A rush of wind and a streak of green, and Flashbang was suddenly at Salema’s side, adjusting his goggles back over his eyes. “That doesn’t sound normal. That’s not normal, right?”
The votive figures covered their faces as though weeping.
✽✽✽
It was still hours before sunset, but the oasis around Babel had faded into shadow. The attack did not start in a direction, but simply manifested in a ring. The creeping pitch had surrounded the ziggurat, seeping from the foundations upwards. Hungrily it climbed, and ravenously it fed.
✽✽✽
The commotion in the hall brought Bakchos to the door, and he was immediately met by Rashad. The AI had a way of projecting the direness of any situation, usually through intense expressions and strangely lyrical screaming: “The Empty are in the goddamn building—no one can find Enki—everyone’s going to die!”
Bakchos felt his stomach sink and his jaw go slack. “I-In the building? What—?”
“What are we supposed to do?!”
“Bakchos?” Baihé’s voice called from the infirmary bed. “What’s going on?”
His mind reeling, Bakchos firmly planted his hands on Rashad’s shoulders—a gesture that their connection allowed him and few others. “Listen to me. I’m sending you back to the Trireme. Take off and get to a higher level. I’ll get as many as will fit on the ship there.”
Rashad’s expression grew pained. “I gotta watch out for you, big guy…”
“Just—This is the best way to,” he insisted. “Don’t argue with me!”
Baihé demanded again, “Hello? Please don’t keep me out of the loop, I’m starting to freak out over here?”
Rashad reluctantly nodded. “I’ll get the ship outside.”
Bakchos quickly input commands into the devices on his wrist, sending Rashad’s signal back to its home terminal. Rashad’s worried look lingered only a moment before pixelating and fading. He then spun back to Baihé and without explanation pulled her onto his back in a fireman’s carry.
“B-Bak?” she whispered in his ear. “Something feels strange…Please tell me what’s going on…something really bad is happening, isn’t it?”
“We’ve lost the ziggurat. Probably for good.”
✽✽✽
The last twenty minutes were a mad scramble to get ships in the air and out of the reach of the Shadow Men. Purnima had been among the crews doing maintenance at a largely leisurely pace until scraping and howls had signaled the arrival of the Empty in the hangar bays. She wasn’t entirely sure how she had ended up helping a handful of others stall for time, but she wouldn’t argue it. Diverting the Empty was the only option to save more lives, and someone had to do it.
Behind an overturned worktable she waved another Guard over. He followed her lead, his beaten fedora desperately held to his head as he dove to her side. Sweat over his face but not ready to discard his vest, tie, or trench coat, he adjusted his glasses and struggled to steady his breath.
“I just got through with an evacuation,” she mumbled to herself. “I thought I was finally done with them.”
“I’m not even supposed to be in the middle of this crap!” he seethed. “I’m an archivist. No fighty— just scouty.”
“Fabulous for you,” Purnima grunted, her eyes scanning for a way to the stairs. After several glances, she pointed through the combat. “Walton’s your name, right? Alright, you go first. Go around those two frames, then there’s a clear run for the stairs.”
His round face grew visibly paler. “You’re kidding, right?”
She glowered at him, her brow growing hard.
“Okay, okay!” Walton cried, holding up his hands. “Just watch my back?”
“I’m right behind you,” she assured him. “Go for it.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now!” she snapped.
Taking a deep breath, Walton again slapped his hand on top of his head to hold his hat in place, then leaped to his feet. Purnima followed several steps behind, glancing over her shoulder at the chaos throughout the room to make certain none of the Empty pursued. For all his protesting, Walton managed to dodge and weave through the scaffolds and equipment without great difficulty—even ducking without question when she blurted the order while she threw a bolt of lightning at a pouncing canine shadow.
As planned, Walton reached the stairs first and spun on his heels with a look of celebratory relief. However, his face twisted in terror and he called out to Purnima, pointing behind her.
