by James Hunter
He tipped back his flask, taking a long drink, which struck me as odd. I’d seen Osmark sip a beer a time or two, but he’d never struck me as a heavy drinker. He sure was hitting that flask awfully hard, though.
“The Empirical Library Core at the heart of the Necropolis is the single largest memory node, but there are plenty of others,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. “Usually, they’re in secured locations in the Divine Realms, though not always. Eldgard proper has more than its fair share. But they’re always well defended. Always. And not just by guardians like those.” He nodded toward the various piles of rubble sprinkled about the cavern floor. “There are other things that skulk around nodes. Fail-safes. Even the Overminds have to step lightly around them. You and I might be fine, since you have the Reality Editor, but why risk it? Especially since I’m fairly certain you’ll find a guide with access to this node eventually. Now, are you going to take a seat or not?”
“Still leaning toward no,” I replied, moving closer, but refusing to sit. All of this seemed off somehow.
“I’m not trying to lure you into some trap, Jack.” He screwed the lid to his flask back in place and stowed it in his breast pocket. “I thought we’d moved well beyond that.”
“Yeah, I thought we had too,” I shot back, a sharper edge in the words than I’d intended, “but that was before you slipped off into the Shattered Realms, then closed ranks and cut me out of the loop. For a guy with a less than steller track record about lying and manipulating, I think I have justifiable reason to be cautious.”
“That’s fair,” he said with a shrug, not trying to deny it or shift the blame. “But, if I wanted you gone, all I would’ve had to do was nothing. That guardian had you dead to rights. The fact that I intervened should count for something.” He motioned to the open chair with his free hand. “For what it’s worth, Jack, you have my word. I’m not trying to pull anything here. I just need a break. And I think you do, too. It’s probably been a while since you’ve eaten. Let me get something cooking—maybe that will change your mind.”
He hunched over and rummaged around in his inventory before finally pulling free a pair of wooden skewers and two fist-sized slabs of red meat.
“Grass Wolf filets,” he offered in explanation, spearing each piece, then carefully propping them up so the filets hung over the licking flames. Immediately, the aroma of grilling meat assaulted my nostrils, the scent both savory and gamy, conjuring images of tall grasses and marshy fields teeming with life. The smell alone persuaded me to move. Reluctantly, I took the other seat, leaning into the heat and drinking in the smell of cooking food. Osmark occasionally turned the spits until both sides were lightly charred, the grease sizzling and dripping into the flames.
“So, here we are,” he said, offering me a halfhearted grin. “Former enemies, sharing a fire and food in an inhospitable land where literally everything wants us dead. Certainly not how I would’ve imagined things a year ago, but then, such is life.”
He leaned forward, drew our dinner from the fire, and handed me a skewer with a pleasant smile.
“What happened to you?” I blurted out, snatching the skewer and ignoring his small talk. “You ghosted me. But now you want to pretend everything’s okay, when clearly it isn’t?”
He glanced away and crossed his legs, one foot bobbing. “First, I didn’t ghost you. Sandra has been in contact on my behalf, working out essential logistics and answering your most important questions.”
“Except questions about you,” I said.
“Look, it’s complicated, Jack,” he said with a sigh. “I know what you experienced in the Realm of Order, because I was along for the ride. But I can assure you, my time in the Shattered Realms wasn’t even remotely the same. It was far less... pleasant.”
“What happened?” I pressed, out of more than just curiosity. We weren’t friends exactly, but we were definitely more than enemies, and there was some small part of me that felt genuine concern for him.
“Are you sure you really want to know?” he asked, sounding as mysterious as any Overmind.
I nodded.
Finally, he shrugged and set his food to the side. “Fine.” He stood primly and started undoing the buttons of his jacket.
I opened my mouth to protest, but he silenced me with a look and a raised finger. “You asked,” he murmured. Osmark pulled off his outer jacket, carefully removed a vest covered with geometric shapes beneath, then pulled his billowy white shirt off over his head.
