Good Intentions (Chaos of the Covenant Book 6)

by M. R. Forbes

  “Queenie, if that was you, I could kiss you,” Bastion said, sweeping around one of Azul’s ships.

  He and the other Rejects had been careful maneuvering close to the enemy, never moving in a straight line. There were a few times when he had felt like something had slapped at the side of the fighter, giving it some unexpected resistance, but otherwise they had made it through the melee unharmed.

  So far, at least.

  “Like you need another reason,” Ruby said, her fighter crossing ahead of his and blasting a target approaching from the flank.

  “That’s beside the point,” Bastion replied. “Our bacon is saved.”

  “What does that mean?” Phlenel asked.

  “Keep shooting,” Bastion said. “And don’t stop until they’re all gone.”

  “Roger,” Phlenel said.

  The Apocalypse fighters dashed through the enemy fleet, deftly avoiding sporadic attacks from the ancient starfighters that had been launched to counter them, able to outfly them with ease, working together to cut them down. That part of the fight had been going well and allowing them to focus on the larger enemy starships. They couldn’t risk firing their warheads at the ships, not at this range and especially not if the ordnance was going to wind up redirected toward the Covenant, or now toward the oncoming Liliat ships.

  “Watch your six,” Trinity said, her fighter a blur over the top of his. A quick burst of fire tore apart one of the two fighters trying to get a bead on him from behind.

  “I see them,” Bastion said, rolling his fighter to the left and angling toward the deck of one of Azul’s ships.

  The idiot pilot in the enemy fighter followed him in, firing lasers at his ass that were easily absorbed by the craft’s shields. He added velocity, rushing toward the surface of the ship, keeping the stick shifting left and right to prevent the Gifted on board from getting a solid hold on him. He felt a slight pressure as they tried to stop his dive, but it wasn’t enough. He pulled up at the last second, laughing when the enemy fighter slammed into the warship’s shields, unable to match his fighter’s maneuverability.

  “Moron,” he said, changing direction and darting back.

  “Don’t get distracted,” Ruby said. “Rezel’s ships are firing.”

  Bastion checked his HUD, noting the position of the incoming warships and the smaller beacons of their projectiles racing in at Azul’s vessels. He made sure he was clear of their path, rocketing away and getting back in formation with the other Rejects.

  He watched the scene unfold around him, the missiles reaching out toward the enemy ships, the Gifted seizing them and attempting to turn them around. The outcome defied all logic and every law of physics, the warheads seeming to come to a stop as the Venerants on either side of the conflict fought for control of the projectiles.

  “I think this is our chance,” Phlenel said.

  “I think you’re right,” Bastion agreed. “Two by two. I’m marking targets. Let’s do this, Rejects.”

  “Roger,” the others replied.

  Bastion began marking ships for each of the fighters. Delta Squadron paired off, shooting away toward their marks, careful to avoid secondary fire from the warships, small arms fire from trailing fighters, and the plasma bolts still crossing the battlefield from the Covenant.

  It was a hot mess, and he loved it, his heart racing as he brought the Nephilim ship into his reticle, targeting its aft near the main thrusters.

  “On three,” he said, putting his thumb over the trigger. “Let’s hope they’re distracted enough.”

  “Roger,” Phlenel said.

  “One… Two… Three.”

  He hit the trigger, launching his spear. A second later, Phlenel did the same. The two warheads zipped flashed toward the ship, and Bastion held his breath while he waited for them to either strike or change course.

  They struck, the first detonating against the shields, its energy tearing them down and leaving the warship vulnerable. The second dug into the armored hull, burying itself deep within and then detonating. The explosion ripped through the aft of the vessel, reaching to the delicate systems stored within and pulling out all of the oxygen within. The back half of the warship broke apart, debris spilling out into the vacuum as the craft went dead, its momentum carrying the shell toward a second ship. That one tried to maneuver away, falling short and being struck by the huge mass, the impact making a large gash in its side.

  On the other side of the field, a second warship suffered the same fate as the first, Ruby and Trinity’s missiles hitting their target.

