by Jacob Holo
“Let the message through,” Veketon said. “I’ll be interesting to hear what our enemy has to say. I’ll stay out of the conversation and observe.”
“Understood.” Quennin opened the channel.
“This is Zophiel, Disciple of Vayl. To whom am I speaking?” The man’s voice was young, confident, and firm.
“And why should I answer your question?”
“You are not Veketon, and you do not bear a portal lance. My quarrel is not with you.”
“Is that so?”
“Leave, girl. It is your master I wish to face.”
“If you mean to harm Veketon, then I am exactly where I need to be,” Quennin said.
Silence fell over the channel. She wondered if another conversation was taking place.
“Who are you?” Zophiel asked after the brief pause. The first time he’d asked, he’d sounded mildly offended. But this time his tone was more curious than anything else.
“I am a pilot. My name is unimportant.”
“But you share Vierj’s power. We can sense it in you.”
“Interesting,” Veketon said privately. “He said ‘we.’ So, there is more than one. Proceed with the conversation. He may let more slip unintentionally.”
“My name is Quennin S’Kev.”
“And how did you come to share this power, Quennin S’Kev? We thought we were the only ones.”
“The only ones of what?”
“The children of Vierj. The only ones that time cannot kill. We thought we were alone. And yet here, by pure chance, we find another. I will admit, I am a little stunned by this development. Even more so, since you come to kill us.”
“You oppose Veketon, and by doing so, you oppose me.”
“It is not that simple. I need the portal lance. I have no wish to face Veketon in battle, but I must have the lance. If he will not relinquish it, duty demands I take it by force.”
“Keep him talking,” Veketon whispered privately.
“Your duty?” Quennin asked.
“I have searched this galaxy for centuries, but I do not have enough. I need Veketon’s portal lance, otherwise…” Zophiel hesitated.
“What are you planning? What do you need the portal lances for?”
“I… have said too much…”
“Ah, what a shame,” Veketon sighed. “It seems his better judgment has caught up with his surprise.”
Quennin entered a wide lattice chamber, six archangels in a circle behind her. The spire wall was a huge plane of white stone to her left. The layers merged together this close to the core, forming a tight weave around the wide pocket of space. This deep into Cathedral, the script along the spire pulsed with energy.
The Disciple seraph stopped at the far end, its sword and shield ready, but it made no move to attack. The entrances to the chamber were small, but they were many. Quennin noted each of them.
Suddenly, she detected a surge of chaos energy. Two seraphs were powering up, both of them stronger than the first! They flew in from opposite directions and halted at the edge of the lattice chamber.
One new seraph was sleek and slender, even more so than the first. Ziggurat armor clad its forearms and calves, but it lacked the armored vest and wing guards of the first seraph. A brass helm shrouded its face, identical to the others. Its black silhouette floated serenely, six wings spread, arms folded.
The third seraph possessed an impressive bulk and was as heavily armored as the first except for two huge brass swords bolted to the back of its vest. It approached slowly, hands at its sides.
“Greetings, Quennin S’Kev.” Zophiel’s signal now came from the largest of the three seraphs. He gestured to the other two. “Allow me to introduce Riviel, whom you have already met, and—”
“Othaniel?” Quennin found herself asking.
What am I saying? She had no idea where the name came from, but it seemed right. It fit.
“How did you know that?” Zophiel asked quietly.
“They are… familiar to me… somehow.” Quennin struggled to sort out the alien thoughts invading her mind. “They are your… daughters? Is that right?”
“They are my sisters,” Zophiel corrected firmly.
“I’m sorry.” Quennin shook her head, trying shaking away the fog. “I’m confused right now. The memories don’t normally surface like this.”
“Careful, Quennin!” Veketon said. “Stay focused!”
Sudden pain shot through Quennin like a hot blade drawn through face, skull, and mind. Her hands came up reflexively, clutching her head.
