by LE Barbant
“Grandfather?”
“It’s OK.” His eyes were still locked dead ahead.
Grandmaster Harker stepped toward the elevator. “Don’t make this difficult, Willa. We will be fair, just, and even merciful.” His eyes cut to Edwin.
The old man nodded.
“She’s not going anywhere.” A deep voice echoed through the Cathedral’s vaulted ceiling.
Willa’s eyes went wide as she saw Elijah Branton standing tall behind the wizards.
Tim stood next to him. The mercenary looked stronger than ever.
“The abomination. Fitting that you should be here. We’ll dispense with this whole affair right now,” Harker said.
A blood-curdling scream came from Elijah. He bent at the waist.
“Elijah, no. We can talk through this,” Willa said. “No more—”
But Elijah couldn’t hear her. The familiar signs of his transformation and the pain that accompanied them consumed his senses.
Tim looked over in surprise.
“Elijah?”
The historian looked up at Willa, his eyes pleading.
They turned crimson as molten steel ran down his cheeks.
Branton’s body changed quickly. She could smell hot steel and burning flesh as he grew to nearly seven feet in height. His skinned rippled and darkened as he turned to the metallic creature that Willa knew too well.
He let out a titanic yell, and she could feel the heat of his breath.
“The monster is coming,” Harker yelled. “Destroy them both.”
“Wait,” Willa screamed as the wizards shuffled into position. “Wait. Elijah, no!”
Edwin pushed Willa behind him and raised his hands.
Tim Ford, eyes wide, moved into a defensive posture. He looked to Willa, then Elijah, then back to Willa.
Something wasn’t right.
Elijah raised his chin, no longer the historian but a creature of fire and steel.
Just before the Grandmaster cast his first spell, she glanced at Kris, hoping he might step in. Instead, his eyes were closed and his mouth moved:
“In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand,
Dare seize the fire?”
She recognized at once the words; she had used them many times to bring Elijah to full power. The transformation had been brought about by his spell work.
“Kris? Why?”
She looked around at the chaos engulfing them.
“Wait,” she screamed.
But no one did.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The Cathedral of Learning’s main floor boasted vaulted ceilings supported by large ornately carved columns. The space, dedicated to the highest forms of knowledge, absorbed sound, providing peace to the many students seeking enlightenment within its tower.
But there was no peace to be found there on Tim’s first visit to the Cathedral.
All hell had broken loose instead.
Elijah had turned.
The monster was somehow bigger than he had been at City Hall. Crimson fire burst through cracks in the creature’s skin, radiating a heat that singed the side of Tim’s face. The metal that composed the historian’s body dripped freely, leaving steaming puddles of cooling steel on the marble floor.
Shouts echoed throughout the Cathedral as the wizards moved into attack formations.
For Ford, the absurdity of the scene before him blended strangely with a familiar calm—the chaos of war felt like home. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, multiplying the serum’s power. All signs of age and weakness had vanished. The mercenary was stronger than ever and prepared to kick some wizard ass.
Sliding brass knuckles onto his right fist he marked his first target.
“You again?” he sneered at the viking who he had tangled with at the bar. The man’s magic had made short work of Ford then. But, despite his reticence to fight, Tim hadn’t wasted his time in captivity.
He had been studying his enemy.
“Stand down abomination. Surrender yourself, and we will continue the—”
Tim answered before the magician’s offer was complete. A brass-knuckled jab to the man’s throat cut short any attempt at discourse. The tall blond dropped to a knee, gripping his neck with both hands.
He opened his mouth but nothing came.
“Sorry, Thor. Save your proclamations for someone who gives a shit.”
Tim swung a measured left hook, which connected with just enough force to knock the man unconscious.
He might be an abomination, but the wizard’s death wouldn’t be on his hands.
Ford moved to go after the Grandmaster, but an archaic word sounded in his ear just before a blast of energy crashed around him, sending him sliding across the floor.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Her grandfather spun, hands raised.
“It’s not what you think,” she screamed over the cacophony erupting around them.
Edwin’s eyes were wide, and his face looked more like a ragged warrior than an academic.
“Go!” He screamed, pushing her into the elevator.
Willa’s back hit the wall, and she dropped to the ground. Edwin pressed the button for the 40th floor.
Willa rolled, shoving her legs between the closing doors. Following the momentum, she flipped onto her feet, poised for battle.
Edwin stood between her and the fight.
“No.” His tone begged her to step aside, to run.
But she couldn’t. She Wouldn’t.
Behind him, all was falling apart. Her friends were outnumbered. She needed to help them, no matter what the cost.
“Step down, Master Magician,” she said.
“You know I can’t.”
“You can, but you won’t.”
Edwin’s eyes narrowed.
She tried to read his hand, but his face lacked any tell.
“I don’t want to fight you,” she said.
“Prudent. You would lose, child,” Edwin said, without flinching.
She could see Elijah behind him.
