The magitech chronicles.., p.168
The Magitech Chronicles- Complete Series Box Set, page 168
part #1 of The Magitech Chronicles Series
She remembered the first time she’d picked up a spellrifle again after getting her memories back. None had ever felt right…until now. She just wasn’t a staff kind of girl.
“I am impressed,” Enoch said as he appeared in the air next to her. “Come, I will take you back to my people. I think you will find them quite receptive now. All demons remember the rifle Shakti, and the list of gods it has killed.”
32
Sabra
Aran waited inside the mecha, and wished that he had something more productive he could be doing. Nara would be back soon. Kazon was busy instructing his oni ‘children’, inevitably surrounded by dozens of attentive ogres, begging for more stories.
If Nara succeeded they’d have enough support to approach the jin, though he wasn’t certain what would be involved. Probably a duel.
The mecha vibrated and Kazon appeared in his command couch. He reeked of alcohol, strongly enough that it burned Aran’s eyes.
“Ugg.” Aran pinched his nose. “How much of that stuff did you have to down before you couldn’t smell it anymore?”
“I don’t want to know what was in it, but it does erode your problems,” Kazon replied, a beatific smile plastered on his face. “The oni are ready to help us resurrect a dark god, so we can kill a…darker god.” Kazon adopted a quizzical expression.
A moment later Nara appeared in her command couch. At this point Aran couldn’t buy the coincidence. Everything they were doing felt scripted by some deity, most likely Xal, down to the millisecond. Both comforting and terrifying.
Nara held a new weapon, a sleek long-barreled sniper rifle of a design he wasn’t familiar with. The barrel was long and slender, and the body had been artfully designed with smooth curves, and a simple trigger guard.
Shakti, Narlifex thrummed. The legendary rifle of the gods. Old. Powerful.
How do you recognize it? Aran thought to the blade. This thing has been in the tomb since before you were created.
Memory comes from blood of Xal. I hold the memory of our people. I know many things. I have lived and died countless times.
That gave Aran something to think about. He’d taken the blood from the pool mostly by instinct, but perhaps it was more important than he’d thought.
“Nara, that weapon,” Kazon breathed. “It is exquisite. Amazing. And Ancient. So ancient. I have never seen the like.”
“It’s also the very thing we needed to get the eru on board.” She delivered a proud smile. “They’re willing to follow us. Enoch has sent a missive to the jin saying they’ll be sending us as emissaries.”
“Who now?” Aran asked, fairly certain he’d never met anyone by that name.
“No one special.” She gave him an amused smile. “Just a million-year-old eru. Apparently he advised Xal during his time as a mortal, and has served as the Memory of Xal ever since.”
“Oh.” Aran blinked. A century he could conceive of. A millennia made sense. A million years? “Whole species have evolved and died out while this guy was living on the husk? Let’s hope the jin respect their elders.”
“Graal has sent a similar missive on behalf of the oni.” Kazon’s smile grew a little wider, if possible. At least he wasn’t acting like an ancient scholar.
“Guess that means we’re out of excuses. Let’s go meet the jin.” Aran didn’t mention how this whole place, the rotting body and every demon on it, made his skin crawl. Their casual savagery wasn’t any worse than the Krox, but it was still shocking to adjust to. He just wanted to go home, whatever that meant. “Kazon, you want to change us back to a corvette and I’ll pilot us to the chest cavity?”
“Of course, brother.” Kazon set down a flask he’d been about to drink from, and a tendril attached to his forehead from the orb. “Oh, that is not doing good things to my stomach.”
Aran felt the mecha shift, and as soon as it became a ship he took control and piloted it up and away from oni territory. The demons all stared wordlessly up at them as they went, and Aran had no idea if they wanted to kill them or worship them.
He guided the craft up and away from Xal, circling wide around the torso as he made for the chest cavity. A tremendous wound had torn open the chest, and a hellish purple glow, not unlike the one from the skull, came from within.