My breath caught in my chest, and I instinctively flinched away.
His whole torso was a patchwork quilt of faded white scars, metal plates riveted into place, and glass panels, which allowed me to see the softly whirling gears inside him where his organs should’ve been. Holy crap, he was more metal than flesh. His forearms were still mostly intact, but neon green bands of energy curled and spiraled across the skin, no different than the tattoos marring the Vogthar. Embedded directly in the center of his chest was a green malachite stone the size of a half dollar, which pulsed with potent energy.
The Reality Editor vibrated madly against my chest, thrumming with its own power. I couldn’t even begin to guess at how this happened or who had done it to him, but the ultimate weapon, built to destroy gods, wanted nothing more than to wipe Osmark off the face of the map.
“Traumatic is an appropriate, though underwhelming, word for what happened to me in the Shattered Realms,” Osmark said softly.
I wanted to throw up. He’d been tortured. Mutilated.
“How is this even possible?” I choked out. “We’re Travelers. We heal. We shouldn’t be able to sustain that kind of long-term damage.”
“So most people think,” he replied with a weary grin. “But there are ways, Jack. And, before you get the wrong impression, let me confess that I consented to this. To all of it. To the torture. To the mental scourging and the trips into the memory nodes scattered around the Shattered Realms. To the endless number of deaths and respawns.”
Endless number of deaths and respawns. “Why?”
He didn’t speak, instead slipping on his shirt, then securing his vest and coat back in place with nimble fingers. “Eat,” he said, instead of answering. “It’s going to get cold otherwise, and Grass Wolf gets stringy once it cools too much.”
After seeing his butchered form, I didn’t think I would want to eat again for a week—but my stomach issued a mighty grumble, insisting that I should listen to him. I raised the skewer and sank my teeth into the filet, pulling away a mouthful of succulent meat. Even unseasoned, the flavor was heady and rich, and the meat was so tender it practically melted like butter on my tongue. We ate in a rather amicable silence for a while, both of us engrossed in the meal.
He finished first, setting the skewer to the side, then gently adding a new block of wood to the fire and blowing on the coals so they burned cherry red against the night.
“The reason why, Jack, is because I make the hard choices,” he offered as I finished my meal and wiped the grease away from my chin with the edge of my cloak. “It’s what I do. It’s who I am. I’m the man who will do the hard things no one else is willing to do. I’m willing to pay the price, even if the whole world condemns me for it. I always have, and I always will. I will pay the price no matter what it is.”
My mind conjured an image of me standing over Abby, driving that knife down into her throat. I could see the life flow out of her, face ashen, body limp as blood siphoned through the grooves in the altar—the final key to opening Khalkeús’ tomb. Sometimes there is no winning. To save the world, you must first give up that which matters most in your world. I reached down, running a finger over the ring in my pocket. Could I be as cold as Osmark? Would I be willing to pay any price to save the world? Honestly, I wasn’t sure. Not anymore.
Could I die for the world? Yes.
But could I live forever in one where I had to kill the people I loved?
“What’s wrong, Jack?” Osmark prodd
ed.
I glanced up at him, realizing I’d been silent a lot longer than I’d intended to be.
“Nothing,” I lied, “just something personal.”
“Everything is personal, Jack. Business. Life. Relationships. Saving the world. It’s all personal, because it’s all inescapably intertwined.” He lifted his hand and crossed his fingers in demonstration. “So what is it? And before you think about lying to me, remember that you’re terrible at it, while I, on the other hand, can lie like a fish breathes water.” He tapped the side of his nose. “I’ll know.”
I sighed, warring with myself. Eventually, I pulled the ring from my pocket, holding it up so the light from the fire glinted off the diamond. “It’s about Abby. That and the Doom Forge...” Slowly, I opened up, telling him about my time deep down below Stone Reach. About the trials we’d been forced to undergo, and the very last test that had pushed me right to the edge. I told him about the nightmares I’d been having and my own fears that I was turning into a monster, turning into someone I didn’t particularly like anymore. Killing Abby had been necessary at the time—it had been the only way forward—but had it been the right thing?
