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Most Recent Posts
He brought them far, to the edge of the field, to the haybales. Daz carried her silently, only held her while she cried until she couldn’t anymore. Until she was still. There was nothing else to do, nothing kind he could tell her that wouldn’t be a lie. He hadn’t been asked to lie to her, he’d been asked to protect her.
The smell of iron was strong, the taste was stronger.
The pain was getting to him. He set her down against the hay, sat down next to her, and knew right then that he wouldn’t be able to get up again. God, he reeked of ichor; why did the little bastards have to die so messy? Not that he was one to talk.
A hand went to his side, to the pit there. He could hardly stand to touch it anymore, and he didn’t need to see it.
Instead, he looked to distant Hovvi, and sorrow welled within him. In the dark it was so hard to tell it from home. So many years spent seeing Westwul burn in his dreams, and now he got to see it burn one last time with his eyes open. He found it hurt just the same.
Dragon had landed, he saw her rise from the lake. Daz would never have called these monstrosities beautiful, but there was a terrible majesty to Dahlia’s savior, something haunting in the finality of her coming. With everything that had happened, he knew now that she was here, it was over. He prayed she wouldn’t see her own failure in this, the death of her second home, but a part of him knew she would.
The window went both ways.
Daz groaned, laid his head back against the hay. Through cracked, tired eyes he looked over at Quinn, and with a bloody hand he stroked the hair from her face. A smile tugged at him, and he didn’t have the strength left to fight it. In a way, it was funny. All those years ago, making Besca swear to protect Dahlia. Now here he was, protecting a girl she’d brought to him.
Shutting his eyes and breathing his last, Mendas St. Senn died a man of his word.
The smell of iron was strong, the taste was stronger.
The pain was getting to him. He set her down against the hay, sat down next to her, and knew right then that he wouldn’t be able to get up again. God, he reeked of ichor; why did the little bastards have to die so messy? Not that he was one to talk.
A hand went to his side, to the pit there. He could hardly stand to touch it anymore, and he didn’t need to see it.
Instead, he looked to distant Hovvi, and sorrow welled within him. In the dark it was so hard to tell it from home. So many years spent seeing Westwul burn in his dreams, and now he got to see it burn one last time with his eyes open. He found it hurt just the same.
Dragon had landed, he saw her rise from the lake. Daz would never have called these monstrosities beautiful, but there was a terrible majesty to Dahlia’s savior, something haunting in the finality of her coming. With everything that had happened, he knew now that she was here, it was over. He prayed she wouldn’t see her own failure in this, the death of her second home, but a part of him knew she would.
The window went both ways.
Daz groaned, laid his head back against the hay. Through cracked, tired eyes he looked over at Quinn, and with a bloody hand he stroked the hair from her face. A smile tugged at him, and he didn’t have the strength left to fight it. In a way, it was funny. All those years ago, making Besca swear to protect Dahlia. Now here he was, protecting a girl she’d brought to him.
Shutting his eyes and breathing his last, Mendas St. Senn died a man of his word.
“Lucis—!”
“Get the fuck out of the way!”
Magnifique slammed through Jubilee and the Modir, throwing them apart in a bloom of dust and debris. He hardly saw them, practically forgot anyone else was there. He crashed through the tertiary barricade, scattering what was left of RISC’s defenses, and stomped onto the platform, crushing or kicking off anything in his way.
“Lucis!” Besca yelled. “Lucis stop!”
“Send it up! Send it up now!” he shrieked. “I’ll mulch every last fucking person on here send it up get me out!”
“It’s going! It’s—send it up! It’s going!”
Sure enough, the platform hissed and rumbled, and began to rise. Magnifique dropped to his hand and knees, panting heavy breaths of steam. The Savior let out low, keening noises, shuddering like he was made of leaves.
Below, the Modir was the first to its feet, and with its newfound freedom it snatched up its cannon. Red eyes trained on the rising lift, black ichor seeped from its mouth. Fixated. It had seen something there, something that needed to die.
It raised the cannon, the maw brightened.
A burning chain wrapped around the barrel, but this time it was ready. When it pulled taut, when it yanked, the Modir swung with it and brought the cannon around. It fired.
A gout of flame blew through Jubilee’s chest.
The Savior staggered back, chains falling from her hands. The Modir lunged out, dug long, sharp fingers into her neck and dragged her in close. Then it ripped her head from her shoulders.
There was a brief cry over the comms. Besca gripped the table as Safie’s vitals blinked out.
“Safie?!" Dahlia shrieked—when had she undeafened? Oh god. “Was that Safie? Where’d she go? She’s not on comms! Besca what happened to Safie! Besca!”
The elevator continued to rise. She’d been left behind, and with every passing moment it seemed like there’d be no time left for it to come back. The voice, that itch—had it lied to her? Had it wanted this? Wanted her here, abandoned? Alone.
But you were never alone. I’m here.
“I’m here.”
Great arms wrapped around her. Daz. He hoisted her up like she were feathers in a silk bag, and suddenly they were moving. He took her past the anchor, towards the open field.
“Don’t look,” he rumbled. “Don’t look.”
Something wet touched her, or rather, she touched something wet. It was Daz. It was like he’d just come out of the lake, he was absolutely soaking. Sticky. He smelled like the boat. Like the fish still lying there on the deck.
Behind them the Modir left Jubilee’s corpse and raised its cannon once more. The maw grew bright, quickened, and with no more obstacles left it shot free and clear. The blast of fire soared across the night sky, left a smoke scar across the face of the moon.
It struck the platform full-on. Flames burst from within the cherry-light cage and it flickered out, sending a hundred tons of burning metal debris in free-fall towards the lake.
“Don’t look, Quinnlash.” Daz said, though even he paused. In the scant light there was horror in his eyes, even if it didn’t twist his face. He watched the fiery comets with tragic awe.
Then he noticed one falling oddly, arcing differently from the others. In fact, it hadn’t come from the explosion at all. It had come from above, far above.
From Aerie.
Daz held Quinn tight. The smell of iron grew stronger. He marched further into the fields.
“Get the fuck out of the way!”
Magnifique slammed through Jubilee and the Modir, throwing them apart in a bloom of dust and debris. He hardly saw them, practically forgot anyone else was there. He crashed through the tertiary barricade, scattering what was left of RISC’s defenses, and stomped onto the platform, crushing or kicking off anything in his way.
“Lucis!” Besca yelled. “Lucis stop!”
“Send it up! Send it up now!” he shrieked. “I’ll mulch every last fucking person on here send it up get me out!”
“It’s going! It’s—send it up! It’s going!”
Sure enough, the platform hissed and rumbled, and began to rise. Magnifique dropped to his hand and knees, panting heavy breaths of steam. The Savior let out low, keening noises, shuddering like he was made of leaves.
Below, the Modir was the first to its feet, and with its newfound freedom it snatched up its cannon. Red eyes trained on the rising lift, black ichor seeped from its mouth. Fixated. It had seen something there, something that needed to die.
It raised the cannon, the maw brightened.
A burning chain wrapped around the barrel, but this time it was ready. When it pulled taut, when it yanked, the Modir swung with it and brought the cannon around. It fired.
A gout of flame blew through Jubilee’s chest.
The Savior staggered back, chains falling from her hands. The Modir lunged out, dug long, sharp fingers into her neck and dragged her in close. Then it ripped her head from her shoulders.
There was a brief cry over the comms. Besca gripped the table as Safie’s vitals blinked out.
