The magitech chronicles.., p.125
The Magitech Chronicles- Complete Series Box Set, page 125
part #1 of The Magitech Chronicles Series
Bord roared a cry of defiance that mimicked Rhea’s, and a final wave of brilliance spilled into the deck. The Talon shook, and the hull gave an ominous groan.
Then, as suddenly as the turbulence had begun, it was over. The Talon burst through Krox’s skin and into…eternity.
An entire universe of galaxies spun out in all directions, impossibly vast. They stretched into the distance, their seemingly haphazard layout a perfect mirror of whatever movements Krox made outside. His body formed the bounds of this universe, which seemed to function much like their own, but in miniature.
Back on the ship Aran was aware of Crewes hurrying to Rhea, then bending to place two fingers against her throat. “She’s breathing, at least. What the depths do we do now, sir?”
“It’s all part of the plan, Sergeant. Maybe not a good plan, but it’s what I got. Kez, get Rhea strapped into the couch against the wall. Crewes, you’re replacing her. We’re effectively trapped in the middle of a massive maze, but when we were at the Skull, Xal changed me. Now I think I know why. He’s made me into a sort of a hound, with exactly the kind of senses I need to find concentrations of magic.”
Aran reached out with the senses Xal had provided. He could feel bits of void scattered throughout Krox, and had no trouble locating the largest piece. A vast reservoir of void magic pooled somewhere in the god’s waist, obscured by a dense green nebula. It was easily powerful enough to represent the magic Krox had siphoned from Xal’s heart.
But it wasn’t the only thing he sensed. There were massive concentrations of fire and spirit, and lesser concentrations of every aspect. Aran could, theoretically at least, take whatever he wanted.
He accelerated toward the pulsing void energy in the distance. “Let’s see what happens if we start ripping out internal organs.”
48
Rest in Pieces
The Wyrm Hunter’s hull gave a tortured screech directly over Davidson’s head. A rip appeared and atmosphere rushed out, even as the temperature dropped sharply. A thick steel beam sheered loose from the ceiling, and crashed into the far side of the bridge.
Davidson seized the stabilizing ring, but his temple still slammed into the matrix’s bronze ring. He saw stars, but gritted his teeth and regained his balance. He sucked in a deep breath and yelled over the rushing wind, “Status report!”
There was no answer. Davidson looked around the Wyrm Hunter’s bridge and his heart went cold. Rickard’s body lay slumped over the stabilizing ring in her matrix, and the third matrix had been crushed, along with its occupant. Davidson couldn’t even remember the kid’s name—one of the spies the governor had sent along.
“How the depths am I going to get out of this?” Davidson forced several deep breaths, and considered his options.
He couldn’t control the scry-screen as he lacked fire, but it still showed Shaya and the safety of the shield. That safety lay something like four thousand kilometers away, which normally wouldn’t be an issue. Unfortunately, with Rickard down they had no engines.
Davidson’s water magic wasn’t of much use, though he did take a moment to conjure a ball of ice to cover the rent in the hull. The rushing of air slowed, enough that Davidson felt comfortable sprinting off the bridge.
His teeth chattered as he ran down the corridor, passing frightened techs as he approached the main hangar. Thankfully, the hit they’d taken was on the aft side of the ship, or they’d have been in real trouble.
“Sir?” a Marine called as Davidson entered the hangar.
“Get the men into crash stations,” Davidson roared without slowing. They didn’t have near enough escape pods for everyone, and none of the Marines wanted to leave when their brothers would be staying behind.
Davidson sprinted toward the tanks at the far side of the hangar, but knew in his heart he would never make it.
The starboard wall began to radiate heat, pleasant warmth at first, but that warmth quickly became lethal heat. The wall glowed white hot, and the Marines nearest it began to scream. They ran from it, their skin erupting into flame. Those closest were consumed when the wall buckled, and living flame poured into the hangar.
