The Armor of God

by Diego Valenzuela

  One week later, when he emerged from their sixth operation, he was still on his way to achieve the Golden String—the first one ever to get so far so soon into training.

  Chapter 17

  The Shattering

  Ezra looked down at large hands Ezra looked down at large red hands over a backdrop of dry red flesh. Moving these hands was not unlike wearing gloves; the movements felt all too natural now. He clenched and unclenched the powerful fists, knowing what they were capable of, knowing they could tear a monster in half, and that their strength was his to wield.

  Know who you are. Know your power.

  It was his seventh in a golden string of successful operations, and things looked to be in his favor. This operation was standard, he knew the terrain, and the two Flashes he was about to engage would offer more than enough meat to join Garros and Alice in their glory—maybe even beat them. He’d be the first one to do it so soon, and he’d get the Golden String. He’d be remembered forever.

  Even if he died.

  Ezra looked up through Nandi’s eyes. Dr. Mustang, Sergeant Barnes, they had both said so: “It’s like you’re becoming Nandi.” He was wearing the Creux like a new skin, synchronizing almost as well as the veterans and Akiva, entirely transforming himself into his Creux.

  Don’t fall into our trap, Nandi said.

  “We’re expecting a large Flash of mostly Trooper types. They are moving from this direction,” Erin said and flashed a thin laser to the unit’s right (there were no cardinal locations down there). “The swelling over there will probably call their attention, but as I said in the briefing session, this Flash is behaving strangely. We’ll observe first.”

  There were eight Creuxen deployed for this operation, more than he had seen together before, all standing before Erin. They were all the same down there; there were no ranks in this half-moon; he was as strong and as competent as the others.

  Maybe more, he thought.

  From left to right: Quantum Ares, Rose Xibalba, Jade Arjuna, Besoe Nandi, Isis Nineteen, Iron Seraphim, and Milos Ravana. The entire group of iron giants looked towards the light shot from Phoenix Atlas’ shoulder.

  “I see something,” said Jena. “There’s a large mound a good ways away.”

  “Those are the swellings,” explained Erin. “The Flash might have an interest in the larger one, and its integrity is our priority in this operation. Tell me if they begin moving towards it.”

  “There’s movement. I see something is approaching—no, a lot of . . . things. My word. It’s the Flash, ma’am.”

  “All right. Assume a Line formation; I’m on the Left end; Quantum Ares takes right,” said Erin, and positioned Phoenix Atlas to face the horizon from where the Flash was coming. The rest of the Creux began to assume their respective positions.

  “Ezra, can you hear me?” said Barnes through a direct link, speaking in an unusually agitated voice. “There was a blip in the direct line to Phoenix Atlas—Erin can’t hear her crew. Can you convey a message?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Ezra. “Is everything all right?”

  What is it?

  “Ezra? Who are you talking to?” asked Garros.

  “Tell her the computers misread the Flash. It’s much bigger than we were told. Tell her to approach carefully; these Flecks really aren’t moving like they usually do and they’re going to be hard to predict, and maybe much harder to fight. Tell her to abort if necessary. There might be something wrong,” he said. “You . . . you be careful, please. I know you care about the Golden String, but you’ll have plenty of chances to—

  An aborted mission would break his streak, and for no good reason—just bad luck. It took all of his will to convey Barnes’ message to the unit.

  “That explains why there’s silence on my end. Dammit. Phoenix’s comms suck,” said Erin. “Stay put. We’ll let them come closer and see what they’re doing. Jena, what do you see?”

  “I don’t know ma’am; either there’s something wrong with my Creux’s field vision, or we’re in trouble. There’s far too much movement for it to be a normal Flash. The entire horizon is crawling.”

  “How many are there—if you had to guess?”

  “I can’t count them. It’s a crowd—at least two hundred?”

