“They’re not all like that.”
“You’re being naive,” she said, laughing under her breath. It was an accusation that sounded very peculiar coming from a small girl.
“I shook my head. “Being naive is listening to someone who says the humans are all alike.”
“Good for you...you found one. A single human who doesn’t treat you like an animal. And he’s worth fighting for – this one magical person? He’s going to flip a switch and change the way an entire nation thinks about us?”
I reached out and took the girl’s tiny hand, intertwining our fingers. “Massive change is never a switch – it’s a dial. It’ll be gradual and frustrating, and there will be steps backwards, but it’ll happen. You’ve got to start somewhere.”
“Well, good luck with that,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “Sorry I won’t be around to see it.”
“No, you probably won’t,” I replied softly, the words catching in my throat. “But you can help me start the process.”
She pulled her hand away from mine and stepped off the rock, wading several steps into the shallow water. She didn’t bother to lift the hem of her dress as the river rose past her knees. “He’s coming,” she said without turning to face me. “Right now. I can feel his presence nearing...the humans have a minute. Maybe less.”
I tumbled back to reality, eyes fluttering open. I rubbed them feverishly and stumbled around the interrogation room, disoriented from the journey. “Guys, you need to prepare –” is all I had a chance to say. A shockwave hit the castle, so powerful that the room trembled.
“What the fudge?” Drake shouted, craning his neck towards the ceiling.
“He’s here,” I shouted. “Taktarov is inside.”
Chapter Nine
By the time we arrived in the throne room it had been occupied by a small army. Soldiers in crimson armor with inky black visors stood in perfect formation, spanning the width of the expansive hall. They’d blasted their way in through the roof; five stories above us the night sky was visible though the gaping wound, still raining bricks and panes of glass from the ragged edges.
In front of the red army stood their leader. I’d seen him less than a day ago, but the man before me had aged three decades. Sergei Taktarov was still impossibly lean and muscular, the contours of his heavily–muscled frame visible through his body suit. That much hadn’t changed, and neither had his fashion sense: flowing white cape, the grey and white outfit, matching boots and gloves – he still looked as iconic as he had the moment Arena Mode began. But his wave of blond hair was now cropped and streaked with grey, his beard peppered with silver.
“This kingdom,” Taktarov declared, his thick Russian accent booming throughout the chamber, “can celebrate a new King.”
“Never,” Drake screamed, raising his sword in challenge from across the room. “He’ll never bend the knee to one of you filthy, lowborn animals.” We were in the threshold of a doorway probably two hundred feet away, and – at least for the moment – out of harm’s reach.
Drake stepped forward as if he were about to break into a sprint and Dawson reached out, clutching his shoulder. We were outnumbered at least thirty to one, and that wasn’t counting Taktarov, who, most likely, was more powerful than the entire Manticore Uprising put together.
“Won’t bend the knee?” Taktarov sneered, turning towards his army with hands spread wide. A chorus of laughs roared throughout his followers. “I think we can convince him.”
The throne room’s main entrance slid open to reveal King Lehmann, battered and bloodied, being dragged by two red soldiers. They dropped him at Taktarov’s boots.
“On your feet,” Taktarov shouted, yanking the King by his bathrobe. “I want you kneeling to signify your surrender, not because you are too weak to stand.”
“Never,” the King coughed, barking a spatter of blood into his palm.
“We are not here for a slaughter,” Taktarov announced. “We are here because you’ve taken something from us. Return it and no one needs to die.”
“This kingdom was never yours,” the King replied wearily.
The Russian clutched Lehmann by the jaw, lifting him until he stood on his toes. “Don’t be coy, ‘King’. You know I am not talking about your precious kingdom. You know exactly what I’m searching for.”
“The vial,” I whispered. “He wants the blood.”
Taktarov’s head snapped to the side, eyes locked on mine from across the room. His may have aged, but his hearing, apparently, was just as super as ever. “What do you know of it?” he thundered.
I couldn’t let this continue. “I think they have it.”