Quennin’s world spun around her. Images flashed by, faster and faster. She saw Zophiel, but younger, barely a man and so unbearably naïve. She saw him talking and laughing and screaming at her in turn. Images flickered past, and Quennin saw a little girl, perhaps seven or eight, a little waif of a girl crying in fear and backing away from her.
Riviel…
Quennin didn’t know where the girl’s name came from. It simply sprang into her mind. The images flew by again, and she saw a baby, all bundled up with a cute round face poking out between silver blankets. Tiny digits curled around her finger, and the child giggled delightfully.
Othaniel?
Images danced through her mind. She saw Riviel and Zophiel running with Othaniel clutched in his arms. They climbed into a huge black seraph, its skin closing, its wings spreading, and all Quennin could think of was how she’d been betrayed. How she’d make Zophiel pay for taking her seraph!
What’s wrong with me? Quennin squeezed her head. Energy sparked between her hands and the throne’s skull armor.
“You stole her seraph…” she said.
Stunned silence followed.
Finally, Zophiel said, “What could you possibly know of that? How could you know of that?”
“I…”
Quennin took several deep breaths. The images retreated into whatever crevice of her mind they normally lurked within, but she felt drained and frightened by the experience.
She’s still inside me…
“I was injured by Vierj in combat,” Quennin said, still struggling to her composure. “I survived, but a piece of that monster was left behind.”
“May I approach?” Zophiel asked.
“What for?”
“Curiosity. I will remain at a safe distance.”
Zophiel’s seraph floated smoothly forward and stopped in front of her throne. He held an arm out towards her, long black talons splayed. Quennin felt something dip into the very edge of her barrier. A little trickle of energy flowed elsewhere.
“Yes, she is in there,” Zophiel said. “I didn’t quite believe Riviel at first, but now… yes, you are the same as us, if born of very different circumstances. Who would have thought this possible?”
Quennin checked her surroundings, aware of her added vulnerability with Zophiel so close. Othaniel and Riviel still waited at the chamber’s edges, too far away to be immediate threats. Plus she had six archangels ready to serve and die as distractions. Zophiel was stronger than her, but not by much, and Quennin had room to maneuver should he—
—in a single blurred instance of motion, Othaniel attacked!
One moment, her seraph hovered at the chamber’s edge, arms folded as if patiently waiting. The next, she thrust an arm towards Quennin. A whip of black energy flew out of her palm and snaked through space so fast it was at her when she reacted.
The whip wound tightly around Quennin’s arm. Armor sizzled, and she grunted in pain, but the whip didn’t break through. Othaniel pulled the whip taut, jerking Quennin’s arm violently to the side. She still held the chaos glaive, but it was in her restrained arm.
Zophiel charged in. He reached behind his back, drew both of his swords, and shoved one into Quennin’s stomach. The blade sank in to the hilt, and she screamed, hot pain filling her abdomen. She grabbed the sword’s hilt, desperate to push it out.
Riviel flew in behind her and thrust the broadsword into Quennin’s back. The blade passed t
hrough the middle of both halo-wings and pierced out beneath the rib cage.
Quennin linked an order to the archangels. All six stowed their rail-rifles and drew single-edged chaos swords. They charged Riviel from behind.
Othaniel sent a second whip of black chaos energy scything through them. The dark ribbon cleaved three archangels in half. Othaniel contracted the whip holding Quennin’s arm, finally cutting into the throne’s muscles. With a sharp pull, she tore the arm off.
Quennin yelped in pain, and her glaive spun away from her. Othaniel released the severed limb and slashed the whip neatly through two more archangels.
Only a single archangel reached Riviel. With her broadsword shoved into Quennin, she had only her shield to fight with, but that was more than enough. The archangel dove in, and she bashed its attack aside with her shield.
The archangel’s sword crumpled and shattered. Its arms broke at the elbows, and when the shield crashed against its torso, great rents formed in its armor. Blue energized fluid wept from cracked plating. The archangel’s wings flickered and died. It floated away, weak snaps of barrier energy spasming around its body. Othaniel sliced its torso in two.
All of this had only taken a few moments.
