Victorious Cross

by Jesse De Rivera

  The Forger’s grip released as they let out a shriek, not unlike Victorio had, and staggered back from him. They let out shuddering breaths as they clutched their smoking wrist. The hand still gripped the hammer, though it lay several feet away.

  Victorio was yanked backward, and thankfully it was Enki holding his shoulder protectively. The agent of the Black tried to lunge at them, but Enki sent a forceful jet at her that threw her nearly to the opposite end of the room.

  “The pain will pass,” he whispered to Victorio. “Breathe.” Enki then leveled his eyes on the High Forger, and his face twisted in hate. Victorio never imagined Enki could look so furious. Vengefully, Enki slammed powerful blasts against the smith, one after another. The reeling Forger couldn’t do more than struggle to remain upright, and desperately grip the lip of the furnace as he was forced against it.

  “Arges,” Enki growled. “Fall.”

  The High Forger Arges slipped, and they were flung into the furnace. Their protests faded as they plummeted down the shaft.

  “This face of the Empty took the ziggurat…” Enki said, throwing a scowl at the woman in black. Keeping his eyes on her, he rose a barrier of water around Victorio, Enki, and the agent to fight back the approach of the other Empty and cyclopes. “You have to stop her, Victorio. She won’t let us walk away. She will keep hunting us all.”

  As though voicing agreement, the woman in black let out a howl of rage and ran at them. Victorio darted past her, and she followed his movement rather than going after Enki. With clawed hands she swiped at him, leaving him to raise the Spear and fend off her attacks. She was relentless, far more vicious than Arges, sending wave after wave of black blasts and lunging at him in a frenzy. Under the offense Victorio was pushed further from Enki, his shoes unable to stay rooted in the smooth stone. The face of the Black’s cuts began leaving their marks. His calf was bleeding, so was a gash on his cheek and another on his knuckles where he had blocked wrong.

  As he felt his back hit against a column a lump grew in his throat. Victorio just wished he could see his family one more time.

  Another whip of water cracked against the agent, sending her rolling. Stunned, Victorio’s gaze went back to Enki. The god now stood over twelve feet tall, the air around him shone. Gone were the suit, slacks, and goatee; he now wore robes that reminded Victorio of Enki from Wandering Stars or his introduction as a constellation. A beard draped down his chest, and a barbed crown rest on his head. All around him the pair of rivers flowing from his shoulders swat aside any approaching Empty or Forgers. The more forceful Enki grew, the more the armies hesitated. Holding his mangled, twisted arm to his side, Enki stared hard at Victorio. “Bastion Against Decay. Avenge my people.”

  While the Forgers and hordes of Empty inched back from Enki, the face of the Black ran forward at Victorio. “There is no stopping this, godling!” she screamed. She knocked Victorio off his feet. “Again I will crush them. I will crush your hope. Again and again, and again, and again!”

  Victorio blocked a strike aimed at his chest, and he grit his teeth. “Never again. Never again.” He repeated the phrase in a whisper, rolling to his feet and gaining the ground to lunge at her. The two locked briefly, and steam rose off her arms as she struck the Spear. Focused on keeping her defending, Victorio spun and slashed with his weapon. He cut into her and sent thick, ebony blood across the ground.

  “Never again,” he seethed a final time, thrusting the point. It struck its mark directly, skewering the agent on its end. Foul-smelling smoke slithered from the wound. Gasping and gripping the Spear, her hands burning, the face of the Black grew slack. Ichor dripped from her parted lips.

  Hushed moans of despair echoed through the chamber as all the flickering forms of the Empty and the robed lesser Forgers shrank back.

  Victorio pulled upwards, feeling the Spear struggle against flesh a moment, and slicing upwards. The sizzling, crumbling remains of the face of Entropy crumpled on the stone at his feet.

  His chest heaving from adrenaline, Victorio took in the silence of the room. Along the walls the Empty sank into the stone and inched away from the chamber; and Arges’ smiths brought up their arms, cringing away from Victorio. From the Spear and its wielder.

