by Alex Raizman
If this doesn’t work...I don’t know what hope is left. Taking a moment to calm her nerves, she sent it at the Phoberia.
Her little virus dodged pseudopods and latched onto the cell’s outer wall. The Phoberia deployed antibodies, but the virus adapted. It injected divine DNA into the Phoberia, and Crystal watched, holding her breath.
The Phoberia erupted, spilling the virus out into interstellar space.
If Crystal had been standing in a gravity well, she would have collapsed from relief. As it was, she just went kind of...limp. I did it. She waved her hand, a tiny bit of her will causing the virus to begin multiplying as it traveled.
“Take that, you wankers!” she shouted into the void. The virus would evolve more rapidly than the Phoberia, and it would clear out the infestation in a few centuries, which would pass in a mere few minutes back in the core world. Then she could come back and put things to right without their resistance.
There was a nagging doubt that this was too easy, but Crystal pushed it aside. She’d pulled it off. The hard part was over. She could fix it!
At the moment, there was nothing she could do. She needed to let the virus do its work, and she should catch up with Ryan.
He probably hadn’t even noticed she’d been gone.
***
I’m dying. The thought felt like it was coming from somewhere far away. Ryan was dimly aware that dying would be a bad thing. There was something he was supposed to do.
Right now, though, the pain seemed far more critical.
I wonder if I’ll see Arthur, that distant part of Ryan wondered. It was unlikely he’d wind up in Heaven, not after invading it. Or maybe that wasn’t actually a sin. Ryan wasn’t a biblical scholar, but he was pretty sure none of the commandments expressly forbid assisting the King of Hell in invading Heaven.
“Proceed to eliminate all targets. Cannot risk the sister inheriting powers after the death of primary target. Well done. Over.”
That’s not how nanoverses work, Ryan thought through the fog of pain. There was something else in that message, something that felt like it should be important, but-
“Roger, sir. And thank you. Proceeding to eliminate. Over.”
Eliminate. That word cut through the agony encasing his brain, and it was replaced with realization that turned to white-hot rage and panic. This man, this monster, was about to go kill his sister. Before he even realized he was moving, Ryan grabbed the soldier’s ankle.
“Not. My. Sister,” he said. Or he tried to say. What came out was something along the lines of “Ooot Eye Isssstah.” He couldn’t seem to get his jaw to close all the way. He didn’t think the soldier could understand him, but the emotion cut through the slurred words. Then the soldier went white and swung his gun towards Ryan’s skull.
Maybe if he had just fired, instead of taking a second to aim carefully, he could have killed Ryan. But that extra moment gave Ryan time to twist.
First, he heated the gun to 2000 degrees Kelvin, more heat than Ryan had created in a single equation. The bullets detonated, spraying molten metal into Hector’s face. The second twist, as Hector screamed and clawed at the burns, increased the strength of gravity on the soldier by a factor of ten. He fell to the ground next to Ryan, struggling to rise. Ryan saw Hector reach out, trying to twist to save himself.
He was going to kill your sister. Just for being your sister. No mercy. The rage Ryan felt was even more profound than when he had seen that decadent lump of an emperor sitting on the throne of the Empire, claiming to speak in Ryan’s name.
Ryan grabbed Hector’s hand. “This is mine now,” Ryan hissed.
Hector Ross gave him a pleading look and Ryan jerked his arm. He was rewarded with a satisfying crack of bone and Hector’s scream. He crawled on top of Hector and grabbed his head with both hands, then began to slam it into the floor. It cracked against the hardwood. Ryan slammed it again, rewarded with another thump. He kept going.
“Ryan!” Isabel screamed, grabbing his shoulder and trying to pull him back. He stared down at Hector. The man was a mess, his face red and bruised, his breathing shallow and hoarse.
The sight turned Ryan’s stomach. Hector needed to die. But now that he was defeated...Do I really have it in me to beat him to death?
He realized he didn’t.
Shock and adrenaline kept Ryan from passing out and allowed him to scramble to his feet.
“Oh. My. God.” Ryan glanced over, his jaw still hanging open. Isabel had a gun, dangling at her side in a shaking hand. Her eyes glistened with tears. “Ryan?”
Ryan just nodded, the gesture sending lances of agony through his head. “There. May be. More. Get away from. Windows. Crystal. Hopefully here. Soon.” Each word was a fresh hell and making them understandable was a new level of agony.
Isabel took a deep breath, nearly heaved, got herself under control, and nodded. She was sobbing now, barely able to form words between the tears. “Bathroom. Come on. I have...first aid. Jesus. Oh my God, Ryan. Come...oh my God.”