“Shut your mouth, wench!” the King shouted, still being elevated by Taktarov.
I grabbed two fistfuls of my hair and bent at the waist, screaming out in frustration. “Argh! What is it with all this ‘wench’ crap? I’m trying to save your life here – again!”
“He’ll kill us all anyway,” Drake snarled as his brother continued to restrain him. “These filthy superhumans are all the same.”
I turned and swatted at Drake with the back of my hand, clanging my knuckles across his breastplate. “I’m one of these ‘filthy superhumans’, you douchebag!” My hand ached, but I was relieved to finally be able to curse. Either ‘douchebag’ was a word that their profanity modulators didn’t recognize, or it was no longer offensive thirty years in the future.
Taktarov’s expression lightened when I admitted what I was. “I know you. It was thirty years ago when I first...but it can’t be. You’re the same age.”
“It’s me,” I nodded. “Long story, but it’s me.”
“And you’re here,” he said, not even attempting to mask his disgust. “Serving these humans? You’ve pledged yourself to them?” He was staring at my chest. Taktarov shoved the King into the arms of his soldiers and approached me, striding across the expansive throne room, waving for me to meet him halfway.
“Brynja,” Dawson shouted, reaching out to grasp my arm. I phased through him and kept walking, leaving him and Drake in the threshold.
As I continued towards Taktarov I reached down and pulled the pendant from my shirt, letting it fall over top. It was enhanced vision – it must have been: he could see the Lehmann family crest dangling from a chain around my neck even though it had been concealed.
“Why?” he asked. “Tell me how you came to be their servant. Came to wear their crest.”
“I don’t serve anyone,” I fired back. “I just don’t want to see anyone else get murdered.” Just a few hours in Arena Mode and I’d seen enough bloodshed to last a lifetime.
“The bloodbath is just about to begin,” the King shouted from across the room. “Drake, Dawson, dispose of this trash!”
“Enough!” I screamed, so loud I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. “You don’t know how powerful this man is. He’ll kill us all if we don’t give him what he wants.”
I stepped within arm’s reach of Taktarov and stared into his crackling red eyes. “I’ll read the King. I’ll jump inside his mind and get him to reveal the location of the blood. Then we all surrender and no one dies.”
I almost gasped when Taktarov’s lips pulled into a smile, creasing the lines around his eyes. He was actually emoting. I guess he’d softened in his old age. “King Lehmann,” he called from halfway across the room. “You allow superhumans to negotiate for you, now? And a woman, no less?”
“She will never speak for this house!” The King declared, still struggling to break free from his captors’ clutches. Two of his soldiers were still gripping his arms, twisting them behind his back. “She’s a liar, and a traitor, and –”
“Okay you can kill him,” I shrugged.
“What?” Dawson cried out, the color draining from his face.
“I knew it all along!” Drake shouted. He shrugged free of his brother’s grip and rushed towards me with his sword overhead. “I’ll kill you both!”
As Drake sped for
ward, Taktarov held up two fingers. A pair of his soldiers broke formation, racing to intercept. One launched chunks of ice from his hands as he sprinted; pulling moisture from the frigid air, he rounded the spheres between his hands and pitched them like fastballs, sending them hundreds of feet across the room.
The knight parried with his sword as he advanced, shattering the frozen orbs with smooth, practices strokes.
A final icy blast came in more of a burst than a sphere, aimed lower and more precisely. It caught Drake’s metallic boots, icing them to the marble floor. He grunted and twisted, struggling to lift his feet, but he was completely immobilized. And the soldiers were fast approaching.
The second soldier was markedly faster than the one launching ice, sprinting several paces ahead. He ripped off his gauntlets, revealing a pair of glittering talons; fingernails hardened to steel, curving wickedly as they elongated. He leaped, impossibly high, and sailed down towards Drake.
The frozen knight spun his sword overhead, clashing with all ten blades.
