(123): Reavers |
The gates of Nazareth’s compound shone like pearls in the light. Visible from the city itself, they must appear like Saint Peter’s domain to those who dreamt to approach, dreamt of one day becoming members of the inner circle. Floodlights illuminated the largest buildings including the Haven, a sacrosanct structure and heart of the Elder Council. Expensive cars of ancient make waited on a dedicated parking lot between curated lawns and old birches carefully trimmed, their leaves still green despite summer ending. Even now the cracks in that facade of perfection had become visible: barely half of the spots were taken. The rats were jumping ship.
Nestra smirked. That was what happened when one ruled by terror, and something even scarier showed up. The lit windows on the Haven showed her where the council was presently gathered under Simmons. But that wasn’t her destination, not yet. Nestra tightened the cloak of darkness around herself, her Skin adding its own layer of deception to the lot. Tristan had teased her about her lack of practice but she was just using shadows another way. It was more than enough to go on.
As she moved through the quiet compound, more of the mask cracked. Behind the elegantly white walls were naked rooms where visitors would sleep in bunks of eight persons a room, a far cry from the expected luxury. That was reserved for the officers of the cult, those who held credit cards to dazzle so long as Simmons tolerated it, but here was the master’s domain, and they would be reminded of who they were by the elders should they fail in their tasks. Nestra gritted her teeth. The city was as vacuous and pretentious as its inhabitants.
There were patrolling guards, but those were either baselines or had low generation augs, a force good enough to crush dissent, but not a concerted assault. It was a weapon aimed inward.
Nestra snuck behind walls, making a conscious effort to remain inconspicuous despite the low risk. She would never underestimate people when so much depended upon her. After a short trek, her destination was in sight: a tall house no different from any around it, besides more cables and antennae than was normal. This was it. Nazareth’s surveillance system.
***
The spy’s name was Espinoza. He had only been a spy for six months and he liked none of it. It had taken so much effort to convince himself that Simmons couldn’t see the duplicity in his eyes. Every morning he woke up expecting men in coats with white armbands to burst down his door. Every time a security officer walked past him, he expected a hand on his shoulder. But nothing had happened.
Now Espinoza stared at the insensate body of the guard, a charged dart planted in his sternum through the shirt. It was as his contact had said: the server room might be guarded. Racks beeped quietly in the darkness, incredibly loud to his ears. His adrenaline spiked, and he almost dropped the stun gun. He had committed violence against a brother. It was as close to a cardinal sin as he had gotten.
This was it.
With shaky fingers, he plugged a drive into the server mainframe. Anywhere would do, his contact had said.
“You know, I had expected this from Sister Devotion but not from you.”
Espinoza froze.
He was dead. A flash of intense terror surged through his veins. When he turned, he did so slowly. Atticus James stood before him. The C-class’ eyes glowed grey in the darkness, like sunlight from behind clouds.
Do not cry.
A sort of peace beyond emotion removed the fear from his mind. It had been so strong then now, weirdly, he was free. Free to die a man.
“Sister Devotion is weak, but I can hardly blame her. She let her heart rule over her. You, though, you are different.”
Espinoza grit his teeth.
“We all have our breaking point. I woke up from the dream six months ago.”
“You mean you decided to betray our brothers and sisters.”
“I mean that Simmons murdered my friend.”
Anger now replaced some of the fear.
“That is Elder Simmons to you, traitor.”
“Fuck you. Sarah ‘disappeared’ because she was asking questions.”
“She was sent to a meditation camp,” James slowly enunciated.
“Yeah sure, and my old dog was sent to a farm and he’s still there fifty years later. You know what I regret? It’s not betraying you. It’s not even joining in the first place; I was young and naive. I regret how fucking stupid I’ve been all this time. I regret how long it took me to open my eyes. I thought I was smart but I’m not. I’m a dumbass, and you’re vile, and I’m so braindead for not figuring it out. Blind! I would be ashamed if I were not so angry. Now, do what you have to do.”
