Endless Online
Oblivion’s Peril
M H Johnson
Copyright © 2018 by M H Johnson
Cover art by Andrey Vasilchenko
Typography by Bonnie L. Price
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and events are the work of the author’s imagination and all locations are either fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or events is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Thank You
Additional Links
1
"People of Earth, welcome to the Dominion."
Val couldn’t tear his eyes away from the television screen, captivated and horrified by the red-eyed giant smiling so coldly from the bridge of the starship now orbiting Earth, explaining as calmly as any CEO what to expect when working for everyone’s new, permanent, lifetime employer.
Val clenched his fists, recognizing at least a dozen of the presidents and prime ministers seated at the massive boardroom table to either side of Overlord Caesar, happily signing away the lives and freedoms of an entire world’s worth of people.
But what truly sickened Val was the display at the center of the table next to plates heaped with delicacies and bottles of champagne. A vat filled with bilious, glowing liquid that bubbled and frothed, containing the heads of those world leaders who had opposed Caesar.
Their wide, bloodshot eyes never stopped blinking, faces locked in silent screams.
It was all Val could do not to smash the television to tiny pieces.
A groaning Chris rubbed his forehead, gazing at the television in stunned disbelief. "Sir, what the hell just happened?"
Dirk flashed the marine a mirthless smile. "Earth is the subject of a hostile takeover. Our former boss Felix Mordare was a Dominion agent who wanted us dead, and our world leaders seem to be content letting the tyrant on television serve as Earth's new CEO. And if our president is playing ball with these bastards, we should assume we're all wanted men."
Chris blinked, looking strangely vulnerable, for all that he was as powerfully built any linebacker. "Please tell me you're shitting me, Captain."
"I'm afraid not, soldier.”
Val locked gazes with Chris and Dirk, taking their measure. He knew them as well as any brother-in-arms, having fought by their side as they faced down fanatics, legions of undead, and the mad necromancer behind it all. They had overcome perilous odds only by working together. Both of these men kept their word, both would do whatever it took to defend their home.
Val then turned to his father who was rubbing his head, still coming to. He couldn’t help smiling with relief at Christine’s quiet assurance that his dad would be okay. She was a doctor, after all. Doctor, Highlord, and mother to the girl who had stolen his heart.
Andrey, still in a daze, gave Val a slow nod of respect. And appreciation. "I understand I have you to thank for the lives of my wife and daughter. Again. I will forever be in your debt, Valor. You're all any man could ever want in a son."
Val bowed his head. "Thank you, Colonel. If you and my father..."
Both older men shook their heads. "No, Val. I'm not quite sure what's going on, but it's damn clear we're up shit creek. I have no doubt your father and I would be happy to assist in any advisory capacity you see fit, but you boys are going to have to make your own way forward. Needless to say, getting all the intel we can on this Overlord Caesar and his military capabilities is absolutely crucial.”
Chris curled his hands into fists, listening to the television. "Those bastards are going to take over our country, our world, like we're all some corporate entity. What happens if they're not happy with someone? Will being fired mean a one-way ticket to an extermination vat? Will we all be forced to work 16-hour shifts, desperately trying to please our overseers, or risk our families being taken from us? Fuck! We should be taking out those bastards."
Dirk frowned, shaking his head. "Unless I miss my guess, that's a dreadnought class ship flying over all our heads. It could obliterate cities with its lasers alone. I hate to say it, but I'd rather be working extra shifts in some plant than have my nation reduced to a burnt husk."
"We need to infiltrate them,” Val said. “Take out targets behind enemy lines. Maybe a whole crapload of targets."
Chris frowned. "You might be Yancey's golden boy, Val, but you could get killed if you misstep even once. All of us could."
"A good point," Dirk allowed. "Our enemies use force fields that not a single damned bullet can penetrate. They are hard targets if there ever was one."
Chris nodded. "You see the problem, Val? Even if we were to take on those bastards, how the hell do we take them out?"
Psiblade catalyzed. 100 Psion reserved. The room grew oddly still as four feet of oblivion came to life, violet lightning crackling along its length. Absolute blackness that would consume anything it touched, as if it were the projected event horizon of a black hole.
"With this," Val said. He could all but feel its hunger. "It's what Christine and I used to take out the monster who was your former boss."
Chris paled at the sight. "Shit. Those movies. Fuck it, it's all real?"
Val shrugged, his blade retracting back into the hilt. "Whether coincidence or various artists were inspired by flashes of a world just beyond our own hardly matters, Chris. You already know how the Dominion works. We've both adventured on Jordia. Yes, it's just like the movies, save Highlords fight with crackling slivers of absolute darkness, not light. Tamed event horizons that can tear through reality like scissors slicing through paper."
