Spires

A glib retort died on the tip of his tongue.

Cal imagined Aehrone doing this over a populated city.

He could’ve shielded them from the falling fire at the cost of weakening his own defense, which meant they’d all burn in the end.

A sobering thought.

In any case, he had taken the battle into the isolated wilderness to avoid just that. It gave him more time to test the demigods. Reading their minds wasn’t enough. Memories could be unreliable, distorted by the individual’s perception. Plus, the divine energy flowing through them made it slippery. He had to see and experience them in physical reality for accuracy.

Case in point.

Aehrone’s spell.

He was no expert in all things magical.

The best he could tell was that she had turned her golden energy into the same mana that was the source of all spells.

It was in every single drop of rain turned fire, spreading out like, well, a fire as it climbed up the countless drops to reach the dark clouds that spat them out.

Not all spells were equal.

At the lower levels mana served as mere starters.

A fireball formed from mana once released is no different from regular fire aside from the traces of the spell holding its shape together until impact or max range.

It spread into the wind, creating tornadoes of fire.

His HUD flashed a low oxygen warning.

Magic-infused fire ate through his shield at a faster rate.

Elebykiades chopped with the sound of thunder.

A faint golden nimbus around his head and shoulders protected him from the fire. It simply vanished before reaching any part of his body.

The demigod’s axe had lost its glow to reveal that it was made of the same metal as Aehrone’s plate armor. Head and haft cast in one piece. Long-handled and over-sized, but reasonable compared to Tlaloc’s obsidian axe, which had a head larger than a human torso.

Cal regarded the failure to penetrate.

“Lack of stamina? Shot it all out too soon?” He exaggerated a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry about it. Sometimes the guys on top throw people into things they’re centuries away from being ready for.”

The demigod reveled in a successful hunt as the ultimate expression of his superiority.

His memories had revealed that he had been akin to a big cat in a small jungle. Largely unaware of the greater truth. To learn that he was closer to the scurrying forest mouse when he had been deemed worth using by his mother in the wider conflicts was a blow he was still struggling to shake off several decades after the fact.

Elebykiades exuded insecurity.

It leaked past his silent, stoic demeanor.

The demigod’s eyes twitched.

“Maybe you want to take a break?” Cal nodded toward Aehrone, who cupped golden energy in her upraised hands.

Divine turned to mana turned to fire.

Cal could see it clearly through his many extra senses.

“She’s got it covered for now.”

To his credit, Elebykiades didn’t try the axe again.

Instead, he created distance with a flap of his wings and pointed his empty hand toward Cal.

“Sorry about the helmet. Did breaking the horns ruin the enchantment? Is your dad going to be pissed? It seems like a pretty powerful artifact? Relic?” He’d guessed one could hang a couple of tanks from a single horn from the amount of force he had applied.

The demigod’s hand glowed.

A pistol appeared.

A work of art more than a weapon, echoing Earthian flintlocks of old.

Brass and blue iron. Stock and barrel.

It lacked a pan, flint, hammer and trigger.

The brass guard was empty.

It didn’t even have sights.

The wide barrel was shaped like the yawning mouth of an alien creature that defied explanation.

Cal hoped that no sapient soul or souls had gone into the weapon’s creation. If it had, he couldn’t tell in the moment.

The demigod’s finger in the guard didn’t move, yet a shot fired all the same.

A screaming ghost crossed the distance like a regular bullet.

The tiny, worm-like thing with an alien face wailed the whole way as it passed through Cal’s telekinetic shield like it wasn’t there.

It treated his armor’s defense with the same contempt.

Then the undersuit.

His flesh.

It ate through a portion of his ribs.

Chewed through his heart.

And repeated the process on the way out his back.

Warnings blared in his helmet.

Healing gel filled the hole in his chest.

He licked his lips, tasting iron.

Elebykiades’ face remained as impassive as a stone sculpture.

He shifted his head to the side to dodge the next screaming shot.

He used microscopic telekinetic hands to help the healing gel close the hole in his heart and to keep the blood flowing.

The demigod’s confidence surged.