I told him how I’d been pushing her away ever since, trying to keep her at arm’s distance in a fruitless bid to protect her. To keep her safe from Thanatos, but also from me.
Osmark listened without interrupting, nodding his head in the right places, focused like a laser while I spoke. He wasn’t just listening, though, he was weighing, analyzing, assessing. I could almost see the gears cranking away inside his head, just as I’d been able to see the gears cranking away inside his chest.
“So what should I do?” I finished weakly, feeling as wrung out as a dirty dish towel.
He crossed his legs again and folded his hands in his lap, a thoughtful expression painted on his face. “I have no idea what you should do,” he said with a shrug. “It’s ironic, since I’m probably the only one that can truly relate to what you’re going through, but I’m probably also the single worst person to answer that question. Because, for me, the answer has always been anything and everything. In my mind, the good of the many always and forever outweighs the good of the few. Even when it hurts. But, in another ironic twist, I find myself in exactly the same position as you.
“This”—he motioned at his torso—“nearly broke me. The process was far more than just a strictly physical one, and I’ve found myself pulling away from the few people I care about.” He paused, lips pursed, forehead creased. “Not unlike yourself, actually. I can’t sleep for more than an hour at a time without violent nightmares waking me up. I’m in constant pain. And, for perhaps the first time in my life, I’m fundamentally questioning my choices and wondering if this is all worth it. I’ve had some bleak valleys, but nothing quite like this.
“Worst of all, I can’t share my doubts or fears with anyone.” He took a deep breath and sank more deeply into his chair. “People believe in me, Jack. They need to know that I’m rock solid, unflappable, and ruthless. If they suspected anything else, they’d never follow. The pack of jackals constantly circling around me would sense that kind of weakness and rip me to shreds, which would doom us all. It’s the same reason I avoided talking to you once I got back—I couldn’t risk anyone knowing, not before it was too late for them to do anything about it.”
“Do you think it was worth it?” I asked, after he’d fallen silent. “What happened to you?”
“Was it worth it... Another question I can’t answer. But I can say, as painful and horrific as it was, I believe this was the only way.”
“The only way to do what?”
“For us to win, Jack. We’re two sides to the same coin, you and I. You’ve unlocked the weapon capable of stopping Thanatos—and at great personal cost to you,” he said. “And I’ve learned how to use it—and at great personal cost to me.” He slipped his pocket watch out and studied the clockface for a moment. “Apart, neither one of us would be capable of defeating Thanatos, but together we might just have a shot.
“Whether you know it or not, Thanatos is like a glitch, and you and the Reality Editor are a supercomputer that can put things right. But even the most powerful supercomputer on Earth won’t do you any good if you don’t know how to use it. You also need to know how to code, you need to have a backdoor into the system, and you need to know exactly what the error is. That’s what we have here. You and the Reality Editor are both the computer and the backdoor into the system. Me? I’m everything else.”
For the first time since Osmark had returned from the Shattered Realms, something like hope stirred inside my chest. If he really knew how to use the Reality Editor, then maybe we had a slim chance after all. “Well, what’s the answer?” I asked, literally on the edge of my seat in anticipation. “How the hell do we kill him?”
A haunted look briefly flashed across Osmark’s face, here than gone. “That... that is a more complicated matter still,” he said flatly. “But you’ll have your answer soon enough. The Overminds have been busy, weaving their webs behind the scenes, and the rest of the pieces are falling into place as we speak.” He surveyed the clockface once more, then snapped the lid closed and shoved it back into his vest pocket. “Come on. We’ve been gone long enough, and we have a war to run.”