Chris whistled, eyes locked on the inert 14-inch hilt of Val's weapon. "A hell of a lot more effective than high-intensity lasers, that's for sure. Is there anything that can counter it?"
"This." Julia's mother said, an elegant beauty of sophistication and grace who looked more like Julia's sister than her mother, her lustrous blond hair now tied in a neat no-nonsense bun, still appearing the perfect sophisticate, save for her golden irises and the shimmering two-foot diameter shield of force she had just activated. "Whereas force fields that protect the entire body, such as the one Felix wore, can provide constant protection against blasters or bullets, it is far too weak to counter a Psiblade's nul-f
ield. A psionically powered forceshield is a far more potent defense. Of course, you need considerable strength as a Psionicist to catalyze both Psiblade and shield simultaneously, and you must ward with it, just as you would a shield."
Julia nodded. "So Val's HEMA training helped him take down that monster," she said, glaring in the direction Inquisitor Felix Mordare's body lay, crumpled in the grass just outside her home. "It was just like fighting sword and shield against longsword."
Christine nodded. "Yes, dear. Though Val's ancient Psiblade is not quite as fluid in the hand as the ones we currently use, and it is costly in terms of Psions needed to activate. But the extra foot in length is a devastating advantage if you are fearless, well trained in its use, and have experience in countering an opponent's shield." She grimaced, then. "And unlike the training most of us receive, quite similar to a fusion of English saber and Bolognese sword and rotella, with an emphasis on thrusts so as to avoid unnecessary fatalities in duels for rank, status, and honor, Val's blade was designed solely for killing. Which served us quite well, when all is said and done, an act for which he will always have my gratitude."
"But Val's blade blasted right through Mordare's psionic shield," Julia said, voice so soft that the Overlord's imperious voice, lecturing the entire world on the television screen with the dozen world leaders that were there now kneeling before him, almost drowned her out. "I saw that part of the fight. I was so terrified for Val, I couldn't look away." She locked gazes with Val, eyes filled with an odd mixture of fear, awe, and fierce pride for the man she had claimed as her own.
Christine nodded, squeezing her daughter's hand. "Few Psionicists could do so, my love. Only those ancient blades would be able to power through them, and only if the wielder was exceedingly gifted."
Julia frowned. "Then why don't all Highlords use them?"
Christine sighed. "Custom, convention, training, I could give all of those as reasons. So too, for most of us, we far prefer having a forceshield to protect ourselves with, in addition to the blade. Indeed, it is a far safer combination to use. A shield for warding and a sword for thrusting, and you are far less likely to suffer injury or death at your own hands, should you fumble the blade. And a bested Highlord who owes you concessions is a useful tool with which to leverage yourself in the world, whereas a string of corpses serves you not at all. And if you're not careful, a reputation for butchery could result in needless animosity with multiple clans that would imperil your own."
The air suddenly crackled as Christine activated her own blade, stepping carefully away from her daughter before slashing the air in a blistering series of moulinets that left Julia gazing at her mother in awe before she stopped, deactivating her blade and turning back around to face her daughter, only the slightest bit out of breath. "For those of us trained in Psiblade and shield to duel another similarly trained who would dare to face us with the far less nimble archaic Psiblades, we could best them easily, countering their blade with our shield, running them through in seconds. Only a Psionicist like Val, who has dedicated himself to the longsword and is experienced in countering sword and shield, would prove a challenge. And skilled as he is, his blade infused with so much potency that we would need every bit of our energy to counter his blows, he would be a fearsome foe to face. However, since those archaic blades are so rare, and quite frankly, difficult to activate, the odds of you crossing another Psionicist wielding a similar blade who has actually mastered its use are slim to none.”
“But that also means almost no Highlord is trained in countering swordsmen like Val either,” Julia said.
Christine smiled. “Correct, daughter. As Felix himself can attest.”
Dirk nodded, at that very moment doing his best to comfort a trembling Yin, her beautiful features filled with horrified disbelief as she gazed at the television, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. He turned to Val. "Alright, Sergeant. We know our enemy's ace in the hole, those damned Highlords, and how best to counter them. We still need a plan for how the hell a handful of us are going to stop this invasion."
Val flashed a cold smile. "I thought that bit would be obvious, Dirk."
Dirk frowned. "Explain."
"We take out the rifts their soldiers and agents are jumping through." He gazed intently at the screen. "Then we take out that ship."
Chris grinned. "You don't think small, Val. I've always liked that about you. It still doesn't explain how the fuck we're going to take out those bastards."