The soldier scraped and clawed at a furious pace. Drake guided his weapon effortlessly through the air, blocking every attack. Coming in a rapid-fire pace, each clang was matched with a burst of light, sparking like firecrackers in the moonlight.
With a labored scream, Drake broke his legs free and threw a well-placed boot into the soldier’s midsection, his foot still encased in a jagged block of ice. He followed with a swift forward thrust. The tip of his blade burst from the back of the soldier’s helmet, dropping him to the floor.
The other soldier lunged with an icy dagger overhead, but was met with another stoke of the knight’s sword, so sudden that I wasn’t even sure it had connected...until the soldier’s torso toppled to the ground while his legs – and half of his midsection – remained upright.
A second wave of soldiers rushed to attack. Ten, maybe twelve. Taktarov extended his palm and they froze, stopping in mid-stride as if they’d been caught by Medusa’s gaze. Russia’s Son has that much influence over them; it was both fascinating and disturbing to witness. They backpedaled without instruction, falling swiftly and silently back into formation.
“Enough of this,” Taktarov ordered, turning his furious red gaze towards Drake.
The knight screamed once again, a hoarse battle cry, his breath visible in the night air. He’d lunged just a few steps when a pair of pencil-thin beams flashed through the chamber, slicing his sword in two.
The glowing lasers that had burst from Taktarov’s eyes were meant to stop Drake from approaching, not kill. It was a warning shot; a courtesy I was surprised to see the Russian extend. At that range he certainly didn’t have to miss. And it stopped the knight in his tracks.
Drake dropped the remains of his sword, letting it clang to the stone below. Brow tightly knitted, teeth grinding, I was surprised he had the composure to remain still. He must have known he was outmatched.
Taktarov refocused on me, ignoring the plumes of smoke that seeped from his eyelids. “As you were saying?”
“No one is ever going to let me be part of House Lehmann. But you –” I extended my hand. “You’ll accept me for what I am.”
He took my hand and shook it, nearly shattering my bones without even applying pressure. It was like having my palm trapped in a vice.
The swirling red glow faded from his eyes, replaced with a steely grey. “You will be rewarded,” he nodded.
“Don’t do this, Brynja!” The panicked words echoed from behind me, and I turned to see Dawson scrambling across the corridor, completely unarmed.
Taktarov’s eyes glowed once again in preparation to fire.
I ripped the ring from my thumb, screaming as the flesh tore from my bone. I lobbed it towards Taktarov’s face before ghosting, narrowly avoiding the concussive blast that exploded around us. The disruptor ring blew apart with the force of a thermal grenade, knocking Drake, Dawson and most of the soldiers to their backs. Even the floor beneath us had been blown to pieces, leaving us ankle-deep in a pile of shattered marble.
But when the smoke settled, Taktarov hadn’t moved – even his cape was perfectly intact.
The Russian’s eyes intensified, filled with contempt. “You liar. You’re no better than these disgusting humans. Worth no more than –” he stopped mid–sentence and squinted sharply, bringing a finger to his temple.
“I wasn’t lying about being able to read minds,” I said flatly. “In fact, I know what you’re thinking right now. You’re wondering why you have a killer migraine ...”
“A...what –?” He stumbled backwards, wincing in pain.
“And now you’re thinking, ‘Wait, wasn’t this lying, blue–haired wench wearing a necklace, like, ten seconds ago?”
The chain dangled lifeless from my neck.
The House Lehmann pendant was gone.
“You,” he groaned, “put it ...”
“Inside your head.” As I said the words Taktarov toppled, cracking a chunk of marble when his skull hit the floor.
It was the old ‘phase an object into an indestructible superhuman’s head and pull your hand out before it gets lopped off’ trick. Works every time.
The room fell silent. No one even breathed. His soldiers gazed at their fallen leader with amazement and then, in unison, dropped to a knee.
And they all stared directly at me.
Holy fudge.
Chapter Ten
A light snowfall dusted us, made almost surreal by the shaft of moonlight pouring in through the hole in the ceiling.
