Reaper cradle book 10, p.22
Reaper (Cradle Book 10), page 22
Then torn apart.
They heard the tearing of meat echo down the hallway, followed by a deafening silence. And all of them knew who was coming.
Reigan Shen.
14
Iteration 001: Sanctum
On Suriel’s screen, Gadrael hovered in the middle of space. A translucent blue wall of force intercepted a planet-obliterating strike without so much as trembling.
“Did Makiel agree with this course of action?” Gadrael asked.
The Titan was a small but athletic man, made of muscle, with blue-gray skin and short horns like swept-back hair. He had perfected his body as he ascended, as virtually everyone did, and among his people his form was considered ideal beauty.
Suriel wondered how they would see him with a broken nose.
Not that she could break his nose. Not only was he an infinite distance away, but his cartilage was sturdier than most planets.
She could dream, though.
“Makiel is still in treatment,” she told him. Again. “His mind is occupied with potential outcomes, and he cannot be distracted from his management of Fate.”
“Contact me again when you have his approval.” Gadrael turned, presenting her with the back of his smooth white armor, and readied the buckler on his arm. A vast cloud of black smoke billowed against his barrier, and the wall of order slowly began to dissolve.
Gadrael swept a hand and his barrier vanished. The smoke boiled forward, suddenly unhindered, and Suriel could sense the appetite and corrosive influence it carried. Enough to swallow a hundred planets.
The mundane buckler expanded in an instant, and Gadrael was holding the Shield of the Titan. It was a bulwark of gleaming steel, wide enough to shelter his entire body, and it crawled with red-hot veins like molten metal. She heard a distant roar as its powers activated.
The black smoke crashed over Gadrael in a wave, and her connection to him faded to nothing.
Suriel’s hands curled into fists as she stared into her blank wall, and her Presence had to restrict her strength before she crushed everything in her building with the force of her irritation. With every passing day, worry ate away at her soul.
Not worry for Gadrael. He was the closest thing to invincible, and anyone standing behind him was as safe as they could be.
But he would plant himself like a fortress wall in front of someone, declare them under his protection, and never consider whether there was someone else who might need him more. He relied entirely on Makiel to direct him effectively.
Makiel, the Hound, who had refused to lend his support to Suriel’s efforts.
She’d fail, he said. She had a far greater likelihood of success by waiting for the Vroshir to leave, as her Presence had told her.
Suriel couldn’t accept that.
She had contacted every single one of the other six Judges, and they had all—in their own ways—turned her down. They would be delighted to accept her help, but provide their help to a risky venture when they didn’t need to? Why? Their worlds weren’t under threat.
Suriel was starting to see why Ozriel had left.
[You always knew why Ozriel left,] her Presence said. [He was abundantly clear about his frustrations with the Court.]
She held her hand over her eyes, wondering if she should make herself sleep. Sleep was nothing but a luxury for her now, but it sounded amazing.
She wouldn’t, of course. There was too much to do.
“I thought that when things were dire enough, they would change.”
[That was never likely.]
“What haven’t we tried?”
[Giving up.]
“Other than that.” She downed another cup of tea. It really was good. It had been Ozriel’s favorite.
Her Presence tapped into the power of her residence and teleported another dose of steaming tea into her cup.
[How high of a priority is this request?]
That was an unusual question. Suriel almost responded that it was the highest priority, but her Presence literally lived inside her mind. There was a reason why it had asked.
So she gave the question a moment of thought.
She could point out the number of lives at stake, but that was just as compelling an argument to wait. Every decision she made balanced the fate of innumerable lives. That was what it meant to be a Judge of the Abidan Court.
The Vroshir were coming for Sector 11, which included the strategically significant worlds of Cradle and Asylum. Strangely enough, Asylum was probably safe for the moment. Oth’kimeth, the Fiend inside the Mad King, did not appreciate rivals.
But after the rest of the Sector was destroyed, the corruption would no doubt break open that prison sooner rather than later. It would be a disaster for the Abidan. She could use that looming threat as a card.
In addition, Cradle was the birthplace of the Abidan. The first-generation Court of Seven had ascended from that world.
She had tried to use that as a lever for negotiation already. None of the current generation of Judges came from Cradle, and while they agreed it was a tragedy, the history of Cradle was already thoroughly represented in their archives. They would build it a lovely memorial.
Those were reasons why the Sector might be important to the Abidan, and strategic reasons why the Vroshir had gone to such lengths to surround it.
How important was it to her?
She thought of the worlds in the Sector. Asylum, Amalgam…Cradle.
She thought of Wei Shi Lindon, and of Ozriel. She had always known she would see Lindon die someday. Had expected it, in fact. And while Ozriel had left memories all over that Iteration, he hated the place. He might have even seen the outcome of the world’s destruction and allowed it, though she couldn’t imagine him allowing the rest of the devastation the Vroshir had brought.
“There is no reason to extend myself for this Sector,” Suriel said aloud. It was lost. She’d made her peace with that.
Or she should have.
[No compelling one,] her Presence agreed.
“But I want to.”
