The Unfinished World (The Armor of God Book 2)

by Diego Valenzuela

  Garros gave the monster his back, and it took its chance to attack.

  “They’re afraid of this place,” was the last thing he said, before—

  It roared its murderous intent. The creature lunged toward Garros and raised its arm, sharp claws ready to shred him where he stood. Garros turned to meet his sudden death.

  Having read the monster’s intentions, and hearing Jena’s scream even over the monster’s roar, Ezra pulled Garros by the collar. The creature almost fell over as his claws missed their target by inches.

  It roared again, this time in defeat, maybe even humiliation, and ran away, its feet making thunder in the windy wasteland.

  The world around him had become blurry. Ezra didn’t know what had happened, or even when. His mind was suddenly clouded by what felt like an assault of harsh sensations it wasn’t ready to process. His face was hot. His right hand hurt, and it felt like an eternity before he could feel the cold breeze on his skin again.

  Jena was yelling vulgarities he had never heard her speak before.

  Erin had wrapped him in a hug.

  What happened?

  Still trapped in Erin’s embrace, Ezra looked at his right hand and cringed at the sight, the source of the pain: he had torn two of his fingernails almost entirely off, and they now hung from twisted skin, exposing tender flesh that bled.

  Behind Ezra’s mutilated hand, Garros sat on the floor, looking up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, like he too was having trouble assimilating the situation.

  Erin finally let him go, and he noticed she was crying. She was saying something, but he could barely understand her words; his entire thought process was still impaired by chemicals rushing through his veins.

  Had he just saved Garros’ life?

  He hadn’t been freed of Erin’s embrace for more than a few seconds before it was Garros’ turn to squeeze the air out of him. He became angry, and felt like the huge man would crush him, so Ezra pushed him away.

  “Blanchard, I—”

  “You moron!” Ezra yelled, feeling his heartbeat in his throat, in his ears, and finally piecing together the events. Giving his back to the creature for even one second had been incredibly stupid. “Just two hours ago you were giving us all crap about getting too confident inside the Creux, and then you do that!”

  Garros had nothing to say, so he began to laugh. It wasn’t genuine; there was a hint of horror and embarrassment, as if his own stupidity was still hard to believe, and the only way to dispel the awkwardness was insincere laughter.

  “I think I pissed myself,” he said.

  He had. The largest man Ezra had ever known, the same one who had survived an explosion that took four lives, stood there, red in the face, with piss in his pants.

  Lightheaded, Ezra sat down and looked at his hand again. He pushed his fingernails back into place, and grunted—even dulled by circumstance, the pain was excruciating.

  Small price to pay . . .

  “I know, I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” Garros said, first to Ezra and then to Erin. He laughed again, another attempt at making light of the situation, and not one of the others appreciated it. “Oh my god, guys—I think I could’ve died!”

  Trying to focus, Ezra’s eyes were still down on the grass, so he didn’t get to see Erin give Garros his second punch of the day. It must have been a better swing than Ezra’s, because Garros actually stumbled one step back, and stood there grabbing his jaw, accepting the punishment.

  “Stop! What is happening to us?” Jena yelled, and Ezra finally looked up at her. She was furious, even more so than Erin. “What is happening? What could possibly be happening to make us act this way? We’re hurting each other, putting ourselves at risk for no reason. Why?”

  “I don’t know. I said I’m sorry, Crescent,” said Garros, clenching his jaw, almost like he was putting it back in place.

  Tightening the fist she used to hit Garros, Erin walked over to Jena. “I’m sorry, too. Ezra, thank you for what you did. I really don’t have words to explain what it means—what you just did. Not only for the mission, but for me.”

  “Erin, is this. . .” Garros tried say, and any trace of levity was gone from his voice, replaced by the same uncharacteristic solemnity he had heard an hour earlier. “What’s happening to us, is it what I think it is?”

  She considered him for a moment, then nodded.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Ezra.