In the cockpit, Quennin’s true body scorched itself, mirroring the throne’s injuries. The slipsuit extended nano-cilia into her flesh, mending her body but also adding to the agony. Her true breaths came in short, pained gasps.
I’m still alive, Quennin thought angrily, forcing herself to concentrate on anything but the pain. I’m still alive! I can resist!
She pushed against Zophiel’s blade, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Hello, Veketon,” Zophiel said, almost a whisper. “I know you are listening.”
Silence.
Zophiel twisted his sword, and Quennin cried out in pain.
“Is this one important to you?” he asked.
“Quennin, listen to me,” Veketon said privately. “Stop resisting. Keep your influx level low. Make them think you’re more wounded than you actually are.”
“That’ll… be easy,” she gasped, letting go of Zophiel’s sword.
“I will not let you die,” Veketon said. “I promise you this.”
“Do you not care for this female?” Zophiel asked. “She must be important for you to send her in your stead. Or perhaps she is simply a tool to be cast aside when no longer useful? I wonder which is true.”
Zophiel twisted his sword again. The flat of the blade stretched the throne’s muscles and ground against her ribs. Quennin’s organs cooked themselves from the inside out. She whimpered in unbearable pain as another set of nano-cilia stabbed into her true body.
“Zophiel,” Veketon finally said for all to hear.
“Greetings, honorable ancestor,” Zophiel said.
“Cease your attack at once.”
“Ah, so you do care about this woman after all.”
“Release her, or my retribution will be swift.”
“Give me your portal lance, and I shall release her.”
“No.”
“Then we are at an impasse.”
“You have no comprehension of what you now face, child.”
“Then come here and show me,” Zophiel said.
Veketon switched back to the private channel.
“Quennin, be ready. When I tell you to, struggle as hard as you can. Help is on the way. I will not let you die!”
Chapter 10
Collision
Forty-nine fold points blossomed within the lattice chamber, releasing masses of overlapping light rings. Six archangels appeared in close proximity to each of the Disciples, swords ready and twin wings driving them suicidally towards each target.
Another eighteen materialized around the perimeter, rail-rifles trained on predetermined targets. Twelve more flashed into existence with swords drawn and took up defensive positions around the eighteen.
One throne folded in with the archangels. Its armor gleamed in the core-light, and the edges of its halo-wings burned so hot they almost turned white. Veketon raised the portal lance over his head and plummeted straight down at Riviel.
She looked up and raised her shield.
Veketon drove the tip of the lance into her shield, bowing the Ziggurat device inward. Brass fizzed, bubbled, and finally melted, and he forced the lance through one of the shield’s metal eyes. The other seven eyes opened wide, their gazes twitching about chaotically in a silent scream.
“You will not take her life!” Veketon shouted. His lance broke through and scraped across Riviel’s armored forearm.
Archangels arrived a moment later, swarming over the Disciples. Six of them fell over Zophiel, and he struggled to quickly pull his sword free of Quennin’s throne. She grabbed the hilt with both hands and held the sword in place, partially disarming him.
Archangels stabbed Zophiel with their swords. Most of their blows rebounded off his Ziggurat armor, but one found a gap near his shoulder and pierced the seraph’s skin in a brief spray of black blood.
Zophiel ripped his sword free of Quennin’s stomach and charged the archangels with twin blades.
“Ahh!” she gasped.
“Now! Break free!” Veketon shouted.
Quennin flooded her halo-wings with power and pulled herself off Riviel’s broadsword. Dark fluid wept from her chest and the stump of her right arm, but the wounds rapidly closed. The throne’s flesh reknit even as its mnemonic armor resealed.
Riviel swung her broadsword in a wide arc, but Veketon dodged back from it. He linked a command to the archangels, and they flocked around Quennin, forming a thicket of chaos swords, granting her a brief chance to recover. One of the archangels approached from below, her chaos glaive in its hand. She reached down and took hold of it.