It was irresponsible, given the scope of her responsibilities. And far too small in scale. When the entire city burned around you, why try to save one house?
Then again, why not try? The city was already burning.
Her Presence gave her a sigh. [Then go to the Sector yourself.]
They had modeled that, and she couldn’t stop the Vroshir advance. Not that she needed a model; the Mad King had torn through Suriel and Makiel together. She alone wouldn’t even slow him down.
[Sector 11 is not enough of a strategic asset to mobilize the Court of Seven,] her Presence said. [But Suriel is.]
Suriel’s armor flowed around her, and runes spun in her eyes. She looked into Fate; could Makiel see what she was about to do?
Under normal circumstances, he would have seen the possibility years ago. Now, he was watching futures other than hers, and chaos muddied the entire weave of Fate.
But her decision had shifted threads of causality. Makiel was already starting to trace them back, looking for the cause.
Before he could find it, Suriel summoned her Razor and entered the Way.
She let the flows of pure order carry her between worlds, guided by her intentions. It took time to complete the journey, but she spent it gazing into the future and preparing.
When she arrived, she didn’t emerge right away. She sat inside the Way and looked into the Sector.
As always, the space between worlds looked like a tunnel of textured blue, like a cross between light and cloth, but also indescribable in physical terms. But with her understanding of the Way, she could see tunnels branching off, splitting in different directions.
She hovered outside Sector 11, catching glimpses of its Iterations.
There, down that tunnel, was Amalgam. A standard, almost barren world, with tinier balls of color and potential clinging to it like fuzzy moons caught in its orbit. What the locals called Territories.
Up another sloping tunnel, she saw Asylum. This one was sealed off, and she could see the discs of elaborate script-formations set up by a previous generation’s Gadrael. The scripts were fragmented and flickering, on the verge of failure, but they had been that way for decades.
Beneath the seals, the world itself was smoky gray, locked against intrusion from the outside. Through that barrier of gray, she could dimly see unspeakable shapes squirming, pushing against the restrictions of their prison. Fiends of Chaos, each powerful enough to contend with Judges. Trapped there by the collective will of ordinary humans.
She looked to each of the other worlds in the Sector, some more notable than others.
Then, finally, she looked to Cradle.
It should have been closer to her than any other Iteration, but the Way grew thin and gray as it approached Cradle. The Vroshir influence. If she tried to enter that Iteration, she would be shunted off to the side, most likely into another Sector.
But even obscured, Cradle shone like a star. She could see the powers that made it up swirling, the powerful—but still mortal—fates that clashed inside.
[WARNING: intrusion detected.]
Her Presence drew her attention up, until she looked into the neighboring Sector Twenty-One.
The Mad King’s burning eyes met her own. Around him, blue light crumbled and twisted, the rules and laws of the universe breaking around him.
He wouldn’t enter the Way physically for her. No fisherman dove into the ocean to wrestle a shark.
The Vroshir reached out with one bone-gauntleted hand, and that hand clawed for her in the Way, larger than her entire body. Its weight distorted the swirling world of order, bringing with it the crackling darkness of the Void.
Suriel’s Razor erupted into its true form, from a meter-long bar of blue steel to a branching tree that sparked with light. It was the ultimate tool for cutting away corruption, and she cut at the Mad King’s attack, severing it from existence.
[WARNING: multiple intrusions detected.]
Her enemy wasn’t alone.
A chain of shining stars crashed into the Way to wrap around her, a constellation brought to life. From another direction came a thousand hands of blood. From yet another, a wisp of the same dark, corrosive smoke that Gadrael had faced.
She cleansed or severed each one, catching glimpses of the Vroshir on the other side as she did so. A spear crashed down on her like a meteor striking a planet, and she met it with her Razor.
Outside the Way, that would have been a deadly attack. Here, she could meet it, but it took all her focus.
And more and more of the Vroshir were drawn to this spot.
They swarmed around her, and the Way dimmed. Thread by thread, it unraveled around her, revealing endless darkness specked with distant, swirling balls of color. The Void.
Enemies surrounded her, all attacking. And as they struck, she slipped from one side of existence to the other.
At least it’s working, she thought.
Then the Mad King reached out again. This time, she had to bring the full force of her power to bear against the grasping hand, and the clash of forces stretched the Way even further.
The chain of stars wrapped around her midsection, and she couldn’t spare the attention to stop it. Bloody hands landed on her leg, and a wisp of smoke twisted around her neck.
Her armor began to crack.
[Arrival incoming,] her Presence said.
A flaming sword burst through the Mad King’s hand.
A woman carved through the Vroshir’s attack with her sword, her Mantle boiling behind her like wings of white fire. Even her hair was crimson flame, and she severed the other attacks binding Suriel with one more sweep of her blade.
Razael, the Wolf, turned to face Suriel with a furious expression. “I should have let you die!”
Threads of blue light slipped back in as the Way recovered some of its hold. A shimmering orange diamond appeared over Razael’s shoulder, sparkling with a different reflected face in each facet.
[My host is relieved she arrived in time,] Razael’s Presence said.