“Safie?!" Dahlia shrieked—when had she undeafened? Oh god. “Was that Safie? Where’d she go? She’s not on comms! Besca what happened to Safie! Besca!”
The elevator continued to rise. She’d been left behind, and with every passing moment it seemed like there’d be no time left for it to come back. The voice, that itch—had it lied to her? Had it wanted this? Wanted her here, abandoned? Alone.
But you were never alone. I’m here.
“I’m here.”
Great arms wrapped around her. Daz. He hoisted her up like she were feathers in a silk bag, and suddenly they were moving. He took her past the anchor, towards the open field.
“Don’t look,” he rumbled. “Don’t look.”
Something wet touched her, or rather, she touched something wet. It was Daz. It was like he’d just come out of the lake, he was absolutely soaking. Sticky. He smelled like the boat. Like the fish still lying there on the deck.
Behind them the Modir left Jubilee’s corpse and raised its cannon once more. The maw grew bright, quickened, and with no more obstacles left it shot free and clear. The blast of fire soared across the night sky, left a smoke scar across the face of the moon.
It struck the platform full-on. Flames burst from within the cherry-light cage and it flickered out, sending a hundred tons of burning metal debris in free-fall towards the lake.
“Don’t look, Quinnlash.” Daz said, though even he paused. In the scant light there was horror in his eyes, even if it didn’t twist his face. He watched the fiery comets with tragic awe.
Then he noticed one falling oddly, arcing differently from the others. In fact, it hadn’t come from the explosion at all. It had come from above, far above.
From Aerie.
Daz held Quinn tight. The smell of iron grew stronger. He marched further into the fields.
“Besca what’s happening! W-why did Ghaust’s feed just cut out! Besca! I’m in, I’m ready l-let me go down!”
Besca squeezed her eye shut, teeth grit together so hard she thought they might crack. When she opened them again she tried not to look at Hadrian’s grayed-out signal. She tried to focus on the screens, on the carnage turning Hovvi to rubble.
“Besca!”
“The elevator is down there!” Besca snapped, harsher than she meant. “Stand by until it’s back up!”
“People are dying down there! Let me drop! We practiced I—I’ve done it before, let me drop!”
“You’re not primed, just…just wait for the lift and you’ll be phased by the time you get down there—”
“No, I’m connecting now. If the elevator isn’t up by the time I’m phased, I’m dropping.”
Besca’s heart skipped, she scrolled to the hangar’s feed and watched as Dahlia vanished behind Dragon’s head. “Dammit—no! Dahlia—”
The comm cut, Dahlia had deafened herself. Besca swapped over to transport.
“Send it up! Send it up now we’re deploying Dragon!”
The world was a dark blur to her, but as she ran she’d hear the sounds change. The screaming—at least the pained screaming—grew distant, was overshadowed by the rolling of vehicles, and the panic of a meager crowd.
When she looked around she’d find herself at the foot of the elevator’s anchor. The platform had landed. Behind her was the tertiary barricade, manned by a skeleton crew compared to what had been at the first and second. They fired into the dark; by now all they could do was avoid the roads and hope they were only hitting the creatures.
Aside from her, there were only a few dozen other civilians—at least on foot. That was all. She’d run so long and so far and only this many people had made it. Armored transports climbed a ramp onto the platform, but even those altogether couldn’t have added up to more than one or two hundred.
“Hey! Kid!” A soldier shouted, running over to her. “Come on, we’re lifting in one minute, you need to get on!”
He took her by the shoulder, started leading her up the ramp, but something was wrong still. Something in her twisted—her blood, it was her blood, like it was spinning in her veins, making a whirlpool out of her. It had screamed at her to run to get here to get up and safe to Aerie to Besca but now…now what? Now what did it want? Why did that feeling from the boat come crawling back, the panic, not hers but thrust upon her. Alien.
RUN it had said but now it didn’t. Now it said something else. Said it in that way that wasn’t words, but the breath between words, the intent. It was foggy, distant, until she finally got onto the platform.
GET OFF
QUINNLASH GET OFF
“What the fuck?”
Those words were real, and from the soldier. He let her go, staring off into the dark town.
Jubilee had the Modir bound, had one chain wrapped around its neck, burning through flesh and steel but slow. It thrashed, but she was quick, sturdy. She kicked out its legs, locked its arm to its chest with her other chain. She pulled, she burned. The cannon lay discarded.
Behind them another shape emerged from the night. Another giant, but one of its arms was gone. It sprinted through the town in a maddened panic, heedless to the buildings, to the creatures or the people that it crushed underfoot on its way. It kicked over transports, its footsteps left hollows in the ground that crumbled and brought buildings down in its wake.
It was Magnifique, and he was coming straight for the elevator.
Besca squeezed her eye shut, teeth grit together so hard she thought they might crack. When she opened them again she tried not to look at Hadrian’s grayed-out signal. She tried to focus on the screens, on the carnage turning Hovvi to rubble.
“Besca!”
“The elevator is down there!” Besca snapped, harsher than she meant. “Stand by until it’s back up!”
“People are dying down there! Let me drop! We practiced I—I’ve done it before, let me drop!”
“You’re not primed, just…just wait for the lift and you’ll be phased by the time you get down there—”
“No, I’m connecting now. If the elevator isn’t up by the time I’m phased, I’m dropping.”
Besca’s heart skipped, she scrolled to the hangar’s feed and watched as Dahlia vanished behind Dragon’s head. “Dammit—no! Dahlia—”
The comm cut, Dahlia had deafened herself. Besca swapped over to transport.
“Send it up! Send it up now we’re deploying Dragon!”
The world was a dark blur to her, but as she ran she’d hear the sounds change. The screaming—at least the pained screaming—grew distant, was overshadowed by the rolling of vehicles, and the panic of a meager crowd.
When she looked around she’d find herself at the foot of the elevator’s anchor. The platform had landed. Behind her was the tertiary barricade, manned by a skeleton crew compared to what had been at the first and second. They fired into the dark; by now all they could do was avoid the roads and hope they were only hitting the creatures.
Aside from her, there were only a few dozen other civilians—at least on foot. That was all. She’d run so long and so far and only this many people had made it. Armored transports climbed a ramp onto the platform, but even those altogether couldn’t have added up to more than one or two hundred.
“Hey! Kid!” A soldier shouted, running over to her. “Come on, we’re lifting in one minute, you need to get on!”
He took her by the shoulder, started leading her up the ramp, but something was wrong still. Something in her twisted—her blood, it was her blood, like it was spinning in her veins, making a whirlpool out of her. It had screamed at her to run to get here to get up and safe to Aerie to Besca but now…now what? Now what did it want? Why did that feeling from the boat come crawling back, the panic, not hers but thrust upon her. Alien.
RUN it had said but now it didn’t. Now it said something else. Said it in that way that wasn’t words, but the breath between words, the intent. It was foggy, distant, until she finally got onto the platform.
GET OFF
QUINNLASH GET OFF
“What the fuck?”
Those words were real, and from the soldier. He let her go, staring off into the dark town.
Jubilee had the Modir bound, had one chain wrapped around its neck, burning through flesh and steel but slow. It thrashed, but she was quick, sturdy. She kicked out its legs, locked its arm to its chest with her other chain. She pulled, she burned. The cannon lay discarded.
