Spires

“I knew you was yellow, chink. Didn’t know you was also chicken.”

The bald man was ancient judging by the wrinkles and liver spots.

It was a little hard to tell because of all tattoos covering most of his face and all of his head.

Crosses, paired lightning bolts, guns, eagles, defunct flags, the number 88.

It was all there as could be expected of his sort of people.

The subject of his ire gave no reaction, which the old man took as a sign of weakness.

He spat a dark glob on the warehouse floor just missing the other man’s dark boots.

“Thought you slant-eyed ninja dog fuckers were supposed to be all badass and shit. ‘Stead y’all yellow like your bellies.”

The actual ninjas on the other side of the gathering of killers and murderers were not amused. The Phoenix Dynasty was not their friend, let alone allies. At best they were belligerent neighbors, only refraining from conflict due to all the other conflicts plaguing their territories. Monsters, outworld invaders and the world events of recent days had a way of taking almost all of one’s effort and attention.

“You will refrain from antagonizing others if you wish to remain,” a big, broad-shouldered man in a black and white tabard said flatly.

“Thought you was some real Aryan brothers,” the old man sneered at the smattering of dark faces in the gathered group of knights. “Course that was before we realized you took in subhuman mongrels. Man shall not lie with beasts. Says so in the Bible. Don’t they got that over there in Europe? You letting down your people. Sprecken ze dick?” the old man laughed. “That means suck my dick! Really, though, you’ve got the blond hair, the blue eyes. You the ideal and you’re mixing with filth? Make it make sense, brother?”

“Our order is not founded on such simplistic ideals as physical appearance or the outmoded concept of race. One would think that the spires would’ve opened the eyes of even the most ignorant to the reality that there is only one race. The human race. But then again, you are old. I suspect that your kind will remain willfully blind to your dying day. I can only take comfort in the fact that your ways dwindle as you disappear from this world.”

“Careful, ubermensch. Them’s fighting words round these parts.”

“Quiet, please.”

The woman was tall and severe, as if she had been cut from marble.

Dark green and black robes swayed with power in the nonexistent wind.

The meeting would have likely already come to blows had the necromancer not enforced the peace with the threat of her undead.

“You came at my invitation. There is no cost to you if you leave right now. Except for the opportunity.”

“Why’s it matter? We join in your little operation and get points, but it don’t matter none. Holly Foster’s got a huge lead. Ain’t no catching up and she’s in the wind. All she’s got to do is hide out the last week and she wins.”

The events of a few nights back had been disastrous for the hopes of every other slasher not named Holly Foster.

The clown, the trapper and the butcher.

All dead and she had a large hand in the first two.

The third got himself blown up by the rangers and their flying ship.

Since when was that a thing?

“Damn bitch! That’s a porno name if I ever heard one.” The bald old man snorted. “She should be sucking and fucking. Don’t make no sense.”

The lone school girl with the ninjas giggled.

“Got something to say to me, slut?”

She licked her sword-length scissors and fluttered her eyes at the old man.

“I got something you can lick right here,” he grabbed his crotch.

“What? A limp noodle?” she sneered. “No. I’ll cut it off. I have a collection back home. The manhoods, if they can be called that, of weak men. You’d fit right in. None of them could comprehend their reality either until I snipped.”

The bald old man reached for his gun, but a skeleton warrior moved in front of him.

“There are many points still in play,” the necromancer said. “Enough high value targets are still available and from what I observed that night, many of these people are terribly injured.”

“It is as I said.” The Phoenix Dynasty soldier shook his head. “We will not take part in any operation that targets a ranger or any of the people protecting Hayden’s fort.”

“I notice you’re wording is precise,” the big knight said.

“There are people that we will not attempt to kill regardless of any amount of plausible deniability we might be able to engineer. Mistakes have already been made in that regard.”

“We, too, do not wish to cross blades with a Cruces and his allies. From your expressions, I see that you all recognize the name,” the big knight said.

“They entered the contest of their own free will. A name should not be a shield from the consequences of that decision,” the necromancer said.

Most of the dozen or so groups agreed vocally.

“You would seize the apple from the tree without seeing the guardian dragon that will tear your throat out a week from now,” the Phoenix Dynasty soldier said.

“I have secured allies. They will strike first. In the chaos who is to say that it was one of us that killed Hayden Webb, Alin Cruces or any one of those at the top of the points list,” the necromancer said.

“We won’t work with monsters to kill people,” the big knight said.

The bald old man laughed. “What’ve you been doing this whole time?”

“We only fought those with combat classes.”

