The Shattering: Omnibus

by Van Allen Plexico

  As the last of the ceremonial guards withdrew, leaving a throne room deathly still and quiet, a sudden flaring of light nearly blinded everyone who looked on. Standing behind the golden basin near the throne, the pale, slender man in the Egyptian headgear was executing a series of complex gestures. In response, from out of the basin erupted searing bolts of energy, like lightning moving horizontally through the air. The bolts forked across the chamber and cut savagely into the I Legion soldiers. Instinctively Nakamura brought the sword down, and indeed he managed to deflect the first couple of shots that had been directed his way. But then the third shot caught him in the leg and he cried out, dropping to the marble floor.

  Tamerlane was up again at this, hurrying toward the balcony’s edge, clearly intending to simply leap over and come to Nakamura’s rescue. Titus Elaro leapt and tackled him before he could reach the ledge.

  Rolling over onto his back, furious, Tamerlane glared up at the man. “What do you think you’re doing? I have to help him!”

  “It’s too late for them,” Elaro replied, his voice restrained and even. “You can see that. If you give yourself away, you’ll give all of us away, and then it will have all been for nothing.”

  “But—we were going to attack them anyway,” the general argued, his eyes frantic.

  “We can’t walk into that deathtrap,” Elaro replied harshly. “We owe the Taiko a huge debt. He revealed exactly what would’ve happened to us if we’d launched a frontal assault on Rameses.”

  The general scowled and he looked to thinking of arguing—or wrestling the other man out of his way—but after a second or two of reflection, he calmed himself and nodded. “You’re right. But we have to help him—rescue him—somehow...”

  “Definitely,” Elaro said. “But without getting ourselves killed in the process—right, General?”

  Tamerlane didn’t reply. He simply nodded once, reluctantly.

  Elaro helped him back to his feet and the two men stared down in horror as the last of the I Legion soldiers was cut down by the murderous beams that struck from the golden basin. Some two dozen soldiers in red and gold lay still, scattered across the chamber like dried leaves. Tamerlane’s hands were white where he gripped the rail of the balcony, and his teeth were bared. Beside them, Delain stood with her hands raised, chanting over and over a litany against detection.

  Below them, Rameses in his crimson armor emerged from his hiding place and moved slowly and cautiously toward the prone Taiko. Opposite him, a tall, lithe form in Egyptian headgear glided out of the shadows. They began to speak quietly.

  “What are they saying?” Tamerlane asked, his face flushed. “If only we could hear.”

  Delain glanced at him and offered him the tiniest hint of a smile. “Perhaps I can be of assistance with that, General,” she said. And she rotated one hand slightly...

  On the marble floor below, Nakamura lay unmoving, sprawled on his face. Some two dozen I Legion soldiers were scattered all around him, dead. The Sword of Baranak had fallen from his grip and now it rested on the marble floor a short distance away.

  Zahir glided over and bent, picking it up. He held it for a moment, studying it.

  “What do you have there, my vizier?” Rameses asked, moving forward in his seamless red armor. He took in the sight of the sword and he gasped. “Is—is that—?”

  “The Sword of Baranak,” Zahir informed him. “Nakamura brought it to us, just as the master told us he would. He brought it right to us!” The pale, thin man smiled broadly. “The final piece is on the chess board, as he foresaw. The endgame has begun.” He strode several paces across the room and proffered the sword to the governor.

  “To us? He has brought it to me,” the armored man snapped. He reached out and seized the sword, wresting it away from the vizier. “It represents his final capitulation. The old Empire is dead. Nakamura has brought the symbol of power to the one who is his superior—to the one who replaces him as supreme force in the galaxy! To me!” He held the golden blade aloft. “Witness now the birth of a living god!”

  His sneering unnoticed by the other, Zahir bowed low. “Rameses—the living god,” he proclaimed. “Let it be written; let it be done.” He turned and gazed at the princess where she lay on her palanquin; moving ever so slowly, so carefully, the ethereal demonform had descended more than halfway into her body. The girl’s eyes were open and her mouth locked in a soundless scream. “For a short while yet, at least,” he murmured softly, almost inaudibly. “Then comes the ascension of the Empress, the reign of the demon lord—and all the galaxy at the feet of great Goraddon.”