  “Woooo,” Bastion shouted. “That’s two. Maybe three. Keep it coming, Delta.”

  He angled away from the fight, looking at the HUD again to mark two more targets.

  “Delta, this is Alpha.” Abbey’s voice cut through the channel. The fact that she was contacting them at all was an immediate indication that their orders were changing.

  “Roger, Alpha,” he replied. “What’s up, Queenie?”

  “Get the squadron clear. Take up defensive positions within the Liliat ranks.”

  “Huh?” Bastion said, confused by the orders.

  “Things are turning sideways,” Abbey said. “We’re turning to adjust. Just do it.”

  “Roger,” he replied. “You heard the Queen. We’re bugging out.”

  The battle was still raging, the outnumbered Liliat ships fighting bravely against Azul’s forces, the firepower of the Covenant evening out the odds.

  And then, just like that, it was over.

  The Covenant didn’t only stop shooting. It began to move away from the battle, and within a few seconds had vanished altogether, leaving them behind.

  Next, the Liliat fleet stopped their assault, freezing in place, their offensive stance falling away. The Azulian forces responded in kind, joining the sudden ceasefire.

  “What the hell?” Bastion said, guiding his fighter to a position tight against the hull of one of the warships, the other Rejects lining up behind him. “Are we surrendering?”

  “I’m sure Queenie has a plan,” Phlenel said.

  They sat in tense silence. The minutes ticked away, each one of them putting him more on edge. He wished she would have told him the plan.

  Whatever it was, he was pretty sure it was nuts.

  He noticed the change to his HUD immediately. He understood almost as quickly. A second round of warships appeared in orbit around Jamul, each bearing the mark of the Prophet Azul. A larger ship rested in the center of it. It was the newest battleship in the bunch, fresh and clean and a stark contrast to the rest of the fleet.

  It didn’t take Gant to figure out it was the Prophet’s flagship, likely carrying the Prophet himself.

  “Maybe we did surrender?” Trinity said.

  43

  The first thought Abbey had as Dog touched down inside the walls of the Apostant section of the city was that the Prophet Rezel was very beautiful.

  She had long, shimmering black hair. She had a perfect physique and perfect proportions. She had a small, heart-shaped face and full lips, almond shaped eyes and good cheekbones. She wore a thin, dark dress that flowed in the breeze like a stormcloud, its movements nearly hypnotic.

  Abbey could feel the Gift within the Prophet. It was practically oozing out of her perfect little pores and onto her pale, flawless flesh.

  Her second thought was that she wanted to punch the woman in the face.

  She jumped off Dog’s back with Gant right behind her, walking quickly to Rezel, who held up her hand at Abbey’s approach like she was expecting her to kiss it.

  “Queenie,” Uriel said, standing beside the Prophet. “This is Rezel.”

  Abbey ignored him. She drew back her hand and punched the Prophet in the face.

  She liked the second thought better.

  Rezel tumbled backward, rolling a dozen meters to a stop.

  “Queenie?” Jequn said, confused by the action.

  Abbey ignored her, too. She was pissed. She stomped towa
rd Rezel without slowing.

  The Prophet got to her feet, her expression changing. Her dress tightened against her body, transforming into a protective shell.

  “Queenie, what the hell?” Uriel said.

  “Call the surrender,” Abbey said.

  “Who are you to tell me what to do?” Rezel replied.

  “I’m the one who’s going to save what’s left of your empire,” Abbey said. “You’re going to do what I tell you. Call the surrender.”

  “You have power. I can feel it. You have armies I have never seen before. You’ve acquitted yourself well here, but you’re too late to save the Liliat Empire. Whatever your reasons, Light of the Shard. Whatever your motives. My armies will fight until Azul arrives.”

  “Your soldiers will die.”

  She shrugged. “What do I care? They are Unders. Worth nothing.”

  “Your Apostants are dying, too.”