She raised her hand and closed her eyes.
“Willa, stop.”
Her eyes remained sealed. “We don’t always have a choice. You taught me that.”
Willa chanted.
“I am fire
Surging under the ocean floor.
I shall never meet you”
She opened her eyes and watched a flash of sparks and flame explode inches from Edwin’s face. Her first attack failed, though it served to raise the temperature. Willa’s confidence followed.
“Like the volcano's tongue of flame,
Up from the burning core below.”
Again, the spell broke around him.
“It’s not too late, Willa. This path will not end well, but it will end.”
As her concentration increased, so did the power of the assault.
“Child, I have watched you your entire life. There is no spell of yours that I do not know and cannot counter with the blink of an eye. Forfeit. I will still defend you before the Twelve.”
“When you died I took my training into my own hands.”
“Cast forth lightning, and scatter them:
shoot out thine arrows, and destroy them.”
Flames were replaced by a single brilliant bolt, and this time, she followed her magical attack in.
He defended her magic, but Edwin didn’t expect her martial attack.
Willa took a gliding step through her dispersed spell and landed an elbow square on her grandfather’s chest.
She held back on the blow, but the crunching fragile ribs still flooded her ears. He dropped to one knee.
Eyes wide, she realized what she had done. “Grandfather…”
Edwin looked up through bloodshot eyes. “OK child, we will have it your way.”
“We fly by day, and shun its light,
But, prompt to strike the sud
den blow.”
The force of freight train struck Willa.
Her body flew through the air. The high-ceilinged cathedral gave plenty of space to her flight.
All was in slow motion.
Her weightlessness ended as she crashed into an unmoving mass.
Everything turned black.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The pain was unbearable.
Elijah would never become accustomed to the agony of his transformation. Molten metal seeping out of human pores is not the gentlest of processes, but he experienced hurt on an entirely new level. The furnace inside of him oozed out, spreading from his chest across his back and arms, searing any flesh in its path. He doubled in size as the steel covered his soft, professorial body.
The burning drove him to his knees.
Singed tatters of clothing dropped around him on the tile floor.
Through carmine stained vision he looked at Willa as he tried to make sense of what she was doing to him. What was her move? But her lips were frozen in terror. She was clearly as shocked as he was. His transformation was not part of her plan.
Crane had been right. Willa had walked into a trap. He and Tim were there to save her. As the pain turned to power, Elijah realized that they just might have a chance. The sheer potential force that took over his natural form had always been significant, but this time, it was staggering. Magnified ten-fold, he felt unstoppable.
Elijah stood. Seven feet of fire and steel, he was an exploding volcano, ready to rain down rock and magma on anyone in his way.
Amidst the chaos, Elijah charged through a row of wooden tables, aiming for the crowd of wizards.
“Stop!” Willa screamed. But her words were futile; there was no turning back.
One way or another, Elijah was going to end this. Only one group was leaving the Cathedral by their own power.
Two of the wizards dove out of Elijah’s rampage, but one stood his ground—an old man with a long white beard, clear eyes, and a crimson robe. Patience was painted on the man’s face. He was placid. Elijah recognized him from Willa’s trial—he was the Grandmaster.
The man’s arms were outstretched.
His mouth moved:
“Thy Jove-like bolt upon the world below.
Woe, woe the wretch—that ever he was born!”
A force hit Elijah in the stomach. Its power caused him to stumble, but the giant kept moving through the pain. Metal dripped off of him, leaving a steaming trail of steel in his wake.
With a surge of strength, Elijah leapt ten feet in the air. He reached up and grabbed one of the massive chandeliers hanging in the room. The chain snapped like it was kite string as Elijah’s weight pulled it to the ground. Taking aim, Elijah hurled his missile at the aged wizard, but it exploded mid-flight.
Glass and steel filled the air.
Elijah stepped through the shrapnel undaunted.
Still a stride away from the old man, Elijah swung his giant fist in a wild overhead arc.
His arm plummeted towards the wizard with the force of a meteor.
The old man raised a single hand to meet it. Inches away from pummeling the wizard, Elijah’s hand froze, caught in a spell strong enough to hold planets in their orbits.
Steel dripped from Elijah’s suspended fist, but the Grandmaster didn’t flinch.
Elijah could see hate in his eyes. Patience had turned to rage.
He chanted, spitting words of fury:
“Amid his hapless victim's spoil;
And for thy potence vainly wished,
To crush the villain in the dust.”
The force that held Elijah’s fist constricted. A magical vice squeezed his metal arm.
Elijah’s inner fire burned even brighter, multiplied by agony and fear.
Steel poured down Elijah’s back like sweat.
As the Grandmaster finished his poem, he raised his other hand, palm open.
Tears streamed down the old man’s face.
He squeezed his hand into a fist, and Elijah’s knee exploded with pain.
The monster crashed to the floor.
Elijah could barely lift his head.