With that that knightly contingent left the warehouse.

“You dig a grave with both hands.”

The Phoenix Dynasty soldiers and assassins departed as well.

“Anyone else not interested?” the necromancer said.

“The flying ship? How do you plan to deal with that?” the bad old man said. “We got a pretty close look at the ordinance they dropped. We ain’t scared of no Cruces, but we ain’t stupid. Ain’t much of a fight if they can just rain fire.”

“Two ways. They won’t risk fire once we are in and among the people. And fliers of our own. I began collecting birds and flying monsters early on when I realized that there was a flying ship. Not only that, but our allies will be able to reach them. The rangers can’t simply fly away. The contest boundary will keep them within reach.”

“Share the plan, necromancer-san!” The school girl’s smile was a hungry one.

“Feel the strength of the horse ben—” the Tsingtao Wanderer burped. “Beneath your legs.”

His mornings began with a group of yawning kids, greeting the dawn in horse stance.

They came from disparate neighborhoods from all over Vancouver. The survivors of the fallen brought by that sleek spearhead in the sky or by their own two feet or four wheels and other such conveyances.

Making their kids practice together went a long way to keeping old grudges from bubbling the pot until it overflowed and quenched the life-giving power or some such nonsense.

It was something to do anyways, and a small part of the round-bellied cultivator took pleasure in setting these ankle stabbers on a superior path of physical combat.

Such pride, such—

He belched again.

“Feel the breath enter and exit your body, for such is the first step upon the Dao of… well, whatever you want.”

Peh.

The Fox would be much better at this teaching thing.

Years of drink had made all the beginner lessons as ephemeral as that mist floating in from the river just to the north and the larger bay a bit further to the west.

Regardless, the little foot hammerers all had some sort of base knowledge in the combat arts of this land.

Wrestling, boxing, spearwork and, of course, guns.

Those that had attained their double digits tended to have classes already, adding spells and Skills to their repertoire. Even if their parents and guardians held strict control on their access to weapons and what not. Many carried lighter firearms. The weakest of all calibers. The dreaded .22 rifle and pistol. These kids stood watch on the walls of earth and ice alongside the adults.

Only a few of the older ones took part in his morning exercises.

Most were younger.

The occasional adult eyed him with distaste.

He waved with a wide smile while taking a drink of his ever-present beer.

The kids yawned.

Horse stance was a bit boring if he was being honest.

“Now! Punch!”

That should wake them up a bit.

Morning exercise ended and the children were shepherded into the large buildings on the southern edge of the larger of the two parks Hayden had decided to turn into a fort of sorts. Turning them into habitable spaces hadn’t been too difficult from what he understood because one or all of them had been a hotel or a spa or something like that. Though, one was a memorial according to the sign. He supposed that since it was a place to be visited there were definitely bathrooms inside and probably an eatery. Food, water and a place to flush the results. What else did one need?

He sauntered alone along the side of the river on the raised path, waving up at the men and women on the walls raised by Teresa and Bolder with aide from the armored mole of a Threnosh, Doomborer.

The river represented danger of a vague sort.

Weeks of slight tickles on the danger senses of dozens of people had them keeping a close eye on the dark water.

But, what did he have to fear when he was in need of more drink.

There was a fine establishment located a short walk outside the safe-ish confines of the park. He had tried beer from different bars, restaurants and stores in the immediate vicinity of Hayden’s fort, but his favorites could only be found within the establishment.

It was worth the occasional need to fight a wandering monster or five to bring back a keg or three.

An hour alone in the kitchen was spent well, eating and drinking.

Sadly, he was a poor cook and he could only dream wistfully what a true master of the stove could have done with the frozen treasures hidden in the large freezer.

Such bounty, such—

He belched.

A mixture of deep fried oysters— he had followed the instructions— whether the result was good or not was lost to the pleasant buzz in his head brought on by copious amounts of sour beer.

“Bears don’t have antlers…” he eyed the label on the box.

He had come a long way from home.

The journey had been worth it just for the sheer variety of beverages he had imbibed.

Speaking of journey, he had best return before his absence drew a scolding.

His home was a three-walled shack near the southwest corner of the larger park.

To call it a shack was charitable.

Three walls and a roof of scavenged wood and sheet metal.

One side was left open to the environment.

Peh.

One such as he had no need of comfort.

The inflatable mat from the sporting goods store made a fine bed and he found the chilly air bracing.

His one concession to comfort had been the roof.

Sunlight in his face was perhaps the most unpleasant thing to wake to. At least, not until he had his morning drink.