“Oh, I’m going to be asking a lot of questions first, traitor. Espinoza, you are a weakling and a coward.”
“I think he was courageous, actually,” a female voice said from behind the raider.
James turned into light. That was what Espinoza’s brain acknowledged, yet even when he realized the raider’s body was now three feet to the side, a black, mana-covered, armored hand had already pierced through his chest from behind. James let out a short gasp.
A man Espinoza had known and feared for over a decade was dead, just like that. A demon emerged from the shadows, holding the much shorter man like a grotesque puppet.
“You alright there, mate?” Evil Incarnate asked him with a thick Oceanian accent.
Espinoza physically checked that he was unhurt. Thankfully, he was. The demon’s drawl just made the experience entirely too surreal. Thankfully, she changed back into her human form an instant later.
False form. Infiltrator.
He shook his head. He had made his decision, and now he needed to live with it.
“You didn’t trust me,” he protested, a bit weakly.
The demon gently shook her head. She patted his shoulder with a surprisingly delicate touch.
“You can’t blame me, mate. Too much hinges on this, not to mention, I knew you might need protection, and you did!”
“Yes. Yes, you saved my life. Nestra Palladian.”
The name sounded weird on his tongue. Like calling a kaiju ‘Clara’, somehow.
“You need to evac now, mate. Can you join Sister Devotion? Take the long way round, I need to finish something.”
“If… if you could already come, why did you even need me?” Espinoza protested.
“I wasn’t sure I could come, friend. We have redundancies. That doesn’t mean everyone can do anything. Now, I can’t help get the kids out, but you can.”
“Right! Right. I need… I can still make a difference.”
“You can make another difference. Good luck, and see you on the other side.”
“On my way!”
Espinoza moved out with the stun gun still in his hand feeling a surge of hope and determination. Rebirth was done for. The children would get a better chance at life, and he would make sure they would get it.
After he was gone, Nestra turned to a dark corner of the room.
“An expected stroke of luck. Can you take it from here?” She whispered in Aszhii.
And the corner of the room moved.
***
Sister Devotion woke with a start to find a figure of nightmare standing before her. Her scream was muffled by a hand. First, she thought she was still caught in one of the nightmares plaguing her dreams for the past two years, second she thought she was going to be gutted by a monster.
Third, she realized this was, in fact, a lean woman in tight-fitted armor wearing a gas mask.
“Sorry,” the masked intruder said. “I’m Sylvie. I’m here to help you evacuate the children. Please don’t scream, ok?”
Devotion nodded, so the hand left.
“Was there an attack?” she asked.
“There is going to be.”
The two women shared a glance.
“Oh,” Devotion eventually said. “Ok. Errr. Evacuation. Ah, but there are guards outside.
“They’re sound asleep and will be for the next four hours. I used sleeping gas. Oh, it will have dissipated by now so you won’t be affected.”
The woman removed her gas mask revealing vivid green eyes and tufts of blonde hair emerging from under an expensive-looking helmet.
“Get the kids up, I’ll make sure the way is clear!”
“Ok!”
Devotion immediately jumped to the oldest kids, those who already had experience herding the smaller ones. With remarkably few cries, the children assembled in a sleepy herd. Devotion ended up having to hug Titi and Marsha at the same time because neither of them would allow Sylvie to get close. Espinoza came soon. With his help and two familiar, adult figures, the messy column made for the gates.
“Can we really trust her?” Nathan asked, always too perceptive for his age.
“I know we will be in danger if we stay,” Devotion said with intense conviction.
Soon they reached the gate, conspicuously devoid of guards. Devotion spotted blood on the ground and she knew Nathan must have, as well. The column reached another group of children, then they quietly made their way down the road towards Nazareth.
***
“The children are out. Dove one and two confirm that the count is full.”
“Specter?” Nestra asked over the secured channel.
“All bombs placed. Asset secured. All teams ready and in position.”
Nestra breathed. This was it.
“Assault team, go loud.”