  “Guys—Ezra, Jena: there’s something we need to tell you.”

  Erin paused for a moment to make sure she could find the right words, and the anticipation almost made him forget the pain in his fingers. He rose to his feet.

  “Back in Zenith I know we would have never hurt each other, or put ourselves at risk like I just did, like Garros just did. There’s a reason for this behavior.”

  “It’s the Creux, isn’t it?” Jena asked.

  “Afraid so. The energy inside the Creux,” Erin explained and looked at Ezra. “I wasn’t lying when I said that the T-Energy plays with your head, Ezra. It does. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem because we piloted the Creux remotely, and operations didn’t last very long. And even then, you remember the ways the Creux played with your head—remember the Blues, the bloodlust. Remember how Akiva changed when he was synchronizing more often than you. Now, we’ve been spending more time inside our Creux than outside, and that proximity to your Creux’s T-Core is dangerous. That’s why I said you couldn’t sleep in Nandi’s Apse, Ezra.”

  Ezra looked back at the Minotaur—could their own weapons really be the source of their madness?

  “I thought—no, I hoped it would take longer for it to affect us,” Erin said. “Well, honestly I hoped it wouldn’t affect us at all, because according to Dr. Mizrahi it doesn’t always happen, but there isn’t anything we can do about it, no way to insulate ourselves from it except not piloting altogether.”

  He understood how difficult it was for Erin to explain with the confidence expected from a leader, because it posed a scenario of inescapable adversity; piloting the Creux could apparently cause madness, and they certainly could never make it to Kerek, or find Akiva, without them.

  Would defeating the Laani and stopping Lys’ resurrection come at the cost of their sanity, if not their lives?

  “Maybe we should take a break,” said Ezra, eyes still on the dormant Minotaur. “Garros says Kerek is nearby.”

  “It is,” Erin said. “Maybe just hours away.”

  “Maybe you’re right, Blanchard,” said Garros. “Whatever Ares is doing to me is new. I hadn’t even recognized it until now, but it feels like the Blues felt—like alien emotions. Something my brain isn’t cooking up by itself. Erin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so dumb; it’s like I wasn’t in control.”

  Ezra suddenly found himself wondering if he would have had the courage to take a swing at Garros if not for Nandi’s influence over him.

  “I know,” replied Erin. “And I’m sorry too.”

  “The only one who seems to still be all right is Crescent,” Garros said, and everyone looked at Jena.

  She shrugged. “I didn’t get the Blues like Ezra or Poole. Maybe I was spared this as well?”

  “In that case . . .,” said Erin. “If you see any us acting strange, try to speak up. In fact, that goes for any one of us. Ezra, Garros: if you recognize uncharacteristic or strange behavior in yourself, or anyone else, you need to say something. Being aware of it might be the only way to avoid doing something stupid or dangerous.”

  Garros nodded, like the last words had been directed directly at him.

  “There is enough pressure on us as it is,” said Erin, and it began to rain again, though it fell not as drops, but as a fine spray buoyed by the wind. “We’re out here because unlike some of the others in Roue, we agree that humanity’s worth fighting for, and maybe dying for.” She paused and took Garros by the hand. “Probably dying for.”

  When Garros nodded in agreement, Ezra shivered.

>   “It’s just the four of us against an entire horde of creatures, against what’s been called a god. If we’re not careful, even our own weapons, our only means of protection, can destroy us.” She pointed her finger at the Creuxen. “We have to be stronger than them. We have to be in control of them. Without them, we might be helpless, but without us, they are nothing. So we’ll take that risk, because we have to. We’ll rest today and continue tomorrow.”

  She looked up at the heavens.

  “We might have to give up our sanity and our lives, but not just yet.”

  Not . . . just . . . yet, Nandi’s voice repeated deep inside Ezra’s mind, and he shivered again.

  Chapter 4

  The Abandoned Idol

  When Vivian finished her meal, it felt like it would be her last. Maybe it was General Adams’ eyes staring at her through every bite, barely speaking at all, like she was trying to make sure she finished; it made Vivian feel like she was on trial.