The location was strategic. Near the center of the makeshift fort and close to the most inhabited buildings where the smallest and weakest people stayed and where they’d fall back to in the event that the walls were breached and such.

It also stuck out like a sore thumb, making him easy to approach.

Curiosity had waned compared to the early weeks when people had sought to comprehend the unknowable… at least to them. He supposed for such people heading into battle drunk was like running headlong into a wall of spears. Not at all how he stumbled and bumbled past the pointed tips and into the heart of the formation where he then reaped his foes in a whirlwind of fists, feet and belly.

Now, his visitors tended to come in two stripes.

The first, like the small group of young people bowing to him, which he waved away, were would be cultivators.

Thus, he led them through an hour’s worth of breathing and meditation.

The forms would’ve been pointless without the class and none of them had managed it yet.

It was as he had to explain to Reginald when the young man stayed behind to ask questions.

A rather inquisitive lad, a bit on the serious side, which again would have made the Fox a better teacher.

His insights into the general Dao of things were unique and found at the bottom of a bottle or gourd? He couldn’t quite remember which it had been.

“Master Wanderer, what if it’s not possible for me to get the class?” Reginald said.

“First, stop calling me that. The day I start a sect is the day I’ll have you strike me down. Such pride, such hubris, such— quick what are other words?”

“Um… conceit? Arrogance? Vanity?”

“Oh, that’s a good one! Such vanity!” He burped. “As to your question… hmmm… it is possible.”

“Are you sure? What if I need to be, uh, Chinese…”

“Peh,” he waved a ham-sized hand, “there is a mean old lady in Manila running a sect, which she swears is not a sect, accepts students regardless of… well… anything. Filipinos, Indonesians, er… other Asians from all over the region. Even a few Canadians, Europeans and Americans, descendants of those trapped in their journeys when the spires appeared or recent travelers and immigrants. Why, yes, even dark-skinned fellows, such as yourself. None of that matters. All that matters is your will to find your Dao.”

“But I really want it and it’s not happening.”

“Peh! The conscious ever wars with the subconscious. To become a cultivator is to give up all your other classes. There is no shame in struggling over that. I imagine it’s akin to slicing off a hand with only the vague promise of a better hand to replace it. As always, be patient. There is a Dao hidden within all of us. Embrace your fear of what is not known. Er… keep meditating. That always works, eventually.”

Young Reginald clasp fist to palm and bowed.

He waved.

Where had they gotten it into their heads that was a thing with him?

The sun rose to its highest point in the sky.

He pondered that.

There was supposed to be a barrier a few hundred meters above that tall building casting its shadow over them according to the flying ship.

Ah!

The bourgeois in their gleaming tower with more than enough space to shelter a several hundred extra people rather than leave them somewhat exposed in Hayden’s fort.

Not that the Party was much better.

It was always the elites taking advantage of everyone else.

From emperors, to chairmen, and back to an empress.

Nothing had truly changed for his homeland.

Digressions flitted through his thoughts, such was the price taken by his Dao.

“Yo,” Rand knocked on the sheet metal roof.

“Ah! Potter! What news do you bring me on this fine day?”

“Fine?” the man frowned. “You’re just messing with me. Nope. I told you. Not falling for it ever again. You look drunk, but that doesn’t work the same way for you as it does me.”

“Ah? I suppose.” He rose from his mat and smoothly shifted into lotus position.

“How do you do that? You’d think your power belly would get in the way.”

He patted it. “I suppose it is powerful.”

“Dude, I’ve seen you knock out a merc with it, so…”

“Very well, young potter—”

“I’m 28,” he muttered.

“That is young compared to one such as I, who has seen—”

“Yeah, listen, no offense, but I’m busy and I don’t have time to listen to your poetry, so here it is, the morning report… that you missed.”

“Ah! Apologies, I was on a… scouting excursion.”

“Save it for Hayden. Anyways, nothing’s changed since the last report you didn’t miss. No one died.”

“That is good news.”

He shuddered to think of the possibilities if Cal’s wife? Partner? He realized he didn’t know the nature of their tie. Mother of Cal’s child at the least. The possibilities if she had died? That’s what he shuddered to ponder.

“Bad news is none of them are healed up. So, we’re on highest alert. The contest is running down and every slasher not named Holly Foster is going to get desperate. They’re going to be looking to secure as many points as possible. And I don’t need to tell you what that means for us.”

“Yes. I suppose we’ve had a bit of an easy time. Monsters here, murderous bands there, slashers everywhere.”

“Anyways, Hayden’s going to try to talk to those assholes up there,” Rand pointed at the tallest tower in the city. “It’s a lot more defensible than this place and they can fit almost everyone.”