“You are no God. You’re an arrogant child in a small, isolated woodland. Still trapped by the constraints of your mortal cage. True ascendance can only be achieved by utterly destroying it. You’re millennia away from even comprehending the possibility. I am centuries ahead of you on the path of truth and I will end your journey here before you can take a single step upon it.”

Shots fired.

The pistol didn’t need reloading.

Its only limitation was the second between each.

Cal sped his perceptions, dodging the screaming ghost bullets with the slightest movements.

He took the demigod’s new found confidence, stuffed it in a sack and beat it against a tree.

“I thought hunters were supposed to have good aim. Only thing I can conclude is that you’re not a very good hunter. Must be nice having a mother that can give you all sorts of high level gear. She’s going to be really mad at you after you lose it all.”

Elebykiades arm gushed gold at the speed of thought.

The hand fell burning to the forest below, consumed in the raging fires.

The pistol landed in Cal’s grasp.

He aimed and winced at the scream in his head.

“Right, should probably have someone look at this first.” He stowed it in one of the tiny compartments of holding around his waist.

The demigod flew in with a wild-eyed slash of his axe.

Flames licked at the edges of his wing feathers.

Gold splashed on invisible shield, revealing its shape.

He wrapped the demigod in a telekinetic blanket, lining the winged man’s shape perfectly without any holes or breaks.

Perfect, powerful muscles bulged with a soundless roar.

Gold eyes flashed.

Only for the beams to strike an impenetrable barrier.

He ripped the axe from the demigod’s grasp and sent it flying into the forehead of the stone boss monster leaping from the raging forest fire.

Stone parted, viscera sizzled.

The spires chimed.

He dismissed the notification and whispered words into Aehrone’s ears.

“Your cousin here isn’t going to be getting anymore oxygen. I’m guessing that won’t be a problem for about 20 minutes or so. How’s that line up with your little spell?”

Cold, dark rain clouds had turned into baking ash.

An eruption without the volcano. The magic within continuously spitting out drops of fire to set a staggering area ablaze.

What remained of the small town a few kilometers to the south after the thunderbirds’ winds had swept through became ashes.

“Since you don’t care about your own life, might I interest you in his?”

Aehrone’s shining eyes bored into his.

Her face was a frozen mask.

Sweat beaded on her perfect forehead and dripped down her perfect brows.

“Can’t say I’m surprised. How about I try another approach?”

Silence.

A fiery tornado bore down from behind him.

He dispersed it with a thought.

Disappointment, verging on despair flickered across the surface of her thoughts.

As for Elebykiades?

Calm.

He ran through the options at his disposal.

The demigod thought he still had time.

“Say… your so-called gods can’t actually come to my world. Some kind of truce with other so-called gods or very powerful people. Whatever they want to call themselves… point. You two are free from their control for maybe the first time in your lives. Why face death for them when you can just… not? I’m willing to work out a deal. Non-violence pact. You don’t do bad things to my people and I leave you alone. I know, I know, you’re thinking that won’t last forever. One day, even if it’s centuries from today, they’ll come and I imagine there’ll be punishments and such. Except, you won’t be here. This is a Terminus World. Countless worlds are a single trip away through the spires. Worlds not under your terrible parents’ control. There might even be worlds that are untouched by such horrible entities. Or maybe they are if that’s the sort of challenge you’re looking for.” He regarded the winged demigod. “Think of all the worst monsters you could hunt and mount on your wall?” He turned to the armored demigod in her aura of gold. “You don’t even like fighting. Not deep down. You do it out of duty. And your mother has plenty of children waiting to replace you when you fail.”

“This is known to me,” Aehrone said. “And yet, I remain true. As you say, it is my duty. My purpose.”

She spoke truth.

He couldn’t change her mind.

Not without too much time and effort occupying him when other, greater threats remained.

It wouldn’t last even if he did.

The divine energy in her body would see to that.

In time anything he wrought would be dismantled.

Elebykiades, however…

“I’ll give your weapons back. As for the hand, I know some people that do great work with magitech replacements. All you’d have to do is swear a magically binding oath to do no harm while you’re here on my world and you’ll be free to hunt whatever monster you want. Do encounter challenges, spawn zones… once you have enough points you can be on your way to another world. Sounds pretty good right? I mean, you know what I am, what I can do. This is your real last chance.”