Purnima didn’t waste the time to turn. She threw back one of her hands to toss more blasts behind her as she picked up speed. Suddenly she felt something latch onto her legs, and her entire body slid out from under her. Her glasses flung off her face, leaving her with blurry impressions of Walton’s frame as he reached for her. She dragged herself against the grip on her feet, struggling to reach out for him, but her gauntlets found no purchase on the smooth, tiled floor.
Although she couldn’t see his face clearly, she could see Walton pause as more Guard called out to him.
The pull on her feet was now at her waist, at her chest—her cries were stifled under a sound like weeping and song. Walton was yanked away by others running, but her focus on him and the room faded.
And all was dark.
✽✽✽
Jayr had never seen the creatures known as the Empty. He had heard stories from more seasoned Guard, but nothing prepared him for reality. Less like invaders and more like floodwaters they filled the halls, clawing and tackling those attempting to fight them off. Some of the creatures of entropy fought to wound and kill, others reached out to simply embrace and consume. Every bit of flesh they gripped would be a part of them, void overtaking skin and absorbing its prey.
Several noncombatants ran by Jayr; various, conflicting orders from every corner of his hearing only reminded him that while the Cartesian Guard was a powerful force, they were not an organized one. His clan on his home plane would scoff at their lack of coordination.
However, Jayr could help with that. It would be a task, but he could transfer thoughts from the strategists to others, transmitting their plans like radios. The soundest action was to retreat while protecting those who couldn’t fight. Everyone had to get to the hangars, every available vessel, and to safe places to regroup and recover. Running through crowds, he sent the message along, sliding past loosely formed groups defending themselves, losing no time to engaging the enemies himself.
But Jayr need not be alone.
His pace slowing, he blinked away the intrusive thought. He focused on his task—
But he was welcome. He would be warm. Comforted.
His head was fuzzy, the thoughts of those around him growing more and more indistinct. Jayr blearily looked between the frenzy of defending Guard and the figures of complete darkness longing for him.
And he would be free of pain. Being himself was pain. Mortality was pain.
The endless, yellow eyes that bore into him called to him, as much as the melody that emanated from the hordes. A lullaby. Jayr could hear voices calling his name from miles away, but they no longer mattered. All that mattered was being nothing. It would be such relief.
Black wrapped around his outstretched arm. It wanted him to be a part of it.
✽✽✽
Baihé held as tightly as she could to Bakchos’ shoulders, powerless to do little more than cling to him. She wanted to help, she desperately wanted to help, but there was nothing her power would do against the Empty. They weren’t alive, but they also weren’t dead, and never had been either. All she could do was bury her face in his shoulder, overwhelmed by the frenzied battle and evacuation around them.
Bakchos’ armor had a cannon built into the left arm, that proved particularly strong against the forces of decay. However, Baihé knew from experience he was used to being reckless, needing little concern for his own safety and aided by Rashad’s extra eyes. With her taking up so much of his attention it was like watching hi
m trying to fight with an arm tied behind his back and a chained ball on his ankle. Barking orders at others in the hall around them, directing them to higher in the tower to await pickup, Bakchos’ voice was strained.
“Just put me down,” she whispered in his ear.
Freezing in place momentarily, Bakchos gripped her legs tighter. “Bai. Don’t. Don’t start that.”
As he faced the oncoming swarm only a moment, Baihé pressed herself closer to him. “I-I don’t want you to, just—just maybe they won’t even notice me…how different am I from them?”
“So different!” he snapped, breaking into a run. “I have not gotten this far and tried this hard to let you go.” His words were firm, but his voice fluttered in growing stress. “I just need to get to the ship—Rashad’s waiting, and we’re gonna make it.”
“Bak—”
“We’re gonna make it, it’s fine!” he shouted. “It’s fine.”
Sobbing, mournful cries like hounds whimpering signaled a horde of doglike figures running toward them in pursuit.
Brave he was, but restrained he was not. Bakchos let out a screech of panic and his pace picked up exponentially. “Hate the dogs, hate the dogs, hate the dogs, hate the dogs—!” he cried out over and over as he bolted in erratic patterns to lose them. Snarling and wailing followed in their wake. Baihé turned her head to look on at their pursuit and whisper desperate encouragements.