  “All right,” Erin said. She had a way to make Ezra feel calm in situations that would normally scare him, but that trait didn’t help when he finally saw what Jena could see. The dark horizon was jagged with shadows that wouldn’t sit still. It was an ocean of Flecks, enough to destroy the entire unit—

  “Ma’am. Milos Ravana can initiate Galaxy Cluster at your command,” Akiva offered, and his voice sounded as calm and confident as Erin’s. Why weren’t they frightened, and what the hell was Galaxy Cluster? It sounded like an attack protocol, but Akiva had barely shared the details of his Creux’s abilities—they were mostly a secret, even from the other pilots.

  “Hold on,” said Erin. “Let them come first. I want to know what they’re about. Let’s approach. Milos Ravana—you stay back here in case you need to do your thing. Someone else stay behind with him—Ezra?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and took a position next to Milos Ravana.

  Phoenix Atlas led the way for the others, approaching the hemispheric swelling the Flecks were supposed to attack.

  “What’s Galaxy Cluster?” asked Ezra, looking at Milos Ravana, feeling a level of delight in being as large as Akiva, at least in this form.

  “You’ll see,” he said, and his Creux began to roll its palms, as if warming them up for use. “It’s a whole thing I would like you to see. You’re not going to forget it.”

  “Do not use it unless I tell you to,” Erin said. “Hold on, something’s really strange. They’re still moving, away from us. They haven’t even looked at the—at the swelling. They’re not even looking at us. What the hell are they doing?”

  “They’re Flecks!” yelled Felix Goodwin, pilot of Iron Seraphim, in his brusque voice that evidenced his seniority and temper. “Who cares how they behave, we’re here to kill them.”

  “We’re here to know what they’re doing,” said Erin. “Nobody move a damn muscle. They’re carrying—they’re carrying something, aren’t they? Jena?”

  “Yes, they all seem to be Trooper types but there are Carriers on their backs. They’re transporting the laani strain elsewhere,” said Jena. “Ma’am, why are they so quiet? Why aren’t they attacking us, or the swelling? It almost looks like they’re protecting the Carriers.”

  The enormous procession of Flecks began to pass by Ezra and Akiva. As Jena had described, the heterogeneous monsters of varying sizes and shapes were all transporting huge amounts of Carriers—the weak Flecks that actually carried the disease. It was like an army marching towards its final battle, one they didn’t expect to win.

  “Oh—Oh no,” Erin said, and her voice began to reflect the panic Ezra would expect. “Akiva! Akiva, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m ready,” he said.

  “Do it. The Galaxy Cluster—do it!”

  “Ezra, can you hear me? It’s Barnes. Something’s really wrong; you need to tell Erin!”

  Milos Ravana began to approach the procession of Flecks, leaving him to wait on the sidelines. The passing crowd of parasites ignored the silver Creux, merely taking a step to the side to avoid him, and continuing on their lifeless tread through the dead world.

  Don’t trust him! Stay away from him!

  Ezra took several steps back.

  Milos raised his arm and began to move it in circles. Sparks began to form on his fingertips. The sparks multiplied in size and suddenly Milos Ravana was weaving a whirlpool of light from the darkness.

  Run.

  That was when hell came alive.

  Ю

  Nine hours before the battle, when Zenith’s false dawn was just breaking, Ezra lay awake on his bed. He had fallen asleep early in anticipation of the next operation, and opened his eyes much earlier than usual. Und
er the white light of a lamp, sitting cross-legged on the blue and red sheets, Ezra began to study.

  He didn’t want to ever have to apologize to Erin again for being ignorant.

  The book was given to him by Alice on the day he was matched with the Minotaur. It was written by Dr. Mizrahi’s deceased sister, Dahlia. It was entitled From First to Omega: What We Know about the Creux, New Entry Edition.

  After months of education and training in Zenith, Ezra had been confident that the words in the book would make more sense, and his instincts were correct. Now, he could read entire passages, able to follow most of what was being described. It was then that he discovered something he thought he should’ve known since the beginning: Milos Ravana had killed Dr. Dahlia Mizrahi, as well as Jeremy Mizrahi, the eldest brother of the family.