Amidst the burning minutes passed without any of them uttering another word.

Thoughts raced through the demigods.

Only one dared to picture the possibilities not dictated by their divine parent.

Cal freed Elebykiades’ mouth.

“I accept your terms.”

“Betrayer!”

Cal silence Aehrone with a thought.

Only muffled moans escaped her helm.

“You’ve thought about this before?”

“The spires worlds are said to be infinite. I know the number of pantheon worlds. The number in the hands of our many enemies. Of worlds that remain unconquered or are warred over. Of those in the grasp of even darker things. Primordial Gods and entities from somewhere in the distant voids beyond the reach of heavenly light.”

“Yeah, I’m going to want you to write that all that down, but that can wait for later. For now…” Cal flew the axe and weird pistol back to the demigod. He gathered some of the fiery rain and shaped it into an arrow pointing southward. “Fly in that direction for… I’d say around 8 hours if you can maintain your top speed that long. If you can’t then you’ll—”

“I can make the calculations.” Elebykiades glowered. “I will find a safe place, I take it?”

“For you and everyone else. There’s an island with these weird looking heads carved out of stone. You won’t miss it with those hunter’s eyes. There’s a small cabin and a few supply shacks. Old, but probably still good. Food. Water. Not that those things would ever be a problem for you. Plenty of fish in the ocean. Lots of giant crabs. Edible, but they taste terrible.”

“I accept.”

“So do I, provisionally. I will come by within the week with the contract.”

“I’m at your mercy, but be quick. I don’t wish to remain here for longer than absolutely necessary. My mother cannot reach across worlds, but if she were to step foot on this it’d be all our ends.”

Aehrone’s moaning got really insistent, so Cal let her speak.

“You dishonor your holy name! I will see to it that you—”

He shut her mouth once again.

“Sorry, I thought she wanted to say goodbye.”

“Cousin.” Elebykiades regarded the other demigod. “You have your duty. I was happy hunting in my forests. And I would’ve remained so without ever knowing who my mother was.” He glanced at the weapons in his remaining hand. They vanished in a glow that drifted skyward like snow falling in reverse. “I will find that again or I will die.”

“Great! On your way than. Oh, I’m serious about the last chance thing. Change your mind and I’ll kill you.”

“I expect nothing less.”

A mighty flap of Elebykiades wings carried him in the direction of the arrow. A faint golden glow fading quickly in the roiling ash clouds.

“Feckless children!” Aehrone snapped, breaking his gag over her mouth. “Death before failure.”

The mana in the fire and ash suddenly reversed course.

“Uh… listen, as a Psionic Prime you know that you can trust my words in this… but this ultimate power up thing… even if it lets you kill me, you’ll die. Not only that, but the explosion will destroy…” he spread his arms, “pretty much as far as we can see right now.”

“I know,” Aehrone said flatly.

Southern California, Spring 2053

Alin dashed forward. Armor thrusters fired at the speed of cybernetic thought. He stayed upright, squared his body to Death’s Dancer and spread his arms. All the things one did not do to make themselves harder to hit.

The grenade exploded against his armored chest.

He soaked the concussion and shrapnel, protecting the guards behind him.

Dave one-handed his carbine with a Skill and dumped the mag. 50% accuracy was pretty good all things considered.

Shauna and another guard Alin didn’t recognize because of the full-faced helmet launched magic missiles in pink and blue.

He grasped for Death Dancer’s lifeforce like one of those autograph-seeking man-children willing to trample actual children to get to the front of the barrier when Gold Division gladiators came out to greet fans.

The old American soldier stumbled, but recovered quickly. He moved not quite as a blur, but too fast for Alin to do more than activate his armor’s electric field just before impact.

Screams and grunts.

Cracks and thuds.

Sky and ground rapidly alternated in his vision.

The boot in his chest sent him tumbling across the asphalt over 30 meters before he came to a stop.

Eyes went up immediately to re-acquire the target.