***
“You know what I see now? I see cowards. I see faithless people dripping with negativity. I have no need to wait for the feds for you are already defeated. I see it in your lowered eyes, in your stooped shoulders.”
Simmons had always been an animated man. A short stature and a lean build made him less remarkable in a crowd, at least until he started to speak, then the impeccable appearance came like a shock. Simmons’ jaw was too chiseled, his black hair combed too perfectly, his gray eyes too penetrating and his suit too perfectly tailored to be a common mortal. He was larger than life. In a world of gleams, he shone by presence alone, and when it was no longer sufficient, by terror. That was the tool he brandished now.
“I see you are afraid and I understand, I do, yet I believe you ladies and gentlemen forget an important fact. A crucial one, in fact. We have no way out. You have no way out. The only path to survival is through.”
“We could scatter —”
“Don’t.”
The Elder who had spoken withered under the extended, accusatory finger of an irate Simmons.
“This is the twenty-first century. You will not disappear, not with the accusations laid at our feet.”
“Whose fault is this?” a woman asked, fury twisting her features. “Who dared?”
“Basil. He has already been… punished. It doesn’t matter. The blame will fall on our shoulders unless we fight. If we scatter and run, we admit guilt.”
“Guilt…” another Elder spat.
“Yes. The world is a predator smelling blood, its eyes ten thousand news cameras. We will not survive its wrath if it finds us, and if it does, ladies and gentlemen, none of us will survive. We must take control of the narrative. It is the only way.”
“Our media apparatus is destroyed,” another Elder argued.
“Not yet,” Simmons corrected. “Not fully. Destroy the evidence, accuse another group, delay, deny, distract. God is with us. The guilty shall be smitten, in the end…”
Simmons trailed off when a whistle interrupted him. It was very brief, barely half a second and only long enough for Solomon Reed to throw himself on top of the two other raiders.
Perfectly aimed, the missile crashed through the council’s window where it detonated. Flames engulfed the entire council chamber in an instantaneous, withering inferno, then the slightly smoking raiders jumped out and into a cacophony of screams and gunfire.
***
Guard Marshall was up and running less than one second after the missile hit Haven. His heart raced in his chest under the light kevlar he wore. A rush of fear made his feet bounce on the asphalt.
Not a government assault.
He knew there was always a chance feds or others would come. Every time he woke up in the middle of the night, he listened for the familiar sound of rotors announcing men in black gear rappelling from helicopters. But these attackers had fired first. Not sanctioned. He had to save whoever he could. So he ran. He ran, and soon his associate followed him. Nash was an ex-cop, not a veteran. He would be slightly slower. He didn’t have the augs.
“Central?”
No response.
“Central, do you copy?”
The sounds of automatic gunfire erupted, so loud it had to be audible down in the city and beyond. These attackers didn’t care about subtlety. He saw corpses on the main road leading to Haven: other guards. Switching frequency led to a mess of screaming people: they weren’t being jammed. Central was just silenced. He had to regroup with the remaining guards, save whoever they could. Buy time. Guard Marshall took a hard right before the bodies but Nash ignored the same precautions. He was too much of a believer.
Guard Marshall heard it before he saw it, even over the terrible din of the modern battlefield. Stomp. Stomp. Nash took cover next to the walls, but it was too late. The cause of the noise emerged from behind the canopy of a tall birch, its top visible above the highest branches. Marshall’s breath stopped in his chest.
“They have a battle walker…”
Even in a world of gleams, the size of a four-meter tall engine of death and destruction still gave pause. This one wasn’t an early incursion blocky build either. Its main body was white and ovoid with a ridge down the center, bearing no marks besides the red letters adorning its chest.
‘Fuck you’, they said.
A powerful ice javelin the size of a small trunk slammed against the armored casing, or it would have, but transparent barriers briefly appeared to slow it down and the tip scraped against the futuristic armor. A powerful electric blast followed, guided by the ice.
The titan turned and fired a deafening salvo of fire and metal. Shorter bursts came from foot soldiers in futuristic armor around the walker. Two houses were destroyed in seconds, pulverized by the liberal spray. Nash was spotted and eliminated almost as an afterthought.
