The Destroyer of Worlds

by Jonathan Moeller

  “I’ve been there,” said Arran. “I crossed it on my journey to Earth. It is the size of a city, the roof a great dome. In the center lies an enormous silver seal, carved with countless runes. It feels…it feels as if the entire weight of the Tower rested on that one point.”

  “It does,” said Ally. “The Great Seal is the nexus of the spell that binds the Tower and the children of the void. If it shatters, the Tower will collapse, and the children of the void will swarm over the mortal worlds.”

  Conmager grunted. “And Marugon’s found a way to do it, hasn’t he?” A look of dawning comprehension came over his face. “That’s why he came to Earth.”

  “Yes,” said Ally. “The guns did horrible damage to the High Kingdoms, but they were trifles. Marugon learned of nuclear bombs, the mightiest weapon ever created on Earth, and he will use one against the Great Seal. The power of a nuclear bomb can crack the Seal and bring the Tower crashing down.”

  “Wycliffe’s Russian contacts,” said Conmager. “A criminal boss named Kurkov and his pet assassins. If anyone can get Marugon a nuclear bomb, Kurkov can. The man has a global empire of villainy.”

  Ally nodded. “And once he has the bomb, Marugon will take it to the Great Seal and use it.”

  Allard swore. “But that’s insane. He’ll kill himself, if he does that.”

  Ally shrugged. “Marugon is so insane that he no longer cares what happens to him.” She looked at each of them. “He will have the bomb in a matter of days. And it has fallen to me to try and stop him. That is why I accepted Alastarius’s powers, his memories. I did not want them. I had spent most of my life hiding from them.” A great flood of grief spread through her. Marugon had killed her birth parents, and his winged demons had murdered her adoptive parents. He had killed her family twice. “I must stop him. Not for revenge, not for hate, though I do hate him, but for all the mortal worlds. The children of the void wish to destroy us, and Earth will become a hell if the Tower falls.”

  “I shall come with you,” said Arran, just as she knew he would. “I have spent too long looking for you, fighting to find you, to part from you now. And I have wanted the chance to kill Marugon for long years. You may go to save the mortal worlds, but I will come for you and to avenge my brother, my father and mother, Siduri, and the High Kingdoms.”

  “I will fight besides you,” said Conmager. “I have spent my life in service to Alastarius. And you are his heir. And I, too, have many debts to settle with Lord Marugon.”

  Lithon folded his arms and stuck out his chin. “Well, I guess I’d better come. I’m Prophesied to kill Marugon or something.”

  “Mary.” Ally looked at her friend. “You don’t have to come. This isn’t your fight. You can go your own way, if you wish.”

  Mary folded her arms and scowled. “Like hell. This is my fight. You and your parents were nicer to me than anyone I’d ever met. I don’t understand half of what you told us, but I’m not going to abandon you now. You saved my life. And I shot at people for you. I guess that makes us, like, comrades. Or something.”

  Arran laughed. “I daresay it does.”

  “Yeah. Anyway. I’m not leaving.”

  Ally lifted her eyebrows. “Allard?”

  “Ah, hell.” Allard looked at the ground and kicked the snow. “I’d like to leave. I’d really would. But I’m not. This is partly my fault. I gave away those damn cigarettes. And I’ve got to make it right. Or at least try to.” He sighed. “Besides, Regent will kick my ass if I try to leave.”

  “Damn straight, son,” said Conmager.

  “Good.” Ally smiled. “I could not do this alone.”

  “And where do we start?” said Allard.

  “We start now,” said Ally. “Did you bring everything I asked in the van?” Conmager nodded. “Then let us be on our way. We’re going to Wycliffe’s compound.”

  “What?” said Allard, sputtering. “That place is guarded like Fort Knox. I should know, I used to work there. And there’s winged demons there. And changelings.” He swallowed. “Lots and lots of changelings.”

  “We must go there,” said Ally, not slowing, “because one of Wycliffe’s warehouses holds the only open door to the Tower.”

  “Yeah, warehouse 13A,” said Allard. “I’ve been there too. Remember?”