As they arrived on a new floor, Baihé’s chest filled with hope. “Oh my God, Bakchos! The Trireme is next to this floor. Get to that balcony!”
Bachkos was still in the middle of cursing the dogs but seemed to understand her direction as he aimed his fevered scramble there.
On the other side of the archway, the Trireme hovered near the edge of the balcony, already laden with nearly a complete ship full of Cartesian Guard. Hanging on to the open bay doors, Rashad’s lanky form shimmered in the light and his hair was inexplicably tousled by wind. “Bakchos, you’re almost here, hurry!”
“I’m runnin’ the freakin’ gauntlet, dude!” Bakchos shouted back. “You think I’m not trying?!”
“Hurry!”
Other Guard near the doors called them on, and Baihé turned to see several of the silhouettes of hounds lunge at them—but they flew out of their reach as Bakchos took a massive leap off the edge of the balcony—and into the eager arms of those on the ship. They were both pulled aboard, Rashad exclaimed and laughed in joy as the laden ship finally rose out of the Empty’s reach.
Bakchos gently rested her on the floor and was instantly wrapped in an emotional hug from Rashad. With misty eyes she gazed up at them, gently stroking Bakchos’ arm in gratitude.
“See?” Bakchos panted painfully after a fit of coughing. “I had this. I had this. No big deal.”
“It’s gone isn’t it?” Baihé mumbled. “The ziggurat is gone.”
His smile fading, Bakchos looked around the expectant gazes of those on his ship. “We’ll figure this out. It’s gonna be okay.”
Another chimed in, “We’ll have to get to one of the remote sites. Regroup.”
“See who we can still contact,” a third added. Others agreed.
Baihé bit her lip anxiously as she sat straight. She didn’t want to press what more than likely everyone knew, that it was Enki’s presence that prevented this kind of attack. Where had he gone when she had spoken to him less than two hours before? And if he was gone…was anywhere safe?
Chapter Fifteen
Final Voyage
After stopping the encroaching of the Empty on one world, the crew of the Twilight Runner took it easy. With the pace of the day before, jumping right back into more of the same was the last thing Victorio could honestly handle. Thankfully Gatina and Brasil were okay with that.
Even better, that world had empanadas. Oh, hell yeah.
The three of them had gotten so many it should have lasted at least two meals, but in their enthusiasm, the pies disappeared fast. Victorio also couldn’t help but laugh: Brasil had said they were like pasties and was super confused why that was so funny.
“They are,” he insisted.
Still nearly doubled over from laughing, Victorio managed to say, “You mean those things strippers wear?”
Completely aghast at the answer, Victorio could almost see Brasil blushing through his fur. “W-What by—Who the blazing hell would wear pasties?”
It took several minutes to completely calm down, and Victorio polished off the last of his glass of water. “Oh my God, that was awesome…”
“Lemme get you some more,” Gatina offered, picking up both their glasses. “I need some too.” She hopped up, but then paused as a ringing and a slight rattle could be heard against the table of the galley. Victorio found himself staring around the room, the mundane sound of a ringtone was suddenly alien after so long without it. Curiously, Brasil and Victorio looked to where her wand lay, shaking to the point of inching to the table’s edge. A melody chirped loudly. Gatina grabbed the wand and a bubble popped from the end of it with a familiar woman’s face in its center.
“Thank gods you answered!” Salema cried, strands of black hair falling into her face. Her bright, green eyes were wide, and sweat dotted her brown skin.
Gatina’s ears moved back in worry. “W-What’s happening, Salema?”
“The headquarters—!” she gasped. “We were overrun. Babel was overrun by the Shadow Men!”
Brasil all but shoved Victorio aside to get closer to the bubble. “When? How! Enki protects our tower, how could this happen?”
“By Babel time, it started about an hour ago,” she said. “Enki…” Salema’s face fell. “No one can contact my dad. He’s gone.”
