The Wyrms of &alon

I boosted myself forward with psychokinetic spurts. I’d wrapped pataphysical nets around my feet like winged shoes of myth. Their power greatly lengthened my feeble strides, turning my steps long, low bounding leaps that thrusted me forward. I kept the power dialed back just enough so that it looked like I was merely running at an impressive clip. I could burst forward with abandon once I was clear of the core of the Ward.

Pulling out my mental mini-map, I charted a course to the security office.

As I rushed down the halls, I felt an itch in my brain. Somehow, I knew it was Yuta, demanding to be heard.

I decided to let him manifest.

Lord Uramaru’s ghost appeared in front of me, his arms crossed over his dark blue haori.

“You don’t need to remind me,” I said. “I know they would go to the security office first, but I just have to check their room, to be sure.”

“No,” Yuta said, “I was going to advise you that they will likely have picked up some of your era’s weapons from the security office.”

I groaned. “Fudge me up the axe…” I muttered.

But what use was there in worrying about it now? Disaster had already struck.

When I arrived at their room, I flung the door open and jammed my head in.

There was no one inside.

“As I expected,” Yuta said, standing behind me.

“I just needed to be sure,” I muttered.

“Hurry,” he said. “You might still make it in time.”

I darted down the hall, pulling away from the frenzied activity of Ward E’s heart. I let power flow into my energy shoes and burst forward at full speed, not worrying about prying eyes. The only people who saw me were the sick and the dying, and they were too miserable to care. I got maybe two or three stares from ooze-cracked sugar-dusted by the fungus’ spores, but that was it. Rounding a corner, I heard a door open from a patient’s room and dashed into a restroom niche for a moment to avoid being seen, but, other than that, I had no run-ins with any other healthcare workers. The security office was deeper in the Central Wing, and not located in any specific Ward. For most of us, it was just too far out of the way to be worth caring about anymore—out of sight, out of mind; they had their own catastrophes to contend with.

As had I.

Please, Angel, I thought, don’t let me be too late.

Arriving at the security office, the first thing I saw were its wide open double doors. For a moment, I thought about dismissing the rings of blue and gold that swirled around my lower extremities, but I decided to keep them, just in case.

Then I heard screams—and not just human screams.

“Mr. Genneth!” Andalon yelled, floating beside me.

I know, I thought. I know.

I charged into the security office, leaping over the front counter in a single bound. For an instant, I felt genuinely heroic. Then I collided into the wall behind the counter. I shouted as I fell. I hit the ground with an ugly, painful thud.

I should have dialed down the power when I leapt.

Hearing sounds of combat from up ahead, I rolled onto my belly and looked up. My eyes followed the noise past the rows of surveillance desks in the large open area beyond the plastic separator that split the room in two. I made it just in time to see the combatants spill out from an open door on the far side of the room.

On The Guardians of Time—my favorite TV show—the time-travel shenanigans in the garage would often spill over into the Undergreen, West Elpeck Medical and Crusader’s Hill and its environs. The fight playing out on the other side of the security office was like an episode of The Guardians of Time, only made by a production team from Hell.

Literally.

I saw Bever come running out of the doorway, carrying Karl in his arms. The other knights followed close behind, with their weapons in hand. They burst out of the doorway just before a set of claws tore through the frame, ripping out chunks of drywall. A moment later, a rust-colored transformee slithered into view. It—he?—dragged itself out into the open, roaring in polyphonic fury.

Ahead, Bever ran down the aisle space behind one of the rows of surveillance desks. Behind him, Duncan turned around and, in a shaky grip, pointed a modern-day pistol at the transformee.

He fired.

The transformee bellowed. The bullets struck the discolored swaths of human flesh on his chest, in between spreading patches of orange scales.

The transformee threw himself at Duncan, but was cut off as Morgan and Geoffrey lunged forward in return.

“Back, demon!” Geoffrey yelled. “Back!”

“Stop!” Andalon yelled. “Stop fighting!”

Of course, they couldn’t hear her.

I guessed it was up to me, now.

I groaned as I pushed myself up off the ground, and then sighed in relief as I used a psychokinetic scooper to lift myself into an upright position.

Morgan and Geoffrey pushed forward, striking with their polearms—a pike and halberd, respectively, by the looks of it. They thrust their weapons at an upward angle, like a gazelle bearing its horns. The transformee’s still-human eyes widened in shock. The creature lurched to the side, trying to dodge, but his stubby tail and vestigial legs kept sliding along the vinyl floor. He toppled to the floor, careening forward like a derailed train.

Sparks flew as Morgan and Geoffrey’s weapons scraped against the transformee’s scaly, spine-studded back.