Marshall ran, throwing his rifle to the side. Useless. He had basic gear, enough to kill a dokkaebi or a criminal. This? He didn’t stand a chance. The lack of markings were only plausible deniability. These were not criminals, heathens, or one of the cartels. That thing was government issue. So Guard Marshall ran. He ran to the edge of the compound, then up the ridge towards the only passage there. He ran until he smelled blood and offal — a familiar smell.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
There was a mound of corpses there, all wearing the same familiar uniform.
“No…”
Guard Marshall died. A woman in raider gear emerged from the shadows. She dragged his body to the pile.
“Lots of runners,” she remarked.
“Bullets are louder than sermons,” her companion noted.
The woman glared at him for a second.
“I bet you felt profound saying that. You know what else is profound? My foot up your arse. Next body’s on you.”
***
Solomon Reed charged towards the retreating combat walker. Three bullets bounced off his chest. The pain of the impact gave him pause. The shock of the hits had gone through both his ice coating and the nature armor under it and slammed into his ribs. Crystals fell to the ground.
“Slow down,” he ordered. “Crushed mana bullets.”
Porter swore something about Mammon serving their enemies. The Demon of Greed was a recurring theme in Simmons’ sermons. Solomon pushed those thoughts away. They served no purpose. Atticus James was just joining them.
“You’re late,” Solomon chastised.
“Dealing with a traitor,” the man replied with subdued rage.
A waste of time when survival was at stake, yet he did not begrudge him. There had to be a cost to those who lost faith.
With more care, he led the last of his people forward. The women… would be spared. He had at least that to comfort him. Now, he would determine his fate with the tip of his spear. The enemy was slowly retreating. It was a trap, but Solomon was willing to spring it. Running now would lead him into the waiting hands of the government’s lackeys, but he could guess who was attacking from the sheer amount of resources being expended. He knew who would be present. They wouldn’t risk Riel’s participation. It was an opportunity.
The path led up and past the ridge in a game of hide and seek. His people were wary and experienced. Two B-class hopping from cover to cover reinforced with porter’s coating while James’ light rays burnt missiles before they could reach them. They descended down the other side of the ridge and into a forest where Solomon’s grandchildren had played during fall, years before. It felt so long ago.
The fire intensified, then quieted. Solomon found what he expected to find: a portal.
“We go in.”
Hesitation never crossed Solomon’s mind.
The portal led through a narrow corridor of non-space and into a wide cavern covered in stalactites and stalagmites, sunlight was visible far, far above them through a tunnel carved into the dense rock. He had half expected the ground to explode under his feet, yet it did not. This lack of preparation would cost his enemies dearly.
They were here, even now. Three soldiers in armor hung from the walls above, closing the way out of this buried arena. The cavern was natural, as large as a stadium and recently emptied if the distant pile of monster corpses was any indication. As for his designated opponents, they stood ready.
One was an effeminate man with a rapier and the pale eyes of a pure mana affinity. No doubt the shields protecting the walkers had been his doing. The second was an impossibly muscular and tall black woman with the brown eyes of an earth affinity. The third, at the center, was Clytemnestra Palladian in her human form, a massive gun resting in a harness against her chest.
They were not directly attacking. Solomon assessed that they had a need to speak considering the emotionally charged situation. It would give him a brief window where information might be extracted. He signaled for the three others to get in position while there was still time to do so. If his enemies felt the need to talk, all the better for him.
“And here I thought we were backed against a wall, and now someone obligingly gives us the key to an entire new plane, one where we are not yet known,” he said, trying to gauge the demon’s reaction.
“What were you hoping to achieve?” he asked, half to himself.