The Grandmaster stood over him. He raised both arms skyward, an Old Testament prophet calling down judgment from the heavens.
Knowing its futility, Elijah feebly lifted his arm to defend himself.
“To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy—”
The spell’s force was cut in half, the Grandmaster choking on its final words.
Color ran from the old man’s face.
Just like the young girl at the Guild, the old man collapsed, an unspoken poem on his lips.
Behind him, a man in a long black robe stood, a dagger dripping blood in his hand and the rapture of victory painted on his face.
Why?
The young man turned toward the Cathedral’s entrance.
He uttered a few words and the enormous red doors shattered.
A man covered in machinery stepped through the exposed entrance. Following him was a bald man with a crooked nose and wide-set eyes.
CHAPTER FORTY
Willa shook her head, trying to clear the darkness from her eyes. Pushing her body up off the ground, she looked for her grandfather or Elijah amidst the chaos. A strange purple light flooded the hall but she ignored it.
Rex towered over her. The wall of a man filled her vision.
He smiled, his mouth snarling like a wild animal’s.
“I’ve waited a long time for this. You’re mine now, bitch.” Saliva dripped from his angry mouth.
Images of Sean Moretti’s broken corpse ran through her head.
Without missing a beat, Willa ran at him.
“Let’s do this, asshole.”
“MY good blade carves the casques of men,
My tough lance thrusteth sure,
My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure.”
Green light shot from her open palm and struck Rex’s right leg. He fell to the floor, trying to support himself with his other leg.
Vaulting a table, she landed a jagged knee into his already crooked nose. Rex’s head spun, and his body followed suit.
Willa turned, finding him face down on the marble floor.
“Get up,” she screamed.
The room had erupted around her, but all she saw was Sean’s murderer.
Her muscles tensed as Rex rose. Dabbing the back of his hand against his bloody nose, he laughed. “You’ve come a long way, baby. I’m going to enjoy this.”
Rex pulled a World War I era trench knife from his belt and slid his fingers into its jagged knuckle guard.
A poem ran through Willa’s mind, but she dismissed it. She was sick of the esoteric. Vengeance required a more personal touch. She wanted to feel Rex’s body break with her bare hands.
He arced the knife, aiming it at her face.
The training kicked in. Willa’s arm swung, blocking the blade inches from its destination. Fingers curled back, she rammed the ball of her palm up and into his solid jaw.
Rex’s head snapped back.
The man spit teeth and smiled.
He jabbed with a left, she parried and spun but couldn’t get away from the blade in his right hand.
A burning line trailed the knife’s path, carving its way down her back
Willa cried out in pain, and Rex pursued his opportunity.
He thrust the blade toward her gut to finish her off.
“But the unseen hands of angels
Those death-shafts warned aside.”
The blades spun off a glowing shield.
Willa used the momentum to her advantage. Pulling Rex’s arm, she carried him into her thrusting knee, aiming again for his face.
The attack disoriented the man and she followed with a flurry of blows, each more powerful than the last. He dropped to the ground and Willa put all of her strength into an elbow to hi
s face. An explosion of red accompanied her final blow.
Willa could taste his foul blood on her lips.
He landed on all fours, bald head hanging toward the floor. Slowly, he gained his feet and lifted his head.
What she saw defied explanation.
Skin hung like paper torn from a half-opened present. A section of his face, from his left eyebrow down to his lip hung open, pink flesh flapping as he moved. Underneath, in the place of and blood and bone, Willa saw pale green surrounding a bright red eye.
He reached up a meaty hand and folded the skin back over his face. It rested, slightly askew, as if Two-Face had survived a stroke. His hand covered over the red eye.
“What the hell?”
He spread his lips, teeth missing from the grin, giving him a jack-o-lantern smile.
“So, we finally meet face-to-face, professor.”
Willa felt physically ill as she struggled to make sense of the thing in front of her. But she didn’t have long to reach a conclusion.
He reached into his jacket and retrieved a small green object the size of a baseball.
Rex pulled the pin and tossed it toward her. She held up her hands in defense.
Words instinctively sprung from her memory.
There was a flash followed by a deafening boom.
When the smoke cleared, he was gone.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Tim cleared the splintered remnants of a wooden study carrel off his body and turned to face the old woman whose words had sent him reeling. He vaguely remembered her from the fight at the bar. She looked like a 70-year-old deaconess. He stretched his shoulder, wondering how a woman as tiny as her could pack that much of a punch. But he was done underestimating the power of the Guild.
Amidst the fray of battle, it took a second for him to find her. Granny was fighting the younger male wizard and a man from his nightmares—a tech-suited warrior from Blackbow.
What the Hell is happening?
She cast spells quickly, keeping the two men back from a bloody pile of robes that Tim assumed was once the Grandmaster. Her abilities were impressive, but she was slowly losing ground. Next to the dead wizard laid Elijah Branton’s naked body, surrounded by a large pool of cooling metal.
