The Shattering: Omnibus

by Van Allen Plexico

  She glared at him but said nothing. Just beyond them, the firefight only amped up higher, bright and deadly red and yellow and green streaks of coherent light and whizzing projectiles crisscrossing the open interior of the chamber.

  Seeing nothing more to be done for the princess, Tamerlane and Delain had moved out into the midst of the battle and were contributing what they could to aid the cause of the Sons of Terra. It felt extremely odd to Tamerlane to actually help the soldiers in black; in recent days he’d nearly come to think of them as yet another enemy. But that was ridiculous, of course. They were one of the three major army groups of the Empire, and he told himself he could not allow his personal dislike for the abrasive Iapetus to cloud his attitude toward II Legion. He wasn’t entirely sure how convincing he was, though.

  So Tamerlane hurled fireballs at the Sand Kings and Delain confounded them with illusions and distortions, causing them to shoot at their own men or run into walls. It didn’t amount to a lot in the grand scheme of things, but it made them both feel as though they were genuinely contributing to the effort against Rameses—that he was being beaten at last.

  Tamerlane, nonetheless, couldn’t shake an odd feeling that somehow he was causing himself more trouble in the long run. But all he could do was to dismiss the feeling as paranoia and redouble his efforts. So he fired blast after searing blast of cosmic flame into the ranks of the Sand Kings, melting their armor and weapons and driving them back.

  For another fifteen minutes at least, the battle raged unabated, though it felt to the participants like hours. In such a confined space—even one as large as the massive throne room of the Heliopolis—the two armies were pressed together tightly and the fight grew brutal almost immediately, with hand-to-hand combat replacing stand-off-and-shoot fighting more and more often as the minutes passed by. Rifles were slung onto backs as the two legions’ almost-frictionless gladii came out of their sheaths—short stabbing swords that could penetrate even the finest plate armor.

  Movement was limited, and attempts were made to break open the congested little battlefield; a half-dozen Sand Kings with flight packs lofted into the air and attempted to fly over the Sons, likely in an effort to get behind them and squeeze the invaders between two lines. It never came close to succeeding. The Sons had brought a few extremely heavy-duty, tripod-mounted energy cannons with them, and they swiveled them upwards, blasting the fliers, causing still-smoking pieces to rain down on the marble tiles. Seeing this, the Sand Kings didn’t attempt any more aerial attacks.

  Black, acrid smoke filled the broad chamber. Tamerlane and Delain were both coughing nearly every breath, as were many of the soldiers who hadn’t brought breathing equipment. Fires had erupted in spots behind the Sand Kings front line where Tamerlane had directed the brunt of his flaming assault. The dead and wounded lay everywhere, in some cases layered over the casualties of Nakamura’s first attack. There wasn’t as much blood; the weapons being employed mostly tended to self-cauterize the flesh as they did their damage. Nevertheless, the marble tiles were growing slick and spots of clean, open floor were becoming scarce.

  The portal Teluria had opened to bring the II Legion to Ahknaton was closed now; what the Sons had with them in terms of troop strength was what they had. The numbers had appeared to be more than enough at first, but with casualties mounting so quickly, one had to start to wonder: Who will run out of troops first, Rameses or Iapetus?

  In the event, it was the Sand Kings who at last gave way.

  The battle had been an epic one, with heroic and cowardly deeds in equal measure on both sides.

  Ultimately, though, the Sand Kings faltered, their morale never the equal of the fanatical Sons. Sensing victory at last at hand, Iapetus issued new orders over the now-clear Aether link and the black-uniformed horde responded, redoubling their efforts in key spots.

  One thing about their approach was very clear to Tamerlane from the start, and only became magnified as the battle raged on: the Sons had no intentions of taking any prisoners. They lashed out with a fanatical fervor Tamerlane had rarely seen from trained Imperial forces. They were utterly brutal. Any of the Ahknaton soldiers who attempted to surrender were simply shot.