In response, the human simulacrum switched to a proper evil form, facial features almost a perfect match, yet the size difference meant the demon’s body appeared kneeling. She slowly stood and now there was a titan in dark armor expanding to cover her in layers of shimmering gray scales. A helmet covered her gray hair, merging with her horns until the only part of her that remained visible were two abyssal eyes as devoid of emotion as the emptiness they heralded. An abyssal coating then covered the armor in a layer of liquid nothingness. The armor and coating were smooth and controlled to a meticulous degree, the sign of mastery over a high flow mana type. Even as close as he was, Solomon didn't feel a single drop of wasted mana. It was a demonstration.
“Patricide,” the demon answered.
Solomon moved forward with full confidence. He knew what he had to do.
Unmatched offensive power. Keep her away from the support casters.
He charged while keeping an eye out behind. Marcus was at the head of the formation in a set of cowled heavy armor that covered his entire body. Atticus and James hung further back in lighter gear. Porter cast while Atticus covered him and Solomon felt the extra layer of wood armor settle over him as the distance closed.
Her blade slammed into the shaft of his spear and in a smooth follow up, she was inside his guard. He exploded part of the forming ice coating on his armor. The shards bounced helplessly against her thick armor. He took a half step back and blocked the strike.
The impact of the demon’s sword on the haft made his bones rattle from the absurd power behind the blow. She moved in for another strike.
Create distance.
He cast three heavy javelins in quick succession. The first destroyed a stalactite after being dodged. A black bolt shattered the second. The shadows shifted and Solomon briefly lost focus, the demon appearing to his side. He pulled back and either blocked or deflected the follow up strikes. He was completely caught in her rhythm.
Not good. Reset conditions. Flip the table.
Solomon raised a wall of ice loaded with his mana. Her sword burst through it in a mighty cleave that ended in his forearm, through the ice coating, the nature spell, and his armor.
“Not worried about your friends? A mistake,” he taunted.
The rapier woman and the muscular one were falling back before Marcus. His child was a freshly minted B-class, but that was still better than the Rapier wielder, who was on the cusp of it. Even fire support from the soldiers above only slowed Porter down.
The demon smiled.
Porter screamed. Marcus stopped, shocked as Atticus had stabbed his friend in the back. A reflective wood explosion should have killed him. Instead, it revealed another demon.
This one was a lizard demon, the implications of which Solomon wished he could share. Their new opponent struck at Marcus with a sharp spear. He was only C-class but now the balance had shifted in the demons’ favor. Atticus had been murdered and replaced…
“Looking away?” the demon mocked.
Pain in his flank reminded him of who he was facing. Expanding mana far too fast for comfort, Solomon raised another shield of ice, then vertical spears. He shattered the first immediately. Ice mana raked the ground, creating furrows and sending shards of gray stone flying through the air. The demon shortly dipped underground, and when she surfaced, a black liquid shield blocked his shrapnel. Water? It looked like water. Solomon briefly attempted to freeze it before realizing that the sphere was almost colder than his own ice.
“Porter, support only Marcus!” he screamed.
The nature shield on his body receded — it was useless against her anyway. No C-class spell could slow her down. Solomon used the stalagmites to fight defensively, trying to build distance. It didn’t help. She weaved between obstacles or just struck them to send dust and stone his way. The two opponents carved through the cave system in a trail of wanton destruction that shook the very earth, but Solomon knew he was getting cornered.
No choice.
“Heard you lost someone?” he goaded.
Rage flashed in those abyssal eyes. She almost had him. Another deflective strike clanged his spear away. He almost lost focus when he saw cracks forming.
Her coating is breaking Longinus. A portal artefact.
But he was ready. She closed in, and he let go.
At the last instant, the mana surge made her flinch. He saw her anger being subsumed, shelved to be used later. Her file had claimed she was impulsive, and yet…
The spell triggered anyway. Acid expanded in a bubble, eating through stone and soil and even water in a terrible, transparent hiss that left behind a perfect sphere. Only a few droplets had reached the demon. They smoked a bit, but then the demon just shook them away. He wasn’t sure if they’d even gotten through the armor.
“Acid,” she said, then her attention focused on him. He felt it like a physical push against his chest.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“It was nothing I wanted, or agreed to.”
“You indiscriminately bombed the wrong target, oh no,” the demon mocked.