Davidson forced himself to focus on his tank. He leaned into a sprint, arms pumping furiously as he crossed the hangar. Heat washed over him in waves, scalding his arms, even through the uniform. Fifty meters. Forty.
The screams behind Davidson stopped, and he gritted his teeth as his uniform was cooked away. He reached desperately for magic he barely understood, much less wanted, and begged it to save him.
Water bubbled up around him, a cool balm that insulated him from the immense heat. It poured from his chest, pulse after pulse, and it kept the heat at bay. Or it made the pain tolerable at least. He’d still suffered second-degree burns, or worse. He thanked any god listening for the adrenaline masking the pain.
Davidson leapt over an ammo crate that tumbled past him, and the hull began to cant at a sharp angle as the hangar started to come apart. The oxygen around him burned away, and he saw spots as he fought to breathe.
He stumbled the last few feet, then in a fit of life-saving fury he vaulted atop the tank and rolled into the access port atop the turret. Davidson darted down the ladder, and tugged the hatch closed behind him. It sealed automatically, and he inhaled a thick, wonderful breath.
The tank hummed to life without any input from him, as if sensing his need. Davidson darted over to the command chair, and sat gingerly. Agony flared in both legs where the skin had cooked away, and he ended up in a half crouch over the seat, too damaged to risk sitting again.
Davidson flipped on the external camera, and instinctively seized the command sticks so hard his knuckles went white. The tank tumbled end over end, sprayed into the sky over Shaya through the flaming remains of the Hunter’s starboard side.
The battleship left flaming contrails in its wake as it plummeted toward the shield, leaking debris. He couldn’t hear the keel’s tortured shriek as the vessel came apart, but Davidson’s brain supplied it.
The Hunter detonated spectacularly a moment later, and the star elemental that had killed her flitted away to seek another victim. The ship that had survived a hundred battles and saved entire worlds finally succumbed to battle, and it broke his heart.
Davidson tumbled end over end, away from the shield. He hurriedly buckled himself in, and forced himself to sit, despite the pain. The agony was bad enough that he wrestled the medical pack from the wall. He fought the spin, eventually pulling loose the syringe.
He jammed it into his leg, and squeezed a rush of warmth into his thigh as the morphine spread. Davidson screamed, and his vision went blurry from tears. The tank continued to tumble, and he reminded himself that if he didn’t get past this…he was dead.
Davidson grabbed another syringe, and jammed it into the other leg. He blacked out, but only for a moment. He pushed away the vertigo and tightened the straps around him. The tank had been built to survive re-entry. Unfortunately, he’d been hurled away from the shield, into the portion of the moon that had no atmosphere.
There was nothing to slow his descent as the tank spun toward the unforgiving ground. Davidson closed his eyes and prayed for the best. He kept time with his heartbeat, and had nearly reached two hundred when he was slammed into his restraints so hard his shoulder broke.
Davidson screamed, the pain keeping him from going unconscious. All motion ceased, but his body still thought it was spinning, and he fought the vertigo. The tank had crashed, but he was still alive. He struggled to focus, but kept drifting in and out of consciousness.
In the distance he heard hissing. He closed his eyes, and rested his head against the seat rest. “We’re leaking O2. How’s that for a bullshit ending? I survived the crash, and skipped going down with the ship, and I’m going to die anyway.” He thought of the Hunter, and didn’t bother to fight the tears. “I’m sorry, girl. I should have stayed with you.”
He folded his arms across his chest and gave into unconsciousness. At least there wouldn’t be any pain.
49
Wake Up
Voria returned to consciousness by degrees. She floated beneath a warm ocean of light, which cradled and protected her. It surrounded her, yes, but it also pervaded her. There was nowhere that she began, and the light ended. She was the light, she realized.
“Ikadra?” Her voice echoed into the distance, as if she were in a vast cavern. Where did it originate if she had no throat to issue it?
“Magic, obviously,” came an amused feminine voice. “In the purest sense of a word. Your body’s gone, kid. And I can say kid, because I was a goddess before it was cool.”