“It will be unpleasant. Like the ancient city of Kow—”

“Yeah, I remember the story.”

“Perhaps, force…”

“That’s what I said. We can take their guards, but Hayden said no.”

“Only a fool tugs on the elephant’s trunk when he is already holding the tiger’s tail.”

“Wait… I know this one. Don’t pick a fight when you’re already in one?”

“The young wizard shows wisdom.”

Rand rolled his eyes. “You’re not on Ms. Teacher’s level when it comes to that… no offense.”

“And yet you meant it.”

“I’m abrasive. I know. I try to work on it, but…” Rand shrugged.

“None taken. This event wears on even the sturdiest table.”

“Man, now you’re not even trying.”

The Tsingtao Wanderer smiled.

“Or am I?”

“Don’t even—” Rand took a deep breath. “Right, the message. Highest alert.” With that he departed.

The sun dipped lower to the west.

Lengthening shadows slowly crept across the grass like clawed fingers.

He didn’t find the imagery appealing.

One keg lasted the whole day as he maintained the buzz.

Two more kegs sat in coolers filled with ice in the shade of a nearby tree.

Men and women wandered by throughout the day.

Erstwhile students bothered him for advice in between whatever duties they might have had. A lot of which was standing around on guard.

Dinner found him entertaining a group of men and women of varying ages.

He supposed it was partially for the stories of his adventures and partially for the kegs of beer.

“And thus did I flash my bare backside in the faces of the Dragon Fang Sect as me and my band of rogues made haste on a horseless carriage with their chest of gold and the leader’s personal supply of many years-aged single malt Scotch.”

“All that for gold?”

“No, not for I!”

“Scotch?”

“It twas a rarity in that region. Sure, they could be obtained at fancy restaurants and hotels or perhaps long abandoned homes of the wealthy, but such places were held in the greedy claws of the Phoenixes.”

“Did they really have dragon fang weapons?”

He laughed at that.

“Wyverns or drakes at best. Giant snakes at worst. A true dragon would never grant those ruffians their fangs. Neither were they strong enough to take them from a dragon’s corpse.”

“Wait? Are you saying there are dragons?”

He paused mid drink from his red plastic cup. He couldn’t quite recall if that was some sort of secret.

“Yes. As I understand it. They do exist. However, I have never encountered one. Would I have even known it if I had? One cannot say for certain.”

“Why not? If I ran into a dragon I think I’d know.”

“Magic…”

Before they could question him further he redirected their attention as one redirects a striking fist by swaying with the force.

“Your land is full of treasures of its own.” He raised the cup. “Such variety of beers that I had only dreamed of ever being able to try in my long ago and very poor youth. Craft, artisanal, micro. IPA, sour, stout, cider or is it cidre? A brown-colored rainbow. From light gold to amber to the rich darkness of ebony wood! I salute you! Please, tell me more of this bounty!”

The locals shared their pride.

A few of them were actually brewers.

The old had carried their tradition through the dark days of the spires’ appearance.

The younger took that torch and kept it burning.

A beacon in the darkness.

He learned more of the history of the local brewing scene.

There were commonalities a plenty.

He supposed that it was like the Dao.

Shared basics that branched out in countless diverse paths.

They shared.

He shared.

Tales a plenty.

It was a good day, a good night.

The trip was worth it just for that alone. He thought of the future of other places around the world with fine brewing traditions.

“Perhaps… Germany?”

One day.

He couldn’t ask for a more satisfying time.

Sadly, such things would never last.

The world of the spires couldn’t allow it.

The scattered camp fires all over the park grounds waned as the night drew its dark blanket over the land in the form of thick, cold mist from the river.

The Tsingtao Wanderer chortled at the thought that young Galen would—

His mirth vanished with the ringing of the alarm bell.

He rose and froze when the alarms started coming in from all around the fort.

Alin stared at his mom.

She was hooked up to the best medical bed in known Earth human history.

The doctor said that she wasn’t in danger of dying, but he didn’t want to feel relief because what if the demon clown had left one last cruel trick?

Those claws had cut right through the Threnium and into the front of her torso deep enough to reach organs.

Without magic and the advanced tech derived from the Threnosh, his mom wouldn’t have made it.

Still, despite all that, she wasn’t healing quickly.

“This was what it was like before the spires.”

“Huh?” Kat had dozed off in the other chair.

She was off duty, but had chosen to spend it alongside him on his vigil.

“When people got hurt, this was how they got better. It took a long time without healing spells and potions.”