  She had already had enough of that for one day.

  “And you thought you weren’t hungry,” said the general before showing her a rare smile.

  “I’m just going through the motions right now, ma’am,” said Vivian. “My head hurts.”

  “You’re under too much pressure.”

  Vivian pushed her plate to the side and looked General Adams in the eye. “Ma’am, what do I do now? Did I do something wrong with Governor Heath?”

  “I told you: you did well,” said the general. “I’m just afraid it didn’t make the difference we were hoping for. This is a battle between only two people: Director Blanchard and Governor Heath. If I had known that this morning, I would have told you not to bother with today’s interview.”

  “And the people of Roue?”

  “Director Blanchard is trying really hard, but I don’t think it will be worth her efforts,” she said. “I think these will be your last days in Zenith, Poole.”

  Vivian didn’t want to say anything, feeling like the general was being perhaps too pessimistic. “There has to be some way we can help, ma’am. Maybe we can find out who has been trying to sabotage us. Kat Covington was not working alone.”

  “Don’t say her name,” General Adams said. “At least until the vote is made, both Lance Corporal Covington and Sergeant Barnes are outstanding members of the Zenith Armed Forces, alive and well on active duty outside of Roue. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Vivian said. She began to better understand Ezra Blanchard’s aversion to lies. Intellectually, she understood that there had to be a fabrication to cover up Kat’s betrayal, and the search for Milos Ravana, but knowing the details just made it all appear so flimsy and liable to fall apart like a house of cards.

  She now realized that the slow collapse had begun long ago. Ronald Heath was not a stupid man. Of course he knew they were lying. He was just keeping the citizens of Roue interested in the proceedings, knowing he already had the winning hand.

  “I was supposed to die here,” said Vivian, eyes on the faces of the fortunate dead, framed and hung on the wall of the dining hall in a grim and beautiful display. Speaking was suddenly a challenge—these were sentiments she would have never given words to, had the circumstances around her been different. “I was supposed to die young in here, or live to old age out there. What am I going to do without Rose?”

  “You lived for many years without knowing the Creux even existed.”

  “And I wasn’t happy,” she said, and had to keep herself from crying. It was the first time in years; the sensations in her throat and the heat in her face were strange.

  “Poole, even if Zenith is shut down, it doesn’t mean we’ve lost the fight. Remember that the real fight is going on outside, with Perry and Parks—right now the future is in their hands, not yours, or mine. You’ve done your part for now.”

  We’ll see, she thought, still unable to understand the passive, defeated mindset so many people had adopted. How could they be so happy with the idea of letting themselves be taken and leaving the world? “I should’ve gone with them.”

  “I agree,” said General Adams. “And had I known the battle here was already lost, I would’ve sent you as well, like Director Blanchard wanted.”

  She looked up at the general. “She wanted me to go as well?”

  The woman nodded. “When they were planning the operation. The team was originally meant to include Alice Nolan, Garros Parks, Tessa Mason, Akiva Davenport, and yourself. But things changed. Alice died, the director’s son exposed the Creux, Akiva escaped.”

  Vivian tried not to blame anyone for the situation—but she did; she blamed Ezra. He had caused the chaos, and left her waiting for an uncertain end to reach her. Left her without purpose

  At least until she found one herself.

  “Ma’am, may I be excused?”

  When General Adams dismissed her with a nod, Vivian saluted and left the table.

  Things changed, the general had said with too much indifference, as though nothing had been machinated, as though it had all been out of anyone’s control. They knew they had a saboteur in their ranks, probably more than one, and Vivian Poole didn’t believe in coincidences.

  She wouldn’t die without understanding the reasons why.

  ф

  It was after they uncovered the source of the oases’ apparent imperviousness to the sickness that things began to grow confusing and complicated.

  Indeed, when things began to go wrong.

