by Edward Cox
Tremors shook the ground. In the near distance, red and black rock cracked and split and collapsed into a gigantic hole, releasing noxious smoke and steam in blistering clouds. A great tower of obsidian rose from the hole with the roar of a thousand thunderstorms. Lightning struck its spire, igniting a shower of sparks. It radiated the power of higher magic and dead time. From all over the land, wild demons flocked to the tower, as though it were a beacon of salvation. At a leisurely pace, Tal the Ghoul followed the flow of monsters.
‘Incredible,’ Gadreel said, joining Moor and Asajad on the hilltop. He took a moment to admire the vision, clearly energised by what he saw. ‘Our lord has such strength.’ Excited, Gadreel set off for the tower.
Moor and Asajad paused for a moment before following him.
‘I do not think Viktor shares our concerns,’ Asajad said quietly.
‘The fool is besotted,’ Moor replied. ‘Say nothing to him.’
The screams of dying denizens mingled with the ululations of the infected – blood-chilling screeches caught somewhere between coughs and barks. A child’s wail was cut off abruptly and Sergeant Ennis closed his eyes, shaking and hiding from the horror down on the street.
A little earlier, some thirty or more denizens had headed towards Ennis, fleeing through the night from the horde of virus victims chasing them along Resident Approach. The denizens were trying to reach the safety of the central district. Although some of them carried guns and the infected were only half their number, Ennis had known straight away that they didn’t stand a chance, and he was unable to help them. And so the police sergeant had hidden, ducking inside a cobbler’s shop, heading for the sanctuary of its rooftop.
Hunkered down behind a low wall, Ennis gripped his pistol tightly, waiting for the carnage to end, praying to the Timewatcher that he hadn’t been noticed.
A new sound mingled with the cries and screeches: metallic footsteps clanging on stone. Ennis peered over the wall.
To his amazement, he saw an army of automatons charge into the fray. The silver plates on their breasts and faces shone beneath the moonlight. Eight feet tall, fifty of them at least, the automatons moved with grace. The infected, seeing no danger, sensing no flesh and blood in the constructs upon which they might feed, continued to focus their assault on the denizens. They made easy pickings for the huge metal hands that reached for them. Heads were crushed, necks snapped. With merciless efficiency, the automatons slaughtered the virus victims, including those among the denizens who had just been freshly infected.
Ennis watched, his heart pounding.
The surviving denizens – no more than ten – were herded together by the silver warriors. They formed a protective circle around the group, and the sound of the townsfolk’s tears sent a shiver down Ennis’s spine. He waited on the rooftop as the silver constructs escorted the survivors south towards the central district, leaving the dead behind on the street.
Ennis ducked down and gathered himself.
He didn’t know where the automatons had come from but they were a welcome addition to those already fighting the infected. Apparently every statue in Labrys Town had been concealing a secret guardian; and when Ennis and Captain Moira activated the town’s defences, the automatons had broken free of their stone shells to rise up and fight for those who had made it to the central district.
Once the automatons and the survivors passed out of sight, Ennis made his way down from the rooftop and onto the street. The clouds had cleared and Ruby Moon was but a red ghost in the cold, rising glare of Silver Moon. Sickened by a stench like rotting vegetables, Ennis picked his way through broken corpses lying on blood-smeared cobbles and continued his journey north along Resident Approach.
The air was still. The temperature dropped.
Labrys Town’s worst nightmare had been realised. The virus had finally spread, becoming an epidemic in the north, south, east and west. It happened so fast! How many thousands – tens of thousands? – of denizens were already infected? How many bloodthirsty abominations now roamed the streets, looking for fresh meat to feed on? How many had suffered the full extent of the virus and now wandered aimlessly as mindless stone golems?
Ennis tried and failed not to think about it.
In his hand, he carried his police-issue pistol. Holstered at one hip was Long Tommy’s strange gun, loaded with two bullets of thaumaturgic metal; on the other hip was sheathed the knife coated with the same metal.
From somewhere distant, the savage cough-barks of the infected echoed.