***
The screen still showed the final image Hector’s body camera had managed to catch before they lost the feed: the Antichrist looming over Hector, looking like something out of a horror movie. Blood ran from his shredded lips, his jaw hung askew, and his teeth showed through the hole in his cheek.
So close. They had been so close to defeating that monster, but there he was, this so-called god, showing his true colors in his mutilated appearance.
“Damnit!” Dale shouted, slamming his fist on the desk. Several aides jumped at the explosive sound, but Doctor Pivarti just raised an eyebrow.
“He is severely wounded,” she said. “We may still have a chance to make this come out right.”
“Come out right?” Dale snarled. “He’s certainly killed Ross by now, and probably destroyed the harness. We are well past things coming out right.”
He rewound the video to the last thing Ryan Smith had said.
“There. May be. More. Get away from. Windows. Crystal. Hopefully here. Soon.”
“Can someone break that sentence down for me?” Dale asked, his voice now dangerously calm. “Did we at least learn anything from sending a man to his death?”
“W-well,” Lazzario stammered. “We’ve got confirmation that Crystal is still working with Ryan. And she’ll be arriving soon...or, at least, he believes that.”
Dale pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was hoping for something not painfully obvious.”
It had seemed perfect. The watchers they’d placed on Isabel Smith’s apartment had reported the arrival of Ryan Smith, acting totally unconcerned about any possible threat. It was the perfect chance to engage the target without allies. It hadn’t even seemed like a trap, just the bastard being overconfident.
“It’s a shame,” Pivarti said, studying the image on the camera. “Hector barely managed to utilize the energy in the harness.”
Bridges whirled on her, pointing an accusatory finger in her direction. “A man is dead, Doctor Pivarti, and you’re worried about the harness? It was your idea to send him in alone!”
The soldiers and support staff in the command center got very quiet and did their best to appear focused on something else. Fingers flew to keyboards, eyes turned to screens. None of them wanted to be ordered out, so they tried to look intensely busy. Dale wasn’t surprised. Soldiers were worse than teenagers when gossip was involved, and the Admiral and the head researcher for Project Myrmidon having it out in the command center was as juicy as it got.
Right now, he couldn’t care less. He was literally shaking with rage and wanted to hurl the doctor out of the building.
“A decision I stand by, Admiral,” she said with her usual lack of deference. “We only had one of the upgraded harnesses ready for action. We also had a priority target, as you pointed out. If I recall correctly, you barely objected to sending Myrmidon B into the fray.”
“It was a calculated risk,” Dale spat. “But you told me he could survive. That t
he harness was ready for use.”
“And I stand by that as well. Ryan was far faster than we anticipated. Before seeing this footage, could you imagine he’d be able to move like that?” The doctor pushed a button on a control, rewinding the footage to the moment Hector pulled the trigger, then began to run the feed in extreme slow motion.
“Why are we watching this again?” Dale asked.
“Watch,” Doctor Pivarti said. “That weapon has a muzzle velocity of seven hundred and thirty meters per second. Given the short distance, the bullet would be traveling at about the same speed upon reaching the target.”
Dale watched as the Antichrist’s head began to move. Even slowed down to this degree, the motion was preternaturally fast.
Pivarti continued. “To get the bullet to hit somewhere non-vital, Ryan had to move his head about six inches. That placed his cheek in line with the bullet and allowed him to open his jaw.” On the screen, Ryan’s mouth widened in just as the bullet touched his cheek.
“What’s your point, Doctor?” Dale asked through clenched teeth.
“Simply this,” Pivarti said as the bullet tore into Ryan’s face and explosively exited the other side. “Given the distance involved, Ryan moved his head at approximately seventy meters per second. No one could have predicted that speed, Admiral.”
“It’s your job to predict these things, Doctor,” Dale growled.
“No,” she corrected, “it is my job to predict what I can based on the data we have. We have new data. That will enable me to make more accurate predictions.”
“Hector is dead, doctor! Don’t you care?”
Doctor Pivarti froze. “Of course I care, Admiral,” she said softly. “I just watched a man die in front of us. I’ve never imagined something so horrible, but we all react to grief differently. I choose to shield myself with facts. I choose to focus on what I can do to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
“And what, have you learned? Anything even remotely useful?” Dale asked
“Actually, yes.” Doctor Pivarti rewound the video again. “Ryan is attempting to evade the bullet here. He’s trying to get clear of the path. Which means that seventy meters per second is the maximum speed he could make this motion; otherwise, he would have been able to completely evade it. We have a top speed for these things now, Admiral. That gives us something we can use.”