The horde of kneeling red soldiers stared up at me as if in anticipation. What were they waiting for: orders? A rousing victory speech? Permission to leave?
Drake and Dawson stood beside me, seemingly as perplexed as I was.
“What now?” Dawson whispered, scratching at his mop of blonde hair.
It was a good question, and I had no idea how to answer. I ripped a small swath from my shirt, using it to bandage the flesh that dangled from my thumb. I used my teeth to anchor one side of the tourniquet and yanked the fabric, tightening it until the bleeding stopped.
King Lehmann dusted himself off and marched towards me, adjusting his bathrobe on the way. It was difficult to appear regal in fuzzy bath wear and slippers, but somehow he managed to pull it off. At least for the most part. “Stand,” he shouted, turning towards the soldiers. “You are now under my command.”
They remained still.
He scowled and turned towards his sons. “Drake, Dawson, take Taktarov’s body down to the laboratory and tell the scientists to begin extraction. I want every drop of blood squeezed out of this superhuman and harvested for research.”
“What?” I shouted, throwing my hands apart. “Are you kidding me? This crap is what started the war in the first place! Once the superhumans find out you’re desecrating their leader’s body and weaponizing his blood, it’ll start an all new uprising.”
“Maybe,” he said proudly, motioning to the kneeling soldiers. “But if they do come, my new army will be ready for them.”
Drake stepped forward, placing a gauntlet on his father’s shoulder. “No.”
The King’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “What do you mean n –”
“I mean no,” Drake stated, more forcefully. “This has gone far enough. I don’t know if there will ever be lasting peace, but for now ...”
“We have to at least try,” Dawson added. He glanced at me, offering a small nod. “For all our sakes.”
“Give Taktarov a burial at sea,” I said. “Toss the remaining blood in with him, and call a cease–fire.” I turned to the kneeling soldiers, and motioned for them to stand. It was like controlling a video game: one wave and they all rose, falling into perfect formation. “Your leader is dead,” I announced. “And you now have the option to join House Lehmann.”
The King threw his arms up, mouth agape, but whatever he was about to say got lodged in his throat. By the redness in his face I could tell it wasn’t going to be complimentary.
<
br /> “And,” I added, “you also have the option to return home and do whatever the hell you want. No prisoners will be taken.”
After a moment of confusion the red soldiers ambled around and made light conversation, seemingly stunned that they were free. I knew how they felt.
“This is it for me, too.” I said, turning to Dawson. “Are you still in the mood for an adventure?”
The knight’s eyes filled with fireworks. “Are you...are we taking one of the jets?”
“If you are,” Drake added, “I’m coming with you. I don’t trust either of you to return Kingdom property in one piece.”
“Fair enough,” I laughed. “Pack your bags. We’re heading out.”
Drake breezed past me but stopped, turning on his heels. “Why did you choose us over Taktarov?” he asked.
“I read him. As soon as he promised to reward me I saw visions of torture chambers dancing in his head.
“And,” I added, “I read you as well – as soon as I got my ring deactivated. I know you’re not filled with hate. You just want to protect your family, and you’re...passionate about it.”
“Thank you,” he said, his voice softened. “I really do owe you.”
“I know,” I smiled. “Now go pack your stuff.”
The knights turned to leave when the booming sound of their father’s voice stopped them mid-stride. “Halt,” he commanded. “I cannot allow this to go any further. I won’t authorize someone from outside of House Lehmann to leave in one of my aircraft with two of my knights.”
Drake stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on his father’s shoulder. “Surely we can make an exception. Brynja has proven herself an ally.”
“She is not an ally,” the King said matter-of-factly, reaching around his son’s neck with both hands. He pulled a chain over his head, revealing the House Lehmann sigil – the same necklace that Dawson had given me earlier. “She’s family.”
Drake and Dawson exchanged glances before turning their attention towards me, as if I had the vaguest clue what was taking place.
The Manticore Ascension: A Short Story in the Arena Mode Universe Page 6