The HUD lined the skull-masked bastard in red.

Data synced between him and the remaining Threnosh.

Firing lines recommended. Designed to pin in quick moving targets.

The heavy’s shoulder-mounted cannon swiveled to switch suppression fire on the squad of old American soldiers across the distance, while they turned to shoot Death’s Dancer with their heavy recoilless rifle.

Accuracy took precedence over power when the badly wounded guards were scattered around the target.

Tactical body armor flashed with magic light under the stream of projectiles.

“Shield enchantment. Degrading type. Maintain fire,” Fireteam Leader Candwyll Gorge 3569 said into the comms.

The half squad was down two members.

Death’s Dancer covered his face with an upraised arm.

Projectiles tore through cloth and scratched his pale skin.

It appeared that the shield enchantment only covered the armor plates.

He dodged left and right, but intentionally stayed close to the groaning guards.

The grenade launcher thumped in quick succession, emptying the drum.

Explosions washed over the Threnosh’s shields.

Unlike the old American soldier’s they could recharge over time as long as the generators weren’t blown out.

Alin pulled on Death’s Dancer while thickening the gray around the man.

The soldier rolled forward and came up throwing.

Enchanted short spear pierced the shield and lanced into the heavy’s faceplate.

The Threnosh’s guns fell silent.

“Retreat,” Alin said into the comms.

“Acknowledged,” the fireteam leader replied.

Death’s Dancer crouched, gathering his legs beneath him.

A hand grabbed his leg.

“Detain.”

A security guard Skill to buy a second.

Dave might’ve gotten more if he was higher level in the class. 22 was pretty good considering his true passions were 3D printing dioramas re-enacting great scenes in movie history and home brewing alcoholic beverages. Consequently, his levels were spread out. Security guard was just a job. A good one, he thought and he did take satisfaction at doing his part to contribute. After all, without Rayna and the rangers he would’ve been gremlin food or worse as an overweight teenager back in the early days of the spires apocalypse.

“Let go.”

Death’s Dancer booted Dave’s lower jaw off.

The second wasn’t enough.

Death’s Dancer covered a large amount of ground with frightening quickness.

The last standard infantry soldier turned and fired.

Projectiles spat into shielding hand, tearing through the glove, but not the flesh beneath.

It was standard Threnosh operating procedure.

Squad leaders died last.

The second was enough.

Alin listened to the algorithm’s prediction.

Multi-weapon turned into a spear cut a line across Death’s Dancer’s muscular arm.

It felt like cutting steel.

The yellow hardlight blade chipped, but drank in the red.

Alin jabbed with quick thrusts meant to keep distance.

Pink magic missiles burned through the rest of the old American soldier’s shield.

One of Shauna’s legs was bent 90% in a direction it wasn’t meant to, but she cast away, wide-eyed and bloody-faced.

Despite broken limbs and internal injuries the guards didn’t give up.

One dragged herself over to Dave and struggled to use the field medic kit with her only working hand to stem the waterfall of red pouring out of him.

William was prone, his legs limp, yet the young man fired at the old American soldiers taking the opening to charge out of cover behind shields, spells and Skills.

Another guard, face hidden by his helm, covered William with a magic shield until it shattered.

The next shot was a fireball that blew him away and set William on fire.

A dark hand gripped Alin’s heart and squeezed.

He wanted to scream.

He focused on the soldiers. Eyes darting to each one.

Shoulder launchers emerged, firing micromissiles.

Death’s Dancer’s eyes widened behind his red, white and blue skull mask, but the tiny missiles curved away from him and headed behind Alin.

“No!”

Anticipating the possibility of a dangerous fight with the potential sleepers in the ambassador’s party, the missiles had been fitted with a smaller, weaker version of the one Emerald Raptor, Colin, used on the huge harpy.

Glowing orbs appeared on impact.

Shields and armor failed.

Each old American soldier hit the ground with baseball-sized holes in their bodies. Flesh and organs instantly vaporized. Charred bones were briefly visible before the blood realized it had to flow.

“Fucker!”

Death’s Dancer grabbed the haft of Alin’s spear.

