Wolves of the Tesseract Collection

by Christopher D Schmitz

  Jarfig watched it throughout the day with intense fascination. Sometimes it was a mere sliver of light; sometimes it appeared to be a collection of strange faces contained within a burning, triangular frame.

  Vyrm forces had not come near their home since the early days of the invasion and the guards they’d posted at the museum nearby did not venture out often and they never wandered far. Now, however, this magic beacon worried him; it seemed to draw nearer with each hour. And then, it suddenly disappeared from sight.

  Jarfig watched for a long while. He scanned his full range of vision repeatedly, but could not locate it again.

  After watching and waiting through his lunch hour for it to reappear, he finally gave up on its return. The professor leaned back in his chair and set down his goggles. As nervous as the approaching irregularity made him, he felt a little disappointed to be presented with a mystery he was unable to solve.

  He picked up his pen, about to record his final entry regarding the enigmatic light when a blunt pain flashed across his face. The blow knocked him over backwards, flinging the journal from his hands. Jarfig twisted around on the floor and screamed for his family to flee.

  Standing over him was Jarfig’s doppelganger. He sneered down at the professor where he lay, bleeding. A group of armored men stormed through his window as the glowing triangle whirled around through the air and then enlarged.

  “You’re not vyrm!” he howled, noting their strange dress and weapons. “What do you want? Please, I am a man of peace!”

  The doppelganger laughed and turned to the faces watching from beyond the fiery veil. “A man of peace? Well, isn’t that ironic.” He gave a neck slicing motion to his accomplices.

  Jarfig screamed as the alien mercenaries opened fire with their weapons, cutting down his wife and children. “No! Why?” he wailed tearfully.

  Jacob Sisyphus looked down at his pathetic variant. “We only want you.” He clubbed his Prime across the side of the skull, knocking him unconscious.

  Sisyphus dragged the body outside and easily threw him over his shoulder. With an evil grin he hopped back through the enlarged energy gate.

  . . .

  Smoke curled against the ceiling inside the spacious atrium. Zabe, Claire, and Jarik poured blaster fire from their position into a troop of vyrm sentries. They’d flanked the reptilian invaders and traded offensives with Wulftone. One side pummeled them with laser bursts and then move into a new position to take a better angle against the enemy while the others provided cover fire.

  The last vyrm soldier fell and the six invaders regrouped in the middle, quickly moving ahead. They had worked to systematically clear the rooms between the throne-room and the prisoner chambers. Resistance was stiff, but not overwhelming in numbers; as long as they worked smartly, their mission remained possible. Their diversion to pull the significant forces outside the castle walls appeared to have worked.

  Zabe glanced at a window up near the ceiling; the glass had been blasted out during the initial vyrm incursion. He could see smoke still rising beyond the bastions. Hopefully, the vyrm would remain preoccupied with Shardai’s forces for a while yet.

  “I feel her,” Claire said. “I can feel her very strongly. She must be just ahead!”

  “Then let’s go free her,” Jarik said impulsively. He kicked in the next set of doors only to be greeted by a half dozen vyrm posted on one side of the Y-shaped junction.

  The startled sentries immediately opened fire on the impulsive warrior, riddling him with blaster fire. Many shots flew wide, but so many more found their mark. Jarik crumpled to the floor, paying fully for his deadly mistake.

  Leaning just over the threshold, the remaining five Guardian Corpsmen blasted anything that moved in the corridor. They mowed down the coverless vyrm with extreme prejudice; the rightmost corridor—the one with the guards—ended with a brick wall that cut off any avenue of retreat for their enemies. Claire’s pistol gave a shrill, dying whine as her last chargepak depleted. Zabe’s chirped away with an audio warning that the power source had very nearly depleted. He dropped it into the thigh holster that was a part of his armor.

  They ran ahead. As they stepped over the dead bodies and came to the locked door, Claire glanced at Zabe, brave Captain of the Guardian Corps. Seeing him in action triggered something deep inside of her, some primal desire. She could sense his loyalty, his inner strength and intense character. Claire bit her lip and pushed those thoughts from her heart with her mind… she didn’t even know if these feelings came from her or the side of her mind where Bithia’s vyrm-hobbled thoughts hung out.