Twenty-five miles of straight road lay between the police headquarters and the Nightshade. It would have been faster to travel by tram but much less inconspicuous. The lower regions of Resident Approach were full of businesses and stores, gardens and parks, taverns and eateries – usually an area full of life and activity. Now the violet glow of streetlamps shone down onto a deserted street still wet from the rains of Ruby Moon. Buildings were lightless. Dark, ominous windows like soulless eyes watched Ennis.
He passed an eye device fixed to the wall of a business centre, which glowed as an eerie female voice repeated a message over and over: This is an emergency. All denizens will proceed to the central district …
Ennis had already been travelling for a few hours, jogging along Resident Approach, ignoring the sweat running down his back in the cold air of Silver Moon. He recognised the area he had reached and judged that he had passed the midpoint of his journey. He pushed on, willing extra strength into his legs, cautious of every shadow, flinching each time a breeze stroked his damp skin.
According to the avatar, only one Genii remained in the Nightshade: Hagi Tabet. The others had left to free Lord Spiral from Oldest Place and didn’t plan to return until their virus had wiped out the denizens. Ennis had one chance to save his townsfolk: get inside the Nightshade and kill the Resident. Only when Tabet had been removed could the distress signal Ennis had activated bypass her magical barricade and reach the realms outside the Labyrinth. With Tabet’s death, someone, somewhere, would come to the denizens’ aid. It almost sounded simple.
After a further hour of unhindered travel, Ennis felt his energy levels flag and hunger pains nauseated his stomach. He ducked into the first café he found; dark inside, tables and chairs upturned. His magic read the signs: the place was deserted of hiding denizens and lurking infected.
Pouring a glass of water and helping himself to a rice cake from a plate on the counter, Ennis sat to eat his simple meal and rest his aching legs and feet. He watched the street through the broken window.
Ennis reckoned that there were between three and four hundred automatons, thinly spread as they guarded all streets and alleys which led into the central district. But the army of constructs wasn’t fighting alone. Thanks to Long Tommy and Captain Moira, the police and the underworld had formed an unlikely alliance to protect their town.
Tram-load after tram-load of food, weapons and ammunition – everything that could be salvaged in time from the warehouses on the south side – had been hoarded in the central district. The majority of denizens were well defended. Labrys Town’s strange alliance couldn’t do anything to save those stranded in the outer districts, but it might just ensure that hundreds of thousands of people survived the Genii’s virus. However, in the end, if Ennis didn’t succeed, all that would amount to nothing.
Ennis laid a hand on the holstered gun loaded with thaumaturgic bullets. Spiral was free. The Lord of the Genii had returned.
Finishing the rice cake and swigging the last of the water, Ennis headed outside. He buttoned up his coat against the chill and continued at a jog along Resident Approach.
He made good progress, occasionally hearing cries and shrieks coming from some distant location in the northern district. After half an hour or so, he stopped for another drink of water at an abandoned tavern. It was then that he heard a shout from outside.
‘No! Give
them back!’
It was a man. He was answered by the telltale cough-barks of the infected.
Sticking to the shadows, Ennis followed the voice as it continued to shout incoherently. He held off priming the power stone on his police-issue pistol lest someone notice its glow.
Before long he saw the man, standing outside a house on the opposite side of the street. The house’s door had been smashed from its hinges. The man was frantic, acting more out of desperation than sanity as he looked up and down the street. Apparently he had other things on his mind than the four virus victims closing in on him.
Three headed straight towards him, shrieking as they loped along on all fours, more animal than human. The fourth appeared on the roof above him preparing to jump down on him.
Ennis thumbed the power stone into life and took aim.
His first shot missed but the second hit the rooftop monster in the chest. It collapsed and fell, hitting the ground head first and snapping its neck.
The man paid attention then.
He backed away as Ennis stepped onto the street. The pistol flashed with a low, hollow spitting sound and he took down two more infected with clean head shots. He hit the last in the shoulder. The bullet spun the monster and it bellowed with rage but kept on coming. By the time Ennis’s remaining three bullets killed it, the monster had crashed into the man, knocking him to the ground.