That, at least, Dale could understand. It did little to alleviate his fury at the doctor, but it did allow him to at least reign it in. You need to keep it under control, he told himself. He pointed at one of the aides. “You. Michael, isn’t it?”
The man nodded and licked his lips.
“We evacuated the upper floors of the building before moving in?” Dale asked.
Michael nodded.
“What about the lower floors?” Dale added.
“No one evacuated them, sir,” Michael said, finally finding his voice. “We didn’t see a need.”
“Tell the ground team to begin the evacuation. I want someone in every elevator in that damn building, I want people on every stairwell, and I want the building empty in the next five minutes.” Dale smacked his fist on the desk again.
“Sir! Yes, sir!” Michael practically jumped to grab his microphone and begin relaying Dale’s orders.
“What are you doing?” Doctor Pivarti asked, her voice calm.
“We still need to take out the primary target. I want to minimize civilian casualties. Once we have the building empty, we can send in every ground troop we have in the area. Cut Ryan down. He’s half dead.”
Pivarti pursed her lips. “Might I suggest a different tactic, sir?”
The doctor never called him “sir”. It put Dale on edge. “Given that your last suggestion got a man killed, Doctor, I’m not overly enthused at another one.”
“I want to make sure no one else dies,” Pivarti said firmly.
Dale bit back a sharp retort. If the doctor’s suggestion was actually sound…” Go ahead,” he said.
“You’re evacuating the building anyway, so send in gunships. Your soldiers can go in later to confirm Ryan’s death. But he’s surprised us once already. I’d rather not put more men at needless risk.”
Dale considered her for a long moment. Her suggestion made sense. The Antichrist had proven to be surprisingly resilient, and they didn’t have any of the other Myrmidons on the ground. They hadn’t wanted to risk them with inferior harnesses.
“Do it,” Dale snapped to one of his aides, knowing the order would be relayed. “Get gunships into place, and the moment the building is clear, have them open fire. High explosives.”
And pray to God they get the bastard this time, Dale thought, turning back to the screen. It had switched to an aerial view of the apartment building, and people were scurrying out like ants disgorged from their hill.
“Sir,” said one of the aides. “You should see this.” The man handed Dale a tablet.
It showed the current location of the Myrmidon B harness. “Get this to the deployment team,” Dale said. “Now.”
“What is it?” Pivarti asked.
“The harness is moving. That means Ross might have survived. If so, I want him out of that building as quickly as possible. Then we light the place up.”
***
The cloying, damp heat of the tropics pressed in around Athena. This part of El Ávila National Park was densely forested, and the trees’ proximity added to the oppressive feel of the place. Moreover, with the site becoming increasingly infested with formerly mythic beasts, she couldn’t help regarding every tree and bush with a wary eye.
At least this time she was not alone. Anansi, Dianmu, and Horus changed the odds of any possible encounter considerably, and not in a monster’s favor. Horus has also demonstrated a keen eye for detail, and he had been the one to spot Moloch’s trail at the site of the cockatrice’s death.
“Are we making any progress, or have we been walking in circles for the last hour?” Horus snapped, and Athena took a deep breath.
She was grateful for Horus’s skill, but definitely not for his company.
Dianmu rolled her eyes, and Anansi chuckled under his breath. Athena forced her jaw to unclench. “Well, Horus, we have been traveling in a straight line. We are following the trail you discovered. These are both unchanged from your last inquiry.”
Horus growled, “If you would let me have the lead, I would not need to ask, Athena.” His tone dripped with condescending frustration, and for half a second, Athena wondered if she could blow his head open with a single bolt of lightning, or if it might require two or three.
“When she let you have the lead, my friend, you set a pace none of us could match,” Anansi said, his tone patient. Athena appreciated the Trickster’s ability to remain calm. Horus had turned into a falcon when he tried to lead, something Athena had deemed an unacceptable waste of energy. Since falling back in the line, he had continuously needled her about their path, even though she was confident he knew they were going in the right direction.
“You could have kept up if you’d exerted yourselves,” Horus snapped, before sinking into sullen silence.
Athena took a deep breath. She reminded herself that Horus had other concerns. That he was worried about that murdering bitch Bast. That he was only here because he thought they would be the quickest way to get him to his goal. Unfortunately, reminding herself that Horus was feeling protective of Tyr’s murder was doing nothing to improve her mood.