He turned it into a greatsword.

Red touched yellow as the gloved hand recoiled.

“Fancy weapon, but all you’re giving me are paper cuts!”

Alin focused his full attention on Death’s Dancer, but the drain was slow.

The powerful had more to take, but were difficult to take from.

He likened it to draining a pool with a straw.

It was too slow.

The fatigue the soldier felt was being replaced almost as quickly by his body’s natural recuperation.

He swung the sword over his head in continuous, sweeping strikes.

The hardlight blade was much lighter than one of steel or even Threnium, which meant he left no openings.

Death’s Dancer shot him.

Had a submachine gun in hand in two blinks of an eye and emptied the magazine just as quick.

He flinched, but didn’t interrupt the blade pattern.

Bullets bounced off his armor.

“Your armor’s more bullshit than the rest, fucker. You must be special. Don’t know you though. Not on the list. Too bad for you, cause I’m going to make you pay for killing my guys.”

Death’s Dancer threw the gun.

Alin cut it.

The skull mask suddenly loomed large.

He registered cutting hard muscled arms a split-second late.

Too fast.

HUD flashed red, screamed in concern.

He felt the spear tip, just the tip, in his gut lifting him off his feet without understanding.

His brain took time to catch up to reality.

Enchanted short spear thrust through multiple layers of what was supposed to— had been impenetrable as far as he could remember. Energy shield and Threnium failed.

Desperation lent strength.

Break limits or die.

Those situations led to the most class gains.

He didn’t have one.

What he had was the gray and he knew, deep down inside, that the gray survived.

It streamed from his armor through specially designed vents.

Thick like volcanic ash. Dark like an oil well fire.

Knees shook.

Not his.

A big hand grabbed at his neck, failing to get more than a finger through the gap between his armored collar and head.

The grip shifted to encompass the back of his head.

Pull and push.

Trying to drive the spear deeper.

Failing because of a sudden weakening against a surge of strength.

Alin kept his head up and pushed down on Death’s Dancer’s spear arm.

Strength flowed from one to the other.

Power sources whined as they fed more into the armor’s artificial muscles.

It wasn’t close to equal, but enough to halt the spear.

He stabbed with a dagger of hardlight.

The thin, stiff blade was more like a spike. It skipped of the colorful mask and found the path of least resistance. Right into the eye hole.

Red splattered yellow once again.

Death’s Dancer recoiled with a shout.

Alin kicked the arm and freed himself.

Wisps of gray leaked from the small hole in his stomach until the healing gel sealed it.

Pain was a distant thing as the substance did its work.

Death’s Dancer leapt with a curse on his lips, barreling into Alin like a train.

A hand darkened his faceplate as the back of his head crated the asphalt repeatedly.

He fired the helmet laser.

Cloth burned, skin sizzled.

He planted his feet on Death’s Dancer’s chest before the bigger man could really secure the mount.

Boot jets fired, sending the soldier dozens of meters in the air.

A shining javelin streaked out of nowhere.

Yet, somehow, the soldier had the reflexes and body control to twist in midair and snatch it before it could strike him in the back.

Drake appeared. One hand on the javelin with a spear in the other.

Bright flash!

Thunder!

The spell punched a small crater into the parking lot with a superhuman soldier at the bottom.

Drake hung in the air a moment before hurling the javelin near Alin.

The spear teleport took him from reality with a pop and spat him out with another a split-second later.

“Here.” Drake thrust a portal stone into Alin’s hand.

“I have some.”

“Then why aren’t you using one?”

He looked at the older man as if he had sprouted a second head.

“I need to fight.”

“You’d be more effective somewhere inside using that fog of yours to knock them out. It’d be great if we only had to deal with a handful instead of an entire battalion. Why aren’t you doing that, by the way?”

“Long story. I burned out before I even got here. I’m still trying to recharge.”

“Huh? We were wondering why you were in melee with that asshole. Speaking of—”

Drake spun his spear like a fan’s blades, creating a humming drone.

The debris cloud bloomed.

A near blur dragged wisps in his wake.

Short spear cracked against a translucent shield of faint blue light, surface writ with arcane symbols.