The man kicked the corpse away from him and scrambled to his feet. Ennis scoured the area, listening for signs of more approaching infected while loading his pistol with metal slugs. Apart from some distant shrieks, there was nothing. Satisfied, he approached the man.
‘My children,’ he said, bordering on hysteria. ‘They were taken. It broke down our barricades, killed my wife.’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘I-I couldn’t stop it.’
‘Calm down,’ Ennis said gently. ‘Were your children bitten?’ He tensed, knowing that an affirmation would equal a death sentence. There was no cure for the Genii’s virus.
‘It wasn’t the infected,’ the man said. ‘It was the Resident’s demon. The Woodsman.’
‘The Woodsman?’
‘It just appeared,’ the man wailed. ‘Snatched my Daniel and Jade from their mother’s arms. They’re just babies!’
He cried freely, and Ennis’s mind raced to the axe-wielding beast that served the Resident.
His magic nudged his attention and he noticed the single line of blood running from the cuff of the man’s shirt, over his hand, dripping from his finger. Ennis’s heart froze as his eyes found the rip in the man’s sleeve and the bite on his arm. He could see the black veins of infection already stretching from the wound.
The man coughed and retched. ‘What do I do?’ he begged.
‘I’ll help you.’ There was stone in Ennis’s voice as he backed away. ‘Do you keep any weapons in the house?’
‘My wife has a pistol.’
‘Go and get it. We’ll find your children together.’
It broke Ennis’s heart as a glimmer of hope appeared in the man’s eyes. He retched again and then turned to enter the house. Ennis aimed his gun at the back of his head and fired.
The man fell dead without a sound.
Ennis dropped to his hands and knees and vomited up the water he had just drunk.
With a surge of willpower, he got to his feet and staggered on down Resident Approach. As if things weren’t bad enough, the Woodsman was still loose in Labrys Town.
Moor remembered how powerful Iblisha Spiral had grown before the war, how he had taken the Pantheon of Thaumaturgists by storm and blinded the Timewatcher to his long game. His passions, his desires, his charisma and strength had given the Genii something new to believe in. But now Moor questioned his lord’s sanity. Never had he known Spiral to revel in whims of such … grotesquery.
In a great hall within the obsidian tower, Spiral sat on a grand throne made from smouldering red rock. On either side of the throne sat two creatures in a perpetual state of incineration providing dancing light. On the edges of the hall, beyond thick pillars of flesh, wild demons writhed and hissed from the gloom. Above, a grisly mosaic formed the ceiling: a host of Aelfir, crushed and broken, fused together, their tortured screams and wails dampened to mingle with the moan of a lonely wind.
The Genii presented themselves before their lord, kneeling upon the obsidian floor.
‘Rise,’ Spiral ordered testily. He was almost slouched on his throne, rubbing at the scar on his forehead as though he had a headache. At the foot of a flight of steps leading up to the throne stood Tal the Ghoul, docile and subservient, his large black eyes staring into nothing.
For the longest time, Spiral didn’t speak. Gadreel appeared content to wait for as long as he had to, gazing around the hall, clearly impressed by what he saw. Moor and Asajad shared a meaningful look.
‘Many believed that the Timewatcher learned to love humans,’ Spiral said eventually. His voice didn’t echo in the hall, but was instead absorbed into the hissing of the demons. ‘They were mistaken.’
Moor frowned; Spiral seemed to be talking to himself.
‘Generations pass, conditioning prevails, origins are forgotten.’ Spiral’s violet eyes met Moor’s. ‘Tell me, what became of Simowyn Hamir?’
It was Gadreel who answered. ‘We are uncertain, my lord.’ There was far too much eagerness in his voice and manner. The fool truly didn’t comprehend what was happening before him.
‘Explain,’ Spiral said evenly.
‘Hamir was able to hide from us,’ Asajad said, before Gadreel could say anything further.
‘Perhaps he had help from Lady Amilee,’ Moor added, willing his lord to acknowledge the danger that he had yet to deal with properly.
‘Perhaps he did,’ Spiral said offhandedly. ‘How did Hamir hide?’