“Looks like that’s the place.” He flew unerringly for the cavity, and gently guided them inside. To his shock nearly every meter of the interior bore some form of construction. Those areas that did not provided illumination, as the interior lining blazed an angry violet, enough to see by, though probably not to read.
Entire modern cities had been built, dozens of them all made from a dark alloy that disappeared into the tissue at the edges of the cavity. The most surprising structure within that city was a thriving spaceport, which contained a half dozen sleek craft that were somehow more modern than he expected.
“That seems like a good place to land. Nara, maybe try sending them a missive, since you’re a reincarnated demon prince?”
Nara nodded. “I’ll put on my commander face.”
Aran guided the craft into a smooth landing at the edge of the spaceport, and winced when he noticed a knot of armored jin walking over. They wore ornate spellarmor with large, steel-grey shoulders, and layer after layer of hastily repaired battle damage. These guys had been through the thick of it. Often.
“Guess we’re about to find out how much parking costs.” Aran touched the ship’s wall and appeared outside.
Nara appeared a heartbeat behind him, and shot him a low whisper. “Kazon passed out. We’re on our own.”
“Lovely,” Aran muttered. It could be worse, he supposed.
A trio of large purple-skinned demons were approaching. All wore armor, traditional body armor, and carried spellrifles. They looked a good deal like the eru, minus the wings and tail, but with much, much more muscle mass. Even Crewes would have had had good things to say about the jin’s workout regimen.
“Who are you, interloper?” One of the demons demanded. She stepped in front of Aran, and glared down at him with void-touched eyes. He’d put the jin at three meters, and didn’t spot any weak points on her dark armor.
He noted the curved spellblade belted at the demon’s side, within easy reach, but not yet drawn. The hilt was wrapped in something like sandpaper, which looked like it had been replaced recently.
“Well that’s the reincarnation of Kali,” Aran said, jerking a thumb in Nara’s direction, “and I’m a Hound of Xal. We’ve come to speak to whoever your leader is about resurrecting our father.”
“Lower your voice,” the lead demon snapped, darting a glance at the other two demons. “Such things are not uttered lightly. Not if you wish to keep your head attached to your shoulders. Who are you? And what is your species? I do not recognize you.”
“We’re humans,” Nara supplied, “And he is telling the truth. I am the vengeance reborn.” Nara held her rifle aloft, and the lead guard gasped. “I see you recognize Shakti. Within this mecha we also carry the reincarnation of Gorr.”
The demon eyed Nara as if uncertain if she were making fun of him. After a few moments she seemed to decide she was on the level.
“Very well,” she said, glancing again at the other guards, “I will take you into custody, for your protection. The attempts on your life will begin as fast as the word of your mission spreads, and will not stop until you are dead. We must get you to Malazra before then.”
“Malazra?” Aran asked. The name was vaguely familiar.
“She is a Hound of Xal, and the last of the surviving princes.” She puffed up a bit at that, as if Malazra’s fortunes were tied to his own. “She will know what to do. How to present your claims in a way that will not fracture our people even further.”
“What about our ship?” Aran asked, nodding at the vessel.
“It should be safe here. I see no means of gaining entry. And unless you can shrink it and bring it with us…then it must stay.” She gave them a tentative smile. “I am called Sabra. Come, I will escort you to my mistress.”
33
Impossible Shot
Aran trailed after Sabra as she crept up pitted stone steps that were a little too large for a human. Nara came next, with the remaining two guards bringing up the rear.
They moved low and quiet, though the jin carried enough gear that the jingle of harnesses and scrape of armor against stone still carried. Aran thought they were far too loud and too obvious, right up until he heard the first exchange of spell fire in the distance.
The void bolts flashed a few blocks over, quickly followed by screams and explosions. What surprised him was that they weren’t only using magic.
“Are those projectile weapons?” he called to Sabra, just loud enough to carry.