Behind them another shape emerged from the night. Another giant, but one of its arms was gone. It sprinted through the town in a maddened panic, heedless to the buildings, to the creatures or the people that it crushed underfoot on its way. It kicked over transports, its footsteps left hollows in the ground that crumbled and brought buildings down in its wake.
It was Magnifique, and he was coming straight for the elevator.
A deep, groaning sound undercut the mayhem, like something deep within the earth had shifted. The sharp reports of gunfire followed her out of the building, and screaming—Daz? The soldiers?—but it all faded behind her as she ran. Armored transports screeched by her, covered with the black creatures all scratching and clawing at the metal to get inside. An artillery shell impacted an office a block away, turned it into a fountain of brick and fire that rained down on the civilians fleeing ahead of her.
The road was rain-wet but the sky was clear, and the water was red and stuck to her feet and stung all the little cuts that crawled up her ankles. No, the elevator wasn’t close, and it did feel like no matter how fast or how far she ran it would never get any closer but that didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, Quinnlash. You have to keep running. Our blood our pain the more you spill the more I see you see me
A great swelling in the boiling lake, a gout of steam as scalding water burst up and fell upon Hovvi like rain. In the mist and dark something struck up at the moon; a pillar, an umbral spire that—no. Not a structure, a thing. It twitched, and its steeple split and curled and when it came slamming down onto the docks, burying into the stone and earth below, another just like it rose up.
They were hands.
It pulled itself from the lake, steam wafting from its lean body. The Modir came to a hunched stand over the town. Its jagged mouth opened, a low groan dripped from its throat. In the pitch sockets on its face, red eyes glowed to life, pure and bestial.
Artillery burst against its chest, its shoulders. Bullets pelted its legs and pinged off the modium scutes running down its arms. It didn’t care, it didn’t even seem to notice. It just reached up towards the moon, long fingers splayed like it might just snatch it out of the sky. Instead it closed its fist on a twisted clump of air. Black light leaked from between its fingers, distorted the space around it into odd, nigh-invisible shapes and refractions.
Suddenly it yanked down, and a massive shape exploded into being. It crashed onto the town, crushing an entire span of streets and houses to nothing. Despite the weapon’s immense size, the creature hefted it up with hardly any effort. A hammer of some kind, or a club or—
Its maw grew hot. Grew bright.
A cannon.
With a deafening, titanic CRACK a blast of fire turned the artillery and the block around it into a searing crater.
The Modir groaned again. Its bloody eyes swept across Hovvi and come to rest, briefly, upon the elevator.
And then they turned down.
To you.
It sees you, Quinnlash.
Magnifique lay on the quarry floor, grasping the stump of its shoulder. Over the comms, Lucis’s screams were so raw Besca thought his throat might have torn. He wasn’t responding, she wasn’t even sure he could hear her anymore. Eventually his voice dried out into a ragged whimper.
Ghaust had the Modir locked. The former Helburken knight moved with every ounce of the ferocious grace that had earned him his place as a pilot. His sword was a blur of white light, striking and feinting and striking again.
The Modir matched him to every measure. It was like fighting a mirror; wherever Grauritter moved, it stepped opposite, wherever he swung, it blocked. They could have stayed there, trading blows and parries for hours, but something was changing. Slowly, but surely.
It was stronger. It was faster. Ghaust could feel it, could feel himself dragging on his blocks, it wasn’t just getting faster, he was getting tired. Damn his phasing speed, so slow, never a matter before with a team to buy time or step in.
He needed minutes. He got seconds.
The Modir stepped in, slid its blade down Grauritter’s and hooked their guards. With a vicious twist, it wrenched the sword from his grasp and flung it away. To his credit, Grauritter didn’t balk, didn’t miss a beat—he swung wide with a hard fist, but it was too late. The Modir’s blade pierced his neck straight through. He grabbed at its shoulders, grasped for purchase on the hilt. It ripped out, nearly decapitating the Savior, and in a return swing it cleaved him in two at the middle.
Grauritter fell in pieces.
On Besca’s screen, Ghaust’s vital readings blipped out.
The Modir flicked its blade and turned to Magnifique. Lucis screamed over the comms once again, not in pain this time, but in terror. Like a panicked, wounded animal, the Savior pulled himself up just enough to scramble away. He tripped over his own feet, smashed through the barricade, and made a mad dash for Hovvi.
The Modir did not follow.
Run Quinnlash you have to run. It sees you. It wants you you have to run.
Teeth clacked in a vile rictus, the Modir raised its cannon. The maw grew bright, so bright that, for a moment, it was like she was standing under the afternoon sun again, following Besca to the marina.
QUINNLASH—
Something struck the cannon—no, latched around it. At first it looked like a massive length of rope, but as it grew hot with white light, it was easier to see. Chains. The cannon’s mouth was yanked away, and it spat fire uselessly into the cliffs.
The chains pulled taut, and another, massive shape flew at the Modir. Before it could raise the cannon again, a fist caught it on the head and sent it stumbling away, nearly back into the water.
Jubilee stood upright, holding another length of ghostly chain in its other hand, which it whipped around its wrist until it had made a white-hot gauntlet. The Modir roared, and the Savior roared right back at it.
In the distance, the elevator descended. Run, Quinnlash. It was still far, but if she didn’t hurry, she wouldn’t make it in time for the first round of evacuation.
And there was no telling yet if there would be a second.
The road was rain-wet but the sky was clear, and the water was red and stuck to her feet and stung all the little cuts that crawled up her ankles. No, the elevator wasn’t close, and it did feel like no matter how fast or how far she ran it would never get any closer but that didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, Quinnlash. You have to keep running. Our blood our pain the more you spill the more I see you see me
A great swelling in the boiling lake, a gout of steam as scalding water burst up and fell upon Hovvi like rain. In the mist and dark something struck up at the moon; a pillar, an umbral spire that—no. Not a structure, a thing. It twitched, and its steeple split and curled and when it came slamming down onto the docks, burying into the stone and earth below, another just like it rose up.
They were hands.
It pulled itself from the lake, steam wafting from its lean body. The Modir came to a hunched stand over the town. Its jagged mouth opened, a low groan dripped from its throat. In the pitch sockets on its face, red eyes glowed to life, pure and bestial.
Artillery burst against its chest, its shoulders. Bullets pelted its legs and pinged off the modium scutes running down its arms. It didn’t care, it didn’t even seem to notice. It just reached up towards the moon, long fingers splayed like it might just snatch it out of the sky. Instead it closed its fist on a twisted clump of air. Black light leaked from between its fingers, distorted the space around it into odd, nigh-invisible shapes and refractions.
Suddenly it yanked down, and a massive shape exploded into being. It crashed onto the town, crushing an entire span of streets and houses to nothing. Despite the weapon’s immense size, the creature hefted it up with hardly any effort. A hammer of some kind, or a club or—
Its maw grew hot. Grew bright.
A cannon.
With a deafening, titanic CRACK a blast of fire turned the artillery and the block around it into a searing crater.
The Modir groaned again. Its bloody eyes swept across Hovvi and come to rest, briefly, upon the elevator.
And then they turned down.
To you.
It sees you, Quinnlash.
Magnifique lay on the quarry floor, grasping the stump of its shoulder. Over the comms, Lucis’s screams were so raw Besca thought his throat might have torn. He wasn’t responding, she wasn’t even sure he could hear her anymore. Eventually his voice dried out into a ragged whimper.
Ghaust had the Modir locked. The former Helburken knight moved with every ounce of the ferocious grace that had earned him his place as a pilot. His sword was a blur of white light, striking and feinting and striking again.