  With his massive, lupine strength Zabe tore the door from its hinges and Claire watched him charge into the room. Growls and screams echoed from within; one vyrm psychic sailed airborne through the opening, flung by the werewolf. The vyrm broke against the stone wall and slumped lifelessly to the ground.

  Startled by sudden action down the left hallway, Wulftone and his two men charged down the passage with blasters firing. “Get the Princess,” he shouted. “We’ll watch your flank!”

  Claire ran to the prison door as Zabe and the princess emerged. Bithia was bloodied and bruised, but she held her head high, casting an aura of nobility and grace. Suddenly overwhelmed by an altogether different emotion, Claire couldn’t help but embrace her twin like a long-lost sister.

  Bithia returned the gesture. Breaking her embrace, she turned to Zabe who melted into his smaller human figure. Bithia kissed him fiercely. “I knew you would come for me! I knew it,” she insisted.

  “Princess,” he said, “we’ve got to get you out of here.” The chirping of his blaster’s chargepak reinforced the urgency.

  She touched his face and looked into his eyes. “But first I have to tell you! The day before the invasion, you asked me a question—a question I never answered—the vyrm attack had come so suddenly…”

  The reunion didn’t last another second. The walls where the corridors joined ruptured in a fiery explosion of burned brick and concussive force.

  An entire squad of heavily armed vyrm poured through the rift. At their head strode the red hooded warlock in all his glory. Nitthogr laughed mockingly. They were trapped within the hallway like mice in a bottle.

  . . .

  Nitthogr’s derisive laughter turned into a genuine giggle as he glared at his prey from beneath the crimson, scaly cloak that was his off-earth trademark. The metallic gold trim mirrored his reptilian eyes; they shone with intense malice as they fell upon Zabe who stood between the half-vyrm and the princess.

  “At last,” Nitthogr hissed. “Today I will terminate the last of your wretched bloodline. And soon, everything I’ve ever desired will be mine!”

  The sorcerer’s face twisted with rage and he shouted with maniac fury. A glowing burst of energy erupted from his hands—it streaked towards Zabe, crackling with negative energy.

  Claire flung herself in front of Zabe, her heart demanded she save him! The bolt of magic energy struck her instead; she screamed in momentary pain and then surprise as the glow wrapped itself around her, enveloped her. The amulet at her neck neatly sucked the eldritch energy within. As it hung against her nape, the artifact glowed brilliantly.

  Wild eyed and surprised, Claire stood on trembling legs, guarding Zabe and Bithia from the fuming warlock; Nitthogr bit his lips with such frustration that they bled. She locked her gaze with him: such hollow, hateful eyes. In that moment she knew that there was never any love between her and James—this man was empty, incapable of that ability. Now, in such close proximity to the princess, Bithia’s strength had become her strength. James no longer, and would never again, hold sway over her.

  Nitthogr balled his fists and then released them, regaining his composure. He dared not approach; the prize was too great to risk. If both women died, the Chamber of Mysteries—and the Awakening of Sh’logath—would remain forever beyond his reach.

  “Claire Jones,” he greeted. His words dripped w
ith falsely honeyed words. “It is so good to see you again. I see you’ve discovered what I’ve been up to since we last parted. I think it’s safe to assume that our wedding is off?”

  She only glared in response, holding her arms out in order to shield her friends as much as possible. Her mind scrambled for the best course of action.

  Nitthogr whirled in surprise, and just in time to erect a shimmering, magical force field. Wulftone’s laser bursts would have otherwise torn through the sorcerer’s face. Blaster fire from the left cut down several vyrm surrounding Nitthogr. And then, the barrage ceased as quickly as it had started. Sharp whines from depleted power cells echoed down the halls.

  The warlock cursed and momentarily lost his composure, commanding half of the soldiers at his side to catch Wulftone and his comrades and perform unspeakable atrocities upon them. He turned back to his primary objectives and resumed negotiations.

