“I know they won’t.” Stepping forward, Mac fired a double burst of mini micro-mines at the nearest ogres. “Because you won’t be fighting them alone.”
*
Annoyed by the intervention, Angule was forced to wait while the quantum weapons did their work. Slamming his heaviest shield into place, he braced himself for the blast.
He called to Raum: Protect the humans. The confines of this facility will exacerbate the backlash considerably.
Reality warped in four distinct areas, bending inward as if dark matter had suddenly been dropped onto the mundane fabric of existence. Under the influence of immeasurable density, Geryan and Foroon lost purchase. Falling forward, their extremities elongated, stretching in multiple directions at once.
Behind them, Vetis and Zuul backed hurriedly away. Throwing up the strongest combined shield they could muster, they stabilized it by anchoring the defense in place with Vetis’s mace.
Beyond their sphere of influence, Set bounded off to one side.
Loose furniture flew through the air, their flames quenched by the growing maelstrom. Careening into Geryan and Foroon, the substance of those items blended to that of each ogre. Panicking, they responded by spinning their own portals in a vain attempt to flee.
An unwise choice, Angule thought to himself, and something I specifically warned them not to do in the presence of such intense fluctuation.
He watched impassively as the integrity of the unfortunate Lega’trexii frayed. They howled, a terrible keening resounding through the room. Their essences continued to rupture. Sucked toward the constricting maws, they revolved like miniature plasma tornados. The screeching reached a terrifying crescendo.
The edges of each vortex stuttered and fluxed together into one larger asperity. Heavier items were torn free from their fittings. Submitting to increased gravity, they bounced and banged along the walls and ceiling until they too were swallowed.
The compression reached its peak. With a final shriek, Geryan and Foroon were crushed into nothing.
Everything condensed into a single point, then erupted outward in a blaze of incandescent light.
Angule lowered his shield and surveyed the scene.
Mac had squeezed behind the remains of a wall crenellation. The blood on the human’s fingertips gave evidence of the efforts he had made to resist the gravity-well. Angule noticed Mac’s weapons had been torn from his grasp.
Good. At least I won’t be disturbed now.
He registered movement. Somehow, Set had avoided being consumed.
Raum! If you please? Teach this upstart the meaning of power and true equilibrium.
Gnashing her fangs and scraping her talons one against the other, Raum surged forward to engage her fellow Tribunus.
Ignoring the sounds of combat, Angule turned his attention toward Vetis and Zuul. They still cowered behind their protective barrier. Come then, Imperator and Grand Vizage, he teased. Surely together you are more than enough? Or does your cowardice rob you of the capacity to express your rage?
The bubble darkened. Angule could taste the fey energies cascading into its fashioning. The shell turned opaque.
Are they trying to escape? We shall see . . .
Raising both swords, Angule summoned the vast reservoir of his own legacy. He knew such a contrivance could not be easily breached, for his opponents were two of the most powerful Kresh to ever exist.
But then again, so am I.
He inhaled.
Arcane puissance flooded his core with divine potency.
Exhaling, he unleashed a stream of venom that burst windows, incinerated doors, and gouged furrows through the granite walls and floors.
The room bucked, and the protective barrier distorted. It became encompassed within a sizzling skein of might that burned its way through layer after layer of vitality.
The shield abruptly burst.
Angule was shocked to discover the ruined shell contained only one occupant: Vetis.
Where . . . ? A momentary ripple in the vext gave him scant warning.
Zuul crashed down onto him.
Forced to drop one of his weapons, Angule turned and smashed his assailant away. Charging after him, he channeled a reserve of power into his left hand. Angule’s talons glowed. As he reached Zuul, Angule struck first with his sword, then used his augmented fist to punch through the tarnished area of his opponent’s shield.
Zuul slumped backward. As Angule closed the gap, he felt another aura bearing down on him from behind. Vetis! As cowardly as ever, he seeks advantage from my distraction.
An unexpected yell surprised him.