Drake glanced at Alin out of the corner of his eye.

“Use that stone.”

“No way, dude. I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

“You won’t.” Drake regarded Death’s Dancer. “Remember me?”

“Yeah, ‘Sticksies’. Dumb name. You got old.”

“That’s what fatherhood does.” He shrugged. “You’ve regressed. I don’t see the kid sticking slavers. I see a soldier wetting his spears with innocent blood.”

“It’s war. You don’t want to bleed, then you should’ve surrendered.” Death’s Dancer probed the shield even as Drake’s spear continued to spin. “Besides, you did your fair share.”

“Self-defense, bro. Totally different. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. If I remember it right, you guys went to the slavers looking to steal their slavery magitech. We went to stop it. I’d say that gives us the right of it.”

“What you are… are traitors to your rightful government and country.”

“And so Captain Patriot said. But you know, her words lacked conviction. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? Maybe you’re just dancing on the strings of some demigod wannabe from another world. You really going to sell yourselves for Imperialists? I guess there’s an irony in that. That’s what America used to do to the countries they exported freedom to. Back one group of natives to control the rest. Dumb shit keeps repeating itself. You going to bring back slavery too? Too bad we—”

“Fuck you! That’s not true! We ended slavery!”

“Bro, half your country had to smack the other half hard enough to get them to stop. I’m not even going to go into all the bullshit they did to make it slavery, but with more steps for the rest of their existence until the spires killed it for good.”

“We’re not dead!”

“You haven’t looked around? You want war? Die against the real enemies. Don’t drag us into it. We’re just trying to live our lives. You don’t see us going around the country annexing towns and conquering territories, do you? That’s a you thing.”

A high-pitched whine filled the air, even on top of the cacophony from the raging battle.

Headlights cut through the clouds of smoke, debris and the gray that only Alin’s enemies could see.

The vintage motorcycle, a crotch-rocket, his dad’s term, was a riot of splashed color. Every shade of blue there was.

The kamen rider crossed his arms, blasting Death’s Dancer in the back with a bright beam.

A chain whipped out from the motorcycle’s tail, wrapping around the soldier’s ankles.

Tires squealed as Reon turned a tight circle before zipping toward the distant wall breach to the northeast.

“Use the stone.” Drake used his dad voice.

“Reon can’t fight Death’s Dancer.”

“He won’t. He’s under strict orders to buy time and ride away. Hopefully the monsters over there will keep that jackboot busy for a bit. It’s getting harder not to go lethal.”

They didn’t want to kill people like Captain Patriot or Death’s Dancer since his dad had hopes that they could be turned. The former, especially, her loyalty continued to fray with every line her government ordered her to cross.

Drake rushed over to the injured guards. He doused the flames on William’s back with a spray of water from his spear before slapping a portal stone and activating it.

He worked quickly.

Dave, Shauna and the rest followed until only four remained.

Four motionless people.

The stones only worked on living people.

“What’re you waiting for?” Drake scowled.

“Sorry. I was on my way to help Bei.”

“Of course you were,” Drake sighed. “Of course she’d get into melee with him.” He glanced at the sky. Where dark dots danced with other dark dots through streams of tracers from a burning skyship that grew larger by the second. “He’s another one we’d rather stay alive. Some extra help would be nice?”

Alin shook his head.

“I need more to ask them to come out.”

“Hey, I think we’re going to need a catapult in a little bit. But that’s it! So don’t get any ideas,” Drake said into a glowing diamond.

The reply, if there was one, was inaudible to Alin.

“They’re jamming the comms,” Drake explained.

“I know. I’m getting nothing from anyone not in straight line of sight and within spitting distance.”

“It took half the mana in this thing to send that message. Hopefully, the rest is enough or we’re going to get pancaked against those bulging muscles and I’m not into that sort of thing.” Drake took a deep breath, planting his spear in the asphalt to pull javelins from his holster. “Do what you think its best. I’ll work around you. The goal is to make distance from the eidolon. Say, 2 meter radius.”

“Got it.”

Alin launched himself into the one on one duel in a most dishonorable manner.