by M. R. Forbes
The question sent a wave of heat from the large seat where Lucifer was positioned. His arms rested on the sides of it, still connected to the device that had kept him alive for thousands of years.
Belial could barely look at his old friend. The changes were so drastic, the power of the Gift so immense that it radiated around him, making him difficult to be near. Even when he spoke, his voice echoed painfully inside the Seraphim’s mind.
“As you have said yourself, Lord. They worship you, but they do not understand you. They don’t realize the truth of the Covenant. None, except for Thraven.”
“I sacrificed all that I was for them,” Lucifer said. “I murdered the one I swore to follow. Because I’m a monster? Because I’m evil? No. For them. And this is how they repay me? It took a human, a descendent of the Shard, to see my work near completion?”
The heat of his anger was almost unbearable, forcing Belial to take a few steps back. “Regardless, the Gate is completed. The war is being won. Prophet Thraven delivers all glory to you, Father. He works to fulfill your Promise, and bring about the Great Return. Then the One will burn in the fires of his own creation, and Elysium will be free.”
“I am grateful to him for it,” Lucifer said. “Even so, the Prophet’s misdeeds will not go unpunished. I will make an example of them, and then I will call them to me. They will travel with me, as many as are able, back to this Shardspace, back to the Gate. They will follow, or they will die.”
“Of course, Lord,” Belial agreed. “It will be as they deserve.”
Lucifer sat in silence. He had spent most of the time since his awakening in silence, while Belial had provided him with a general overview of the universe as it had come to be. The servant was certain his Master was pleased to know that his efforts had not been in vain. That he was pleased to be revived at all. So much could have gone wrong over the millennia, though Belial had never expected it would. They had planned everything down to the last detail, the first members of the Nephilim resistance. Himself, Lucifer, Judas, and the others. They had adjusted as the war had developed, and they had always maintained hope that this day would come.
The end of the Children of the Shard. Armageddon.
“Gehenna is coming?” Lucifer asked.
“It is en route, my Lord,” Belial replied. “It should be here very soon.”
The Prophets believed Lucifer had been turned into a monster, violent and frenzied, with no ability to think on his own. Even Thraven believed it. It was true that the naniates had changed him, transformed him into a being so unlike what he had once been, but it wasn’t to make him a monster. It was to make him better. Stronger. His original form couldn’t contain the energy they required or remain whole against the power they provided. They had altered him, changed him, made him into what they needed to survive. The others had never understood as well as Lucifer did that the relationship could be symbiotic. That the naniates had an intelligence of their own, and that they could be exploited because of it.
The stories of his insanity? They were exaggerated, as most things became over the passage of time. It was a convenient excuse for his stasis and isolation, a misdirection from the truth of his affliction. There was a cost to being so overridden with naniates. A heavy price to pay. He could only survive encumbered for so long, and when he died?
Belial tried not to think about it. The Father would die. That was a certainty. Ideally, he would perish in the arms of the One, and his retribution would be swift and final.
“Tell me about the Chosen. The one who brought Gehenna to me.”
“I don’t know much about her, my Lord. A human female. Strong-willed. She killed the Prophet Azul, who was of no small ability himself.”
“Does she resemble Lilith?” Lucifer asked.
“I have not seen her, Lord.”
Lucifer was silent again. Thinking. Plotting. Planning. The freedom of the Seraphim was the only thing he desired, and it consumed his mind.
Belial turned around when a tone sounded nearby. A projection appeared at a console there, a view of the Shardship entering the region near the Shrine.
“It is here,” he said, looking back at Lucifer.
“Tell me, Belial,” Lucifer said. “Who is the next strongest Prophet after Thraven?”
“Prophet Tega, my Lord,” Belial said. “Why?”
“I told you already. I will make an example of him. Only then will the Prophets take my Word seriously. Only then will they follow. Only then will they believe in the Great Return and the triumphant glory of the Seraphim.”
Lucifer stretched his arms away from his seat, breaking the bonds of the tubes that fed into them, sending a line of blood spilling to the ground at his feet. He stood up, extending his enlarged frame and flexing powerful limbs.
“You have been with me all of these years, Belial,” Lucifer said. “I’m grateful for your loyalty. Together, we will free our people.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“Tell the Keeper to bring Gehenna as close as he dares. We will board my ship and be on our way.”
4
“Here it is,” Rezel said, the hatch opening in front of her.
Abbey followed the defeated Prophet into the room. The Font was positioned in the center. She had been expecting something ornate. Something reverent. Or at least something with some hint of religion. Instead, Rezel’s Font was a large metal drum; a nondescript raised pool filled halfway with naniate-thick blood. A lid for the Font rested beside it, placed on the ground as though it had been lifted off and discarded.
“Azul took my capital three months ago,” Rezel said. “The Font there was beautiful and ornate, carved from some of the rarest stone in the galaxy.” She shook her head and sighed. “I barely escaped from that place, and from the three other planets Azul attacked after that.”
“The presentation sucks, but I’m not in a position to be picky about that,” Abbey said, approaching the Font.