Angule glanced aside in time to see Mac flying toward them. Without a weapon, he had retrieved the first thing he could lay his hands on. The Cryptogen. Angule could see where the human warrior had used the remains of a cabinet to launch himself into the air in another vain attempt to come to his aid.
No!
Angule’s warning was too late. Summoning his strength, Angule phased himself to the other side of the room.
Mac descended. The terrible blade flashed down.
If there was any doubt in Angule’s mind that this was truly the device by which both races could be saved, it vanished.
The axe cut through Zuul’s barrier as if it didn’t exist. It pierced the Vocalator’s threshold and ruptured the heart of his codex. A rabid wind rushed into the void, only to explode outward as the sum of Zuul’s essence combusted.
So powerful was the resultant discharge that Mac became a blur, an insect, smeared across Angule’s vision as he was swatted away. Smashing through the partition into the next room, his scorched body came to rest amid a jumble of broken equipment.
Instinctively, Angule fed on Zuul’s remains. Beside him, Raum followed suit, employing the additional strength it provided to overcome and drain her opponent. Discarding Set’s evaporating husk, she paused as if such things were an everyday occurrence, and looked to Angule for guidance.
Stay here. Prevent anyone else from interfering.
With no time to spare on unnecessary concerns, Angule dismissed Mac from his mind and turned toward Vetis.
There’s nowhere left to run . . . my King. Will you face me as befits one of your station, or will you continue to demonstrate to my protégé and these humans how craven you really are?
Vetis stared back. Hatred darkened the vestiges of his flaming features.
Come then, Vetis retorted. Let us see if you can withstand the might of your rightful sovereign.
They advanced toward one another.
With every step, Angule could sense his opponent’s tightening fury. He used those feelings to feed his own battle ardor. The building vibrated around them as the potential for ultimate expression blossomed.
Vetis burst into action. Raising his scepter high, he poured all his strength into the rod and delivered a double-handed, overhead blow that left a seething flash of light in its wake.
Shifting to one side, Angule raised his sword to block the challenge. The ether throbbed to the power of conflicting energies.
Both ogres sprang apart, circled, and smashed together again. A flurry of blows followed, etching the air in ribbons of plasma and concussive tremors.
Conscious of the fact that he couldn’t allow his antagonist to establish a rhythm, Angule adjusted the speed and strength of his attack. The tempo of the conflict staggered, oscillating between blinding strikes and graceful ripostes. Back and forth they raged. Thrusting and smashing. Driving and slashing. As time passed, a maddening sense of ferocity and frustration congealed out of the whirlwind of chaos about them. So enraged did it become that eventually, neither bothered to defend anymore.
The conflict remained at stalemate until the unexpected moment when both Masters stepped in to deliver simultaneous blows designed to take the other’s head clean off. They clashed together. Neither disengaged. Remaining corps-a-corps, they chose instead to pour ever increasing amounts of power into their weapons.
&n
bsp; Bloated with energy, the atmosphere ionized, and a frenzied discord distorted their surroundings. Ramping exponentially, it could only end one way.
Booooom!
A thunderous report flung them apart, and a series of stunning aftershocks shook the building to its foundations. Struggling to clear his senses, Angule registered the fact that his sword had been destroyed.
Alarmed, he glanced toward Vetis, relieved to discover the Imperator’s staff had likewise been obliterated.
The Titans stood. Maintaining eye contact, Angule seized the opportunity to refresh his matrix with raw essence from the ether.
Spotting the maneuver, Vetis made haste to do the same.
Let us end this, Angule rumbled. Only one of us will leave this place alive.
Flexing his will, Angule extended his claws and fangs to their full, impressive length. His entire form burst into lurid gold and purple flame. He advanced once more.
Time to die.
Both monsters phased, coming together again in a cyclone of violence that made their earlier efforts seem like child’s play. Using tusks and talons, they bit and gouged, slashed and clubbed, tore and ravaged each other with such abandon they were soon covered in steaming rents and welts.