  “Listen well, Entropy.” Enki’s voice boomed through the chamber as he stood behind Victorio. “This latest face of your master is done. Her perspective is shattered. That point of view led your citadel to ruin. Do not allow another like her to rise.”

  Hissing, mumbling, and shrinking further in on themselves served as replies.

  “Take us home, Victorio Cruz. It is time to rid my temple of their filth.”

  The terrible, burning pain in his arm returned to Victorio’s thoughts. Despite his entire frame shaking, he felt strangely composed. Keenly aware of his surroundings, of the struggle of the last few hours, he nodded. A banishment in their home would not destroy the Empty, this place and these creatures were every bit as much a part of the multiverse as himself…but he now welcomed the idea of banishing them from every last plane they attempted to overwhelm.

  “Yeah. Home,” he said to Enki. He took the Spear in hand and spun it to summon a gate. He waved to the residents of the Black, meaningfully gesturing from his eyes to theirs. “Be seeing you dipshits around. Later.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A Parting Message

  Their steps silenced by soft, luscious grass, it took time for the scattered crowds to notice their arrival. As Victorio and Enki strolled across the open field at the base of the castle, the Cartesian Guard gathered there called out to them and cheered with jubilation.

  “Dad!” Salema cried. She the first to run across the field to him. She flung her arms around him, then backed away, her face falling in horror. “Oh, gods, what happened?”

  Shrugging, Enki rubbed his shoulder where his left arm had been, and his suit coat now draped over it to cover its absence. “It will be fine, don’t worry, Salema.” Before she could begin bombarding him with questions, he rested a hand on her shoulder and hushed her gently. “The Black took that one. Victorio banished the Empty from the ziggurat…but my arm didn’t like that very much. It’ll be fine,” he assured her with an unconcerned wave. “I’m an old god. When I’m feeling up to it, I’ll just stick a palm leaf there and make another arm. I’ll come up with something. Really, I’m fine.”

  Wiping tears off her face, Salema forced herself to nod, and she hugged Victorio desperately. “Thank you. You brought him back, thank you.”

  “You would’ve loved seeing him kick ass like he did,” Victorio affirmed with a laugh.

  “You?” she scoffed, lowering an eyebrow. “What about not getting involved?”

  “I was involved forcefully,” Enki said, turning up his nose at her. “That’s different.”

  “Is the ziggurat in one piece?” another Guard asked.

  “In one piece,” Enki answered solemnly. “But it won’t be in any condition to stay in our headquarters.” With a sweep of his arm, he gestured over the lawns leading up the castle before them, and the edge of the floating rock it sat on. “Laputa is good for now. As soon as more of us are able, we can start moving things out of the temple. But not now. Let’s just focus on taking care of the injured.”

  “That much has already started,” Adamine offered as she led Victorio and Enki across the grounds. “There’s a lot to do, though.”

  As the group neared the hastily set up camp, Victorio fought the urge to hang back. He had always hated hospitals, and anything like them. It reminded him of the time Abuela needed surgery when Victorio was eight-ish and the family had flown to Puerto Rico. Mom had focused her energy on the still toddler-aged twins, and Dad had his attention on his own mother. So, Victorio had spent the whole time being bored and uncomfortable in the hospital's waiting room, eyeing his relatives or the other patients. The scene ahead of him reminded him of that time. Those unable to stand, sat or lay on blankets, and few by few, the wounded were brought up the many st
one stairs spiraling around the sandy-colored, foliage-covered complex. Coughs, groans, and orders from those tending to the injured provided a sobering soundtrack.

  “Hey, Victorio,” a familiar voice called. Nearby sat Jayr, his tan skin pale and sickly-looking as someone behind him tended to massive burns on his back.

  Uneasily Victorio waved.

  “No, come over,” he insisted, flinching.

  Enki assured Victorio he would find him later and allowed him to walk over to Jayr. A sincere, though strained, smile on his face, Jayr took Victorio’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

  He shrugged.

  “No, really,” he pressed. “Looks like they did a number on you too.”