The Modir matched him to every measure. It was like fighting a mirror; wherever Grauritter moved, it stepped opposite, wherever he swung, it blocked. They could have stayed there, trading blows and parries for hours, but something was changing. Slowly, but surely.
It was stronger. It was faster. Ghaust could feel it, could feel himself dragging on his blocks, it wasn’t just getting faster, he was getting tired. Damn his phasing speed, so slow, never a matter before with a team to buy time or step in.
He needed minutes. He got seconds.
The Modir stepped in, slid its blade down Grauritter’s and hooked their guards. With a vicious twist, it wrenched the sword from his grasp and flung it away. To his credit, Grauritter didn’t balk, didn’t miss a beat—he swung wide with a hard fist, but it was too late. The Modir’s blade pierced his neck straight through. He grabbed at its shoulders, grasped for purchase on the hilt. It ripped out, nearly decapitating the Savior, and in a return swing it cleaved him in two at the middle.
Grauritter fell in pieces.
On Besca’s screen, Ghaust’s vital readings blipped out.
The Modir flicked its blade and turned to Magnifique. Lucis screamed over the comms once again, not in pain this time, but in terror. Like a panicked, wounded animal, the Savior pulled himself up just enough to scramble away. He tripped over his own feet, smashed through the barricade, and made a mad dash for Hovvi.
The Modir did not follow.
Run Quinnlash you have to run. It sees you. It wants you you have to run.
Teeth clacked in a vile rictus, the Modir raised its cannon. The maw grew bright, so bright that, for a moment, it was like she was standing under the afternoon sun again, following Besca to the marina.
QUINNLASH—
Something struck the cannon—no, latched around it. At first it looked like a massive length of rope, but as it grew hot with white light, it was easier to see. Chains. The cannon’s mouth was yanked away, and it spat fire uselessly into the cliffs.
The chains pulled taut, and another, massive shape flew at the Modir. Before it could raise the cannon again, a fist caught it on the head and sent it stumbling away, nearly back into the water.
Jubilee stood upright, holding another length of ghostly chain in its other hand, which it whipped around its wrist until it had made a white-hot gauntlet. The Modir roared, and the Savior roared right back at it.
In the distance, the elevator descended. Run, Quinnlash. It was still far, but if she didn’t hurry, she wouldn’t make it in time for the first round of evacuation.
And there was no telling yet if there would be a second.
“Ghaust, this isn’t working.”
“Be quiet.”
Across from them the Modir stood still and calm, sword held out to its side, cloak fluttering heavily. It seemed perfectly content to stay here until the sun came up.
“We need a new plan. If we don’t kill this thing soon there’s not gonna be much of a town left to protect.”
Ghaust grumbled, and outwardly, Grautritter let out a low growl. He shifted his stance, turned sideface and brought his blade up to his chest. The Modir cocked its head, and then, bizarrely, it mimicked him.
“Wait for the opening,” Lucis said. Magnifique started to circle, slowly, and Grauritter did the same the other way. The Modir didn’t move from the center. “Ready…Now!”
Magnifique reeled back and hurled one of his chakrams out. It spun, a whirl of white light, on a perfect path for the Modir’s neck. Grauritter bolted forward. The Modir swung its blade up in a wide arc, slapping the ring aside just as Grauritter lunged.
His blade pierced the Modir’s cloak, but before he could cut it free, it brought the back of its fist to his cheek. The Savior stumbled aside, but years of experience wouldn’t see him grounded from a single strike. He found his footing, twirled his blade around and took the lower haft with one hand, bringing it up just in time to block the strike meant to cleave him in two.
The Modir pressed, the teeth of its flayed mouth grated together. Grauritter let go with one hand, letting the blades sink into his shoulder, and grabbed the beast by its collar. Suddenly it lurched as a chakram buried itself into its side. Maginfique came dashing, other ring flying back to his hand. He struck for the neck again.
With a ferocious growl, the Modir swung its arm around, the one hand on its sword more than enough to keep Grauritter pinned, and slapped Magnifique’s hand aside, then wrapped its arm around his. It let go of Grauritter entirely, letting him hang off the cloak.
In a windmill arc, it brought its blade down and severed Magnifique’s arm at the shoulder.
There was a choked, gasping noise in the comms.
Then Lucis screamed bloody agony. Magnifique’s maw opened wide and let out a broken, quaking wail.
Quinn’s scream filled the store, and across the aisles there came the response of other hungry, skittering sounds. With competition coming, the creature before her shuddered, twitched. It leapt at her, razor-limbs poised to skewer her through, mandibles slavering.
Daz roared, and though he was still pinned, he managed to shove the display up enough to throw the thing off. It flailed past her, managing a shallow slice across her shoulder, but little else. Its momentum saw it skid out of the aisle, into the moonlight of the entrance, where it scrambled back up to its many feet.
The air cracked, a muzzle-flashed, and it popped like an ink balloon.
A soldier stood at the doorway, rifled aimed downrange at the other aisles. The skittering noises changed course in an instant, towards him.
“Quinnlash, Daz rumbled. He’d shifted onto his hands and knees, and was slowly lifting the display up on his back. “The exit…go! Outside, go! I’m right behind you!”
The soldier opened fire, strafing further in. He must not have seen the two of them—or maybe he just didn’t care—because bullets began to ping off the walls nearby. Dust and drywall sprayed her face, metal clattered at her feet.
“Now! Run!”
“Be quiet.”
Across from them the Modir stood still and calm, sword held out to its side, cloak fluttering heavily. It seemed perfectly content to stay here until the sun came up.
“We need a new plan. If we don’t kill this thing soon there’s not gonna be much of a town left to protect.”
Ghaust grumbled, and outwardly, Grautritter let out a low growl. He shifted his stance, turned sideface and brought his blade up to his chest. The Modir cocked its head, and then, bizarrely, it mimicked him.
“Wait for the opening,” Lucis said. Magnifique started to circle, slowly, and Grauritter did the same the other way. The Modir didn’t move from the center. “Ready…Now!”
Magnifique reeled back and hurled one of his chakrams out. It spun, a whirl of white light, on a perfect path for the Modir’s neck. Grauritter bolted forward. The Modir swung its blade up in a wide arc, slapping the ring aside just as Grauritter lunged.
His blade pierced the Modir’s cloak, but before he could cut it free, it brought the back of its fist to his cheek. The Savior stumbled aside, but years of experience wouldn’t see him grounded from a single strike. He found his footing, twirled his blade around and took the lower haft with one hand, bringing it up just in time to block the strike meant to cleave him in two.
The Modir pressed, the teeth of its flayed mouth grated together. Grauritter let go with one hand, letting the blades sink into his shoulder, and grabbed the beast by its collar. Suddenly it lurched as a chakram buried itself into its side. Maginfique came dashing, other ring flying back to his hand. He struck for the neck again.
With a ferocious growl, the Modir swung its arm around, the one hand on its sword more than enough to keep Grauritter pinned, and slapped Magnifique’s hand aside, then wrapped its arm around his. It let go of Grauritter entirely, letting him hang off the cloak.
In a windmill arc, it brought its blade down and severed Magnifique’s arm at the shoulder.
There was a choked, gasping noise in the comms.
Then Lucis screamed bloody agony. Magnifique’s maw opened wide and let out a broken, quaking wail.