The demon clown had done something, whether through a Skill, spell or something inherent to his nature, to render such things useless.

His mom wasn’t the only one in critical condition.

Dayana had also suffered massive damage to her internal organs.

Tabitha had lost an arm and a leg. Torn off at the shoulder and knee. The limbs had been corrupted by the demon clown, turning them into withered husks. There was no chance of reattaching them. The damage had also spread up her leg and down her shoulder. It was early yet, but they were uncertain if even Aunt Megan’s magic could regrow them. By the same token, magitech prostheses needed a healthy connection point. If hers remained corrupted…

Even her monsterhide cloak hadn’t escaped the demon’s claws.

The jagged tears had seemed to sap it of life.

It had felt just like any other piece of cloth when he had taken it off her and laid it on the chair next to her medical bed.

No longer a deep, inky black, it had looked a lifeless gray.

Those three were the worst off.

Twice Clever Fox occupied another bed, but she wasn’t in a medically induced coma. Hers was a normal sleep, if pained from the damage to her body that healed at the old normal rate.

Howard had eschewed a medical bed in favor of an empty bunk.

Ghostly knives and claws had bypassed his armor to leave wounds that remained bleeding, despite his healing factor.

Alin had seen the ugly rope burns around the man’s neck, but Howard had assured him that he was up for any fight at any time.

Willy was out cold in another bunk.

Triple stacking a spell wasn’t something a wizard did without consequences, apparently. His spellbook had been partially burned along with his hand, but the doctors couldn’t do anything more for him. They were certain he’d wake up in a day or two regretting life.

“Two days…”

“They’re not getting worse.”

“Not getting better though.”

“Her vitals are okay, considering…”

He followed Kat’s eyes to the projection over his mom’s medical bed.

He wished he could hold her hand, but the bed was fully enclosed to better keep her in the Threnosh’s solution.

“Did you change your bandages yet?”

His hand strayed to his side.

Tender, but not as painful as one would expect from gaping claw slashes.

“I’ll do it later when I go back to the hangar.”

He hadn’t allowed anyone to see his wounds.

Bloody meat and gray smoke.

Not healing despite his efforts with potions and other things.

He had tried stitches, but they only held the flaps together.

The flesh wasn’t knitting according to the scanner in his repaired power armor.

Which was why he took the stitches out in favor of the bio-medical glue.

At least that had kept most of the gray in so that he didn’t have to devote effort to keep other people from noticing.

“You should sleep, I mean proper sleep in a bed, not that chair.”

“You’re right.”

“Then go do it. I’ll stay and watch until my shift.”

“Thanks, Love.”

She kissed and embraced him tenderly.

He gave the two most important women in his life one last look before trudging out of the small chamber.

“Thanks for watching over her,” he said to the patch of air next to the door.

“Acknowledged.” Unseen’s voice was the whisper of a slight breeze.

Rangers had made the medical section the most well-defended area of the Raynanaut.

The patients represented a large number of contest points for the part they played in killing Lindsay the Clown.

They had received a share of his points value based on their contributions.

Aside from Holly, Alin had gotten the most.

He didn’t think he deserved it.

He had stood in the gray, protected from the demon clown’s notice for most of the fight, while others risked their lives.

All to save just 8 kids.

Some had been orphaned that night.

And as one final kick in the gut, their community hadn’t taken them in.

Which was why Captain Molds had turned her captain’s chambers into a temporary nursery of sorts.

“I’m going to take a nap, please wake me up in case of an emergency.”

He waved at Fabricator Stone Lake 23571 as he entered the hangar and made his way toward the tiny, makeshift room in an out of the way corner.

“Acknowledged.”

He took the small vial from one of his bags of holding.

The sleeping potion was guaranteed to work in minutes, minus the drawbacks of the old sleeping pills of the pre-spires world.

He pulled the waking potion out and placed it on the small stand next to his cot.

His head hit the pillow and he dreamed the same dreams he always did.

The gray and the battles within, except this time there was a new battle to relive.

He woke with a start, choking on a bitter liquid.

The fabricator peered down at him, empty vial in one thin metal grasper.

“How long?”

“12 hours, 25 minutes, 58 seconds.”

The skyship alarm was blaring.

The red light on the wall was flashing.

“What’s happening?”

“We are under attack.”

Alin cursed, jolting out of his cot.

He checked the comatose cult members in their cage.

“If they show signs of waking up.”

“I will open the doors as instructed.”

He tapped the communicator on his wrist as he initialized his power armor’s systems.

“This is Goldenspoon, I’m available. Where do you need me?”