  Self-consciously, Victorio glanced at the warped, burned flesh in the shape of a hand on his left forearm. Enki had tried his best, but it didn’t look like that one would ever go away. “Eh, I’m fine.”

  “Just like me, at least they didn’t get the chance to get far.”

  As a thought came to him, Victorio’s face lightened. “Wait, you were in the Forges? You mean everyone there already got out?”

  Painfully he nodded, gritting his teeth and hissing, while the medic behind him apologized. “Brasil, Gatina, and the former Spear Bearer…they helped us escape. They said you sent them. Without their help…”

  Victorio’s eyes swept over the grounds, trying to spot them, but Jayr brought his attention back to him. “Listen. I was one of the lucky ones. Not everyone was. So…So really, thank you.”

  “Thank them.”

  “I have plenty so far,” he laughed back. “It’s your turn. From what I understand, no one ever comes back from the Black. We all did.”

  “You’re welcome.” He waved to Jayr.

  He heard a final thought in his head in reply: Give yourself more credit. You deserve it.

  Victorio grinned, then went to search for his friends. Now that he knew that these people weren’t just the injured from the attack on the ziggurat, it all looked much different. Enki wasn’t the only one that had lost something to the Forgers: many of the wounded were missing limbs, with healers kneeling over them to keep them stable. Victorio paused as he saw Purnima lying on a blanket and beside her sat a dude in glasses who looked like an old-timey reporter; he had propped his fedora on her head to shield her eyes from the sun. Bloody bandages marked where her ankles and feet should have been. He visibly cringed, but she just tilted her head slightly.

  “Victorio? That looks like you,” she mumbled. “L-Lost my glasses, you know…”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “I look a right mess, don’t I?” she chuckled painfully. “But look!” She held up her hands, stretching out her fingers. “I still have my hands. They just started with the feet…” Sniffling softly, she rubbed her face as the guy next to her patted her shoulder. “But I can make feet. That won’t be a challenge. They’ll be gorgeous. And I’ll be taller.”

  “And if you have time?” the guy next to her asked, his voice attempting to stay encouraging. “I think I want a gun.”

  Her laugh strengthened and she nodded largely. “You are going to get a great gun, Walton. I promise.” She sniffled again, wiping her cheeks. “Thank you, Victorio.”

  He didn’t feel like being thanked anymore. “I-I’m sorry…”

  “No, really,” Purnima insisted. “Thank you. Thank you.”

  He gave a non-committal wave to Purnima as he walked away. It didn’t take long before he was worn down by all the injured sending him gratitude. Victorio continued to look for his friends, losing energy the longer he had to pretend to smile. He passed Bakchos and Rashad, Bakchos among those getting everyone into the building. Rashad stood at the center of a group of those waiting and sang to the music he created out of thin air—his voice was beautiful and soothing. Those around Rashad seemed grateful for the gesture. Darting across the grounds was a black and green blur—Flashbang, screeching next to various medics and delivering supplies before streaking away again.

  “Victorio!”

  That voice raised his spirits and brought a genuine smile. Breaking into a run, he eagerly met Brasil in a hug—and he could feel Gatina latch onto his shoulders. “You guys, you guys, you did it!”

  “You daft lad,” Brasil whispered, squeezing tighter. “Running off like that.”

  Unable to pull away from Brasil’s grip, Victorio felt tears coming on. He coughed and tried to steady his voice. “You got out people…I couldn’t…I couldn’t…”

  “You did, son,” he whispered back. “You did.”

  “Oh, my God…” Gatina choked out, delicately placing her fingers on the wicked burn. “Y-Your arm…!”

  Wiping his face, Victorio leaned back from Brasil and laughed painfully. “Yeah, they got a good hit in. I’m okay, though. It looks freakin’ sweet, right?”

  Face skewed in sympathy, Brasil nodded. “That it does. That it does.”

  “Come on,” Gatina added with a sniffle. “There’s still some work to do before we can rest.”

  While Victorio wanted nothing more than to just collapse there, Gatina was right. And with the two of them nearby it just didn’t seem so much like work.