  “I don’t think that you quite understand how important you are, Claire. You are the last of Princess Bithia’s variants. You see, all across the multiple realms there are many copies of you, different variants, each for different planes, in fact—”

  “I know how the Tesseract works,” she spat.

  Nitthogr exhaled an angry sigh, trying to maintain his cool. “Then you know how important you are to my plans. I will rule all the realms, by my own hand and power. I will control the Tesseract! I will remake it in my own image, I will wrest the very controls of reality away from the hands of the Architect King!” Behind, his warriors seemed to shift uneasily at the omission.

  “And Sh’logath will have no place in it?” Claire asked, baiting him into the trap, hoping to turn his guards against him.

  Nitthogr locked eyes with Claire. He extended an olive branch. “Of course not. Why would I destroy the very thing which I am trying to create? I would remake the Prime for our glory—for the glory of our family. You would be my queen and our children would be the new royal line. Sh’logath has given me this power—and he would have honor, of course, but he must forever remain at slumber.”

  A noticeable grumble murmured through the forces around him. Just as the first moved to aim a weapon at him Nitthogr knocked them all backwards with a supernatural wave of energy. They all fell to their backs and the warlock hissed a few alien words. He made a violent sign in the air as part of a spell and his forces groaned and then spontaneously combusted with eerie purple flames. The supernatural inferno immolated the pile of writhing vyrm as they shrieked unnervingly.

  Nitthogr turned back and flashed his most congenial, Hollywood smile to Claire. Zabe’s blaster chirped, reminding the room that the warlock remained an overwhelmingly powerful force against them. They could not blast their way out of this situation—he had only a few charges remaining.

  The warlock looked deep into Claire’s defiant eyes. “I will even allow you to keep your father, Claire. I’m sure that by now you have suspected I would collect him. Come with me willingly and I will grant you his life as a wedding present, in addition to all of the other promises I’ve made you. Together, we and our children will rip open the Chamber of Mysteries, lay ahold of the Tesseract, and form the grandest dynasty that has ever existed!”

  Nitthogr smiled as Claire slowly approached. She glanced apologetically at her friends. The warlock held his hands out to her, beckoning her to speed along her slowly shuffling feet.

  Zabe’s face fell with despair at her betrayal.

  “How could you?” Bithia’s voice cracked. “Claire, no!”

  She stepped so slowly and painfully that her gait functioned as an apology. “But, my father!” Claire pleaded with her friends to understand, backpedaling towards the sorcerer. She winked briefly, committing to the hard sell against Nitthogr.

  Suddenly whirling around, Claire ripped the amulet from her neck, knowing from her merging with Bithia how the power it absorbed begged for release. She smashed the glowing artifact against her enemy who could not touch it. It erupted with a sonic boom and a detonation of raw energy! The entire distance between them exploded. The ceiling collapsed, opening an access above but also splitting open an aperture below. Crumbling debris blocked the hall from the thaumaturge who’d been blasted backwards by the impact of kinetic force.

  Her ears rang, but the adrenaline would have deafened her anyway. “Which way do we go,” Claire demanded over the shock vibrating through her head. She helped the princess to her feet, ready to sprint for the exit on legs made woozy by endorphins.

  “This way,” Bithia charged into the lead. Between her panting breaths, she yelled, “There is a room filled with mirrors; Zabe, you know the room! We must get to it!”

  . . .

  Nitthogr crawled to his feet, in the courtyard where he’d been blasted to. His body smoked and the edges of his cloak smoldered with burn marks. He stumbled only slightly, a limping, seething ball of rage at losing his mark.

  He screamed to any of vyrm within earshot, scrambling them to seek out the intruders. “Keep at least one of the females alive! Both if you can manage,” he demanded, still hoping to fulfill his darkest desires and break his way into the royal chamber.

  The warlock’s chest seeped red, viscous blood. His stab wounds had reopened from the massive blast that Claire Jones had hit him with. He spat curses as he grudgingly staggered towards the infirmary to seek medical attention, shaking his head. Such wounds were beneath him.