  “It’s the only open door to the Tower,” said Ally. “All the other doors are one-way and cannot be opened from Earth. When Marugon has his bomb, he will use that door to enter the Tower. With luck, we can find him before he has the bomb. If not, we shall have to pursue him into the Tower.”

  “That may be so,” said Conmager, “but there are at least five hundred changelings, if my calculations are right. All of them will be there, now that Marugon is no longer searching for you. Three dozen winged demons as well, all of them armed and armored. You may have the power of Alastarius, but you are still just one woman.”

  Ally gave him a tight smile. “I know this. Trust me, Conmager. It’s past time we liberated some of Marugon’s slaves.”

  Conmager snorted. “You sound like Alastarius once did.”

  “Not surprising. I am his granddaughter, after all.”

  ###

  The black magic roared through Marugon

  He muttered spell after spell, weaving runes of power into the disk, fusing black magic into the metal of the nuclear bomb’s case. The disk’s power would push the bomb partway into the spirit world, transforming its explosion into a maelstrom of both physical and spiritual force.

  Nothing could survive such a blast. Not even the Great Seal of the Tower.

  The voices roared, their approval echoing off the inside of his skull. They demanded that he work faster, ever faster.

  Marugon tried to ignore them.

  Perhaps he could soon have peace.

  Chapter 11 - Liberation

  Anno Domini 2012

  Conmager pulled the van up to the curb.

  Wycliffe Consolidated Shipping’s compound loomed across the street, its gate closed and crowned with barbed wire. A man in a blue uniform sat in the booth, staring at them through black sunglasses. A human, not a changeling or a winged demon.

  That was just as well.

  Ally took a deep breath and climbed out the back of the van. Her heart pounded, and a faint sheen of sweat covered her forehead, despite the December cold. Alastarius had seen dozens of battles and numerous wars.

  But Ally had never walked into a battle before.

  “And here we are,” said Allard, staring out the passenger window. He put a clip into his Uzi and stuffed several more into his belt. “Jesus. To think I’d ever walk willingly back into there.” He sighed. “I mean, Jesus.”

  “Stop complaining. You were never held captive there,” said Conmager. “That guard already thinks something’s strange about us. Let’s get going.”

  Ally’s heavy boots scuffed against the concrete. She and the others all wore Kevlar and weapons harnesses over their clothing. Ally didn’t carry any guns, as she had other weapons. But each of the others carried a small arsenal of weaponry. Arran had four pistols, an AK-47, a belt of grenades, and both his Sacred Blades. The others carried equally heavy firepower.

  Conmager looked at the gate and the barbed wire-tipped brick wall. “Are you sure of this?” His voice dropped. “I can feel the black magic in that place.”

  “As can I,” said Ally. Black magic hung over the warehouse compound like choking smoke. She sensed the presence of winged demons beyond the gate, as well as hundreds of changelings. And beneath it all, she felt a low hum of power that could only come from an open door into the Tower of Endless Worlds. “And I am sure. Come with me.”

  “We look like damn SWAT team,” said Mary.

  “What is a SWAT team?” said Arran, his eyes fixed on the gate.

  “Never mind,” said Ally.

  She stepped up to the booth, the others behind her. The guard’s face went pale as he took in their guns and armor.

  “Hello,” said Al
ly.

  The guard blinked, his hand inching towards a console. “What do you want?”

  “We’d like to see Vice President-Elect Wycliffe, please,” said Ally. “Mind opening the gate for us?”

  The guard stared at her. “You…um…don’t have an appointment.”

  “Stop reaching for that alarm,” said Ally. She heard a clatter as the others drew their weapons and leveled them at the window. “And don’t think that bulletproof glass will save you. We’ve prepared for it.”

  The guard looked around, panic evident on his face. “What the hell do you want? I don’t have any money.”

  Ally smiled. “We want to you to open the gate, get out of the booth, and run as fast as you can.” She raised her hand. “One, two…”

  “All right! All right!” The guard hit a switch. The gate slid into the wall with a low groan. The guard stepped out and raised his hands, peering at the cameras mounted on the wall.

  “How do you see with those sunglasses on?” said Ally. “It is cloudy out.” The guard gaped at her. “Start running.” He sprinted away as fast as his legs could carry him. “Conmager.”

