by M. K. Gibson
That was it. Game over. I had lost. I didn’t know what to say, or do, or think. I was adrift and for the first time since the wars, I was ready to die. Ready to give up.
I felt wave after wave of crushing loss crash over me. Each one causing my world to gray and dim just a little more, as if I was drowning within myself. This was the hell I’d made for myself. I’d earned this and more for my sins. Not just for what I did to Gh’aliss but to everyone who ever knew me.
Fuck, Twitch was right.
“Ahem.” I heard a throat clear.
Looking up, I saw Maz was still sitting in his chair. I hadn’t realized he was there. I guess my brain assumed he had left with Bathin and Mastema.
“Salem. We need to talk.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Tears of God
“Wow, you are really screwed this time,” Maz said, removing an ivory cigarette case from his black coat and lighting two black smokes. He stood up and pulled his chair to the table I was bolted to and put one of the smokes in my mouth.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Maz took a drag off his smoke while I puffed mine with my hands still bound. “But you are royally boned.”
“Yeah, that’s starting to sink in,” I said, staring at Maz. “So, I’m fucked, huh?” I asked, puffing on the smoke.
“Yeah. Except you don’t listen well.”
I narrowed my eyes at Maz. Something told me I missed something. “Come again.”
“Bathin said you were here until you died or until equivalent atonement be made.”
“And?”
“And you are an idiot, my friend. In all the time you’ve spent among demons, why have you never taken the time to learn our customs? Or hell, even learned the Rules of Nobility?”
“Wait, there are actual Rules for Nobility? Do y’all have a handbook or something?”
Maz rolled his yellow eyes. “No. But the rules are written down. For example, a noble cannot be judged by a bishop or a lord of equal rank. The ruling must come from the kingdom’s archduke or archduchess. Said noble can be held in custody of the ruling powers’ discretion and all that said noble owns is protected until the ruling is made. After the ruling, the noble has one Cycle of Creation to make atonement. After which all they possess is forfeit.”
“Cycle of Creation?”
“How long did it take God to create the world?” Maz shook his head and snubbed out his smoke, then took mine away and stepped on it.
“Ah, seven days. So, I’ve got a week to atone?”
“Under the Laws of Hell, one can atone for one’s sins. Provided the atonement offering is substantial enough to offset the sin.”
“Meaning I need to pay off the damages I caused and a percentage of Abraxas’s regular income?”
“Something like that. But since you caused hundreds of millions of credits in damages in that alone, coupled with the rest of the crimes, well . . . I doubt you can pay any of it off.”
I had money. But after just two months of paying for each of the residents of Löngutangar, I was almost tapped. I did have some items of value in my remaining vaults, though, but even if I could liquidate everything, hundreds of millions was beyond what I could scrounge. Shit.
Then something hit me. Why was Maz telling me this? Friend or not, he never did anything from the goodness of his heart.
“You all planned this, down to this moment.”
“What?” Maz said, feigning ignorance.
“Come on, Maz. Bathin left you behind because you all want something from me. You give me the atonement speech and I grasp at straws of hope. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Dangle a way out in front of me and I jump through any hoops to get out of this place. Give me a week’s deadline, put my feet to the fire, blah blah blah. So why don’t you just freaking tell me what it is y’all want so I can ‘atone’.”
All humor left Maz’s face and it was replaced by the douche businessman I have come to know. “The Tears of God.”
“The what?”
“The Tears of God,” Maz repeated. I just shook my head. He spoke as if I was supposed to know what that meant. Maz lit another smoke and offered me one as well. I leaned in and took it while Maz explained.
“When God destroyed the world in the flood, he left behind a rainbow as his message. A promise to never destroy the world that way again. When he met Moses on Mt. Sinai, he left behind the Tablets containing his ridiculous commandments. When He was about to give up on the world again, he sent his son to die for your sins. And when he abandoned this world at G-Day, the Lord wept. Those tears crystallized into pure light and reside in this world now. We believe them to be a source of tremendous power, and we want them.”
“Why me? Why this? You set me up for a fall so you could send me on some goddamn quest for some ridiculous McGuffin nonsense?”
“The Tears are real. You were not set up, per se. You were punished for breaking Demonic Law. This is just an perfect opportunity to make amends.”
I thought on that a moment. “OK, so why haven’t you all gotten it yourself?”
“It cannot be removed by demon hands. Sanctified items and all that. HE may be gone, but some of his lingering rules still apply.”
I puffed my smoke and thought about it. Could I do it? Hell, I didn’t even know where to start. “What makes you think I can do it?”
“You really have no other chance. Atonement has been offered. After a Cycle of Creation, your status as a noble will be revoked. Andromalius will buy up your debt and own your land. He will enslave your people and force them into his service. Those that rebel will die. Even your Norse god allies will not be able to stop him. He will raze your community to the ground and salt the earth. The way I see it, you have no other choice.”
“Fuckers set this up perfectly, didn’t you.”
“Yes.” Maz smiled.
“OK, I’ll do it. But I want assurances that when I succeed, my land is off limits. I want my debt wiped clean. And I want a ten-year immunity to tithes for my people. If this thing is as valuable as you say, then it should buy me some credit.”