Solomon manifested a hail of frozen acid arrows. A demon bolt obliterated the center then she was through, black water disrupting the rest of the formation. That teleportation ability of hers messed up everything when she wasn’t just drifting through entire rock formations.
Prepared arena.
Behind him, Marcus was doing well enough protecting Porter but he couldn’t find a decisive engagement. The black woman had now shifted into a stone giant who contended with him in raw strength while the rapier raider protected and disrupted with well-placed panes of force. Porter was bleeding from several pot shots landed by the soldiers overhead. It was a stalemate, a battle of focus and endurance. His child might win, or not.
He had to make an opening, no matter what.
***
Camille pushed droplets of acid away from Grook and towards the shifting form of Marcus, his thick armor dented here and there by the Aszhii girl’s ridiculous strength. Grook was all offense and it was the fourth time Camille had prevented her from getting skewered. She also had a shield amulet which would help in a pinch. Marcus moved to the side to avoid the droplets. A second later, Grook barreled into him like a runaway truck. Camille rushed forward to protect her flanks while Argent stabbed any opening he could see. This B-class was… weaker than expected. As if he’d not reforged anything yet. And there was something strange going on with his balance.
By comparison, the first gen and Nestra were natural disasters. The cave system was wrecked with the ceiling collapsed in half a dozen spots. The two whirlwinds of destruction carved yet another passage through the debris.
It was easy reading that B-class could devastate a city block. It was another to witness it firsthand.
“Soon,” Camille whispered.
***
Solomon poured more mana into his most powerful spell, casting despite the constant risk of death. None of his tricks to goad her into overextending worked. The demon was surprisingly patient. She knew she was winning.
Suddenly, the water shield around her fell and she accelerated even more. Solomon had no choice but to cast before he could reach full power.
A sphere of acid appeared, then frozen on the spot. The vicious shards rotated around him, faster and faster. He expected to have to run after her despite his dipping reserves but she charged in. Shadows covered her figure.
Damn.
He couldn’t aim the vortex properly. With a supreme effort of will, Solomon withdrew the vortex around him as a shield. The demon teleported to his side again.
A powerful electric explosion disrupted it. Black bolts ravaged the cavern, melting the acid and causing even more tremors. Her form moved through it as if it was only mist, her armor smoking all the while.
Natural resistances.
Her blade found his thigh. Solomon thought he was dead, but she backed off from the remnants of the dissipating vortex. She didn’t know this was his last card.
This was it. Solomon’s brain switched to ‘plan B’ with resolve. He would face what followed like he’d faced everything else before: by doing what needed to be done.
He turned and ran, dispersing acid behind him. He ran towards the portal and the rest of his team.
***
Nestra disengaged when a battered Solomon reunited with Marcus and Andrew Porter. Her uncle seemed fine under the heavy gear, but Porter was on his last leg. They were losing, and from Solomon’s expression, he knew it. Even as he covered their support mage with a wall of ice.
“God,” Porter said with his hands splayed before him. “Give me the strength to —”
“I’m sorry, Andrew,” Solomon interrupted.
Somehow, Nestra knew exactly what was going to happen, and yet the gesture still shocked her to her core. It was like watching an accident in slow motion. With a practiced gesture, Solomon slammed the head of his spear in the back of Porter’s head, in the medulla oblongata if Nestra was any judge.
Porter was dead before he hit the ground. He spasmed a few times but that was it. Her team froze where they were though Nestra was ready for anything. Solomon had just killed his friend of thirty years. Without hesitation.
“What the fuck?” Camille whispered.
Even Argent leaned back, eyes wide.
“I request a parlay,” Solomon said.
He looked so exhausted. Nestra expected… actually she wasn’t sure what she expected, but it was certainly not this. Were fanatics not supposed to fight to the end?
“What could you possibly want to parlay about?” she asked.
“I will let you execute me if you will spare my child.”
There was another pause while Nestra processed this.
“You… you really want to surrender? Why?”
