I’ve lived long enough—no reason to keep wallowing in my failure. For a hundred and fifty years, the Machine has run under my care, and this hiccup won’t detract from what my men and I have accomplished. Flurbinger held onto his flicker of pride, straightening his back and smoothing the wrinkles from his grubby overalls. He walked at a measured pace along the tunnel, the aura of fear strengthening as he approached the lord of the city and his own demise.
The Pale Lord stood motionless in the corridor, hands placed on two of the massive gears of the Machine. He leaned forward, his forehead pressed against a giant gear, eyes closed in concentration. On his left hand, he wore an unusual bracer consisting of a series of rings connected by fine chains. A long staff forged of a dark metal that Flurbinger recognized as Abyssal iron, due to its predominant use in the Machine, leaned against the wall of the tunnel.
Flurbinger stopped a short distance away, remaining respectfully quiet while the Pale Lord remained motionless for long moments. His master would deal with him when he saw fit.
After a moment, he frowned, noticing details he hadn’t earlier. The Pale Lord was wearing crimson robes, not the black he usually wore, and had some type of black armored cape folded against his back. The figure standing before him, although he was of a similar height and appearance to the Pale Lord, was broader of shoulder, more hale—less of the skeletal figure he had always known.
A renewed spasm of fear ran through Flurbinger’s gut at the realization that the being standing before him was not the Pale Lord. His eyes widened in understanding at whom he faced.
“Blessed Marakesh! They found you.” The words burst out before Flurbinger could think.
He had once heard a wild tale in his youth that the Pale Lord was actually the Architect of legend. He had thought that nonsense, but from the similarity of their appearance, he now knew it to be true. His next thought, coming close on its heels, was that the Architect held no love for his brother, the Engineer, and vice versa. He imagined being imprisoned in the Abyss for millennia had not softened the Engineer’s hatred for his brother—probably the opposite, in fact. Yet he held out hope that the Engineer was here to save them.
At that thought, the Engineer’s eyes opened, and he turned to face Flurbinger. Orange lantern-like eyes regarded him, the uncanny gaze seeming to peer straight into his soul.
“I sensed your prideful thoughts as you approached, Master Flent. You are right to be proud of your accomplishments.” The Engineer’s voice boomed, powerful and cultured, like a trained orator. “My greatest accomplishment has been left in able hands. Do not despair for your inability to repair it, for I had my minions cause the fault.”
Flurbinger’s jaw sagged open. “You… you planned for this… all this to happen?” He waved vaguely at the Machine and the destroyed foundry high above on the surface.
“Indeed. Time is short, however. Watch and learn, Master Flent.” The Engineer turned back to the Machine and placed his hands on it again. He focused, sending a ripple of power through the air.
The Machine shuddered. Deep inside, in the very core where nobody could reach, strained metal shrieked. A heavy clunk followed, reverberating through the cavern, as if a gear had slipped back into proper alignment. Dust filtered down from the ceiling.
“Now, witness true power,” the Engineer said.
The Machine suddenly lurched into motion, making Flurbinger nearly leap out of his overalls in shock. His ears filled with the beautiful symphony of the ground rumbling, accompanied by clanking gears and thrumming pistons.
He opened his mouth to cheer, but words failed him when the Machine shuddered to a halt once more a moment later. The Engineer removed his hands, a pleased look on his face.
“What has happened?” Flurbinger’s eyes darted nervously from the Engineer to the once again dormant Machine.
The Engineer smiled. “What happens now is my armies will march through the portals I have opened and conquer Nexus. The gates of the Abyss stand open. My debts to my allies shall be paid, and they will be able to sweep across the planes as they desire!”
“I shall not allow that, Brother!” The Pale Lord suddenly appeared in the passageway beyond the Engineer. “You are not welcome here.”