  “For the glory of my name,” she said. “And theirs. We have fought as well as we could, but we are defeated. All that I had is lost. When Azul comes, I will surrender to him. I will join his Empire as a bride. Our children will rule the Nephiliat. That is the way the Father intends it.”

  “Sorry, that’s not how this story ends. I need your ships. I need their crews.”

  “They aren’t yours to have.”

  “They’re mine to take.”

  Rezel smiled. “So that is how you want it? I may be on the verge of defeat, but I’m not powerless.”

  Abbey had been planning on negotiating with Rezel. On trying diplomacy. But what was the point? The Nephilim Prophet had one planet. One city. An army of hundreds, not thousands. Fewer than twenty ships.

  And she was still defiant? She was willing to let what was left be destroyed for her ego? The idea burned Abbey more than the fact that her plan had instantly gone to shit. Bastion’s worst trait was his occasional arrogance, and that was a drop in the bucket compared to this bitch.

  “Good,” she said. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  She threw the Gift out at the Prophet, not surprised when Rezel brought her Gift forward to match it. The wave of naniates fought their invisible war, quickly canceling one another out.

  “Queenie, this wasn’t the plan,” Uriel said behind her.

  “New plan,” Abbey replied.

  She charged the Prophet, her fingers extending into claws. She could feel the fury building inside her. She could feel the naniates responding to it. The Gift tingled beneath her skin.

  The purified Blood of the Shard didn’t thrive on anger. Her Gift shouldn’t have been reacting this way, and yet it was.

  She didn’t give it a thought. She didn’t have time to wonder about it. She leaped toward Rezel, leading with her claws.

  The Prophet met the attack, her own hands extending, along with her teeth. Sharp ridges sprang from her darksuit, a hundred daggers ready to cut. She caught Abbey’s claws, turning them and kicking out. Abbey caught the foot on her thigh, letting it push her back, using the force to alter her angle of attack. She drove forward again, her hands a blur as she cut and slashed in a Takega rhythm.

  Either Rezel knew the martial art, or she was just that well-trained. She backed away, blocking the strongest of the strikes and letting the rest fall, allowing her darksuit to be slashed and cut. Then she countered, firing back in a series of quick punches and kicks, forcing Abbey onto defense.

  They moved across the street this way, gathering more Apostant onlookers as they traded blows. The other Gifted knew better than to get in the middle of a fight like this. They remained in the shadows, observing but not interfering.

  The Rejects did the same. There was nothing most of them could do to help anyway. Abbey was sure Gant wanted to get involved, but he had to know what the fight was about. He had to know why. He stayed where he was.

  The seconds passed as a blur. The Gift was thrumming through Abbey’s veins, the tingling so strong she almost felt as though she were flying. She pressed the attack, using every move she knew and making a few up as she went. Rezel was a consummate fighter. She didn’t waste a single movement. She blocked what had to be blocked and absorbed what she could absorb. She was conserving her energy, waiting for an opening.

  Abbey finally found one of her own. The Prophet misstepped, giving her a split-second. Her fist found Rezel’s stomach, slamming her so hard she went flying backward, hitting the side of a building and flopping forward. She was up in an instant, her eyes burning red. The spikes on her darksuit broke away, launching toward Abbey.

  She tried to put up a shield to block them, but she was too slow. The dark spikes slowed but didn’t stop, a dozen of them slamming into her body and knocking her to the ground.

  She lay there gasping at the sudden hole in her heart. Even the weakest of the Prophets was still stronger than her? The idea made her even angrier.

  The Hell brand burned on her neck as a reminder. The Nephilim had always been more powerful. Only the Focus had saved the Seraphim, and even that had been temporary.

  She could feel the Gift raging within her. There was a part of it that was begging to be free. A part that understood her anger, her frustration, her need, and desire. It was reaching out to her past the Light of the Shard. Past the edge of reason and logic. It was unfettered. Raw.

  Powerful.

  The light above her was blotted out as Rezel leaped into the sky. Her darksuit had altered shape, her legs and arms bare, a black sword in her hand. Abbey watched as the Prophet dropped toward her, Gift billowing around her like a cloak, leading her downward and seeking to pin Abbey there.