Quinn’s scream filled the store, and across the aisles there came the response of other hungry, skittering sounds. With competition coming, the creature before her shuddered, twitched. It leapt at her, razor-limbs poised to skewer her through, mandibles slavering.
Daz roared, and though he was still pinned, he managed to shove the display up enough to throw the thing off. It flailed past her, managing a shallow slice across her shoulder, but little else. Its momentum saw it skid out of the aisle, into the moonlight of the entrance, where it scrambled back up to its many feet.
The air cracked, a muzzle-flashed, and it popped like an ink balloon.
A soldier stood at the doorway, rifled aimed downrange at the other aisles. The skittering noises changed course in an instant, towards him.
“Quinnlash, Daz rumbled. He’d shifted onto his hands and knees, and was slowly lifting the display up on his back. “The exit…go! Outside, go! I’m right behind you!”
The soldier opened fire, strafing further in. He must not have seen the two of them—or maybe he just didn’t care—because bullets began to ping off the walls nearby. Dust and drywall sprayed her face, metal clattered at her feet.
“Now! Run!”
“Breach! Breach! There’s a second singularity in the lake! Besca screamed over the comms. “Ghaust, Lucis, one of you—”
“We’re a…little…preoccupied!” Lucis grunted, and even through cockpit’s insulation Besca could hear the sounds of impact. A glance to the monitor gave him credence as well.
Despite being outnumbered, the modir was on the offensive. It parried Grauritter’s strikes, and in the same move, deflected Magnifique’s chakrams, sending the ring’s flying off before they zipped back to the Savior’s hands. The giants’ speed made them harsh blurs in the darkness, illuminated dimly by moonlight, and starkly in bright flashes of their clashing weapons.
God, it was so rare for these monsters to fight with expertise—why now?
But of course now. The modir weren’t mindless animals. They weren’t fighting a virus, they were fighting creatures as violent as they were intelligent. Sending a skilled soldier to keep them preoccupied, hiding a smaller singularity in the rising levels of the first—these weren’t just brazen assaults, these were tactical decisions. Besca couldn’t remember the last time the modir had employed tactics.
Only, yes, she could. Westwel. Her throat tightened, she flagged the elevator.
“Clear the platform for transport vehicles and send it back down now!
“Ma’am,” one of the technicians came back, “St. Senn only just arrived, it’ll take her at least five minutes for prep, and another five to load.”
“We don’t have ten minutes, we need to start evacuating! Send her down on the next pass.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Safie, status?”
There was static for a moment, then the popping of gunfire. “They got in behind the second barricade! Lift went down, I’m—” More gunshots, and the rare, frustrated grunt from Safie. “Scaling manually! Two or three minutes!”
“As soon as you’re in, head for the tertiary barricade at the platform. Cover the evac.”
“Yes ma’am!”
Besca clutched the table, eye jumping wildly from screen to screen. The dark was crippling, but through infrared it was clear how quickly things were falling apart. In the back of her mind she saw Manedun collapse, saw the harbor burning as the ships sank into the bay. She saw the giants in the dark, standing over the corpse of Westwel.
“B-Besca…”
Dahlia’s voice was so thin and quiet she hardly heard it.
“What’s…what’s going on?”
She didn’t know what to say.
With the only remaining foe from the first barricade being the modir swordsman, the primary and secondary barricades fell back into the town in time for the second wave of creatures to spew from the lake. There was no time to set up new defenses, no time to relocate artillery. Orders had come down to start shepherding civilians towards the elevator as quickly as possible.
They moved in misshapen phalanxes, firing blindly into the dark wherever the overhead drones couldn’t light. Suddenly, Hovvi didn’t feel nearly as small anymore. Every bloody inch of road seemed to take so much longer to cross.
Even for Quinn, already halfway there, the elevator might as well have been on the other side of the world.
They passed through park, darkened by small copse. Across the street, dark, rabid shapes chased after the sounds of screams and gunfire. Behind them, rogue things emerged from the marina and scurried ravenously deeper into town.
Daz brought her into the shadows. He looked around vigilantly, hunched, but it was hard for someone his size to really hide. His hands took her by the shoulders, still as gentle as ever, and he stared at her through her mumbling, waiting, listening.
“Quinnlash,” he said in the lull. “You’re doing well. A little farther, do you see those lights? There, just out of town. We’re getting closer.” He took one of her hands, squeezed it gently. “I won’t leave you behind. Quinnlash, I promise. I won’t leave you.”
With that he led them out of the park to the road, just in time for a large, armored transport to blow past them. He held his hand out for the next one, only to suddenly pull back as it drew closer. Not a transport, a truck, and when its headlights flashed off there was fire blazing from the cabin. It swerved sharply offroad, plowing through copse with a deafening metal crunch.
Something leapt from the wreckage. It was perhaps the size of a large dog, with many more limbs that curled like hooks. The firelight hardly touched it, the only feature was void. It made a stuttered, clicking sound.
Then it skittered towards them.
“Move,” Daz hissed. Together they bolted across the road, through the broken glass doors of a blacked-out department store.
They stepped over a dead man.
Daz brought her to one of the aisles and knelt low. A clattering at the entrance, staccato echoes as something moved further in. Clicking. Hunting sounds.
Very slowly, he crept forward, pointing to the distant sign that read: EXIT. The floor was slick with spilled liquids, broken containers. He did his best to brush glass and sharp plastics out of the way for her.
It wasn’t until they were halfway down the aisle that he realized the clicking had stopped. He turned to her urgently.
The aisle lurched and fell on top of him. Daz grunted to hold it up but it was too sudden, and in the next moment he was pinned beneath it.
The creature was perched on top. Its mass of legs splayed, its bulbous body lowered like a cat about to pounce. It had no eyes, but Quinn could feel its hunger as clear as any gaze, directed right at her. It clicked, and from its belly an array of mandibles twitched eagerly.
QUINNLASH “Quinnlash!”
“We’re a…little…preoccupied!” Lucis grunted, and even through cockpit’s insulation Besca could hear the sounds of impact. A glance to the monitor gave him credence as well.
Despite being outnumbered, the modir was on the offensive. It parried Grauritter’s strikes, and in the same move, deflected Magnifique’s chakrams, sending the ring’s flying off before they zipped back to the Savior’s hands. The giants’ speed made them harsh blurs in the darkness, illuminated dimly by moonlight, and starkly in bright flashes of their clashing weapons.
God, it was so rare for these monsters to fight with expertise—why now?
But of course now. The modir weren’t mindless animals. They weren’t fighting a virus, they were fighting creatures as violent as they were intelligent. Sending a skilled soldier to keep them preoccupied, hiding a smaller singularity in the rising levels of the first—these weren’t just brazen assaults, these were tactical decisions. Besca couldn’t remember the last time the modir had employed tactics.
Only, yes, she could. Westwel. Her throat tightened, she flagged the elevator.
“Clear the platform for transport vehicles and send it back down now!
“Ma’am,” one of the technicians came back, “St. Senn only just arrived, it’ll take her at least five minutes for prep, and another five to load.”
“We don’t have ten minutes, we need to start evacuating! Send her down on the next pass.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Safie, status?”
There was static for a moment, then the popping of gunfire. “They got in behind the second barricade! Lift went down, I’m—” More gunshots, and the rare, frustrated grunt from Safie. “Scaling manually! Two or three minutes!”
“As soon as you’re in, head for the tertiary barricade at the platform. Cover the evac.”
“Yes ma’am!”