  ✽✽✽

  By nightfall on whatever plane this floating castle drifted through, all the Cartesian Guard were well within the walls. A wing had been assigned for the injured, and they were being cared for while those who had escaped the attack or had been away from HQ gathered to plan for what was next. Victorio didn’t feel right lingering around the back of the meeting, so he slipped into the halls.

  As he aimlessly walked around a series of gardens on a middle level, he saw Grey seated on a bench and staring straight ahead. From his position Grey had a fantastic view: the floating castle drifted through the cloud line, and above, a pair of small moons shed light upon the ocean-like expanse around them.

  Slowly, Victorio approached the bench and let out a soft cough. Grey beckoned him over with a limp wave but made no other reaction to him. Victorio sat down, anxiously rubbing his arms after noting the slight chill in the air.

  “So, thanks,” he began gingerly. “For…For helping the Guard.”

  Grey finally turned his eyes toward him. “Thanks for asking me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I have?”

  “It’s not like I’d earned enough trust yet. The way I dismissed you I didn’t exactly deserve you believing I could.”

  Victorio shrugged. “You were a dick, sure…but you’re the Spear Bearer.”

  “Was,” he corrected bitterly.

  “That didn’t change who you were or that you were the kind of person who was a Spear Bearer, right?”

  Gradually a sad smile turned his lips. “Huh. No, I guess not. You deserve that spear, Victorio,” he said gently. “Seeing what I did in the Forges I…I’m not proud of myself that it took convincing to get me to help you.”

  “You did the right thing,” he insisted. “That’s good enough. And thanks. I didn’t really feel like I deserve this…not until I was there. In like, the really big Forge, that is.”

  “You’re gonna be a hell of a lot better at it than I ever was.”

  Silence passed, the two of them staring upwards at what stars peeked through the bright sky.

  “Enki offered me a place in the Guard,” Grey murmured.

  “So go for it,” Victorio replied instantly.

  He shrugged. “I mean…I had plenty of chances to get to know them over the years. I just thought they were a hassle.”

  “You’d be good at it,” he pressed.

  Grey smiled at Victorio again. “I’m considering it.”

  Grinning back, Victorio pulled his knees up and leaned against them. “I wouldn’t have made it without them. I…I needed a family if I can’t have mine.”

  “I’ve told myself I’ve never needed one,” Grey shrugged. “It’d be something new.”

  “Hey, Adam?”

  “Hm?”

  “Since you can go anywhere no
w…could you…I dunno, go to my world? Let my family know I’m okay?”

  His face softened and he scratched at his white stubble. “Eh, that might not be a good idea…I don’t know if there’s anything I could say they’d believe.”

  “Hey, what if you didn’t have to?”

  Grey sincerely considered this and looked up. “Well. I mean, it’s not normal, but I never really gave a rat’s ass about that.”

  Victorio pulled out his cell phone, powering it up for the first time since he’d been home. Bringing up the camera, he turned the view to him and Grey, then pressed record.

  “Uh…Hey, Mama. Dad. Angala and Demario. This dude is Adam.”

  “Um. Hi?”

  “I’m okay. I mean, I’m alive, and things are okay. I’m sorry I can’t come home. Maybe now and again I can send you guys a recorded message…maybe you’ll be able to get one back to me…but I just wanted you to know, what’s going on is important. This thing I do. I don’t really know how to explain it…but it’s my responsibility now. I’m doing what has to be done—even though I don’t like what it cost. I love you all. Don’t cry about me, okay?”

  In the frame, both Gatina and Brasil leaned next to him, waving to the camera.

  Gatina chirped, “I’m gonna start getting him books so he won’t get mushy brained.”

  “Don’t say that,” Victorio hissed. “Then Ma will expect you to do it!”

  “And so help me,” Brasil added. “I’ll learn how to make empanadas if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “Battery’s almost dead,” Victorio said between snickers. “I know my friends here will probably make you think this is fake somehow…but believe us.”

  “We can’t be his family,” Brasil finished. “But he won’t be alone.”