“Whoa, what?” Victorio blurted.
Gatina dropped her wand for a moment but managed to scramble it out of her lap before the bubble burst. “T-They have Lord Enki?”
“We don’t know for sure,” Salema said, swallowing hard. “Just, wherever you are, do not return to HQ. We don’t know how many agents got out, but we have to regroup somewhere. You know the remote site? Laputa?”
“We know it,” Brasil affirmed with a nod. “You want us there?”
“I’m headed there. I’ll contact you,” she answered. “The group I’m with did all we could just to get out alive. You’re safe where you are, so stay there for now.”
“Give us something to do!” Brasil snapped furiously. “We can’t just wait.”
“You’re with the Spear Bearer,” she replied. “Making sure he’s safe is the most important job of all. I’ll contact you soon.”
“Be careful,” Gatina whispered, her eyes wide with shock.
The bubble popped, and silence fell over the galley. Victorio’s stomach was turning in knots, watching Brasil clench his fists angrily and Gatina wrap her arms around herself in growing, gnawing anxiety. Victorio could guess why Gatina was so fearful—it seemed she was going to lose another home. Another family.
He couldn’t stand just sitting by and watching it. “Hey,” Victorio piped up quickly. “Get me to you guys’ HQ. I could send those things away, no problem, right? S’what I do.”
Brasil’s face grew tight. “This is different…this is too big. If they—”
A sound on the deck above caused all to grow quiet. The three turned their eyes to the ceiling, adding worried glances to each other.
“We’re off the ground,” Gatina mumbled. “It can’t be a person…”
“Could be a bird,” Victorio offered in a whisper.
Brasil straightened his hat and slunk to the door of the galley, motioning for them to wait. More sounds and scuffles came from above them.
Gatina’s ears flattened against her head. “That’s no bird…”
A fist clenched, Brasil opened the door to the galley and leaned out onto the deck. In a flash something slammed into him from the side, knocking him away from the door.
Gatina and Victorio gasped. Gatina leaped over the table, Victorio beside her as he summoned
the Spear to his hand. When he and Gatina rushed out onto the deck, both were forced to pause in their tracks in shock. Shadowy forms were crawling over nearly every inch ahead of them, yellow eyes focusing on them hungrily. Some floated around the sails, some dragging themselves haltingly over the railing—hisses and hushed, garbled moans and hums lingered around the floorboards.
And then they lunged.
Victorio brought up the Spear, letting out a cry of surprise as five at once ran at them. More surprising was that they avoided him. Nearly every time he had fought the Empty, they had made a desperate charge for him alone, trying to save themselves—but now they gave him a wide berth. Meaning they weren’t after Victorio…?
He spun on his heels and saw Gatina nearly overtaken, her hastily thrown up forcefield slashed and tackled from all sides. She hissed and spat, her fur standing on end as she waved her wand and sent flashes of magic out furiously.
Victorio slashed through several, trying to reach her. “What’s happening! Why aren’t they coming after me?”
“How should I know?!” she shouted. “I’m not the freakin’ Entropy Whisperer!” She turned her eyes to him as best she could in between throwing up reinforcements to her shield. “Brasil!”
He had almost forgotten—! Victorio felt another surge of panic; he couldn’t lose either of them now that he was finally understanding them. He spun to where Brasil had been thrown. The boxer was on his feet, but barely, dodging and weaving through a mob as formless, shadowy arms attempted to latch onto him. A long gash lined his chest; his hat was in his clenched fist as he threw out desperate punches.
With a few stabs and slashes, Victorio reached Brasil and glanced over his shoulder to see that Gatina had waded through as well. “Braz!” Victorio shouted at him. “I can get to y—”
“Just get us out of here!” Brasil cried back in desperation, his eyes wild with adrenaline. “Use th’Spear and get us off the Runner.”
“Where are we supposed to go?!” he called, holding up the lance to block a stray swipe from one of the Empty.
Victorious Cross Page 11