  “Queenie,” she heard Gant shout from the sidelines, still hesitant to get involved.

  She had seen Lucifer in the Focus. She had seen him when they had teleported here. He had taken control of Shidel and tried to kill her. He seemed to be everywhere. Were the Seraphim more compromised than even Charmeine knew? Or did she know about Lucifer? Did any of this have anything to do with the Shard at all?

  The Gift was there for her. It was calling to her. Not the Shard’s naniates. Something else. Something she had tried to resist. Like anything else evil, it was subtle and secret and subversive. If she accepted, how long could she control it?

  She felt the pressure of Rezel’s Gift on her, holding her tight to the ground. Dog roared nearby, sensing she was in danger, wanting to attack and at the same time fearful.

  Frag it. She had a war to win.

  She took hold of the naniates. Lucifer’s naniates. A chill exploded from her, every part of her body turning cold in an instant.

  And then she burst into flame. Not the white light of the Shard, but the blood red of the Devil.

  She expelled the thorns from her body, pushing them back toward Rezel, who released the rest of the Gift to protect herself, folding her body tight and landing a dozen meters away. As she rose to her feet for round three, she laughed.

  It had never felt right to be the Chosen of the Shard. She was the fragging Demon Queen, after all.

  She reached out and grabbed Rezel with a massive hand of fire, wrapping her in it and yanking, pulling her forward while she struggled not to be burned alive.

  The flames surrounded them. Rezel slumped within, falling to her knees and lowering her head. “Lilith,” she said, naming Abbey the bride of Lucifer. “Kill me quickly.”

  Abbey wanted to. The Gift wanted her to. She could feel it pushing her, urging her on. Control. They would seek to seize control, now and forever onward. That was the price to pay for the power.

  “No,” she said, the flames subsiding as quickly as they had come. The Hell brand continued to burn against her flesh, and her suit had returned to its dark red stain. “Call the surrender.”

  Rezel looked up at her. She stared for a moment, eyes jealous.

  Then she nodded.

  44

  The transport landed twenty minutes later. The Prophet Azul disembarked from it, flanked by four Immolents in dark armor, moving in perfect precision
at their leader’s side.

  Rezel was there waiting for him, one of her few remaining Venerants to her left and her right, and nearly four hundred soldiers in neat columns behind her. They were all on their knees; heads bowed to the dirt.

  Rezel was on her knees as well, and she lowered her head as Azul approached. He looked resplendent in a crisp uniform with a long coat and short collar. He looked civilized, even though there was nothing civilized about any of this.

  “Rise,” Azul said, motioning to Rezel. She did, coming easily to her feet. She was a full head shorter than the Prophet, but they made a good pair.

  “I saw the field on the way down, Child of Lilith,” Azul said. “You’ve carried yourself better than I would have guessed. I commend you for your control over the Unders, and for your success on the ground.”

  “Thank you, Lord Azul,” Rezel said.

  “I believe if you had more ships and some real soldiers at your disposal, you might have held out for days instead of hours.”

  “Thank you, Lord Azul.”

  He looked down at her and smiled. “Do not be ashamed, Rezel. You did the best you could with what you had. But the Liliat Empire was always destined to fold. You must have known that.”

  “Of course, Lord Azul.”

  “I’m prepared to accept your unconditional surrender. Let us stop this fighting and come together. Our heirs may one day rule over all of the Nephiliat.”

  “It is an intriguing prospect, Lord Azul,” Rezel replied. “But the surrender of Jumol and that of the Liliat Empire isn’t mine to agree to.”

  Azul’s brow shifted slightly, but that was the only indication he gave that he was taken by surprise. “Do you dare to not only defy me but to mock me?”

  He opened his mouth, his teeth growing as he did. He started leaning in toward her, ready to rip her throat out.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Gant said, stepping out from beneath Jequn as she rose from her prostrate position with the Freejects. “Not so fast.”

  Azul stopped, his eyes shifting to Gant. Now his surprise was obvious.