  As soon as the area had vacated, a duct grate skittered across the tiled floor, knocking over a potted shrub. Caivev crawled out of the wall and dusted herself off; glad she had been far enough from the blast to avoid the brunt of the damage.

  She cast a betrayed look in the direction where Nitthogr had retreated. With much to think on, she spewed a few vitriolic insults into the air, hoping they would somehow land on her former mentor.

  The Seven had been right all along. Nitthogr had played her—tried to manipulate even Sh’logath! Caivev broke into a jog, searching out the closest portal that could return her to Earth where she could confirm this news with those who were true adherents of the agod. Nitthogr was a traitor, no longer to be honored among his own creation: the Heptobscurantum.

  Chapter 19

  Claire, Zabe, and Bithia fled through the fragmented cavity that opened above them. They scrambled up the debris mound and leapt to the higher floor before Nitthogr or any of his forces could react to Claire’s quick thinking.

  Sprinting through the complex, they rounded a corner and climbed a large, curving stairwell leading into one of the many spires. They moved into the primary citadel, a towering maze of rooms that boasted fortified minarets on all four sides.

  Evading enemy sounds ahead, the three ducked into an empty room. They tiptoed through and exited on the other side, escaping through the adjacent hall where they ascended another stair.

  Foraging ahead, they heard alarms blaring from outside the massive, central turret.

  “Every vyrm in the castle is looking for us,” Zabe insisted on more speed.

  “It’s just ahead and up the next stairs on the right,” Bithia said.

  They hurried ahead and skidded to a halt in the middle of the corridor’s intersection. They nearly collided with the vyrm General Regorik who led a dozen of his best soldiers. Both parties paused, eyes wide in surprise.

  Making a snap judgment, Bithia yanked Zabe’s blaster pistol from his right thigh and a large combat knife from his left. She shoved Zabe down the passage on the right and fled back the way they’d come, screaming, “Get out of here!”

  Regorik did a double-take. The moment demanded immediate action and he recognized Bithia as the true princess. He ignored Zabe and Claire as they stumbled towards the stairway. “After her,” he howled, whirling around the corner, needing every spare second to catch up to the escaped princess.

  Zabe halted before he could climb the first step. “No! I have to rescue her!” He turned to give pursuit.

  Claire grabbed him by
the hand. She knew Bithia’s heart and intentions better than he did. “She has a plan. She ordered you to flee—don’t let everyone’s sacrifice be for naught! Especially hers!”

  He looked at her with deep, wet eyes. “No! She can’t?” He saw those same strengths Bithia possessed in Claire, and yet she was not her.

  Claire embraced him deeply, quickly, and then pulled him towards the escape.

  “But the question? She finally had an answer...”

  Claire began ascending the steps. Zabe paused a moment longer and then followed, hoping that Bithia had a better plan than the one he suspected.

  . . .

  Bithia hesitated at a corner, deciding on right or left. She darted right and could hear Regorik’s troops hot on her tail. She scrambled around another turn and then slipped into a room, trying to cut across to slip out the other side, just as they had done before. Maybe I can double back on them and still get to the mirrors? Just before she reached the door, it burst open with the group of vyrm soldiers they’d slipped away from earlier.

  She skidded to a quick stop and then sprinted back the way she’d come. Her breath came in ragged gasps and sweat poured down her brow.

  “Freeze!” the vyrm shouted behind her.

  Darting for the door, her exit suddenly filled with Regorik’s massive frame. She turned and retreated into the center of the room.

  Regorik and his forces poured in and encircled her. The other vyrm trackers did likewise.

  Bithia spun a slow circle with a knife in her right fist; the blaster in her left hand chirped. She searched desperately for an opening.

  “You will not have me,” she spat. She glared daggers at the enemies from her puffy, bruised eyebrows. She ignored the stinging pain from her matted, sweaty hair as it brushed her wounded eyes.

  Regorik laughed heartily, his voice full of scorn. “Blip… blip… blip,” he mocked, ticking off the electronic trills of the depleted blaster battery.