“I will see what I can do. But the best you are going to get is a clean slate and maybe six months immunity.”
“Clean slate, and five years.”
“Two years.”
“Deal,” I said. “And I want that in writing.”
“Do you really think that will matter? We’re demons. We do as we please.”
“Yeah, I guess so. OK, when do I get out of here to start?”
“Out of here? Oh no. No no no. This conversation is officially unofficial. You can’t be released. This is completely off the books. While Lady Bathin hopes you succeed, she cannot release you after passing judgment. If you want to atone, then you are going to have to escape. And when you do, you will be hunted. We know your personal transponder signal. Any comms you use will only lead us to you faster. I can tell you that we will be monitoring all incoming and outgoing comms of Löngutangar. If you warn them, they will be destroyed. So, you are on your own.”
“No one has ever escaped from here,” I growled.
Maz smiled. “Oh please. I am sure you have already figured several ways off the island. And won’t you feel proud when you are the first?”
I seriously thought about hopping the table and beating the shit out of Maz. I may not be able to snap the chain to my manacles, but I was pretty sure I could rip the bolt out of the ground. Even with my hands clamped down, I could just beat Maz to death and choke him out with the chain. But that may put a damper on this bullshit plan.
“Where do I even start looking for these Tears?”
“The Temple of Solomon,” Maz answered.
The what? “Temple of Solomon? What does that mean?”
Maz ignored my question. “Oh, and in case you decide to go a little rogue and attack me or Lady Bathin instead, you should see this.” Maz produced a holo-comm device from his coat. He laid it on the table and tapped out
a code. The comm projected a 3-D hologram in the air.
Children. It was a holding cell full of children, all packed in tight.
At first I didn’t get what Maz was showing me. It was a live feed; I saw the neon red time stamp in the corner. Then I saw it. Or rather, him.
TJ.
He was one of the kids imprisoned. Then I started realizing not just what I was seeing, but where the feed was coming from. I recognized the holding cells. The children of Löngutangar were at Flotsam Station mainland, where prisoners waited for their transport here. He had raided my home and stolen the children.
“If you do not return in time, they will be the newest addition to Flotsam Prison. Something tells me they will not survive the initiation process. And those that do, Gerhardt has explained he has many plans for them.” Maz smirked.
This time, I didn’t think about it. I just stood the fuck up.
The duranium chain didn’t snap, but the bolt it was clamped to ripped out of the duracrete floor. I brought my manacled hands up, pulling the chain through the hole. I flipped the steel table in the air, knocking Maz on his ass. He tried to stand up, but I brought my foot down on his face. Hard.
“Play me?! Imprison me?! Kill Gh’aliss?! Blackmail me with children?! Fuck you, you sick fuck!” I yelled as I stomped him in the face again. Maz was no slouch in a fight, but I caught him off guard. And the few times we have scrapped in the past, I held back, not wanting to betray my cybernetic secrets.
Not this time.
This time I just cut loose and curb-stomped the motherfucker.
Maz tried rolling away, but I kicked him so hard I launched him into the wall. He scrambled to his reverse-jointed legs and as his cloven hooves tried to find footing, I closed the distance, slamming my manacles into his stomach, doubling him over. His seven-foot frame bent over, and I snapped my knee into his nose. Purple-black blood sprayed across my face, and that only incited me further.
Looping the length of chain attached to the manacles around his neck twice, I dragged him to the ground. Clamping down with my legs on the end of the dangling chain, I just started pulling, hell bent on ripping his goddamn head off.
“How much more is this gonna cost me?! What’s the atonement for ripping off a douchebag’s head?!”
Maz’s eyes began to bulge and it was only going to be seconds before he was unconscious and seconds after that until he was dead. And in that rage-filled moment, something inside me told me to stop. I was not one of them. He was a demon, yes. But he was my friend. And I didn’t hurt or kill my friends.
But, then again, my friends didn’t threaten children. So I just pulled harder.
I would have killed him. I swear I would have. But the room was suddenly flooded with flesh golem guards who pulled me away kicking and screaming.
“I’ll fucking fuck you up! If I ever see you again, I rip off your goddamn horns and fuck you with them! You hear me bitch?!” I screamed at the coughing Maz lying on the floor. The big monsters grabbed me by the manacles and legs without emotion or reaction, like detached parents dealing with a toddler’s tantrum. I fought back, but they were too strong and they felt nothing.
The golems removed me from the interrogation room, dragging me down the hall while I screamed a non-stop vile torrent of what I was going to do and the various bodily orifices I was going to violate.
“Twitch!” I screamed at the golems. “If you’re listening, Operation Scorched Earth is a go!”
The golems suddenly stopped and released me. The golem closest to me shook its head, then focused its attention on me.
“Scorched Earth?” the golem said in Twitch’s voice.
“Yes,” I said. “Let’s kill all these motherfuckers.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Bad-Ass Sucker Punch
Scorched Earth was the plan for when things went to complete shit. When Twitch and I cracked the golem’s signal, along with listening in, we began preparing a few other nasty surprises. The first was a virus. One that would cause each of the golems to go “offline” for a period of time, where they could not receive any new communications from Gerhardt.