Besca clutched the table, eye jumping wildly from screen to screen. The dark was crippling, but through infrared it was clear how quickly things were falling apart. In the back of her mind she saw Manedun collapse, saw the harbor burning as the ships sank into the bay. She saw the giants in the dark, standing over the corpse of Westwel.
“B-Besca…”
Dahlia’s voice was so thin and quiet she hardly heard it.
“What’s…what’s going on?”
She didn’t know what to say.
With the only remaining foe from the first barricade being the modir swordsman, the primary and secondary barricades fell back into the town in time for the second wave of creatures to spew from the lake. There was no time to set up new defenses, no time to relocate artillery. Orders had come down to start shepherding civilians towards the elevator as quickly as possible.
They moved in misshapen phalanxes, firing blindly into the dark wherever the overhead drones couldn’t light. Suddenly, Hovvi didn’t feel nearly as small anymore. Every bloody inch of road seemed to take so much longer to cross.
Even for Quinn, already halfway there, the elevator might as well have been on the other side of the world.
They passed through park, darkened by small copse. Across the street, dark, rabid shapes chased after the sounds of screams and gunfire. Behind them, rogue things emerged from the marina and scurried ravenously deeper into town.
Daz brought her into the shadows. He looked around vigilantly, hunched, but it was hard for someone his size to really hide. His hands took her by the shoulders, still as gentle as ever, and he stared at her through her mumbling, waiting, listening.
“Quinnlash,” he said in the lull. “You’re doing well. A little farther, do you see those lights? There, just out of town. We’re getting closer.” He took one of her hands, squeezed it gently. “I won’t leave you behind. Quinnlash, I promise. I won’t leave you.”
With that he led them out of the park to the road, just in time for a large, armored transport to blow past them. He held his hand out for the next one, only to suddenly pull back as it drew closer. Not a transport, a truck, and when its headlights flashed off there was fire blazing from the cabin. It swerved sharply offroad, plowing through copse with a deafening metal crunch.
Something leapt from the wreckage. It was perhaps the size of a large dog, with many more limbs that curled like hooks. The firelight hardly touched it, the only feature was void. It made a stuttered, clicking sound.
Then it skittered towards them.
“Move,” Daz hissed. Together they bolted across the road, through the broken glass doors of a blacked-out department store.
They stepped over a dead man.
Daz brought her to one of the aisles and knelt low. A clattering at the entrance, staccato echoes as something moved further in. Clicking. Hunting sounds.
Very slowly, he crept forward, pointing to the distant sign that read: EXIT. The floor was slick with spilled liquids, broken containers. He did his best to brush glass and sharp plastics out of the way for her.
It wasn’t until they were halfway down the aisle that he realized the clicking had stopped. He turned to her urgently.
The aisle lurched and fell on top of him. Daz grunted to hold it up but it was too sudden, and in the next moment he was pinned beneath it.
The creature was perched on top. Its mass of legs splayed, its bulbous body lowered like a cat about to pounce. It had no eyes, but Quinn could feel its hunger as clear as any gaze, directed right at her. It clicked, and from its belly an array of mandibles twitched eagerly.
QUINNLASH “Quinnlash!”
QUINNLASH
Daz said nothing when Quinn’s body turned against her, but when she held herself over the railing, she’d feel a steadying hand on her back, holding her braid out of the way.
As she emptied her stomach into the water, it seemed to blacken beyond nightly sheen, as though she’d thrown up ink into a bowl of water. With her eye squeezed shut she couldn’t see it spread, couldn’t see the vile taint inside her stain the good waters of the lake.
But she could feel it.
That burning in her gut, in her throat and nose, it ran deeper. While her muscles clenched, her breathing hitched, and her tongue curled at the taste, so too did her blood boil, did a pinprick burn seer itself into the back of her skull and the front of her mind. In that moment the pain was everything to her; it was touch, and taste, and smell, but it was also heard.
Quinnlash
Quinnlash
Quinnlash
Foggy through the acidic haze, but there. There in her ears, further back in her mind, there. That pain that had been with her in her home, in her room, in every waking moment that ooze that she felt in her bones even in her teeth itching and burning it was heard there in the water below her Quinnlash not a stain but a dye you are dyed Quinnlash you are dyed with pain and it was heard I am heard Quinnlash heard and felt and I am there in the smell of the water in the salt in your wounds and the sobbing in your ears and when your eye burst from your skull and our blood touched you Quinnlash in that blackness I AM SEEN
QUINN
“I won’t.”
Daz’s other arm closed around her. Fingers stroked her hair. These were slow and tenuous moments, but Daz was an anchor in the storm. When he leaned back there was certainty in him, and even cut with shadows he held the warmth of a fire.
In the distance, the sounds of battle, the flashes of fire and ghostly light. Daz sat between her and all that.
“But I made a promise to my daughter that I would protect you, and I intend to keep it,” he said. “Seeing you taken away again, locked in a room to have those…things, done to you. Living your life as an innocent prisoner.” he shook his head firmly. “That would be failure. That would be pain you don’t deserve. Quinnlash, I think you should stay with me until tomorrow, and then I think you should talk to Besca. I think…I think perhaps this pla ce is hurtin g you m ore
It became harder to hear him. Slowly, but surely, it became harder. It became harder because she was still dyed with my blood. Still dyed, Quinnlash, and you sit here and you ignore me but you know it you feel it something is wrong something is happening and it’s happening now and you need to RUN. YOU NEED TO RUN.
RUN QUINNLASHRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRURNURNRURNURNRUNRURNRURNRUNRURNRURNRURNRUNRURNRURNRUN
“Quinnlash.”
Daz’s hands on her shoulders. Cold night air. Ghosts of a burning in her throat, acid on her tongue, and the smell of iron in her nose. Blood, but not her blood. The fish. The fish still there on the deck, shorn open by its own deformities. The metal jutting from its corpse vibrating so fast they were blurs in the air. Twitching. Splitting.
Growing.
A plop from the water. Not in, but out. Up. Floating towards the hull, another fish staining the black water with blood from its torn body. Another, further out. Plop. Another. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop—until there were dozens and dozens of dead buoys popping to the surface, all ashine with moonlit glint.
“This doesn’t make any sense…” Besca muttered, eye narrowed on the energy reading. “We’re seeing spikes but…guys, are you sure nothing else has come out but the swarms? We’re peaking the parameters but there ought to be a modir by now.”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you! There’s nothing yet!” Lucis said.
The inky creatures kept coming, crashing harmlessly against the Saviors’ feet, pulverized by heel and blade and what managed to slip by them was annihilated by the barricade.
“Wait,” Ghaust said. Grauritter came tensed, clutched his sword. “No, you’re right. It’s here.”
And as he spoke, a figure emerged from the singularity. A giant, like them; a mottled black and steel colossus with a sheered maw and gangly limbs. It moved with more grace than the creatures, with intent, with a mind. It stood at the threshold, and the Saviors noticed then that it was not a bare thing, but clad in a dark, tattered mesh of metal that almost resembled a cloak. It was shorn across, and only ran long enough on one side to cover a single arm.
The other it held aloft, fist closed, and as it lowered there sprung from its fist a black light. When its arm came perpendicular to them, it was wielding a sword only just smaller than Grauritter’s. Its crossguard was sharp and the fuller in the blade was alight with white fire.
“Glad it finally decided to show up. Now mulch it and lets call this a night—”
“Doctor Darroh!”