A sulfurous stench filled the room with an oozing malevolence of brimstone and shadows.
Disturbed by the volume of wounds he had received, Vetis panicked.
Encouraged, Angule changed tactics and pressed a purely physical attack. He stamped down with a massive, horned foot. A shockwave that split the floor in two radiated outward, right through to the next level. He stomped again, and the crack grew wider, splintering off into a myriad fissures that ran the length of the ward.
The Imperator was thrown to the floor.
Time to die, Angule repeated in triumph.
Leaping forward, he drove his talons into the center of Vetis’s chest. Clenching his fist, he unleashed a knot of immeasurable cogency into his rival’s codex.
Vetis jerked and went rigid. Forked lightning erupted from multiple points all over his body. The ground beneath his feet liquefied. Bricks, dust, and mortar rained down about them, only to vaporize with a sputtering hiss.
Glowing like a nova, Vetis appeared to inflate on the end of Angule’s arm before blowing apart in an overwhelming release of energy.
Angule rocked in sublime ecstasy as he subsumed the full measure of his foe’s vitality.
And so it ends.
A sea of conciliatory nuances bathed Angule in a rare moment of pleasure.
Savoring them, he contented himself by drifting among the myriad tones of eclectic possibilities that were now free to present themselves for his inspection.
He would have been content to stay there for a full cycle, but the sound of a human woman sobbing drew him back to the reality of what still lay ahead.
*
“Mac? Mac? Can you hear me?” Ayria cried. “I’m so sorry. There’s nothing I can do for you. Not here, not without any equipment.”
Her patient didn’t appear to hear, or was unable to respond.
In desperation, she turned to the Horde Masters. “Can’t you do anything? With all that power, are you telling me you can’t somehow infuse his body with life? Heal his injuries?”
An alien presence filled her mind. The larger of the beasts moved slowly forward, and Ayria received the impression of a name. Angule.
Ayria Solram. While the more enlightened of the Kresh are able to counter our nature, and reverse the flow of energies that sustain us, I regret to say . . . it is impossible for us to regenerate wounds such as these. He hovers on the brink. Any infusion now would extinguish the wan flame that remains. The thought-stream became tinged with sorrow. A tragic waste, for this man was incredibly brave to even attempt what he accomplished.
Had Ayria not already been kneeling, she would have fallen to the floor.
But I’m going to lose him!
Numbed, she shuffled closer to the ruined shell. “Oh, Mac. I’m sorry. I wish you could hear me. I wish there was something I could do.”
The charred and bloody mess on the ground before her made a strangled, gargling sound, as if trying to speak.
She bent closer and put her ear to the cracked and bleeding excuse for his lips. Help me understand what you’re trying to say, she willed.
A weak gasp was the only reply she received.
Behind her, Houston snorted.
“Are you laughing?” Ayria rounded on him. “At a time like this, you dare to . . . to . . . ”
“You misunderstand me,” Houston retorted, “I meant no offence. But you forget. I can hear his mind. His reply to your concern was typically . . . stoic.”
“What do you mean?”
“Allow me.” Houston hunkered down on the floor between them. He placed one hand on Ayria’s head, and with the other, tried to select a place where he wouldn’t cause any further pain to the dying man. A difficult task, for Mac’s body was a mass of burnt flesh, covered head to toe in evil blisters and welts that oozed foul-looking pus.
Houston eventually placed tender fingers against a gaping sore on the side of Mac’s head. Turning to Ayria, he whispered, “Now speak to him. Quickly, for he is fading.”
“Mac? Mac, can you hear me?”
Yes, I can hear you. I’m dying, not deaf. There’s no need to shout.
Tears welled up in her eyes and blurred her sight. Such heroic reliance on humor to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation pierced her heart to the core.
“I’m sorry. I don’t even have anything for the pain. I wish . . .”
Hey, enough of that. Stop fussing. It’s my own fault. After all, only an idiot would ever dream of taking on a Horde Master with nothing but an axe, eh?