Dead silence, Val gazing intently at everyone in the room. "The biggest advantage our enemies have, or at least the Highlords pulling the strings have, is their ability to read minds. The reason why we have to keep our group small, the reason why I'm not thinking of reaching out to all our old comrades in arms, is because it only takes one turned pawn to capsize our entire operation. So what I'm saying now stays with us and goes no further. Agreed?"
Solemn nods all around. "We're here to advise if you need us, Val," Andrey said, squeezing his wife's hand, gazing into her eyes. Christine's grateful smile made it clear she understood his gesture. For all that their world had been invaded and his wife was not at all who he thought, he still loved her and would forever stand by her. Her tender regard for him made it clear that she, in turn, loved him just as fiercely as she ever had.
Andrey then turned his gaze from Christine to Val. "I don't plan on leaving my wife's side any time soon. But if you fear any of our minds are vulnerable, we can set up a private war room for you and your men, if you like."
Val shook his head, even as a suddenly intent Christine pulled out her phone, pushing several buttons. A high-pitched whine similar to the one that Yancey used in their phone calls pierced the air. Val winced only slightly, earning a grin from Christine. "You remind me so much of Hanna, Val, your hearing just as sensitive as hers. I hope it's not too troublesome, but rest assured everyone can now speak freely. Not that I think we have to fear enemy reconnaissance yet, but better safe than sorry."
Val nodded. "It's okay. I'm used to it." He turned to his friends. "As far as I'm concerned, we're all in this together." Wordlessly, he pulled out his phone, playing a clip from his favorite movie. His friends peered intently at the beloved clip before lurching back from the brilliant final flash.
"Shit," Chris whispered. "If we could somehow manage that... You do not fuck around."
Yin swallowed. "What does it mean, Dirk?"
Dirk gazed fondly at the girl he held even now, Yin all but holding on to him for dear life as her world collapsed around her. "It means we're going to get on that dreadnought, somehow, and take it the hell out, even if it kills us."
Christine paled at those words. "To breach the accords to such a degree... I pray you think carefully before you tread that path, Valor. Right now? The Dominion is interested only in fresh conquest, the possibilities of Terran computing and, of course, fresh slaves. Dare I say it, for most, perhaps 90 percent of all Terrans, life would continue much as it had before, in some cases significantly better."
Christine shook her head sadly. "Really, Val, it won't be that much different from a high-pressure corporate position. Indeed, for most of the world, it might just be a significant improvement, save for the criminal and destitute, who will just seem to vanish, no politician daring to ask too many questions, few people even caring. But what you're contemplating right now, Val, is madness. Even if you did manage to destroy that dreadnought, a campaign of semi-beneficent, semi-predatory conquest would become one of absolute genocide, the entire Dominion determined to make an example of any who would dare the use of not only explosives, but atomics against the Highlords."
Val felt himself flowing into the darkness all around him once more, desperate to hide his most terrible secret from Christine, knowing he dare not meet her gaze with such vicious memories dancing in the back of his head. Not even Christine needed to know what really happened to Tytus's dreadnought. What Val himself was actually capable of.
He immediately turned his focus
to his friends, doing all he could to push out those brooding thoughts, carefully sealing them away until he dared to contemplate the deadliest of pursuits.
Julia gazed wide-eyed at Val. He forced himself to look away. "Val?"
Christine swept her daughter up in a hug. "Don't push, dear. Respecting your mate's privacy is one of the first lessons you must learn if you hope for a relationship that does not end in bitter tears."
Julia paled and lowered her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"We are lucky to have escaped notice even this long," Christine said. "And word of who Val really is, what he's capable of, must never leave this room. Do you all understand?" Christine's intent gaze cut through their conversation. "If a single Highlord catches wind of what happened tonight, we're all doomed."
Julia paled. "What do we do?"
"Your friends take an oath. An oath never to tell. An oath to forget this night and for that tiny cluster of synaptic links to wither and die, killing that handful of memories, should they ever feel the gaze of another upon their mind."
Dirk frowned before giving a grudging nod. "She's right. This is beyond classified. If we're called in because the government wants to make nice with a dreadnought pointing a thousand laser cannons at our capital cities, then we want to maintain our innocence. Our cover. For all we know, our supervisors will be more interested in us making contacts and playing nice with Dominion interests on Jordia than ever before. There? Artifact hunters like us are useful. Appreciated. We dare not give what we know away. About Val, about Christine, about what's really going on. We risk horrific retribution if these Highlords are even half as vindictive as we were led to believe they were on Jordia."
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