She could feel the energy of the naniates as she reached the pool. The Nephilim entered their Fonts to recharge after using the Gift, the overall density and effectiveness of the naniates limited by the effects of the Serum that helped keep them more easily under control. While she had held that same Serum in her hand, the Light of the Shard had convinced her not to drink it, offering itself in the cocktail’s place as an alternate means of stopping her transformation. It had cleansed her of the aggressive taint of Lucifer’s creation, but she had learned that what she had gained through the cleansing paled in comparison to what she had lost.
More than that, she had learned that there was no such thing as pure. Lucifer had pissed in the pool a long time ago, leaving a stain that couldn’t be removed. It had been painted over and hidden away, but it had always been there.
Lingering.
Waiting.
Biding its time.
She had a feeling there was something to it, but what?
She didn’t know yet. What she did know was that she could grow stronger if she were willing to do what needed to be done to increase that strength. Right now, that meant entering the Font and swallowing as much of the blood in it as she could without getting sick and vomiting it back up. It meant increasing the density of the naniates in her system and allowing them to continue her transformation. It meant never taking the Serum, and accepting that she would become something else. Something dark and violent and angry, in exchange for the future of the galaxy and the life of her daughter.
It was a shitty decision to have to make. It was going to be an awful end to what had been a pretty wonderful life before Gloritant Thraven had made himself known. It didn’t matter. She had signed her life away to be a soldier a long time ago. She had agreed to sacrifice her life for the good of the Republic.
She would never have guessed it would be like this.
“The Font is much more enjoyable if you undress, my Queen,” Rezel said, joining her at the edge. “I can help you if you’d like.”
Abbey glanced over at her
. “You’ve been pretty agreeable since you surrendered. Why?”
“You want to free the Unders. You gave me the choice of whether or not to go with Aqul. I lost my Prophetic, my Queen. I was unfit to stand in the shadow of the Father. I did the best I could to carry on my legacy, but years of conflict left the Liliat Empire dry. We had no Skellings, no Executioners, no Goreshin or Converts or Hoarders. You came to me because you had a plan. A way to serve us both and return my Empire to glory. It’s too late for that, but as Aqul said, it is preferable to be on the winning side when Armageddon comes.”
“Why do you think I’ll win? Just because of the Covenant?”
“Your ship? No. Not because of that. Because you have the one thing none of the Prophets have.”
“Nice hair?” she said, smiling.
“Loyal followers,” Rezel replied. “They aren’t with you out of fear, or because they want something from you. They aren’t here against their will. I didn’t understand the value in it until I saw the furry one fighting Azul. Not because he was forced to, but because he wanted to. Because he loves you.” She reached out, putting a hand on Abbey’s wrist. “If you would allow it, I could also come to love you.”
Abbey stared into Rezel’s eyes. There was nothing innocent about the touch. It was suggestive. Electric. The charge Azul’s blood had put into her was almost enough to make it tempting. Was there anything honest in it? Not because she was interested in the Prophet’s advances, but she did need to have at least some small measure of trust in her. She was Gifted, and more powerful than the average Apostant. That made her useful.
“For now, can you go and see about the food for my soldiers?” Abbey asked, pulling her arm away.
She caught the slightest flash of displeasure behind Rezel’s eyes. Then the other woman bowed to her. “At your command, my Queen.”
Abbey watched Rezel leave the room. She wanted to be able to trust her, but she wasn’t an idiot. She could imagine how it would go. Accepting Rezel’s advances, taking the woman to her bed, and then waking up with her head nearly severed from her body.
No thanks.
She turned her attention back to the Font. She reached toward it, leaning over to dip her hand below the surface. The blood was warm. Alive. She pulled her hand back out, feeling nauseous. She wasn’t a Nephilim. She hadn’t been bred to believe humans were like cattle. It had been one thing to drink the blood of an enemy to get stronger. It was another to drink the blood of the innocent.
Her thoughts turned to the Brimstone, and of the poor souls being used to power the ship’s engines through the use of the Gift. The ship was powerful, but it was also an abomination that needed to be destroyed, the souls within put to rest. That would never happen if Thraven won. The torture would continue for all of eternity, and more of the ships would be constructed to bring through the Gate to Elysium. At least the souls who had provided the fuel for the Font were already gone. If they had the choice to help her stop Thraven, wouldn’t they?
She decided they would. She released the naniates from her skin, letting them sink beneath the surface and allowing herself to be naked. It felt good to have the air on her flesh instead of billions of machines, and she stood there a moment before climbing over the edge of the Font and into it.
The blood rose to her thighs. She felt waves of nausea at first, while she tried to adjust to the reality. She could feel the naniates around her, jolts of electricity against her flesh, linking with the naniates within her. The feeling was calming and soothing, and immediately began to restore her. At least Rezel had been honest about that. It was better to enter unclothed.
She lowered herself slowly, sinking into the thick liquid, spreading herself out beneath. The blood came up to her neck, causing her to pause again. Every part of her was tingling. Every part of her was on fire, in the best possible way.