  Watching from the balcony above, Tamerlane cursed violently. Delain had magnified the thin man’s words so that all of the team could hear him, and now they truly understood what they were up against.

  “Madmen,” Tamerlane growled. “Cultists! Demon worshippers!”

  “I believe they are more even than that,” the Inquisitor woman whispered to the general.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I detect vast power swirling about and within the vizier,” she said. Her arms still aloft as she projected a shielding effect, she nodded with her head. “This one called Zahir—I believe there is more to him than we have seen thus far.” She hesitated. “The same is true of Teluria, the Ecclesiarch. I was not certain at first; she is very skilled at hiding certain telltale signs. But now—”

  “They’re gods,” Tamerlane stated flatly. “I know it.”

  Standing beside them, Titus Elaro and Arani exchanged startled glances.

  “Gods?” Arani said.

  Elaro blinked. “You mean—you’re saying they’re two of Those Who Remain?”

  “Exactly,” Tamerlane responded. He turned and faced them. “We’ve always heard stories that some of them had survived all the way into the present day, and dwelt in our dimension, rather than in the Above or some other private cosmos. I believe that’s what these two are.”

  “There is another,” Delain said. She had spoken before she could stop herself to think it through; had she reflected for a moment, she realized with a start, she wouldn’t have allowed herself to say it. Why is that? she wondered. Some built-in reflex that would’ve caused me to not speak the thought aloud? Yes—almost as if I’d been put under a... spell...

  Tamerlane started at her last words. Eyebrows knitting, he turned and stared at her, his eyes meeting hers and seeming to bore in. “Another,” he said. “No. No. No other. N—” He choked, coughing violently for several seconds. “Yes. Yes!” Straightening, he looked from the extremely puzzled Arani and Elaro to Delain. “Why couldn’t I say it? Or think it?”

  “Because he didn’t want us to,” the Inquisitor replied. “Because he wouldn’t let us.”

  It all came back to Tamerlane then, with enough force to nearly knock him over. “The man in black!” he gasped. “He was there—he was always there! Why did I always forget him?” He shook his head. “Because he wanted me to,” he said before Delain could. “At the cathedral, speaking to the Emperor. In Nakamura’s quarters. Everywhere. A man in black.”

  “Goraddon,” Delain said. “Goraddon, the god of persuasion.”

  Tamerlane brought his fist down hard onto the railing. “All along. It was him, all along. Pushing Rameses—using him as a pawn.”

  “As a dark king,” Delain whispered. “And Nakamura the king of light—lying face-down on the floor now.” She closed her eyes. “He’s already won.”

  “Not by a long shot,” Tamerlane snapped. “This is no chess game. There are more than two sides in the fight. And Rameses and his manipulator have yet to hear from me.”

  “To battle this foe, General,” Delain said, “you will need more than just we few here. Even an entire legion would not be enough—”

  “It would be a good start,” Tamerlane replied, his mouth twisted in anger.

  “There are no more legions to be had,” Arani pointed out.

  “There’s one,” Tamerlane stated. “And it’s time t
hey got in the game.”

  The others all exchanged glances.

  “You mean—?” Arani said.

  “I mean it’s time to give Iapetus a call,” the general said. “It’s time the Sons of Terra were heard from in all of this.”

  “He won’t listen,” Elaro said quietly.

  “Oh, he’ll listen—and he’ll come,” Tamerlane replied, eyes burning. “Even if I have to go and drag him and his entire legion here by myself.”

  BOOK EIGHT:

  WHO WATCHES?

  1

  The darkened strategium of the Atlantia lit up again as it had some time earlier, bathed in the sickly yellow light of eldritch fire and the smell of smoke and metal. As the light faded, a human form shrouded in dark red became apparent to anyone who was looking on.