Instead of their standard programming of maintaining order on the island, they in turn saw everyone in Flotsam, except for a select few, as hostile targets. And that most definitely included Mastema and Gerhardt.
Way I figured it, if I wanted to get anything done—an escape, perhaps—then I needed the bosses to be too scared to come out of their hiding places, lest their own creations rip them apart. The small contingent of armed guards Mastema had inside the prison’s command center would be forced to deal with the situation themselves. And those poor bastards would be ripped apart.
The bulk of the island’s inmates were also targeted for execution. With Twitch’s assistance, I was able to get the digital files and complete workups on nearly everyone there. While I’m not normally that cold-blooded, what I read about these people . . . well, none of them deserved to be sucking up my precious oxygen. What they deserved was to become compost. The few who were political prisoners, revolutionaries, and decent crooks were placed on the protected list.
It was a short list.
The golems holding me screamed with a maddening pain as the new programming took effect. The monsters dropped me, clutching their heads. Outside, I heard similar screams, which meant the virus was spreading fast. The golems would begin turning on the inmates and slaughtering them.
In no time, I heard the sounds of gunfire as the prison’s human and hellion auxiliaries scrambled to deal with the coup. No doubt a team of technicians was working like crazy to get Gerhardt’s monstrosities under control.
I had a limited window of time.
Free from the golems’ grasp, I hauled ass through the deserted command center, navigating mostly from guesswork based off observing this place from outside the walls, and my limited time inside.
Turning a familiar corner, I oriented myself and raced to the upper levels. I bolted down the halls and entered Gerhardt’s study. Once I was inside, I ran to his desk and immediately retrieved the small case strapped to my thigh. I did my dirty work, then, while I had a moment, helped myself to ol’ Gregg’s cigarettes.
“What are you doing?” I head Gerhardt ask.
The dapper man stood in the doorway to his office, watching me. His eyes and hands had a reddish nimbus glowing about them.
“To be honest?” I asked, feeling very exposed.
“I would prefer it.”
“Stealing some of your cigarettes?”
“More of them? Did you not get your fill last time you were here? I have to say, that was a nice display of sleight of hand.”
“Thanks?”
“You are welcome,” Gerhardt said, coming into his office. “What I am more curious about is how you managed to turn my creations against me.”
I looked towards the bay window behind Gerhardt’s desk, the one that overlooked the prison’s main courtyard. If I could leap through it, I might have a chance. It was a helluva drop, but it beat being trapped in here with a pissed-off mage.
As my body shifted, preparing to jump and smash through the window, a wave of red, arcane force sprung up, creating a shimmering wall. The barrier was similar to Grimm’s shields, and I knew there was no getting through it.
“I asked you a question. It is impolite to ignore someone who is talking to you,” Gerhardt said. While his tone was pleasant, the look on his face said he wanted blood. “I repeat, how did someone like you, with no major resources, do all this?”
I hung my head. There was no way out of here except through him. And I didn’t have anything that could do it. So I played along.
“You,” I said.
“What?”
“You told me they were created. You told me they were a blend of technology and magic. While I know dick bout magic—”
“Colorful choice of words,” Gerhardt interjected.
“Yeah. But I do know tech. I figured you, or someone her
e, were issuing them commands on some kind of closed-circuit transmission, which is why there are jammers on the island, preventing any interference. So I organized a squad to capture one alive.”
“That was you? Bravo,” Gerhardt said, sounding genuinely impressed.
“I didn’t know what kept the thing alive when we cut into it, so I had to assume that was your magic powering the thing. After that, I just piggybacked your signal and turned each of the golems into portable cell towers.”
“Remarkable. Truly. To be honest, I did not really believe the reports on you. But, I stand corrected. Alas, should you not be trying to escape this island and not pilfering my cigarettes?” Gerhardt said, the red energy surrounding his body powering down as he moved aside from office door.
“You’re letting me go?”
“Of course. You have a mission to accomplish. I have to get my creations under control and I do not have time to chat.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Gerhardt smiled. “And feel free to take some of my cigarettes. You have a long road ahead with minimal time. But, please, leave some for me.”
I shrugged and loaded up a few more smokes. “Sure thing.”
I moved toward the door and Gerhardt all but bowed, holding the door open for me as if I were a guest in his home rather than a soon-to-be escaped convict. As I passed him, Gerhardt quickly grabbed my arm with incredible strength, pulling me close to him until we were almost nose to nose.
“Either way this happens, I win.”
“Yeah, how so?” I asked, trying to seem comfortable while the man was so close I could feel his breath on my face.
“If you somehow manage to retrieve the Tears of God, I can use their power to create even more terrible creations.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I get the children in the holding cells,” Gerhardt smiled. “And any other slaves gathered from your little town to . . . play with.”
I felt my jaw clench and my muscles tighten, fighting against his grip. His body began glowing red once more and his strength increased. His grip on my arm was crushing down on me with ever-growing power. I willed the Collective and a small shield of energy went up, stopping his display.
