lady, one who may have even possessed the might of the Cui Dashi, but I discovered no ultimate veracity of the claims and must therefore suppose they are nothing but distant rumors of an ancient legend.
~ Marco Polo reporting to Shahrokh in 1298
Gregorios hated dangling from the statue’s grip like a mouse held by a cat, but he held still for the best video. It only lasted a few seconds before Paul turned and motioned to a statue holding the struggling form of an Italian carabinieri captain.
“Will you bow to me and swear the fealty of you and your men?” Paul asked.
The man shook with fear, his skin pale and eyes wide with terror. “I cannot make a pledge for everyone. But if you’ll give me some time--”
With a casual snatching motion, Paul ripped out the man’s soulmask.
Gregorios had never seen a soul dispossessed so fast. The empty body collapsed at Paul’s feet and the dispossessed captain shrieked, his helium-high voice cracking with fear.
Paul marked a complex rune onto the shimmering cheek of the soulmask, and the man’s voice faded to whimpers. Gregorios leaned closer. The rune was built around a central symbol for shielding.
As the rune began to glow, fueled by the doomed captain, a shimmering golden barrier rose around the outer edge of the square on every side, forming a half-sphere dome over the entire expanse. The only openings Paul left were on the west side over the doorway into the Basilica, and on the north, at the breach in the colonnade where his remaining heka were positioned.
The shield’s vast size was remarkable. The enforcers had dabbled with personal shields, but they drained too much of the soldiers’ energy, leaving them protected, but lethargic. Paul was burning through astonishing rates of power, as if he enjoyed a never-ending supply.
Perhaps that was a weakness they could exploit? If Paul pushed hard enough, something had to give eventually, and in that moment he’d be vulnerable. Gregorios had no idea how long before that moment arrived, though.
Paul didn’t bother fine-tuning the shield to deal with all the rubble. Gregorios spotted several gaps along the edges. Not big enough for a person to crawl through, but plenty wide for weapons or explosives to be driven through and triggered. Then again, none of that would interfere with Paul anyway.
Seconds after the shield went up, a vague thumping rhythm sounded through the barrier. The shield was semi-transparent and Gregorios made out the forms of a dozen attack helicopters arriving around the sphere. The missiles they surely carried wouldn’t do much against Paul, but were more than enough to reduce everyone and everything else to slag.
Soldiers were visible standing atop the southern colonnade and the outer edges of the northern colonnade. The heka fighters had secured the central, breached section of the northern colonnade and no one seemed ready to challenge them for it.
“The world will not bow to a single man,” one of the other commanders said. He managed his fear better than the last man had, but still spoke in a hushed tone.
“Of course they will,” Paul said. “And we will begin with the obeisance of one of the world’s leading religious figures.”
Gregorios hoped the Swiss Guard had gotten the Pope well away before Paul’s animated statues tracked him down.
They hadn’t.
Three minutes later, the statues of four previous popes returned to the square from the Basilica, one of them carrying the aged form of Pope Andrew Paul the First. Gunfire and shouting followed the statues into the square, and two of them turned back to the door. Haggard-looking members of the Swiss Guard rushed through, firing at the granite kidnappers and hacking at them with ancient halberds.
The statues swatted men aside and chased the rest back into the Basilica. They returned to the square, but positioned themselves flanking the entrance.
Spartacus strode through and approached, an angry frown on his fac
e. Gregorios nearly laughed. The gladiator had less to be angry about than most.
Paul made a mock bow to the pope when the statue deposited the pontiff on the ground in front of him. “Thank you for granting an audience.”
Pope Andrew Paul straightened his twisted robes and did an admirable job of maintaining his dignity in the face of Paul’s overwhelming presence. He glanced at the broken square, the shimmering shield barrier, and the animated statues, and stood a little taller.
“You have desecrated a holy place.”
“It will remain holy if I say so,” Paul replied. “Or it will be razed to the ground, should I choose.”
The pope paled. “Repent of this evil before your soul is lost.”
Paul smiled. “I am better aware of the state of my soul than any mortal. Don’t waste words. I am now the supreme leader of all people, and you will proclaim to the world my divine right to rule.”
The pope gaped. “Get behind me, Satan. You think just because I spout a few lies that the world will fail see the deception?”
“Mortals need justification,” Paul said. “It makes accepting reality easier. Until today, they accepted the lies of your religion. The reality of my majesty will be far easier to accept.”
“Faith is assurance of that which is not seen,” the pope said. “You are not some kind of god-king, and you never will be.”
Paul sighed. “You are supposed to be a pious man, the rare pontiff with more faith than political ambition. And yet, I trust you’re an intelligent man too.”
“I will not support your pretense of approval from God.”
“We’ll see about that.” Instead of ripping the man’s arms off like he had the soldier’s, he turned to Spartacus. “Where are those runes you promised me?”
“I checked Otto’s tomb in the lower levels,” Spartacus said. “They weren’t there.” He turned to Gregorios. “You lied to me.”
Gregorios shrugged. “What did you expect? You’re the enlightened one.”
“Tell him,” Paul ordered.
“What do you need with more runes?” Gregorios asked. “Looks to me like you’ve got about as much as you can handle.”