A string of twisting symbols punched through the Way again, and Suriel glimpsed a group of Silverlords chanting in tandem. The silver crowns on their heads shone and serpentine runes twined around them as they called on the energy systems of plundered worlds to make their attack.
That working would be enough to rewrite the physics of any local Iteration, but Razael backhanded the ribbon of symbols with an armored fist. The working of the Silverlords shattered.
Razael glared at her Presence. “Plot our retreat!”
[We don’t have a retreat,] the crystalline Presence said to Suriel. [She knows that.]
Void beasts clawed their way into being, indescribable horrors slashing their way through more strands of order, drawing them closer to the Void.
“Stop talking and help me!”
[She’s happy to be here.]
The Mad King let the Scythe drift off to one side and drew his sword, a length of bone that screamed with the sorrow of a thousand butchered worlds. Suriel’s instincts and Presence screamed danger, and she turned her attention to the attacks of the other Vroshir as the Wolf faced down the Mad King.
Another figure marched into the fading blue light, holding his molten shield ready. The Titan blocked the oncoming void-beasts, slapping them back out of reality.
“You will stand trial for this,” Gadrael warned Suriel. “But for now…” He set his shield and faced the Mad King. “…nothing will touch you.”
The blue light shone brighter, but only for a moment.
Daruman’s red-sun eyes blazed as he spoke one word. “Come,” the Mad King commanded, and he was echoed by his Fiend.
Their word spread through the Void, echoing among the empty chambers of chaos, and those who dwelled in chaos obeyed.
The world darkened, and once again, the hold of the Way began to slip. Even with three Judges present, the forces of the Void were too strong. Their gravity tugged the Abidan away.
Just when the Way had faded to one thin azure thread, a girl’s head popped out.
She looked like she was about twenty, and she glanced around with uncertain eyes. “Quick, let’s go!”
Someone else shoved her from behind. A distinguished gentleman whose glasses gleamed. As the girl tumbled out of her tunnel and emerged next to Suriel, he stepped out elegantly, and he even had his weapon in the form of a cane.
“I suppose you’re going to insist on making me work, aren’t you?” said the Spider, gesturing with his cane.
The Fox, Zakariel, trembled and hid behind him.
“This is not my doing,” Makiel said.
The Hound manifested in full battle armor, holding his broad two-handed sword in one hand. He looked completely unharmed, with his dark and weathered skin and his iron-gray hair, but Suriel could see that his existence was still weak.
He gave Suriel a hard look. “But if we are to walk this path, we will walk it together. All of us.”
The Ghost blew hair away from her face, and Suriel realized for the first time the woman was standing at her side. Durandiel was the only one of the Seven not wearing armor, instead wearing a dull gray dress that hazed into smoke and carrying a tall staff.
“We’re all going to die,” the Ghost said.
Makiel’s Presence, a floating purple eye, answered her. [We have not seen our deaths.]
“I didn’t mean here,” Durandiel sighed. “I just thought it was worth contemplating our own mortality.”
The Fox tried to slip out through the strengthening Way, but Razael caught her. “Where are you going, Zak?”
The young-looking girl squirmed in the grip of the Wolf. “Don’t call me that! Call me Zerachiel!”
Razael glared. “That’s not your name.”
“At least don’t call me Zak!”
Telariel sighed and adjusted his glasses. “This is beneath us all,” the Spider said.
The attacks had stopped and the Way was back in full-force, now rippling with strength as the presence of the Abidan Judges reinforced order in the cosmos. The Silverlords and Vroshir backed away as they tore open portals into the Void.
From twisting in Razael’s grip, the Fox froze. Zakariel’s head snapped in the direction of the opening portals. “Now, where are you going?”
The Void portals winked out instantly. Some Silverlords in the process of fleeing were spat back into their Iterations.
Zakariel disappeared from the Wolf’s hands, and she flickered through existence. A white-armored hand clapped onto the shoulder of the Vroshir.
All the Vroshir, save the Mad King. All at once.
Each Silverlord had a tiny Judge standing behind them, one hand on their shoulder, a wicked fox’s grin on her face. Her teeth gleamed even in no light.
Gadrael braced his shield. “I can’t cover all her bodies and the King! Durandiel—”
“I know,” the Ghost said. She blew another strand of hair out of her eyes, and Suriel had half a mind to just cut it off.
Each Silverlord’s reaction was different, but each one had once been a champion of their respective worlds. They responded with lethal force, erupting with workings of every description.
Durandiel tapped her staff lightly on empty space, and everything rippled.
The workings vanished, and the Fox struck.
Blood sprayed across many realities.
The Mad King kept his gaze focused on Makiel, and now the Vroshir held his sword in one hand and the Scythe in the other. His voice was a spear penetrating the Way.
“You make quite a show with the heavens to shield you.”
The Judges looked down on the Mad King, and their wills were as one. Together, they slipped into reality.
Iteration 119: Fathom
A moment before, this world had trembled under the power of the Mad King.
A soldier arrived with his purple-veined sword, and Fate returned to its proper course. Makiel, the Hound.
A guardian appeared, steadied behind his shield, and the surviving mortal population shook with relief as they sensed they were protected. Gadrael, the Titan.