  They filed through the gate. Conmager produced a small black box, flipped a switch, and dropped it into the guard’s booth. “We’ll want to move, ah, rather quickly.” He pointed. “Behind there.” A row of large metal containers stood lined up against a warehouse wall.

  Ally nodded. “Go.” They ran and hurried behind the containers, pressing their backs against them. A few seconds later Conmager’s bomb went off. A tower of flame blasted up from the gate, and bricks sprayed in all directions, raining against the containers with loud bangs. A tremor shot through the ground, concrete slabs cracking and splintering. The gate had collapsed into a pile of smoking metal, broken brick, and roaring flame.

  Sealing the complex off from the street.

  “Good,” said Ally, “no one will interrupt us. Which way?”

  Allard pointed to a squat brick warehouse. “13A.”

  Ally started for the warehouse, the others following.

  ###

  “Have a seat.” Wycliffe sat at one of the chairs below the security room’s wall of monitors. “William.”

  Jones swallowed and sat down. Wycliffe leaned back in his chair, smiling, and glanced out the open door. Marugon still stood before the door to the Tower, muttering spells over the black coffin of the bomb. Soon Marugon would vanish through the Tower, and Wycliffe would be free to do whatever he wished.

  Sweat beaded on Jones’s upper lip. “Is there something you wanted, Thomas? I do have a transfer of authority to oversee.”

  Wycliffe laughed. “You amuse me, William. Despite your whining, you still amuse me. You still think you’re something more than a puppet.” He leaned forward, grinning. “Isn’t that funny?”

  Jones blinked sweat from his eyes, but said nothing.

  Wycliffe decided to enjoy this. “Haven’t you learned that by now? And what do I find you doing? Placing calls to the press. Leaving ‘anonymous tips’ about Vice President-Elect Wycliffe’s business dealings. Hinting at ‘dark allegations’ involving the Gracchan Party’s workers.”

  Jones’s face went white. “I did no such thing, I…”

  Wycliffe sighed. “I have your phone tapped. The future President of the United States masquerading as an ‘anonymous caller’, indeed! Think of the indignity.”

  Jones trembled, but said nothing, his skin going grayer. Wycliffe wondered if the old fool’s heart would burst. “It…”

  “Please,” said Wycliffe, sneering. “I listened to the entire call myself. You know, if you were going to betray me, I almost wish you’d have chosen a more imaginative route. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Of course, I didn’t choose you for your strong will or sterling character.” He let loose a dramatic sigh. “What do you think I’m going to have to do with you, William?”

  A strangled sob slipped Jones’s lips.

  “I could just shoot you right now.” Wycliffe waved a hand at the piles of crates. “God knows I don’t have any other use for this ammunition, now that Marugon’s stopped buying. Or I could command you to jump off a bridge. Perhaps I should order you to run until your heart bursts and you keel over dead.”

  Jones’s knuckles turned white as he grasped the chair’s arms.

  “Or,” said Wycliffe, “I could give you to Goth.” Assuming Goth ever bothered to return from Wisconsin.

  Jones began to hyperventilate.

  “He hates you.” Wycliffe shrugged. “Perhaps it’s your stink. The smell of a coward’s sweat. Absolutely repulsive. Yes, I think I shall give you to Goth. I wonder what he will do to you. It’s best not to think about it, probably.”

  “You.” The skin of Jones’s throat crawled as he spat out the words. “You are an evil man.” Wycliffe laughed. “You’re right. I’m a wretched coward, and I curse the day I ever listened to you. But you’ll ruin this country.”

  Wycliffe glanced out the door. How much longer would Marugon take? “You know, after twenty years in the Senate, I think you could have learned to make better speeches. In fact…”

  A dull roar rang out, and the floor shook.

  Wycliffe grabbed at the control panel for support. A half-dozen security monitors filled with static, and an alarm began to blare.

  “What the hell?” roared Wycliffe. He grabbed at the phone, dialed the front booth, and got a busy signal. “What the hell just happened?” He threw the phone across the booth and stared at the remaining functional monitors.

  His jaw dropped in astonishment. The front gate had been blown to a pile of burning rubble, blocking access to the road. “My God!” said Wycliffe. “I should have run on an anti-terror plank. My God!”

  “We should call the police,” said Jones.