  They’re operating according to a different set of rules from my Lords of Fire or Agrippa’s Kings of Oblivion, he understood fully then. A cold dread moved up from his stomach and began to grip his heart. What have I gotten myself—and the Empire—into, bringing this crowd into things? he wondered. Can they be managed—controlled—at all, once it’s all over?

  It was a fair question—as Tamerlane would discover soon enough.

  Tamerlane stood looking down at the princess. Behind and around him, a few shots still rang out here and there, but for the most part the Battle of Ahknaton was over. The Sand Kings had been routed, their best forces defeated—slain, Tamerlane corrected himself—and the entire Heliopolis secured by II Legion troops. Scattered units still operated outside the city, but they could be mopped up at any time, later on. Tamerlane sincerely hoped that meant “persuading them to surrender and change sides,” rather than “kill them,” because, in addition to simply not wanting to have to kill anyone else, manpower was becoming increasingly scarce. They needed every soldier they could get.

  Of Rameses there was no sign. He had disappeared during the melee. Elite Sons of Terra units were searching the palace for him now. Iapetus, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen, either. The good part of all that was the number of Sons troopers in the throne room was down to a bare minimum, as well.

  Tamerlane gestured toward the little girl and looked to Inquisitor Delain. “What’s her status?” he asked. “Do you know yet if she—?”

  Delain shook her head. “The telltale signs are gone, and she appears to be resting normally—pure sleep, not an induced coma—but I have no way of truly knowing, and I still fear—”

  “Right.” Tamerlane didn’t want to hear the rest. He spared a glance at the body of Belisarius lying on the other palanquin. The man still appeared as stiff as a statue; he might as well be dead. He had no idea what that might mean.

  The general ran a hand through his graying hair and turned to where Colonel Arani and Titus Elaro stood, their guns slung over their shoulders and their faces dirty with soot and blood from the battle. He started to ask them about the status of the Nizam forces when a veritable battalion of II Legion soldiers in black and gold marched up, boots crashing on the marble floor. At their head was not General Iapetus but Colonel Barbarossa—a sight that warmed Tamerlane’s heart. Though it had only been days, it felt like weeks or months since he had dispatched Barbarossa back to the man’s own legion to keep an eye on Iapetus—to “watch the watchman.” This, he felt, was a Son of Terra that he could do business with.

  Thus he was somewhat nonplussed when Barbarossa motioned and the Sons behind him all drew their weapons, leveling them at Tamerlane and his little group.

  “What is the meaning of this, Colonel?” the general demanded.

  “Orders, sir,” Barbarossa replied with a slight shrug. “The Princess is to come with us, back to the Atlantia.”

  Tamerlane gaped. “What?”

  Several Sons started forward toward the nearer palanquin. Tamerlane stepped in front of them, hands raised. “Hold on. I’ve given no orders that II Legion is to take custody of—”

  “The orders came from General Iapetus himself, sir,” Barbarossa said casually.

  Tamerlane frowned. “Iapetus has no authority to issue an order such as that,” he barked. “I am the ranking officer here.”

  Barbarossa offered the general a half-smile. “I’m afraid you may find some things have...changed, sir,” he said coldly.

  Tamerlane reddened. “You have no love for Iapetus. You’ve said so. You were helping me—serving the Empire, not that egotistical—”

  The general’s angry objection ended in mid-sentence as Barbarossa merely laughed. “So you were to believe.” He chuckled. “Iapetus feels strongly that any foe—rea
l or potential—should think he knows more than he actually does about our legion’s doings. Should have a, shall we say, false sense of security. Thus he arranged for double-agents in all the most critical locations across the Empire.” His smile widened now. “That would, of course, include me.” He looked directly at Titus Elaro. “Among others.”

  Tamerlane and Arani blanched. They turned, staring at Elaro. The Major appeared extremely uncomfortable; he was sweating and his skin was red.

  “Major Elaro,” Barbarossa ordered, “secure the princess and let us depart.”

  “You were a mole?” Arani gasped, astonished. “You’re part of the Sons?” To her credit, given what had happened between them, she didn’t react violently or emotionally. She stepped away from Elaro but closer to the princess, her rifle unslung and at the ready. “You’re not taking the girl,” she said, glaring at him.