Voria didn’t have a head to turn, but she could apparently shift where her attention was focused. She was in a vast cavern, dozens of kilometers across. The ceiling was comprised almost entirely of roots, and below her, she realized, lay an ocean of magical energy. Life and water pooled together, swirling into one intermingled mass.
A ghostly woman shimmered into existence next to the pool of light, the pool that was Voria. She had long, dark hair, and a wide, friendly smile.
“Shaya?” Voria guessed.
“Of course,” the shade laughed. “This is the moment I was created for. I knew the day would come when an investiture was needed, and well, here we are. Krox is here. I can see her up there.”
“Her?” Voria asked, confused by the gender switch.
“Let’s just say Krox is no longer himself.” Shaya drifted closer to the pool. To her, Voria realized. How did one live as an ocean of light? “Someone else has seized control of the matrix, so to speak. I don’t know who she is, but I can feel her inside of him. Controlling him. You can too, if you try. Anything I can do, you can do a thousand times more. Everything I am is just a shade of who you are. You can think of me as a sort of a snarky guide your annoyingly beloved predecessor left behind.”
Voria frowned at that. “Krox is here, and our people are in danger. I need to get out there and fight. Just tell me how to do that.”
“All in good time, kid.” Shaya interlocked her fingers behind her head and relaxed into an imaginary couch. “What’s going on right now? It’s all in your head. Milliseconds are passing around you, so you’ve got, well, a few hours to get ready at least. Take your time. Understand who and what you are, and then defend your world.”
Voria found the cavern claustrophobic, particularly because she couldn’t see through it to ascertain how the battle was progressing. Aran was a fine commander, but he was as yet inexperienced and might benefit from her aid.
“You’re going to have to let go of that micromanaging stuff,” Shaya said, rolling her eyes. “Either this Aran can do what you need him to, or he can’t. You can’t get caught up in doing everyone’s job for them. You’ve got to focus on building a team of people who can accomplish the things you’re not around to do, and that starts here.”
“Okay,” Voria allowed. She couldn’t fault the logic. Delegation was practiced by every skilled commander. “You say we’ve got time, yes?”
The shade nodded, then leaned forward in her imaginary seat. “You’ve got questions. Let’s do this.”
“I can feel a great deal of life, and a fair amount of water, both inside of me.” Voria reached out experimentally, and could feel lesser quantities of other magics. They were minuscule in comparison to the life and water. “Theoretically that empowers me with nature, yes? I understand the greater paths conceptually, but not how to employ them. How do I cast spells?”
“You’re still thinking like a mage.” Shaya raised both hands, and began to glow with life magic. “See how I manifested that? I willed it, and it happened. It’s more like being a war mage than a true mage. A true mage basically talks to magic and tells it what to do. A god IS magic. You’re deciding what YOU want to do, and then expending a portion of your power to accomplish it. In short, think about it, give it some juice, and pow…spell achieved.”
“And how do I counterspell?” Voria figured that would be of immense use in a brawl with another god, particularly one as strong as Krox.
“The same way you cast. As soon as you become aware of Krox doing something you don’t like, then you think about something happening that will prevent it. If she summons a flight of dragons, you suck them into the Umbral Depths. If she throws a fireball—and she might—you throw an equal or greater amount of water at it.”
“Okay, let’s test this.” Voria reached out with a dizzying array of new senses. She couldn’t see through the roots above, but she could sense a vivid tapestry of powerful magic above.
Parsing friend from foe was trivially easy, as was inspecting Krox’s magical signature. Though, before she did so, she spent a moment studying the shield protecting Shaya. Another blow or two and it would be destroyed, and the death of her planet would come in its wake.
She shifted her attention to Krox, and surprise flitted across her mind like quicksilver. She recognized the presence within Krox. How could she not? “Nebiat. I don’t know how, but I’d know her anywhere. She must have been involved in Teodros’s scheme.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a bit of a grudge.” Shaya gave a melodious laugh that reminded her a little of Aurelia. “My turn to ask questions. What are you going to do now?”