Solomon planted his spear on the ground. He crossed his muscular arms, looking very much ready to keep going.
“Because I want my child to live. I know that you do not need my surrender. This is not a fight we can win, and I know this for certain. Just as I know that you will accept.”
A smirk failed to make his grandfatherly face ugly, and that annoyed Nestra more than any foiled feint. He had no right to look kind. Not after what he’d done.
“You have deluded yourself into thinking that you are human. You have even adopted the rules of your home city. You are weak, daughter of my daughter. You are bound by rules and too afraid to do what must be done. Your ethos will lead my species to disaster, and I can no longer stop it, but I can save one life that matters to me by surrendering and accepting my end, and so that is what I will do, because I have always done what must be done. I do not fear death, young demon. You saw Dawn Spear sacrifice himself to save you, so you must understand that as well.”
“Do not speak his name,” Nestra growled.
Solomon didn’t reply for a while.
“So? Your decision?”
“Why would you even agree to this? Fanatics always fight to the end.”
“You have not listened to a word I said,” Solomon chided. “What I have done, I have done for the sake of mankind. In times of danger, men have stood spear in hand, backs to the fire to protect their families. Women have tended to that fire, raised their children. With God and discipline, we have thrived. This, is what I believe in. You have forgotten that. You and that Gomorrah you serve have let greed, lust, and chaos take over your institutions. You are ruled by godlessness and selfishness. Your idols are electrons flowing through the circuits of your banking system. And yet, and yet, despite all of this, despite the tainted version of humanity you are ushering in the future, you have won.”
He shrugged, expression bitter and defeated. Marcus still hadn’t talked, yet Nestra could feel intense distress from the shift in his posture.
Wasn’t his balance a little strange though?
“You have won. It’s over. My only choice now is to acknowledge it, and wish you good luck, and hope that sometimes in the future, enough of my brethren will rise over the sex, intoxicants, and constant diversions you revel in to find their path to the divine once again.”
“Oh I’m sure we’ll never run out of assholes,” Nestra commented.
“Spare me your sarcasm, Clytemnestra Palladian. Grant me this in my last minute.”
Awfully mouthy for someone who had given up.
“Give me a minute,” she demanded.
Her mind raced. This was an unexpected development. Her orders had been to kill, and she had killed, but if she brought them both to the Red House alive then they could be restrained and interrogated. That, in the end, would be preferable despite her hubris clamoring to finish the fight. Not likely though. Solomon’s face was nothing but conceit and disgust.
“Weakness, again. My face is known. Now and for a hundred years, my features will be associated with the murder of healers and innocents. Should word of my survival ever come out, you will face a political backlash that will destroy your credibility and that of your city which will defeat the entire point of my sacrifice: to help a united mankind. Again, you hesitate. You came here to kill, and now a few words are enough to make you throw away all of that righteous hatred, just because you don’t have the spine to carry out the sentence to the end. Pathetic.”
“Ok, chill.”
“I expect more ice in your veins, daughter of my daughter.”
“Fine, I’ll kill you, but I must ask…”
Nestra pointed towards Marcus.
“What applies to you applies to Marcus as well.”
Solomon sighed with a level of resignation that Nestra couldn’t quite explain.
“Show her,” he ordered.
Marcus hesitated. A glare from his father made him remove his cowl with hesitant hands. Rather delicate hands, actually. In fact, the more layers of armor fell off and the more Nestra’s brain sent her conflicting pieces of information. Eventually, ‘Marcus’ removed ‘his’ helmet to reveal flowing light brown hair, and a delicate, slightly round face that was still undeniably close to Nestra’s own mom. Significantly too close, in fact.
The chestpiece fell and yeah.
“You, uh, ok, I wasn’t expecting that.”
Marcus was a girl.
“I prefer Maria,” she squeaked.
“Ok, so when did that happen?”
“When I ascended eight months ago.”
Fuck, she sounded exactly like Nestra’s mom when she got angry and got her accent back. This was so uncanny. Nestra’s mind raced for just a moment. Solomon’s plan was obvious.