Forged in Fire
OSMARK’S REFUSAL TO explain anything more bothered me. Yes, I’d gotten a few scant answers, but there was still so much I didn’t know. What other pieces? And why was killing Thanatos so complicated? To me, it seemed like a simple matter of maneuvering him into a corner and using the Reality Editor to take him down just like any other world boss—albeit a very powerful world boss. What did Osmark know that I didn’t? The ruins, buried deep in the canyon, also lingered in the back of my head, but—as with Osmark—answers were nowhere to be found about the strange location.
I didn’t have much time to stew on any of that, though, since the next several days passed in a blur of skirmishes, raids, battles, and counterassaults only occasionally interspaced with time to grab a few minutes of shut-eye or a quick bite to eat. If I was going to trick Thanatos and sneak through a figurative backdoor into Skálaholt, I needed Thanatos to see me out front, and I wore myself ragged making sure he did. Devil and I graced the skies at every turn, leaving streaks of purple fire and a trail of destruction a mile wide in our wake.
Massacred Vog platoons. Captured Darkling outposts. Broken armies and shattered morale.
It was exhausting, sure, but hopefully worthwhile in the long run.
Our first big break since the initial push came on the afternoon of day five.
I was two klicks outside of Idruz at one of our hardened FOBs—Forward Operating Bases—which also happened to double as our Siege Yard. Unlike the city, there were no cobblestone streets, bathhouses, or marble mansions here. This place was cold and wet and miserable. The dusting of snow had melted under the constant foot traffic, turning the ground into a gooey quagmire of mud and slush.
A contingent of Dwarven engineers and Stonewall sorcerers had erected large earthen berms around the FOB, then further fortified it with a palisade of sharpened wooden stakes. But this was a temporary position and everyone knew it. Tents were arrayed in a haphazard manner, and forges, furnaces, and smelters burned everywhere I looked. Blacksmiths and steel-wrights hammered out reinforced metal or quenched red-hot steel in enormous barrels. A platoon of Firebrands tended to the flames, while engineers, scriveners, and alchemists darted about impromptu rigging and slapdash wooden scaffolding, slaving tirelessly on the siege towers that would hopefully help us take the outer wall of the Necropolis.
“As you can see,” Vlad said, a fat-bottomed pipe hanging from his mouth as we trudged around the base of one of the towers, mud squelching around our boots with each step, “towers are coming along well. Tall. Very tall. Is good for taking walls, da? Large interior compartments, surrounded by rune-hardened armor and arcane shield generators to protect troops in transit.” Enzo kept pace wi
th us, furiously smoking a hand-rolled cigarette while Vlad spoke. “Here we have one of newer features.”
Vlad swept a hand toward an oversized workbench manned by a Dwarf garbed in Artificer gear, a Risi in a grease-stained apron, and a pair of Wodes both wearing the elaborate glasses that Arcane Scriveners used in their meticulous handiwork. Suspended above the bench on an inelegant system of beams and pulleys was what looked like a large-bored cannon as big as a pickup truck. Finely etched runes spiraled along the length of the barrel, ending at a crank wheel on the side of the weapon, coupled to an iron chain.
“Steam-powered grappling cannon,” Vlad said with an approving nod. “Will allow us to pull down vulnerable sections of wall or send Rogues over along chains.” He lifted a hand and mimicked someone walking with his fingers. “Is very sturdy. We have many such weapons. Mobile ballistae with Javelin missiles. Rig-mounted Arcane Shadow Cannons. Patented latch ladders with spelled hooks. Inbuilt mage shields. Even jettison platforms for furry spider friends. Is very technical. Will do job.”
“Don’t forget my base,” Enzo snarled, flicking his cigarette in annoyance. “As I said, Vlad’s wheeled platform was shit, but the new carrier system will give us unmatched versatility and maneuverability. Plus, added height.” He gestured wildly toward another section of the work yard, where a crew of twenty crafters was busy bolting enormous curved metal joints together. There were pistons, gauges, and steel struts, but I wasn’t quite sure how it would all fit together. Or even what I was looking at, to be honest. I hadn’t had an opportunity to review the updated schematics, but if Vlad approved, then I had no worries about whether these towers would work.