‘He entered a room in the Nightshade,’ Gadreel answered, ‘the door to which we could not open, no matter what we tried. But I believe Hamir is still barricaded in that room. If he is important to you, my lord, then … fear not.’
‘Fear?’ Spiral’s gaze settled on Moor once again. ‘I am disappointed. Did I not ask you to either bring Hamir to heel or kill him, Fabian?’
Moor bowed his head. ‘You did, my lord.’
‘With Simowyn Hamir at our side, we could have made allies of the Nephilim.’
‘I apologise, my lord. I … I thought Hamir to be a secondary consideration.’
Demons hissed. Tal the Ghoul’s blank stare never wavered from the Genii.
‘Forgive my lack of understanding, Lord Spiral,’ said Asajad. ‘The Nephilim were always a rogue element in your plans. Surely you have the power to control them or destroy them at will. What purpose would Simowyn Hamir serve?’
‘It is not our place to question our lord,’ Gadreel hissed. ‘Show respect, Lady Asajad.’
‘No, Viktor.’ Spiral smiled thinly at Gadreel. ‘The question is fair. The Timewatcher did so enjoy playing Her clever little games. She cursed Hamir. She cursed the Nephilim – stitched their lives together.’ He gazed up at the grim mosaic of moaning Aelfir. ‘I stole Hamir’s thaumaturgy after it was drained from his body. I was able to master it enough to trap the Nephilim, incarcerate them, remove them from my way, but not enough to subjugate their loyalty. And to kill them … Well, the Timewatcher made damn sure that death was a gift no one could give the Nephilim but the Progenitor.’
Moor and Asajad shared another look. Gadreel wore open confusion on his face.
Spiral studied their reactions. ‘But of course, you wouldn’t know. Our Mother kept many secrets from Her children. If Simowyn Hamir is reunited with his higher magic, he could claim control over his creations. However, if he dies then the Nephilim die with him.’
‘If Hamir is important, my lord, I shall bring him to you,’ Gadreel promised.
Spiral shook his head. ‘Ther
e was a time when I hoped that Simowyn might join us. But on reflection, I suspect, after all these centuries, that he has been poisoned by the humans and would not switch his allegiance now. And I sorely doubt he will have forgiven me for what I did to him. As Fabian said, he is a secondary consideration. If Simowyn is hiding in the Nightshade, then he and the Nephilim will perish when I take the Labyrinth. It is better that way, safer.’
Spiral sat straighter on the throne, a sudden passion flaring in his eyes. ‘But imagine it had been otherwise. Can you see the possibilities? The Nephilim are Thaumaturgists and humans merged together by the dark perversions of dead time – the greatest blood-magickers the realms have ever seen. And they could have merged with me. Who better to understand the Retrospective, to understand an entire reality founded on blood and dead time? Imagine what we could have created together. The Nephilim could have been my new Genii.’
New Genii ? Moor thought.
Spiral radiated insanity, and Moor wondered if he had just received confirmation of his fears.
‘You would have created paradises, my lord, and you still will,’ Gadreel said – blinkered, blind and unquestioningly loyal. ‘With or without the Nephilim, no one can stand in your way now. And we, the last of your most loyal Genii, will ever stand by your side.’
‘Yes.’ All expression drained from Spiral’s face. ‘That is a comfort to me, Viktor.’
Moor felt the hissing of the demons become a cold chill that blew through the hall.
Spiral rose from his throne, looking around with a disappointed expression, as though what he had created paled in comparison to what would be.
‘What are your orders, my lord?’ Gadreel asked eagerly. ‘Shall we take another House for you?’
But Spiral was no longer listening. Immersed in and distracted by unknowable thoughts, he gazed unblinking into some far-off distance. ‘Yet there is much I still cannot see,’ he said to himself. He spread his silver wings. ‘I must consult the skies.’
With a single beat of his wings, Spiral rose and became a column of swirling smoke that dissipated in the air. The hall, the shadowed demons, the mosaic of writhing torture, the tower itself dissolved to nothing, leaving Moor, Asajad and Gadreel once again standing on the scorched plains of the Retrospective.