“My first priority is protecting my world,” she reasoned. “I’ll need to reinforce that shield, which it seems I can accomplish by fueling it with life.”
“That will stabilize the ward, for a short time at least.” Shaya folded her arms, and stared upwards. “But what then? Eventually Krox is going to break through.”
Voria was silent for a long time. She spun out countless possibilities in a turbulent sea of understanding. In some, she stood strong. In most, she died. Krox was stronger than her. There was no doubt about that.
But she had allies, and at the end of the day she’d rather ride into battle with her battalion than receive any amount of divine power.
She realized something was missing. “Wait, why can’t I see the Talon? It should be present in the battle, but about midway through simply ceased to exist. I don’t see it destroyed, but…it’s gone.”
“I may not like the scaly bastard, but Inura is a crafty Wyrm.” Shaya shimmered into the air above Voria, and stared up at the battle. “It’s possible that he may have hidden the vessel somehow. Or it could also be that the Talon is hiding inside of a larger entity, which would obscure it from all scrying. Either way, you aren’t the only one who won’t be able to see it.”
50
The Spellship's True Purpose
Voria appeared in the sky over the world where she’d been born. Nebiat—she refused to think of it as Krox any longer—pounded away at the shimmering shield protecting Shaya. Voria instinctively extended a hand, or tried to anyway. Then realized she had no hand. She was a floating ball of light, not at all like Shaya had been.
Shaya’s amused laughter echoed through the void somehow. “You can change that. Envision what you want to be, and then…be it. You are an archon of creation. Handle it.”
“Okay, let’s see if this works.” Voria envisioned a titanic reflection of herself. She pictured herself, complete with the confederate uniform, only far, far larger. Large enough to oppose Nebiat.
There was no slow process, no gradual change. She simply became what she wished to be, a goddess comprised entirely of light. Voria stood tall over Shaya, ready to defend her world. “I never imagined it would come to this, Nebiat. But as I’ve told you countless times, I will always oppose you.”
Nebiat paused mid-swing, and drifted slowly away from the discolored shield, which now had ragged gaps eroded in several places. Not large enough for one of those fists to fit through, but close enough that a few more blows would allow Nebiat to crush everything Voria struggled to protect.
Yet her rival made no move to continue. She hovered there, folding all four arms as she peered at Voria. “I should have realized you’d recognize me. How many gods have a hand in this moment, I wonder? Despite all their meddling, I promise nothing will keep me from achieving my goal here.”
“Is that so?” Voria asked mildly. She extended her newly created hand, and willed the shield to reappear. The gaps filled, and the shield’s dim illumination built into a steady, vibrant glow. That glow was even stronger than it had been when the shield was created.
She turned back to Nebiat. “Let’s settle this like warriors, Wyrm. Leave my world out of it.”
Nebiat’s hands extended, all four of them, and rivers of green flame rushed out, the tendrils snaking around every side of the shield, probing and searching for entry. Everywhere they touched, the life magic weakened, and within moments the vast majority of the shield had eroded.
“I am well prepared for this game, little goddess,” Nebiat taunted. Her fists fell upon the battered shield, and fresh cracks occurred. “I will eventually break through, and when I do my forces will burn your world. You cannot keep me out forever, and you lack the magic needed to stop me.”
Voria refreshed the shield again, though she felt the cost of it. How many more times could she shield her world? A dozen? Two? Eventually Nebiat would get through, unless she could find another solution.
“Is she right about us lacking offense?” Voria whispered in her head. “I need a weapon. You can’t tell me Inura didn’t prepare something.”
“We don’t have anything flashy like fire magic, but that’s why Inura and Virkonna made us tools like Ikadra and the Spellship. And the Talon. All three are designed to kill a god, or in Ikadra’s case, to forge one.”
“Speechless, then?” Nebiat called. The dark god continued to beat on the newly erected shield, and it was already cracking. It wouldn’t be long before Voria had to refresh it a third time.