  As it happened, only one person was there waiting. As the red-clad figure stepped out of the open tear in space and time, the other waited patiently, eyes downcast.

  The light faded away to nothing, the wound in reality closing. The figure in red stood there, alone, hooded and robed.

  “Lady Teluria,” Colonel Piryu said, drawing near and bowing low. “My lord Iapetus thanks you for coming on such short notice.”

  Teluria gazed at Piryu, her mouth twisted in a pout. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, looking around the empty, dark chamber. “I do not appreciate being perfunctorily summoned—by anyone!” She frowned. “Where is Iapetus? He has much to answer for.”

  “The General is otherwise engaged at the moment, Lady,” Piryu said, still half-bowed and looking not at her but at the metal plating of the floor. “He sends his assurances that he will attend you very shortly.”

  “Unacceptable!” Teluria all but shouted. “How dare he demand I appear here, on his flagship, and then ask me to wait upon his pleasure?” She stalked across the broad room regally, chin jutting out. “He must be taught some manners!”

  Piryu bowed low again. “As you say, Lady. In the meantime, I have been directed to take you to the lounge, where you will enjoy—”

  “There is nothing about this that I enjoy, lackey!” Teluria glared at the colonel for a long moment, then turned away. She stood there for several seconds. “I cannot quite believe that Iapetus would impose upon me in such a blatant manner. Apparently I have woefully misjudged him.”

  “That may be,” said Piryu quietly.

  Teluria’s gaze snapped back around, locking onto the colonel with a burning intensity. “What?”

  “If you would follow me, ma’am,” Piryu stated formally, gesturing toward the door, “I will be honored to lead you to the lounge.”

  Very slowly and very reluctantly, Teluria allowed the colonel to lead her out of the strategium and a short distance down one corridor to the luxuriously appointed suite that had been prepared for her. As she glided along, the woman in red continued to mutter curses and imprecations against Iapetus and his entire Legion.

  Perhaps half an hour passed before Teluria would have no more of it. Scarcely containing her fury, the imperious woman sat up from where she had been languorously lounging on a well-cushioned chaise and rose to her feet. She wore only a skintight, blood-red leotard woven of some unrecognizable material. Reaching over, she snatched up her robe from the chair on which it had been draped and refastened it about her neck. Then she moved to the door and waited for it to open.

  It did not move.

  “Have the idiots locked me in?” she wondered aloud. “They wouldn’t dare,” she answered herself. Raising a hand, she gestured toward the door. This time it slid silently open.

  Just outside stood Piryu. Seeing her, the colonel bowed low. “My Lady,” she said, her voice now carrying a hint of nervousness, “can I be of assistance?”

  “Yes,” she said, walking past her. “You can direct me to Iapetus and otherwise stay out of my way.”

  “I—err—yes, of course,” she replied. Quickly she accessed the Aether. In doing so, she lost a couple of steps behind Teluria as the woman stalked away, and she hurried to catch up. “The general can see you now,” she reported. “He awaits your pleasure in the strategium.”

  “Oh, does he, then?” She scoffed. “I’m afraid he will find little pleasure with me.” Leaving the hood down, her sour expression plain to anyone who dared look at her, she followed the officer back along the corridor to the strategium.

  She entered the darkened room again, this time not via a trans-dimensional portal but by way of the sliding doors. Teluria followed her in and stood next to her, waiting.

  A short distance away, seated on a plain metal chair that had been brought in, was General Ioan Iapetus. He sat unmoving, his dark eyes piercing through the dimness and unflinchingly meeting hers.

  “What is the meaning of this, Iapetus?” the robed woman demanded. “Have you become so deluded that you think you can simply summon me to your presence whenever you see fit?”

  The general said nothing in reply. He simply gazed back at her, watching. The golden eye emblem on his black uniform gleamed in the semi-darkness.

  Teluria took a step toward him, anger spilling out now. “Will you speak, then? Will you answer for yourself?” Then she saw that he had two objects resting on his lap. One object was a small box, about the size of a packet of the cigarettes he usually carried.

  The other was a gun.