She shot him a patient look through her faceplate. “Keep quiet, or we’ll all find out the hard way. Those are automatic weapons. They use a bit of void to propel bits of whatever ammunition the user has handy. Bone, usually. Metal sometimes. Neither is worth being on the receiving end of. The weapons are easy to maintain and power, and making munitions has become an art form.”
Aran nodded, and kept silent. He appreciated her willingness to answer his question, but also understood that keeping conversation to a minimum increased their odds of getting through this alive.
He was shocked that the heart of the demonic civilization had fallen to such ruin. Every structure they passed had some battle damage, most old or even ancient. No one had ever taken the time to repair it. This was a civilization in continuous collapse.
They reached the top of the stairs, which opened into a narrow cavern with only one tunnel at the opposite end. Sabra had paused at the top, and made a series of hand gestures to the pair below. Look. Danger. That was Aran’s take anyway.
He crept up and scanned the cavern. This was the perfect place for an ambush. Several burned out hovercraft littered the area, providing excellent cover for snipers. An iron gate lay on the far side, blocking their exit through the tunnel. Aran assumed that Sabra had the key.
The jin officer made another gesture to her unit, then turned and sprinted across the cavern, toward the gate. The instant Sabra crossed the midway point their enemies struck.
A trio of darkly armored hovertanks shimmered into existence, their frames battered and corroded from uncounted centuries of use. Each bore a wide spellcannon not unlike the modern confederate version.
At the same time demons in equally battered body armor popped up behind several of the burned out vehicles, each holding either a spellrifle or spellcannon.
All were aimed at Sabra, and while Aran didn’t know what her capabilities were, he had a hard time imagining anyone surviving that kind of assault without help.
He had a split second to act. They had no idea what the political structure of the jin was, or what the consequences of allying with Sabra and whoever this Malazra were.
Aran made a choice.
He blurred forward, kicking off the pavement and into the air. Aran snapped his left wrist down to activate his spellshield, then ripped Narlifex from his sheath.
All three hovertanks fired in rapid succession, void bolts converging on Sabra. Void bolts, and not disintegrates.
Aran flew into the path of the spells, and snapped his shield up to block the first spell, then down to block the second. The third caught Sabra in the chest, and flung her into a crumbling wall, which shattered into rubble.
Aran channeled his momentum into a throw, and hurled Narlifex at the tank that had hit Sabra. The sword grew heavier in the air, and by the time it reached the tank it was as dense as a star. The sword punched through the hovertank, and the tank exploded spectacularly.
He was about to fetch his spellrifle from the void pocket when Nara teleported. She appeared in midair at an angle that provided a perfect shot at the remaining tanks. Nara raised her spellrifle, and fired the thickest, most potent disintegrate any spellrifle had ever fired.
The spell boiled away the first tank, and continued to the second, then dissolved the wall behind them. All of a sudden Aran understood why there was so much battle damage. When you had demons and demigods tussling, it wasn’t good for the surrounding terrain.
The surviving demons turned to run, but Sabra exploded from the rubble that had buried her into the air. She ripped a spellpistol from her holster and gunned down the furthest demon, then landed next to the closest and decapitated it with a quick slash from her spellblade.
Aran raised a palm toward the last surviving demon, and increased the gravity around him a hundred fold. The demon was instantly crushed flat, and Aran winced. “Guess I used a little too much. I was trying to get a prisoner.”
“No need,” Sabra panted as she cleaned her sword with a rag she’d ripped from one of the demon’s cloaks. “Their sigil was emblazoned on the tank. They’re Proud Shayatin, one of a dozen local factions vying for this territory. The Proud are trying to control the tunnel leading to Malazra’s estate, and if they can secure access, then they control who she gets to see. It would mean the end of her power, effectively.”
“Then it’s a good thing we broke the ambush.” Nara drifted down to a graceful landing next to Aran. Her rifle was nearly as tall as she was, and even more intimidating up close. “Shouldn’t we get moving?”