Black flames limned in a greenish hue flared from his hands toward the Engineer, who grunted and staggered back, hands raised in defense. At the same time, a pair of pipes uncoiled from the wall like serpents and wrapped around the Pale Lord, pinning his arms to his sides and snuffing out the flames. The Abyssal iron staff flew into the Engineer’s hand.
The Pale Lord disappeared and reappeared behind the Engineer. He unleashed his black flames again, but they were seemingly sucked into his brother’s staff. The Pale Lord seized his shoulder, then both of them disappeared together.
Flurbinger was left standing mouth agape in shock. He hadn’t even had the common sense to take cover during their sudden clash. His guts roiled with a new type of fear.
At that moment, Dontarius appeared at a full-out run around the curve of the corridor. “What in the Abyss just happened?” His eyes were wide and his breath harsh from his sudden exertion.
“Your question is closer to the mark than you could ever know, my friend.”
Flurbinger ran back toward the crew quarters, and Dontarius muttered an oath under his breath as he turned to follow him.
Flurbinger had only one thought on his mind. Nexus was about to be attacked and overrun by fiends, likely destroyed, and nobody could do anything to stop it.
Chapter 21
Malek and the others fled across the plains of Achronia, a horde of krabuk on their heels.
They had levitated back down from the spire with Malek’s power after Jannik had healed Nera to the best of his ability.
Unable to find any wood to fashion poles to make a litter for Nera, Malek was forced to improvise.
Waresh and Rand had the unenviable task of peeling the chitinous shells from the slain krabuk, their daggers cutting away the stringy, stinking flesh beneath. The shells proved to be tough and extremely light, perfect for their needs. Yosrick crushed the shells to pieces with his hammer.
Once they had a sufficient amount, Malek drew on his power, applying heat and melting the pieces together while lengthening them into makeshift poles. Once the poles cooled, Rand attached his cloak, and they had a makeshift litter for Nera.
And they hadn’t finished a moment too soon. They gently laid her on the litter, and Waresh and Yosrick insisted on carrying her. Jannik was still exhausted from the effort of healing Nera, leaving Malek and Rand to keep an eye out for any sign of returning krabuk or other threats. They traveled barely a hundred paces when a call rang out through the Abyss.
The summons, as Malek thought of it, was more felt than heard, seemingly thrumming though the very fabric of the Abyss. He assumed the fiends were attuned to what it meant, although he surmised it was a call to war.
The ground split apart again, as it had when Nesnys first summoned the krabuk. The fiends spilled out from the ground in scores, then hundreds.
Malek blasted away the ones in their path, and they fled alongside the Wall of Lost Souls, on their right. Somehow, they had ended up on the opposite side of it whence they’d come—how, he had no idea, nor did he have time to ponder it. That was simply another odd property of the Abyss.
The krabuk, hundreds strong, were clicking in excitement as they pursued the companions.
Rand would occasionally fire a shot behind them to slow the pursuit, but his arrows had little effect. If one fell, a score more trampled it to pulp.
Malek told Rand to save his few remaining arrows. His side ached from a throbbing cramp, and it was all he could do to place one foot in front of another and continue on. His staff was nearly drained of power—he meant to conserve what little remained for their final stand.
Yosrick and Waresh’s faces were pale, coated in a sheen of sweat, yet grim and determined. Nera was bounced and jostled on the litter yet made no
complaint. Malek would’ve given anything to hear her biting sarcasm, cursing them as clumsy oafs for the rough treatment.
All of them were exhausted and injured, but never once did they even consider stopping and leaving Nera behind.
However, it was only a matter of time before their strength would give out and they were slaughtered.
***
“You are a pathetic thing, lacking the strength and courage of my other daughter… a sorry plane-cursed orphan.”
The words stung Nera, like a flock of savage birds swarming around and tearing small pieces from her, pulling her apart ever so slowly. The betrayal loomed large, followed by the guilt of having led all her friends to the Abyss, only to get them killed.