  This gave her pause. She halted, frowning, one eyebrow lifting curiously.

  The doors slid closed behind her, and she realized that Piryu had exited. Only the two of them remained in the vast, empty room.

  “You seek to threaten, to intimidate me—me!—with a pitiful blast pistol, General?” she asked—but her voice now betrayed her uncertainty. She knew all too well how wily, how unpredictable, and how dangerous this man could be. She told herself to tread carefully, at least until she fully understood what sort of game he was playing.

  She waited, and their eyes remained locked, like some vicious predator with its prey. The question of which of them was now the predator and which was the prey remained hanging in the air between them, unspoken and unanswered.

  “You will perform a service for me,” Iapetus stated quietly, breaking the silence at last.

  “Oh, will I?” Teluria responded.

  “Yes.”

  She chuckled once, but there was no real force behind it now. “And if not? What follows?”

  Iapetus’s expression remained flat, his composure utterly calm. He reached up, into a pocket on the breast of his uniform, just above and to the left of the golden eye emblem. He drew out a small, shining gemstone, dark red in color. He held it up for her to see, then lifted the strange pistol from his lap with his other hand and fitted the stone into a recessed cavity in it. Having done so, he held the gun so that it was not exactly pointed in her direction.

  “If not,” he said, “I will shoot you with this.”

  She blinked, puzzled, and stared at the gun. And then she realized what it was.

  Gasping, Teluria stumbled back a step, two steps. Her expression dissolved instantly into one of fear and panic.

  “Wha—where did you get that?” she demanded, though her tone no longer carried any sort of commanding force. “How did you get that?”

  “You know of it,” Iapetus said. “Good. That will save me the need for any sort of demonstration. Because, to be honest with you, I wasn’t certain how I could stage an effective demonstration without killing you in the process.”

  She glared at him.

  Now Iapetus smiled. His smile, however, was cold, reptilian, and not something designed to bring any degree of relief. “I have been dispatching expeditions to locate one of these for many years now. Having become general of the entire II Legion, I found my resources vastly increased.” He gave a slight shrug. “The story goes that Lucian commissioned many of them to be made. I suspected a few of them remained behind after the Revolt in Heaven. It was only a matter of time until one turned up.”

  Teluria wasted no time. She raised
one hand and uttered mystical incantations in a long-forgotten tongue; incantations that would open a trans-dimensional portal for her.

  Nothing happened.

  Now she raised both hands, gesturing more broadly, her voice louder as she chanted.

  “You do realize I can shoot you down right now, as you do that, right?” the general asked, looking suddenly bored.

  “What has happened?” the woman demanded. Her eyes were wide now, wild, frantic. She tried a third time to open a portal, that she might escape this mad mortal. Again, there was no effect whatsoever.

  “What has happened is that I fully understand what you are,” Iapetus said. He held up the other object that had rested on his lap: the small, black box with flashing red and green lights along its sides. “In addition to the gun,” he told her, “I also possess this.”

  She finally ceased her efforts and looked at the little box. Her eyes held the specter of defeat in them. She didn’t ask.

  He told her anyway. “This scrambles your ability to open portals,” he said. “There is no escape—until you have performed the job I have set for you.”

  “Impossible!” she cried. “No mortal device can restrain the powers of a god!”

  “And yet,” Iapetus said, shrugging again, “here you remain.”

  Teluria glared at him. “May the demons of the abyss drag you screaming into the depths of the Below,” she muttered, her teeth bared.

  “Perhaps that will happen,” Iapetus replied. “But I doubt it. And not while there is still work to be done.” He smiled again. “There needs to be a clear understanding between us. You will do as I say. You will perform a small service for me. And then you are free to go.” He paused. “Provided you go back to your own realm and leave this dimension forever.” He held up the pistol again. “Otherwise, understand that I have no qualms whatsoever about shooting a goddess point-blank, drawing out her soul, and imprisoning it forever in that little red crystal.”

  Huddling back from him, she now resembled nothing so much as a snake driven into a corner and raring to strike at the first opportunity—but afraid to try.