  Jeremy had found the first ever Creux, First Silver, which was never matched. After First Silver’s accidental destruction, Milos Ravana was found in the outskirts of Roue, and it was then that Zenith was created to study the Creux, as well as the many other Creuxen that were suddenly being excavated in and around Roue.

  Zenith’s existence was no secret back then.

  Studying Milos Ravana had given the understanding of what the Creux was capable of doing, the fundamental physics of the energy in its core, which functioned as an inextinguishable source of fuel, and the fact that they could be piloted through the reading of a pilot’s brainwaves.

  Attempting to pilot Milos Ravana, however, had resulted in an explosion not unlike the one that killed Alice Nolan and Susan Higgins, but much greater in its aftermath. The loss of seventeen Zenith scientists had caused an enormous backlash from the public.

  The citizens of Roue were told that Zenith was shut down, and that any newly excavated Creux would be immediately destroyed. Slowly, people began to forget that Zenith had even existed, and the Creux became a legend: evil weapons sent from wrathful gods to extinguish the remains of humanity.

  Dr. Yuri’s words returned to him: We had to keep some things from you, like how we keep the existence of the Creux from the citizens of Roue, because they’re not ready to accept their existence.

  You’re not ready to hear the truth.

  Ezra took a deep breath, conflicted by the idea of being part of such a lie. Though he felt like part of something bigger than himself, and it shed on him a new sense of identity and belonging, that identity felt thin and liable to disappear. He no longer existed for Roue.

  He was the lie.

  People in Roue didn’t know the weapons they had perceived as evil were actually battling for their future. They didn’t know there was hope, because hope had turned to poison in their eyes.

  He and Jena and Poole and Akiva and Garros and Erin and all the others were spending the rest of their lives working to fight the virus that had driven them to the dome, and they would never be credited for the blood or the sweat or the tears.

  Not ever.

  Ю

  Run.

  The spiral gathering of pink and silver sparks was growing in diameter around Milos Ravana’s hand. The creatures who walked past him began to notice, feeling it burn.

  “Come here, Ezra!” Erin shouted, but Ezra’s eyes couldn’t be peeled from the enormous mass of energy spinning above Milos Ravana. He ran toward the rest of the group, eyes still on the colorful constellation of sparks that was still spreading, becoming larger, hovering over his friend like a burning hurricane.

  “Ma’am, is this safe?” asked Poole. He had never heard her frightened before.

  “I hope so,” said Erin, and laughed.

  This isn’t funny, Ezra thought. There was too much power in that whirling blanket of light.

  “Ma’am, it’s coming down in five,” said Akiva. “Four, three, two, one—”

  Ezra had to use Nandi’s hands to cover the light, as though it could hurt his eyes. Akiva brought his arm down, pulling a strand of the energy down like he was pulling on a thick mass. Pieces of the fleshy floor began to burn and crack and float, separated from the ground like rocks.

  When Milos’ glowing fist touched the ground, the energy spread in a giant shockwave, covering the entire procession of creatures.

  He could hear the sound of every Fleck in the area screaming and shrieking as a part of the exploding light wrapped around them individually in a hug that twisted them like rags.

  Garros cursed, looking at the grim spectacle of their victory.

  It was as though the energy was seeking out the Flecks, consciously finding a victim and wrapping it in its deadly embrace. The ends of the colorful blanket reached them like the ripples on a cosmic pond.

  After the light vanished, hundreds of smoking, charred lumps lay dead on the red flesh. In a manner of seconds, Milos Ravana had multiplied Besoe Nandi’s record of kills. How could one Creux be so powerful?

  “All right! Clean up!” Erin yelled into the link.

  Whatever it was that had kept the Flecks peaceful had disappeared from the few survivors, who began to run, howling in panic. It took Ezra too long to react; almost all of his comrades had already initiated the unplanned second stage of this battle, cleaning up the few remaining Flecks.

  But Ezra was frozen. Had they not seen what Milos Ravana was capable of? Why was any other Creux needed in this world?

  “Besoe Nandi!” roared Garros, and Ezra woke from his trance.