  Elaro looked from Arani to Barbarossa and back. He appeared uncertain.

  “It’s not too late for either of you,” Tamerlane asserted, moving forward. In reaction, the Sons brandished their weapons in his direction; he ignored them. “Iapetus is committing high treason by doing this. You don’t have to go down with him.”

  “Treason?” Barbarossa scoffed. “Against whom?” He motioned toward the piles of bodies around the throne; one of them had been Nakamura’s. “The so-called Taiko is dead.” He nodded toward the princess. “This little girl is the only legitimate authority remaining in the Empire. Whoever controls her is, by definition, legitimate—and whoever opposes them is, by definition, an insurgent. A rebel.” He looked from Tamerlane’s face to Arani’s to Delain’s and back. “So, if I were you, I would be very careful about just whom I accused of committing treason, General.”

  Tamerlane bunched his fists together but didn’t move—yet.

  “Now,” Barbarossa continued. “Major Elaro—if you would?”

  Elaro looked down at the little girl, then up at Arani. He breathed deeply, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, Colonel,” he said, “but I can’t do that.”

  Barbarossa frowned. This was the first thing to go against Iapetus’s carefully laid plans, and it took the colonel by surprise. “What did you say, Major?”

  “I can’t help you abduct the princess. It’s wrong. General Tamerlane is right.”

  Barbarossa shook his head sadly. Then he motioned. In response, a half-dozen Sons of Terra rushed forward. One clubbed Elaro in the head with the butt of his rifle in a quick and savage move. The others grabbed the girl quickly but securely and lifted her up, even as Elaro collapsed to the floor, bleeding.

  Colonel Arani cursed loudly and raised her weapon to fire at the Sons, but another of their legion moved up behind her silently and knocked her down in the same fashion as Elaro. The two lay side by side on the cold floor, eyes closed.

  Tamerlane was utterly furious. He got up in Barbarossa’s face, his finger jabbing the man in his chest. “You’re going to be court-martialed,” he said. “You and your general.”

  “It will be the other way around, I’m afraid,” Barbarossa replied, still smiling.

  Tamerlane watched as the soldiers carried the little girl away. “How do you know she’s not still possessed? You may be taking a demon lord with you, back to Earth.”

  Barbarossa shrugged. “We will deal with that eventuality if and when it presents itself.”

  “You fool,” Tamerlane breathed. “You have no idea what—”

  “IAPETUS!”

  The cry came from across the chamber—from a lone figure in red who was emerging from a heretofore hidden room behind the throne.

  “TAMERLANE!”

  Everyone looked up. Tamerlane saw the man standing there and he only shook his head. “Of course,” he said. “Of course he would reappear now. The idiot.”

  Rameses strode out into the chamber, crimson energy crackling over the surface of his cosmic armor, the golden Sword of Baranak swinging in his hand.

  “Zahir thought I did not know of his secret reserves of cosmic power hidden away in there,” he muttered, his words barely audible. “But I have tapped into them—the Power fills me, overflows from me—and now I will have my vengeance!” He stalked toward Tamerlane, the sword coming up as he moved. “Where is that dog, that barbarian, Iapetus? I would have a reckoning with him, as well!”

  Tamerlane shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Rameses scowled. “You first, then,” he growled. He rushed forward, sword held high.

  The Sons of Terra that had backed up Barbarossa moved in front of him and opened fire, almost point blank. The blasts all struck Rameses but deflected harmlessly off the armor.

  Rameses roared in anger and whirled. He focused his attention on the soldiers in black and gold that had attacked him. When he moved, it was almost faster than the eye could see, the armor boosting his muscles and reflexes. The gleaming sword lashed out, slicing effortlessly through the ranks of black-clad soldiers. In mere seconds, they were all dead.

  Barbarossa himself stumbled backward, trying to get away.

  Tamerlane moved between them.

  “If your issues are with me, Rameses,” the general said, “then let us settle them together, you and I.”