  “Idiot! That’s the last thing we need. I…”

  Marugon stormed into the control room. “What has happened? I feel the presence of the white magic.”

  Wycliffe felt something icy brush his backbone. “I don’t know. I’m trying to find out.” He stared at the control panel for a moment, then reached down and set the cameras to track any motion in the loading yard. They locked onto six figures walking toward warehouse 13A. Wycliffe hit the switches for zooming and image enhancement. The intruders appeared on the largest screen, in color and live motion. Four men and two women. Each carried a wide variety of weaponry, save for the red-haired woman in the lead.

  “They have a lot of guns,” said Jones, his voice quivering.

  Wycliffe resisted the urge to punch him. “Of course they do.”

  Marugon hissed. “Her!”

  Wycliffe stared at the figure in the lead, his eyes widening. “Ally Wester. And…and him! That’s the renegade, the one I captured, the one that escaped. And that…” Wycliffe’s hands curled into fists. “Him! Kyle Allard! That traitorous bastard! He did this! He betrayed me! I’ll make him wish he had never even looked at a cigarette…”

  “Silence!” said Marugon, staring at the screen.

  “What happened to Goth?” said Wycliffe. “He was supposed to kill the bitch. Why isn’t she dead?” A growing suspicion blossomed in Wycliffe’s mind. “He betrayed us. Or you two are in league against me…”

  Marugon glared at him. “Be silent!” His words carried the command of the Voice, and Wycliffe’s jaw clamped shut of its own volition, almost severing his tongue. “Goth-Mar-Dan is most likely dead, you fool. She killed him. Which means she has learned enough of the white magic to threaten me.” He stepped back, eyes wide. “She will not stop me now, not when I am so close, after all these years!” He turned and disappeared back into the warehouse.

  Wycliffe ran after him, fighting against the Voice’s compulsion, Jones trailing at his heels. “But…” Speaking felt like forcing a knife through solid stone, but at last he forced his will through Marugon’s black magic. “But you can kill her, can’t you?” The winged demons began to file into the warehouse, slouched and hooded in their leather jackets.<
br />
  Marugon strode to the bomb. “I will not take that chance. You shall stop her.”

  “Me?” said Wycliffe. “That’s absurd. She’s coming to kill you, not me.” Perhaps he should stand aside and let these attackers kill Marugon. Or let Marugon kill the invaders, more likely.

  “And do you think they will stop with me? Fool!” Marugon turned and made a chopping gesture. Black magic surged through the warehouse, and the meat freezers burst open, their doors dissolving into rust. “No, I shall enter the Tower. They will have to go through you to reach me.” He leveled a wolfish smirk at Wycliffe. “I suppose that will give you ample incentive to stop them, yes?”

  The changelings boiled out of the meat freezers, hundreds of them, red-eyed and hideous.

  “Wycliffe!” Kurkov sprinted into the warehouse, clutching a pistol in either hand. “They blew up the front gate, there’s…” He stopped and stared at the changelings.

  “I noticed,” said Wycliffe.

  “Hear my command!” said Marugon to the winged demons, over three dozen of them. “A wizard of the white magic and Lithon Scepteris, last scion of Carlisan’s royal house, assail this stronghold. Kill them, and feast on their flesh!” Wycliffe felt the black magic rise up in a storm, and Marugon’s Voice thundered. “Changelings! Heed my command. Slay Ally Wester. Go!”

  The winged demons threw back their heads and roared, tearing away their jackets. They seized guns and grenades and swooped away, soaring out the front entrance. The changelings surged after them in a flood of leathery gray skin and long claws.

  Marugon turned to the bomb and lifted his hand. It floated off the ground, hovering near Marugon’s knee. “Farewell, Thomas Wycliffe.” Despite his smile, his eyes looked weary beyond comprehension. “Enjoy your conquests. While you can.”

  “Wait!” said Wycliffe.

  Marugon ignored him and walked towards the platform. He climbed the stairs, the bomb floating after him, and strode through the open door and into the Tower. The bomb followed him as if attached by an invisible leash. Marugon turned and faced the door for a moment. He lifted his hands and a veil of shadows and black flame shimmered over the door, then disappeared from sight.