Besca didn’t need to look away to see what the analyst was trying to show her—she saw it herself. When the modir emerged, the singularity’s levels ought to have plummeted. In truth, they had, but the readings from the Hovvi area in general hadn’t. The singularity was dying, but Besca realized in a moment of dread, that it didn’t matter.
There was another one.
There were new sounds on the boardwalk, not from the speakers, or from the crowd, but from below. Not waves, not the plop plop ploping of dead fish. No, it was more like…skittering. Like feet on hollow wood. Scraping, clawing.
People began to notice, mumbling, looking down at their feet only to find the blackness of dirt and water below. But some looked outward, to the reflection of the moon at the center of the lake, once utterly crisp and pristine.
Now it was boiling.
They burst up from the wood, bouquets of pitch that did not splash or break but pierced and sheared. Blood and screams spray the air in equal measure as the crowd lurched away, broke. More of the things exploded out from the water, shadows that leapt and dashed and fell upon anyone slower than the person in front of them.
The smattering of soldiers close enough to open fire did so, but as the creatures swarmed the docks and the lights came crashing down it was impossible to tell innocent from hungry.
So they didn’t try.
The distant screams reached them before the water began to bubble.
“Out of the boat,” Daz said, paradoxically urgent and calm. He stepped onto the dock, squinted into the distance.
It looked like waves crashing onto the boardwalk, only they moved and leapt and never seemed to end. Blessedly, they didn’t seem to be emerging this far down. Yet.
The alarm began to blare.
Daz turned north. “We have to get to the elevator. Quickly. Stay close, stay low. Can you do that?”
As she emptied her stomach into the water, it seemed to blacken beyond nightly sheen, as though she’d thrown up ink into a bowl of water. With her eye squeezed shut she couldn’t see it spread, couldn’t see the vile taint inside her stain the good waters of the lake.
But she could feel it.
That burning in her gut, in her throat and nose, it ran deeper. While her muscles clenched, her breathing hitched, and her tongue curled at the taste, so too did her blood boil, did a pinprick burn seer itself into the back of her skull and the front of her mind. In that moment the pain was everything to her; it was touch, and taste, and smell, but it was also heard.
Quinnlash
Quinnlash
Quinnlash
Quinnlash
Quinnlash
Foggy through the acidic haze, but there. There in her ears, further back in her mind, there. That pain that had been with her in her home, in her room, in every waking moment that ooze that she felt in her bones even in her teeth itching and burning it was heard there in the water below her Quinnlash not a stain but a dye you are dyed Quinnlash you are dyed with pain and it was heard I am heard Quinnlash heard and felt and I am there in the smell of the water in the salt in your wounds and the sobbing in your ears and when your eye burst from your skull and our blood touched you Quinnlash in that blackness I AM SEEN
QUINN
LASH
RUN
“I won’t.”
Daz’s other arm closed around her. Fingers stroked her hair. These were slow and tenuous moments, but Daz was an anchor in the storm. When he leaned back there was certainty in him, and even cut with shadows he held the warmth of a fire.
In the distance, the sounds of battle, the flashes of fire and ghostly light. Daz sat between her and all that.
“But I made a promise to my daughter that I would protect you, and I intend to keep it,” he said. “Seeing you taken away again, locked in a room to have those…things, done to you. Living your life as an innocent prisoner.” he shook his head firmly. “That would be failure. That would be pain you don’t deserve. Quinnlash, I think you should stay with me until tomorrow, and then I think you should talk to Besca. I think…I think perhaps this pla ce is hurtin g you m ore
It became harder to hear him. Slowly, but surely, it became harder. It became harder because she was still dyed with my blood. Still dyed, Quinnlash, and you sit here and you ignore me but you know it you feel it something is wrong something is happening and it’s happening now and you need to RUN. YOU NEED TO RUN.
RUN QUINNLASHRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRURNURNRURNURNRUNRURNRURNRUNRURNRURNRURNRUNRURNRURNRUN
“Quinnlash.”
Daz’s hands on her shoulders. Cold night air. Ghosts of a burning in her throat, acid on her tongue, and the smell of iron in her nose. Blood, but not her blood. The fish. The fish still there on the deck, shorn open by its own deformities. The metal jutting from its corpse vibrating so fast they were blurs in the air. Twitching. Splitting.
Growing.
A plop from the water. Not in, but out. Up. Floating towards the hull, another fish staining the black water with blood from its torn body. Another, further out. Plop. Another. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop—until there were dozens and dozens of dead buoys popping to the surface, all ashine with moonlit glint.
“This doesn’t make any sense…” Besca muttered, eye narrowed on the energy reading. “We’re seeing spikes but…guys, are you sure nothing else has come out but the swarms? We’re peaking the parameters but there ought to be a modir by now.”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you! There’s nothing yet!” Lucis said.
The inky creatures kept coming, crashing harmlessly against the Saviors’ feet, pulverized by heel and blade and what managed to slip by them was annihilated by the barricade.
“Wait,” Ghaust said. Grauritter came tensed, clutched his sword. “No, you’re right. It’s here.”
And as he spoke, a figure emerged from the singularity. A giant, like them; a mottled black and steel colossus with a sheered maw and gangly limbs. It moved with more grace than the creatures, with intent, with a mind. It stood at the threshold, and the Saviors noticed then that it was not a bare thing, but clad in a dark, tattered mesh of metal that almost resembled a cloak. It was shorn across, and only ran long enough on one side to cover a single arm.
The other it held aloft, fist closed, and as it lowered there sprung from its fist a black light. When its arm came perpendicular to them, it was wielding a sword only just smaller than Grauritter’s. Its crossguard was sharp and the fuller in the blade was alight with white fire.
“Glad it finally decided to show up. Now mulch it and lets call this a night—”
“Doctor Darroh!”
Besca didn’t need to look away to see what the analyst was trying to show her—she saw it herself. When the modir emerged, the singularity’s levels ought to have plummeted. In truth, they had, but the readings from the Hovvi area in general hadn’t. The singularity was dying, but Besca realized in a moment of dread, that it didn’t matter.
There was another one.
There were new sounds on the boardwalk, not from the speakers, or from the crowd, but from below. Not waves, not the plop plop ploping of dead fish. No, it was more like…skittering. Like feet on hollow wood. Scraping, clawing.
People began to notice, mumbling, looking down at their feet only to find the blackness of dirt and water below. But some looked outward, to the reflection of the moon at the center of the lake, once utterly crisp and pristine.
Now it was boiling.
They burst up from the wood, bouquets of pitch that did not splash or break but pierced and sheared. Blood and screams spray the air in equal measure as the crowd lurched away, broke. More of the things exploded out from the water, shadows that leapt and dashed and fell upon anyone slower than the person in front of them.
The smattering of soldiers close enough to open fire did so, but as the creatures swarmed the docks and the lights came crashing down it was impossible to tell innocent from hungry.
So they didn’t try.
The distant screams reached them before the water began to bubble.
“Out of the boat,” Daz said, paradoxically urgent and calm. He stepped onto the dock, squinted into the distance.
It looked like waves crashing onto the boardwalk, only they moved and leapt and never seemed to end. Blessedly, they didn’t seem to be emerging this far down. Yet.
The alarm began to blare.
Daz turned north. “We have to get to the elevator. Quickly. Stay close, stay low. Can you do that?”
Daz sat down beside her, and the boat shifted to accommodate. He offered a bottle of water, and with his foot slid a towel over the pooling blood at their feet.