  Rameses roared wordlessly and swung the sword. Tamerlane barely dodged. He raised his right hand and unleashed a blinding blast of flame directly into the governor’s face. Rameses choked and stumbled back, but the armor somehow protected him even where it didn’t appear to; perhaps, Tamerlane thought, it did cover his face, too, but was simply not visible there.

  As the others hurried to move back out of the way, Tamerlane and Rameses circled one another, looking for an opening. Rameses struck again, the Sword of Baranak singing as it sliced through the air, barely missing the general’s chest. Tamerlane followed with a column of fire he directed at the floor beneath the governor’s feet, half-melting the marble and sending the armored man down onto his hands and knees. The sword remained clutched in his grasp.

  Rameses jabbed with the blade as he fought his way back to his feet. He started to attack again, and Tamerlane prepared another counter-attack.

  And that was when the demon lord erupted from Belisarius’s body in a shower of blood and flame.

  5

  Both Tamerlane and Rameses whirled at the horrendous, inhuman, unearthly sound of a lord of the Below fully manifesting itself into our universe and tearing itself free of the ruined body of Colonel Belisarius.

  It expanded rapidly in heft as well as in height, until within only a matter of seconds it towered over them, some four or five meters tall at least. Naked, its skin was the dark red of drying blood. Horns protruded from its forehead, and fangs from its mouth. Its eyes burned like fire, and when it roared, the sound was enough to crack the foundations of the palace itself.

  “It must have retreated back into Belisarius,” Tamerlane guessed, though no one else could hear. “That means the princess is safe, at least.” He allowed himself some small measure of relief at that thought. Only a second’s worth, though—the situation had just gone from very, very bad to infinitely worse. “Surrounded by every conceivable enemy, all at once,” he added. “I suppose we can have one final reckoning, then.” He found the thought oddly comforting. He was tired, he realized. So very tired. He felt as if he’d been carrying the entire Empire on his shoulders for months; come to think of it, in some ways, he had been. If he was about to go down—and, frankly, he couldn’t imagine any other outcome of all this—at least it would be over. And, if nothing else, at least the little princess wasn’t going to transform into the hideous creature that confronted him now. That much was a victory.

  The hideous creature. Yes. That thought brought him back to the present with a start. The demon lord was here, now. It strode forward on reverse-bending legs, roaring its fury.

  “We need to work together,” Tamerlane called to the armored man across from him. “It’s the only way anyone here survives.”

  Rameses looked as if he we
re about to reply in the affirmative. Then, with a blink and a sudden shake of his head, his expression hardened. “What care I for this thing?” he shouted back at the general. “Let it wreak its havoc. I seek only revenge!”

  The mad governor rushed forward, ducking a taloned hand that swept out from the demon, and lunged at Tamerlane. The general dodged to one side and rolled. He raised a hand and blasted Rameses back with an erupting column of fire.

  The two men got to their feet almost instantly, just ahead of the demon’s next attack. Again Tamerlane was forced to defend himself from both threats; the demon lord, meanwhile, seemed to sense that Rameses wasn’t seeking to harm it, and it turned all of its attention to Tamerlane.

  “Listen to me,” Tamerlane cried over the bellowing roars of the demon. “You can’t simply let this creature—this abomination—win! It will conquer your entire world!” He moved again to dodge razor-sharp claws and conjured a wall of fire between him and the creature. “You must have some remaining bit of compassion or concern for this planet and its people!”

  Rameses frowned at that. His expression began to change to one of increasing confusion. He looked back at the demon lord and halted, no longer attacking Tamerlane. “What—what is happening?” he muttered. “Why—?”

  The red monstrosity, perhaps sensing that something about Rameses was changing—that he was questioning the layers of mind control that had been laid down within him by Goraddon—appeared to conclude he had become a threat once more. The demon brought its long arm back and swept it around, striking Rameses hard and sending him hurtling across the floor and into one of the columns with a resounding crash. The seemingly indestructible armor he wore protected his body from most of the potential physical harm, but he was shaken severely. By the time he had regained his senses and raised up onto his haunches, his mind had cleared at last.