She closed her eyes. She would need to submerge herself in it, open her mouth and let it in. How had she wound up in this place so far from home? It seemed like only yesterday that she had been walking along the waterfront with Hayley in the Construct while preparing to drop into a war zone. What she would have given to have that life back.
She slid further into the blood, the liquid rising until it covered her head. She gasped involuntarily as she became completely submerged, her body convulsing slightly, a warmth rising through her. When she opened her mouth, the blood ran in, and she welcomed it, swallowing it. Once. Twice. Three times. She didn’t go too fast. She needed to know when she was at her limit. Her body would need time to adjust.
Eight times she swallowed, the fire inside her expanding as she did, until she felt like she was burning up from within. She pulled herself up, her head emerging from the blood, her heart pounding and breath short. She coughed a few times, feeling unsettled. She had to fight it off. Keep it in. So many individuals were counting on her.
“Queenie.”
Gant’s voice sounded inside her mind, delivered through the naniates. That had never happened before, and the sudden voice nearly caused her to jump from the Font.
“Gant?” she replied, not speaking out loud, pushing the word out as though she were talking to the Asura Sergeants.
“I’m finished updating the comm array,” he said. “Still no response from Keeper.”
“What the frag?” Abbey said. “You have to be kidding me.”
“I wish I were. I did a quick sweep of the area. I know Keeper could have taken the Covenant anywhere, but it isn’t even within extended range. Pinging the ship’s address isn’t returning anything.”
“You’re telling me the Covenant is gone?” Abbey said. “How is that even possible?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
This was bad. Without the Shardship, they didn’t have a way to get back to the Republic.
They couldn’t go home.
“Get the others organized. We need to figure this out, immediately.”
“Roger, Queenie.”
She pulled herself to her feet, letting the blood run from her. She turned toward the door, suddenly eager to be away from the Font.
Rezel was standing a few steps in front of it. The Prophet’s eyes were locked on Abbey’s body, her mouth slightly open. She was holding something in her hand.
“My Queen,” Rezel said. She held the object forward. “I wanted to show you this. It is from the original Font back on Lilith, my homeworld which was named after the Mother.”
Abbey’s eyes shifted to the object. It was intricately carved, a pattern that looked like a sun at the outside, with a secondary figure in the center. Slender, with bony ridges along her arms and legs, and a tail that curved around from behind.
“It reminded me of you,” Rezel said. “You have similar ridges along your flesh, though they are much smaller.”
Abbey had already stopped looking at the figure. She had noted that it looked almost identical to the vision of her future self that Phlenel had provided. At the moment, that was the least of her concern.
The carving was made from a black, crystalline stone.
Darkstone.
Rezel took another step forward, smiling. “I see you took my advice,” she said. “I was correct, was I not? I didn’t suggest you enter naked just because I think you’re beautiful, my Queen.”
Abbey’s heart was racing. Of all the things the carving could have been made from, it was fragging Darkstone?
“Are there more of those here?” she asked, pointing at the artwork. She had no idea what would happen if the Asura knew about the crystal, and she didn’t want to find out.
“No,” Rezel replied. “The Font on Lilith is as beautiful as this one small piece. Perhaps with your help, we will both see it again some-”
She never got to finish her sentence. An Asura Sergeant appeared behind her, his blade already at her throat. She had just enough time to gasp in sudden surprise before her head was severed from her body, both tumbling toward the floor as a second Legionnaire grabbed the statue.
“Sergeants. Halt.”
Abbey sent the message out to them. The Sergeant’s eyes shifted to her, and then they both phased out of sight, still carrying their prize.
She heard Dog roar from somewhere beyond the tower.
This was very, very bad.
5
The screams from within the tower followed a few seconds later, even as Abbey jumped out of the Font and ran over to where Rezel had fallen.
“Sergeants, stop at once,” she said, calling out to the Asura.
“It is ours,” one of the Sergeants replied. “We don’t need you any longer. You are not Asura.”
She clenched her teeth and cursed. Of course.
A Legionnaire phased into view directly ahead of her, sword already sweeping toward her neck. She let herself fall backward, momentum carrying her away from the blade and pushing her toward the soldier’s legs. It didn’t vanish fast enough, sudden claws sprouting from her hand and slashing through the calf, removing its foot.
Three more Legionnaires flashed into view, including one of her Sergeants. None of them were carrying the statue. They were trying to slow her down.
“Queenie,” Gant said, slightly out of breath. “What the frag is going on?”
She returned to her feet, the Gift flowing around her and coating her in a new demonsuit. She kicked one of the Asura, knocking it back, spinning and slashing at another, who disappeared. The third tried to stab her in the back, but she used the Gift to yank the sword away, turning it over and pushing it back at the soldier and running it through.
“Darkstone,” Abbey replied, opening a wide channel to her Rejects. “Rezel had Darkstone. The Asura took it.”
“And now they’re killing everyone,” Uriel said. “They’re in the city, attacking the Lessers.”