“Into the water, the fish won’t mind. Little sips, after, if you do, he said. “It’s a strange thing, putting your life in someone else’s hands. Trusting so much that they’ll protect you. I’ve been on either side of that window. It’s fear both ways; fear that they’ll fail you, fear that you’ll fail them. With Dahlia I feel both—I think she does, too.”
He took a pouch from the cooler, melonberry. The straw was like a thread in his fingers, but he popped it into place and brought it to his lips. It was empty in a single gulp. He looked to her, level, unjudging.
“Why haven’t you left home, before?”
Silence blanketed the quarry. A great crater, miles of stone mined out into a gray field that soaked in the moonlight but wouldn’t shine. Even as the Saviors approached, the sound of their colossal steps went unchallenged, and when they came to a stop there was silence again.
A flurry of drones followed them, dozens of Aerie’s eyes and ears.
Grauritter stood at the west end, Magnifique to the east. Behind them, the outer barricade and artillery line would cleave through anything that came between them.
“Easy, boys,” Besca said. “It’s here.”
The station couldn’t have known for sure, they were rarely so accurate to the moment. But Besca had a sense; even a thousand miles away the hairs on the back of her neck bristled when she felt danger coming to her pilots.
And sure enough, it was here.
A low, distorted hum rose, as if from the rock itself. The air crackled faintly, charged, and charging. There was brief static in the comms, but contingencies snuffed it. It was all so clear, here, as it always was.
Grauritter raised his arm, as if to pull something from his back. Magnifique’s hands twitched, and he faced his palms to the ground.
The humming grew louder, the crackling turned thunderous. Far away the air folded on itself, shimmered, made refractions of its surroundings in odd, senseless patterns that, as the moments dragged, began to find their sense. They curved, curled, like someone bending a metal bar into a circle, and with each invisible exertion the stone beneath it cracked. Eventually its dimensions became clear, like the rim of a mirror, and its face was a perfect, dark reflection.
At once the buzzing dimmed, the thunder calmed. There, untouched by the moonlight was a black mirror half submerged in the stone, as tall as the Saviors and several times as wide.
For many moments there was silence again.
Then the mirror shattered, and behind it was a void darker than the gaps between stars.
Shapes spilled forth, so numerous it seemed like a flood of brackish water. They were terrible things as pitch as ink, and as lifeless. None measured taller than the Saviors’ own ankles, but none who had faced these tides before would dare underestimate them.
Grauritter closed his fist. Black light sprang from the seams of his gauntlets, and as he drew his arm up, a hilt appeared in his grasp. Atom by atom, as if drawn from the night air itself, a sword appeared, the blade nearly as long as he was tall. He swung it around into both hands, and the edges burst to life with flames like white neon.
Beside him, Magnifique closed his hands in, and in that motion, pulled from the air a pair of rings, like chakrams. He twirled them around on his fingers, and when he snapped his grip shut, their rims glowed to life as well.
The barricade opened fire. Volleys of ballistics, explosives, laser-fire, all rained down upon the roaring masses. The air was sprayed with ichor and black flesh, but from the smoke and flames, the horde came furious and hungry.
The Saviors charged.
The initial panic had subsided quickly. RISC forces had secured the roads and soon enough, people saw the hundreds of armed soldiers and tanks and backup artillery, and decided they were likely safe still. The music stayed dead, the clamor hardly rose above a mild, incessant chatter.
Crowds began to move towards the boardwalk, to the screens, all of which now showed the dark footage from the quarry. Beneath the waves of trepidation and worry, there began to rise a current of excitement. This was the spectacle they had come to celebrate, the heroes they had come to cheer on, and the enemy they had come to see vanquished.
On the far side of town, the space elevator sent Dahlia up, and she prayed Besca was right, and that she wouldn’t come down again until morning.
“Into the water, the fish won’t mind. Little sips, after, if you do, he said. “It’s a strange thing, putting your life in someone else’s hands. Trusting so much that they’ll protect you. I’ve been on either side of that window. It’s fear both ways; fear that they’ll fail you, fear that you’ll fail them. With Dahlia I feel both—I think she does, too.”
He took a pouch from the cooler, melonberry. The straw was like a thread in his fingers, but he popped it into place and brought it to his lips. It was empty in a single gulp. He looked to her, level, unjudging.
“Why haven’t you left home, before?”
Silence blanketed the quarry. A great crater, miles of stone mined out into a gray field that soaked in the moonlight but wouldn’t shine. Even as the Saviors approached, the sound of their colossal steps went unchallenged, and when they came to a stop there was silence again.
A flurry of drones followed them, dozens of Aerie’s eyes and ears.
Grauritter stood at the west end, Magnifique to the east. Behind them, the outer barricade and artillery line would cleave through anything that came between them.
“Easy, boys,” Besca said. “It’s here.”
The station couldn’t have known for sure, they were rarely so accurate to the moment. But Besca had a sense; even a thousand miles away the hairs on the back of her neck bristled when she felt danger coming to her pilots.
And sure enough, it was here.
A low, distorted hum rose, as if from the rock itself. The air crackled faintly, charged, and charging. There was brief static in the comms, but contingencies snuffed it. It was all so clear, here, as it always was.
Grauritter raised his arm, as if to pull something from his back. Magnifique’s hands twitched, and he faced his palms to the ground.
The humming grew louder, the crackling turned thunderous. Far away the air folded on itself, shimmered, made refractions of its surroundings in odd, senseless patterns that, as the moments dragged, began to find their sense. They curved, curled, like someone bending a metal bar into a circle, and with each invisible exertion the stone beneath it cracked. Eventually its dimensions became clear, like the rim of a mirror, and its face was a perfect, dark reflection.
At once the buzzing dimmed, the thunder calmed. There, untouched by the moonlight was a black mirror half submerged in the stone, as tall as the Saviors and several times as wide.
For many moments there was silence again.
Then the mirror shattered, and behind it was a void darker than the gaps between stars.
Shapes spilled forth, so numerous it seemed like a flood of brackish water. They were terrible things as pitch as ink, and as lifeless. None measured taller than the Saviors’ own ankles, but none who had faced these tides before would dare underestimate them.
Grauritter closed his fist. Black light sprang from the seams of his gauntlets, and as he drew his arm up, a hilt appeared in his grasp. Atom by atom, as if drawn from the night air itself, a sword appeared, the blade nearly as long as he was tall. He swung it around into both hands, and the edges burst to life with flames like white neon.
Beside him, Magnifique closed his hands in, and in that motion, pulled from the air a pair of rings, like chakrams. He twirled them around on his fingers, and when he snapped his grip shut, their rims glowed to life as well.
The barricade opened fire. Volleys of ballistics, explosives, laser-fire, all rained down upon the roaring masses. The air was sprayed with ichor and black flesh, but from the smoke and flames, the horde came furious and hungry.
The Saviors charged.
The initial panic had subsided quickly. RISC forces had secured the roads and soon enough, people saw the hundreds of armed soldiers and tanks and backup artillery, and decided they were likely safe still. The music stayed dead, the clamor hardly rose above a mild, incessant chatter.
Crowds began to move towards the boardwalk, to the screens, all of which now showed the dark footage from the quarry. Beneath the waves of trepidation and worry, there began to rise a current of excitement. This was the spectacle they had come to celebrate, the heroes they had come to cheer on, and the enemy they had come to see vanquished.
On the far side of town, the space elevator sent Dahlia up, and she prayed Besca was right, and that she wouldn’t come down again until morning.
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