  He still had a chance to get his three points; he could still salvage this operation. Akiva could have ensured his failure, but he could salvage it.

  Mind yourself. Mind your power.

  Ezra ran on Nandi’s powerful legs to lose himself in the slaughter and the chaos of flashing light, almost tripping on the charred remains of Flecks that would forever litter this inner realm. The few remaining Flecks were being cleaned up by his unit, leaving none for him.

  Finally he found one: a small Trooper type, alone about ten body lengths away from the battle. He ran, loading the air between his horns with power as he evaded the individual fights of his teammates. Ezra didn’t even shoot the energy through his arms; he gored the creature and tore its remains off his horns with one arm.

  He only needed two more.

  The lust took over him again as he scanned the area for any more survivors. His unit was yelling through the aural link, but between the extreme dissonance and this wrath, he heard none of it. The flesh must be cleaned.

  Mind yourself! Mind your power!

  Besoe Nandi could almost smell the breath of the remaining Flecks, knowing they were still in there, alive, carriers of putrid disease. He ran, no longer avoiding the dead but crushing them under his mighty feet. He stopped upon hearing a labored shriek and turned around.

  Another small parasite was alive, hiding between the dead, trying to avoid his detection.

  “Ezra!”

  It failed. Besoe Nandi drew almost all of the energy from his T-Core. Two spheres of blue light swelled around his hands. He took the shot. The orbs were launched. They spun as though tied to one another and hit the hiding target. Pieces of many charred Flecks and soil exploded into the air.

  One more, he thought. I need one more kill.

  “Ezra!” Another scream. He didn’t know who Ezra was. He had forgotten.

  The battle was over for the others, but Besoe Nandi knew there were still monsters to be killed. The flesh must be cleaned.

  It was when the dust appeared to have settled that Besoe Nandi detected movement in the corner of its aqua eyes. He had to ignore the protests of the others as he launched to attack. It was a quick little thing, and agile. It ran away from its predator, but Besoe Nandi was fast.

  “Ezra! Stop!”

  Milos Ravana had joined the chase. It wanted to take the kill from Besoe Nandi.

  The Minotaur tore the ground, keeping up with its victim, leaving marks to remind this world that no prey could escape his thirst for blood. The creature ran on four legs, with the speed and power of a horse. Besoe Nandi had to use every inch of its power
to reduce the gap between them.

  The Fleck appeared to be running towards the swelling. It hadn’t forgotten its mission: it meant to attack it, compromise its integrity, but he wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t allow it to spread its disease further in this body, because the flesh must be cleaned.

  “Get away from there!”

  Whose voice was it? He could only recognize the need to clean the flesh. Besoe Nandi reached the monster just as it found its way to the hemispherical protuberance.

  It pounced, taking the monster with all the momentum of his mass. The interlocked bodies of monstrous skin and red iron rolled, smashing against the pink flesh of the swelling.

  They tore through its walls, landing within.

  Ю

  Three hours before the battle, Ezra found himself in the Management building: the rarely visited wing where his mother’s office hid behind a closed wooden door.

  Ezra walked on the carpeted floors carefully, wanting to avoid making a sound as if afraid of detection. He passed by Erin’s office. The door was closed. He passed by Dr. Mizrahi’s office and, as always, the door was closed.

  At the end of the lonely hallway, he finally came to the door. It was closed again. He knocked, reading his mother’s name on a golden plaque, followed by the words: DIRECTOR. There was no answer, so he tried the knob.

  Again, his mother wasn’t there for him.

  Ezra didn’t know how much time he spent sitting on the carpet, his back against the heavy wooden door, crying. He missed his mother and father. He even missed sisters. Zenith had transformed him into something else entirely in just a few months; he needed a taste of his old life so he wouldn’t forget it. He wanted to know that they were all safe and healthy and happy, and that they were missed.

  Besoe Nandi was waiting for him in the docking bay. Piloting the Minotaur was the only time when he felt nothing was left behind, because the operation was everything that was. But out here, the world was rotten. The office smelled of too many people—people had come and people had gone; how long would his mother be there?