I’m such a damned fool! How could I ever believe this father I’ve never known could be anything but a swindling bastard. Gods know I’ve encountered enough of them in my life. I should have known! And now, all my friends have paid the ultimate price for my stupidity!
Her own thoughts and the words of the Engineer buzzed around in her head, threatening to drive her into madness.
Around her was darkness, warm and comfortable, like a cozy bed. She didn’t know if she dreamt or was dead. Nor did she particularly care. The quest was a failure—they were all doomed to die in the Abyss.
A comforting voice spoke in the darkness, soothing her guilt and anger at herself. “Do not be so hard on yourself, my daughter. The Engineer is a cunning one who beguiles with words as often as deeds. All is not yet lost—his schemes may still work in our favor. But you must return to the world of the living. Your companions are in dire need. Even as formidable as they are, they will die in the Abyss without you.”
“All is not yet lost… Your companions are in dire need… They will die in the Abyss without you.” Focusing on the voice and the words it had spoken, Nera was able to drive away the bitter thoughts consuming her. She stirred, opening her eyes to find herself once again in the temple of the night.
“The time is at hand when you must choose to don the mantle of your destiny.” Sabyl stood before her, the goddess’s flawless porcelain face looking upon her kindly.
Nera rose to her feet. A sudden realization struck her, and now the pieces began to fit together. “You called me daughter before. Are you truly my mother?”
Sabyl smiled tenderly and placed a cool hand on Nera’s cheek. “Indeed, child, you are my daughter—my only child.”
Nera’s head swirled with a torrent of thoughts, and she wanted to ask a hundred questions at once. “But… why? My father is a monster! How could you ever love him?”
Sabyl’s eyes filled with sadness. “Not always was that so. Your father was not always twisted by evil. That came later as anger and lust for power consumed him as he battled his brother for control of the Nexus of the Planes. Madness overcame him, and he cursed himself to his fate. But once, he was a young man, charming and brilliant, full of ideals and life.”
“How is that possible? How am I possible? He was cast into the Abyss millennia ago, was he not?”
“Indeed, that is so. I suspect you wish to know how you were born recently while my interlude with your father was centuries ago. I simply chose to preserve his seed without birthing you—until now. The time was right for you to come into this world.”
“Should I not have some of your power, then? I’ve heard legends of demigods, part divine, and possessing great powers above those of other mortals! Yet I am just an ordinary rogue—a plane-cursed one. Surely I could’ve had a more pleasing form than this.” She tapped one of her horns bitterly.
“It was necessary to withhold your knowledge of your true nature and birthright—for your own safety and to not arouse the notice of my siblings and their agents. But their concern now lies with their foolish squabbles over mortal souls,” she said with a tone of disgust. “In time, you shall learn to take whatever form you wish. If you accept your birthright.”
Nera thought a long while on that, the words of the Seer coming back to her, as they had so many times before. “The time will come soon when you will stand at a crossroads and have to make a grave decision… A few paths could lead to a life of contentment… The other path—that one culminates in greatness. It will require immense sacrifice yet yield tremendous reward. Some will die that others might live. That path leads to the salvation of Nexus and your true destiny.”
She now stood at that crossroads, and she sensed time was short for making her decision. “So my choice is to accept my birthright and the power that comes with it or turn it down and lead a normal life as I am now?”
“Yes, that is so.” The starry void of the goddess’s eyes threatened to mesmerize her, but she resisted the urge and looked away.
“And there is no way to have both? What of happiness?” A tone of bitterness crept into her voice. She thought of Malek and Arron, Wyat, and all her other friends, and wished with all her heart she could have that normal life. Even as she wished for that, her newfound sense of responsibility nagged at her to make the right decision.
“I’m afraid you cannot have both, for with power comes responsibility. What would make you happiest, Daughter? The power to save your loved ones and the city you call home, with all of the innocents that live there? Or living a simple life with the man you love while war rages throughout the planes, tearing apart Nexus and other fair, unsuspecting worlds? Perhaps you might escape the chaos, at least for a time, but chance is not in your favor.”