“Yes, but there isn’t as much rush now.” Sabra pointed across the cavern and up the tunnel. The purplish light of the veins in the walls provided just enough illumination to make out the single demon sprinting away. “Their spotter will report back, and then—”
“No he won’t.” Nara raised her rifle to her shoulder, and made the impossible shot. A narrow beam of negative space, the essence of the void, pierced the tunnel wall, disintegrating a path to her target.
The beam caught the runner in the back of the skull, even though Nara couldn’t see him. He’d been behind a wall, but she’d tracked his flight so well she’d known where he’d be before he arrived.
Aran just blinked at her. “Wow.”
Sabra shook her head. “I can scarcely believe it. You are everything that you promised. Only a demon prince could fight as you do. Come, let us get you to Malazra as swiftly as possible.”
34
Under Fire
Kazon woke up with the most terrible headache. He wasn’t fond of pain, and generally reacted badly. He’d be terrible at being tortured.
“Where’s that flask?” he muttered, patting the leather around him. He found the wrappers from a pair of cookies and cream protein bars, but it took several moments to identify the pain under his right thigh as the flask. “Ah, there you are.”
He was about to take a sip when the corvette shook. Something rumbled outside, and it shook again.
“Are we under attack?” He blinked blearily up at the golden orb. It didn’t answer, of course. Oh, how he missed having a verbal interface.
Kazon closed his eyes, which proved a mistake. Everything threatened to come up, so he opened them. Thankfully, the ship had apparently sensed his need, and a golden tendril snaked from the orb.
He swatted at it instinctively as it approached, but the tendril dodged him and connected to his forehead. The interior vanished, and he was suddenly perceiving through the ship.
The regret was immediate. Tanks had surrounded them, and a steady staccato of void bolts was slamming into the hull. Those had, thus far, seemed to have no effect, which spoke highly of the built-in warding Inura had created.
The rocking came from more conventional cannons, which were firing hunks of stone the size of a desk. Those were doing slightly more damage, but it amounted to little more than scraping the paint.
Kazon took a deep, steadying breath. “This is bad.” His stomach roiled, but he managed to hold in the contents.
He focused on communication, and thankfully found that the ship was still linked to both Aran and Nara. He had no fire magic, and so could not send a missive otherwise.
“Aran,” he sent through the tendril, “I am under assault. The ship is in no immediate danger, I think, but I don’t know what to—”
Kazon was suddenly and violently ill, all over Nara’s command couch. Oh, no. He’d never clean it up before she got back.
“How long can you hold out?” Aran’s voice came back, his tone distracted.
He wiped at his mouth and tried not to look at the mess he’d made. “I will find out.”
Kazon focused on the system. Presumably there must be some sort of magic level to the wards so you knew when they were depleted.
He quested around, and eventually a graph popped up. It showed the shield’s magic sloping downward. It was still green, but it looked like it would pass into yellow soon. The graph went into red far more quickly than he’d have liked.
“I have about fifteen minutes, I think.” Kazon watched the graph continue to tick.
“Take the ship back to the oni,” Aran gave back, almost immediately. “If Nara and I need an evac I’ll send you a missive. Get yourself to safety.”
“As long as you and Nara will be okay. I do not wish to abandon you.” The graph ticked into the yellow. At least he’d have enough time to clean the mess.
“You’re not abandoning us. We’re almost to Malazra’s sanctuary. Get clear, brother. We’re going to see the oni soon. See that they’re ready for war.”
“Be well, brother.” Kazon killed the connection, and willed the corvette to lift off. He was confident a single strafing run would kill the demons attacking him, but beyond making them pay for his hangover he couldn’t think of a compelling reason to kill them. They weren’t a threat.
Kazon guided the corvette into the air, and began retracing their steps back to the oni.
35
Malazra
Aran and Nara were led up the tunnel past the cavern, which ended at a secure compound built into the thickest part of the ribcage. The bleak white structure was a veritable fortress, and he noted a good half dozen cannon emplacements. This place was ready for war.