  Heaviness was left hanging from their shoulders like a cloak after the incidents at the edge of the island. They didn’t say it out loud, but they had become acutely aware that after discovering the effects the Creux were having on them, things would not be the same.

  They could no longer trust themselves, or each other, as they had before, and this took away one of the most valuable assets they possessed as a team—perhaps one of the few reasons they were still alive at all.

  The entity that was Besoe Nandi had crawled into his mind long ago, but now it reverted back to Ezra’s initial perception of what it was: a monster. He had befriended it, learned to trust and commune with it, but now he dreaded another encounter.

  Ezra pulled at his nose ring and felt its sting in the flesh. It had begun to absorb the cold, chilling his nose and making it numb.

  Though he still wanted to diminish the stupidity of his actions, Garros was no longer laughing. Ezra had seen, with great clarity, the precise moment of sobriety hitting Garros. It happened when he viewed his actions through Erin’s eyes—he remembered what it was to feel like he was about to lose someone he loved, and suddenly the piss in his pants was no longer funny.

  “I could have died,” he repeated more than once, most of the times to himself, like he was trying to convince himself that what had happened had happened.

  “It’s not the first time. But it’s not something you get used to, is it?” Erin sighed, as they made their way closer to the center of the oasis, which they intended to explore before retiring for the night. They had decided to give themselves at least eighteen hours of rest from the Creux before heading towards the peak, and the destroyed city behind it.

  “It’s not,” Garros said and picked up a branch from the floor. There was a thickness to this wood they were walking through; it was not large by any means, but the trees were very close to one another, like they were searching for warmth in close company. “I wish it was.”

  “Well, it’s not,” Erin repeated.

  “You know, when I die,” Garros said, and Erin looked back at him, still walking through the dense wood. “I hope it happens quickly, when we don’t expect it.”

  “I don’t like this conversation,” Jena said, walking close to Ezra, sometimes holding him to keep her balance. She had helped clean and wrap his broken fingernails with the materials in a first aid kit Erin had equipped in Phoenix’s Apse. It still hurt, but it had stopped bleeding.

  “And I don’t mean because I don’t want it to hurt—that’s not something that
scares me at all,” Garros continued, lowering his head to walk under a thick branch. “I mean because when I die I want no goodbyes.”

  Ezra wondered if Garros was still under some kind of trance, still affected by the madness of the Creux. Even one like Quantum Ares, with such a weak T-Core, had grabbed hold of the man’s mind. It was a terrifying thought.

  “I don’t want to hear anyone say goodbye to me, and I don’t want to say goodbye to anyone. Feels like that’s when you can tell you’re going to be gone; seems like that’s the hard part about dying—realizing you’ll be gone,” said Garros. “I don’t know.”

  Erin chuckled, to Ezra’s surprise. “That would be nice, I guess, but what about the rest of us?”

  “That’s why it’s a good thing I wouldn’t be around to care or even notice anymore,” Garros said, and laughed again. When Erin turned around, Ezra expected another violent reaction, but hers was just a playful punch in Garros’ huge arm.

  “You ass,” Erin said before he grabbed her and planted a kiss on her lips. She closed her eyes, and her mouth curled to shape a smile. He could tell that, for that brief moment when their lips came together, they remembered what peace was like.

  A feeling Ezra had been looking for since the first day at Zenith.

  Their affection was strange to Ezra’s eyes, but he was still a stranger to love like theirs. At least he appreciated their banter, and the unambiguous demonstration that there was still a strong bond between them; it gave their group an impression of stability.

  If—like so many other things—it was an illusion, at least it was a comforting one.

  It didn’t take them long to reach the end of the forest, and the unusual area they had seen from the mountainside. The trees started to grow apart, and eventually ended altogether in a very clear line.

  It was as though they had stumbled into another oasis inside the oasis—a new circular patch of wet, swampy terrain. A small stream that descended from the mountain fed water that pooled and moved in spiraling patterns, like someone had deliberately carved canals for it to move through.