Nera sighed, knowing despite what she might want, the path she would be forced to walk was not the same. “And what will happen if I am to accept this birthright, the mantle of destiny as you call it?”
“I am truly sorry, but just as the reward is high, so is the price. You will be bound to Nexus forever unless you choose to abdicate one day if you find a worthy successor. Just as I and my kin may never enter Nexus, while you rule, you will never be able to set foot outside it. However, once you grow into your birthright, your puissance will be truly formidable within Nexus. You will be attuned to the city and each of its citizens.”
“And the power to save the city? Will I have this?”
Sabyl nodded. “You will. Nothing is guaranteed, however, as the forces arrayed against you are truly formidable, and the Engineer has had long millennia to make his plans, but you have the opportunity to save your companions and fellow citizens.”
“Aye, like when it comes down to the all-or-nothing move in tiles—that final move which could spell victory or defeat.”
“It is vital you wait until you return to Nexus, lest your powers draw the hostile eyes of my brothers, Shaol in particular, being in his demesne. You will be vulnerable, and they will see you as a threat to be quickly destroyed.”
Nera gritted her teeth as the possibilities swirled through her head. She took a few more moments to consider and then made her decision.
***
Malek looked desperately for anything to aid them, whether it was a place to hide or a defensible position where they could defend themselves—anything to use to their advantage. But he could find nothing. The blasted lands of Achronia seemed to continue on forever, as did the Wall alongside them.
His breath rasped harshly in his lungs, and his side ached until he thought he would collapse. Yet he continued on—for Nera’s sake.
Waresh and Yosrick somehow maintained their burden without complaint, putting his own stamina to shame. He would’ve offered to relieve them, but he was ashamed to admit he had virtually nothing remaining of his own fortitude.
Somebody cried out, startled, the sound quickly muffled.
Malek skidded to a halt. Alarmed, he saw Jannik had fallen, having twisted his ankle upon the rocky ground. He could see resignation in the priest’s gray eyes—he knew his mistake was a fatal one.
The krabuk were less than twenty paces back. The sounds of chitinous feet striking the ground, clacking mandibles, and chittering sounds as they communicated were nearly deafening.
Malek dec
ided he could go on no longer. He would stand beside Jannik and hold them off as long as he had mana remaining in the containment gem. If the gods favored Yosrick and Waresh, they’d get away. He lifted the staff but then wavered, so fatigued he could barely concentrate enough to draw upon the mana in the staff.
“Don’t stop!” Jannik called out, struggling to get back to his feet. “Anhur summons me home to his shining mead hall in the heavens!” His face shone with the excitement of facing a worthy death and the subsequent journey to meet his god. He favored his right ankle, raising his flail and turning to face his doom.
Malek waved at the puffing Waresh and Yosrick to continue. Rand started back to help the priest, but Jannik shook his head.
“Anhur, welcome your servant home and grant me a glorious death, one to make my forefathers proud!” He then spoke a few words in an undertone that Malek couldn’t hear. A cool blue glow surrounded the priest, the aura spreading out and washing over the companions.
With his final act, Jannik had cast a spell to aid their endurance.
Malek felt the cramp subside and new energy flow through his limbs. His concentration sharpened, and he could feel the mana in the gem tempting him—he merely had to unleash his magic in one final act and destroy as many of their foes as he could. He resisted that thought, knowing that if they had the slightest chance of surviving, they must take it and continue onward.
Jannik was buying them time with his sacrifice. Malek would not cheapen that by allowing them to fall here.
“Anhur!” Favoring his injured leg, Jannik met the krabuk’s charge. His flail glowed with magical energy. It swept through the first rank, scattering the fiends like mere ants. Another mighty swing brought down several more.
“Jannik!” Rand nocked and loosed an arrow into the horde. He was about to fire another, but Malek gently pushed his arm down.
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