A cartoon sprang into her mind of a mouse, complete with mustache and beard, dressed in full Viking regalia, leaping through the air and swinging a double-edged battleaxe against the rear foot of an unsuspecting mastodon.
Talk about not thinking of the consequences.
In the vision, the mammoth, surprised by the suddenness of the attack, took an unexpected dump from a great height onto its unfortunate attacker.
Ayria burst out laughing, and the tears flowed.
Mac’s chest heaved, as if he’d caught his breath. A strange rasping sound issued from his throat, along with a froth of bloody bubbles. What’s happening? Ayria? I can’t feel . . . Are you there? It’s . . .
He twitched, and took a shuddering breath. His hand shot out to grasp her sleeve. Tell Jayden . . . Tell Jayden I love her, will you? Tell he–
As Mac exhaled, an all-enveloping blackness rushed toward Ayria. His arm went limp, and Houston severed the link.
“He’s gone,” Houston whispered hoarsely, his face a mask of grief.
They sat there in silence, not knowing what to do or say.
Stained-With-Blood cleared his throat. “The time for mourning must wait. We have no choice. Our city is still besieged, and we now have the means to end this conflict within our grasp.”
Lifting Heaven’s-Claw into the air, he faced Angule and Raum. “I am a shaman of the Cree. A spirit-walker. One who travels what you call the Ix.” He gestured toward Ayria. “As is this woman. You called my star blade by a different name. Cryptogen. We must consult Napioa urgently, for we still need to learn how this . . . re-genesis is to be brought to fruition. What can you do to assist us?”
The Controllers communicated privately.
Angule’s crown flared to life.
The remains of the outer ward became filled with astral light as every surviving Master answered his summons. A resonating mental voice, full of authority, boomed forth: Buer, Caym, Raum. Take Limun, N’Omicron, and Vual and bring the children of the third tier to heel. Remove them from the city at once, and return them to the Hall of Eclectic Spheres. All of them. Curb their frustrations, and induce the hibernat. They are not to be woken until this is all over.
Mamone’sh, Orias? You will remain with
me as we attempt to parley with the human leaders.
Dismissing them, the Prime Catalyct turned to Ayria. You are a prominent figure of this community. Do you think your kin will listen to our proposals?
“I don’t know,” Ayria replied, uncomfortable with the attention. “Virtually everyone is on the Arch of Winter now, and focused on a new life elsewhere. Whether they go or stay will depend entirely on your true intentions.”
True intentions? Woman, it’s quite simple. Inform your commanders that if they lend us their aid, by this time tomorrow the conflict will be over. Forever!
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Re-Genesis
Saul Cameron counted off the faces of the people gathered around him at the table.
Mohammed Amine, Ayria Solram, Marcus Brutus, Shannon De Lacey, Ephraim Miller, Stained-With-Blood, James Houston — or at least, the entity inhabiting his body is here—a pilot by all accounts. And next to him, we have the avatars of Psi Calen and Gul Sariff.
Everyone stared at him expectantly.
That this extraordinary assembly should take place at all was a credit to the ambassadorial dexterity of Stained-With-Blood and James Houston, for they had skillfully overcome his initial reservations by highlighting the long-term benefits mutual cooperation would foment for everyone concerned.
That it should be held here, within the command center of the Ark, was a near miracle. Especially when Saul turned to consider the final members of the gathering.
I never thought I’d see the day when I’d let a living member of the Horde into this place. Let alone two of them.
Angule, the newly installed Imperator of the Kresh, stood off to one side with his assistant, Raum. Both were obviously fascinated by the sheer scale of the Ark, and acted as if they walked upon holy ground.
Saul had been apprised of their role in the ceasefire, and of their hopes for a permanent conciliation in the future. Although initially skeptical of their motives, witnessing the way they behaved around the historical remains of their race had only served to reinforce to him just how much was riding on his decision.
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