“Quennin, status?” Veketon asked urgently. Riviel came in again, but he smashed her attack aside in a shower of blue and black sparks.
“I’m hurt bad, Vek…”
“The archangels won’t last long against three foes of this caliber. We need to get you out of here.”
Riviel came in again, but Veketon deflected her attack with a quick spin of his lance. He sensed danger behind and turned to glance over his shoulder. Othaniel rose above the clutter of six hewn archangels, dark lightning gathering in an open palm. With a flick of her wrist, she sent a whip of black energy slashing towards him.
Veketon interfaced with his archangels instantly. Eighteen of them swung their rail-rifles around and discharged them in perfect unison. Kinetic bolts hammered Othaniel’s barrier, and the whip fizzled into a dark twinkling band. The second round of shots blasted her back into the spire and sent her skidding across the white stone structure.
Veketon sent another six close-combat archangels in to keep her busy.
Riviel cut in with a powerful horizontal stroke, but Veketon saw it coming and darted underneath the swing. He brought the lance around and smashed it brutally against her shield. The blow warped a long groove into the Ziggurat metal and sent Riviel flying backwards.
Zophiel brandished his twin brass swords and charged from the side. Veketon blocked one with the lance, but the second blade cut deep into his wrist. Mnemonic skin crisped and bubbled, and energized fluid bled into space.
Veketon growled in anger and pain. He kneed Zophiel in the stomach and shoved the attack away. With a linked command, he called in another six close-combat archangels. They lit their swords and dove at Zophiel from behind.
Zophiel turned away, his attention momentarily split between two threats. Veketon flooded his halo-wings with power and thrust in hard with the lance.
The tip struck Zophiel’s brass vest. Ziggurat metal warped but held, and the tip ground past in a spray of scintillating sparks. Veketon pulled it back and swung in again, bashing the lance into Zophiel’s flank.
Zophiel fell away, black ichor trailing from a gash in his side. Archangels swarmed over him, and he began carving through the distractions. Veketon would have followed th
rough, but Riviel came at him again.
“Quennin!”
“I… I can fight. My throne’s made temporary repairs,” Quennin croaked, her voice horribly distorted by her injuries.
“We’ll fight later!” Veketon fell back from Riviel and rejoined Quennin. “We’re heading for the surface. The Disciples have set up negator fields, but the fleet is handling them. Move!”
“Understood!”
Quennin faced up and sped towards the highest chamber exit. The remaining seventeen archangels, those not occupied or destroyed, formed a protective screen behind her. Nine fired rail-rifles and fusion cannons while the rest hovered with chaos swords ready.
Veketon exchanged blows with Riviel one last time, then ascended towards the exit.
The three Disciples gave chase.
“Get to the surface!” Veketon shouted. “Move!”
“This is as fast as I can go!”
Veketon looked back through receding lattice layers. Othaniel pulled ahead of the other two Disciples, moving with amazing speed even for a seraph. Veketon committed all seventeen archangels to stopping her. She raised her right arm, conjured a black whip of energy, and slashed four apart in the first pass.
Veketon caught up with Quennin and wrapped an arm tightly around her waist.
“Ah! Careful, I’m injured!”
“We need to move!” Veketon threw everything he had into his halo-wings and ascended with a fresh burst of speed.
In a corner of his mind, he watched the archangels wink out one after another. The Disciples cut them down with ruthless efficiency, but the sacrifice had purchased precious seconds. Veketon carried Quennin upward, following the spire wall as he rose through layer after layer of Cathedral’s interior.
The Disciples closed from behind, Othaniel in the lead.
“She’s too fast!” Quennin shouted. “We won’t reach the surface in time!”
“Can you fight?”
“We don’t have a choice! Here she comes!”
Veketon let go of Quennin, and they both faced Othaniel. Her hands were at her sides, black energy snapping in open palms. She raised one in an underhanded throw and sent a black whip hurtling towards Veketon.
Quennin let the whip pass her, then swung down, bowing it with her chaos glaive and cutting through. The attack vanished into black mist.