“Ok, so, if I follow, you know you are doomed as your identity is known and your appearance fixed for centuries as a mature B-class, but Maria here has rebuilt her body to the extent that she is clearly different from Marcus, and thus can reasonably escape prosecution. You die but thanks to the kindness of our hearts, another one of your heirs survives and possibly thrives years from now.”
“Indeed,” Solomon said with a sort of slow-burning anger. “And you wouldn’t kill your own defenseless and remorseful aunt now, would you?”
He smiled, and Nestra felt a shiver of disgust, at him, and at herself. Because she was very much tempted to accept, if only to see her mother reunite with a member of her family she thought lost and might not hate her after all. And her nepo powers meant she could do that. It was her call, her freedom to slightly change her mission parameters so she could serve her own interests. And yet, ‘Maria’ would have so many secrets to spill…
“Scheming to the very end,” she spat.
“I will have your answer now,” Solomon replied.
A terrible need overcame Nestra, the urge to finish the fight properly instead of all of this political charade bullshit. She ought to kill Solomon and Maria, eat their cores. Maybe she could fight them at the same time? To make it more interesting. They were strong, but, no… no no. She knew when hubris reared its head.
The entire plan was hers. It was her victory. It would have to suffice. She would have ample opportunities to eat cores later. She was grown now. She had overcome her hubris, at least until A-class or until she grew really bored.
“Sure,” she replied. “Done. She will be brought into custody as a Rebirth collaborator. It will be up to the authorities to decide the price of her freedom, but just so we’re clear, you’re not pardoned. You don’t get a free pass. And you will fully cooperate with us at every turn or so help me, I’ll finish what I started.”
Maria gave a resigned nod. There was silence for a little while, then Nestra moved her sword.
“Don’t make me regret it. Now, grandfather. Where were we?”
“It’s the part where you kill me, demon who believes she is human.”
Solomon charged forward with his spear, his heart empty. The demon surged to meet him. Her form blurred forward so he aimed down. All his instincts screamed at him to dodge back, to get away from the blurring form. The demon did an impossible extended twist that shouldn’t have worked, his mind struggling to read the motion. There was an impact on his chest. Cold and pain stole his breath. He could no longer see the demon, then his neck got cold.
***
Nestra felt empty. Not in a bad way, more relieved kind of empty. None of this would bring Val and the others back. There was also going to be a discussion with Claire and her mom she wasn’t looking forward to. Solomon had been a distant threat to Nestra, but to them, he was a shadow who had influenced most of their early life.
Even the victory didn’t feel like a triumph. Her success would not alter humanity at the genetic level so it would stop spawning so many assholes. As someone struggling with a bit of asshole behavior from two separate sets of impulses, she was also aware that she was the clown accusing the circus of smelling funny. Whatever, that had made more sense in her head. But the thing was, it was just a brief respite. She gave it five years before the next inheritor sub-cult took on an ascending role.
But a respite was what she’d wanted, and that was what she would get. And she was going to enjoy it while it lasted. It was fine. One day at a time.
“So… how are Claire and Debbie? I haven’t talked to them in… forty-two years,” ‘Maria’ said from behind.
“Have you tried sending an email instead of an acid bomb?” Nestra retorted.
That sort of wilted Maria and now Nestra wasn’t sure how to act. On the one hand, she’d been part of an organization of assholes. On the other hand she was obviously trying to quit.
“You’re not off the hook, but I’ll tell them you asked. You have a lot to answer for,” Nestra finished.
Maybe everyone deserved a shot at redemption. Except for Agathon. Cunt.
“That is all I can hope for.”
“Assault team?”
Nestra frowned when she heard Tristan’s voice in the coms.
“Yeah?”
“Unknown helicopters incoming, twenty miles out. We need to get out. Now.”
“Ok, everyone set timers and pull back to the exit point.”
She returned her attention to her captive.
“Ok. First step, take this crate.”
In vids, the heroes could leave after the last explosion. No one talked about packing a combat walker so it could be carried through a portal.