The barreling transformee rolled into the walls of consoles in front of the surveillance desk. I managed to glimpse Geoffrey and Morgan through the gaps in the rows as they turned tail and ran, right as everything came crashing down.

Filling my psychic boots with power, I sprung, launching myself forward and up. I didn’t quite clear over the top of the nearest console-wall, cracking a screen with my foot.

It was the kind of thing that should have hurt, but it didn’t.

I quickened my thoughts at the top of my jump, right as I felt gravity’s tug. Below, in the corner of my vision, I saw Bever looking up at me in astonishment. In the slowed time, my mouth began to move—the beginnings of a gasp—as my wyrmsight showed how Karl’s condition had advanced.

But I could dwell on that later.

Even in the slowed motion, I was beginning to feel the pull of my descent. I’d coded directions of force into my shoe-weaves, and now was just the time to change them. Instead of exerting a downward force, I made the filaments unwrap, sticking out like feathers from the back of my heel, and then I gave it a boost, launching myself forward. With a thought, I dismissed the magic shoe wrap—it had done its duty—and reconjured the scooper from moments ago. I brought it up in front of my chest, to slow my quickening descent. It wasn’t enough to stop it, but that wasn’t the point.

As I let my thoughts slow and speed time back up again, I spent a moment thinking about what I was going to say to explain myself. It wasn’t long before an idea came to me.

I just wished it would have been a good one, but it would have to do.

Time ticked like normal. There was a momentary dizziness as my magic worked its g-force magic. My course suddenly changed, angling downward. I leapt at the oncoming wyrm-man like a pouncing tiger, thickening the force wall against my chest as I fell. I spread my arms, feeling its false-solidness widen and widen.

I landed almost gently, skidding to a stop on the floor as my force-field grew through the consoles and desks to either side of me. My forcefield slammed into the transformee, sending him rolling back down the aisle. I pushed forward with my arms, pushing the forcefield forward the back wall. It was like I’d sicced a bulldozer on him. The glistening threads pushed the transformee back, along with the debris it scooped up in the process: fallen consoles and chairs, and Morgan’s pike and Geoffrey’s halberd. The weapons’s business ends clattered as they rolled back.

“Dr. Howle!?” someone yelled. I was pretty sure it was Geoffrey.

I briefly glanced over my shoulder.

Yes, it was Geoffrey.

I thrust one of my arms at them, palm open. “Don’t move!” I yelled. I desperately hoped the time-travelers would recognize what the gesture meant: stop, don’t do anything.

I then turned around, back to the problem in front of me.

My forcefield was still doing its thing. I hyperphantasized the sound of a snarling engine as I watched the transformee writhed against the forcefield like a snake in a cage. He kept trying to right himself and push off my forcefield with his changed hand, but to no effect. The barrier kept on knocking him down.

As soon as I saw his face, I glared at him.

“Don’t do anything!” I yelled.

The transformee’s still-human eyes widened. He opened his mouth in protest. “But—”

Dismissing my forcefield with a wave of my mind, I smacked my palms together as loudly and impressively as I could manage. I focused on a conveniently-sized object—a nearby toppled chair—and willed a levitation weave around it. The unseen sphere of blue and gold force thrummed with gleaming power as it the chair up. For added effect, I raised one of my hands, flexing my fingers to give a claw-like appearance.

The chair rose over my head.

Stepping back, I slowly turned around, glaring at every set of eyes I saw—Andalon and Yuta notwithstanding. And for the sake of my dignity, I pretended I was just playing with the augmented reality copy of Vaults of Moránn I had over at Margaret’s place.

I tried not to let the knights see me gulp.

I might have just taken the biggest leap of my life, but that was nothing compared to the leap of faith I was about to take.

Really, at this point, as long as they didn’t think I was a demon, I’d be satisfied

“My name is Genneth Howle,” I said, putting on the gravest tone of voice I could muster, “and I am a sorcerer of unrivaled power.”

To demonstrate, I changed the levitation sphere into a disk, directing its force outward. I flicked my hand right as I let the power flow.

The chair was sent hurtling through the air. It crashed into the wall on the other side of the room and clattered onto the floor, leaving a sizable hole in the dry-wall.

“And I will not hesitate to use it,” I added.

I made one more full turn. “Soldiers of the faith,” I said, trying to gum them up, “the Age of Miracles has returned, and the Last Days have come. I am one of the Blessèd. My powers come from the Angel Himself, and I am here to guide you. All of you.”

The crusaders stared at me, wide-eyed with shock. For a moment, none of them moved. Then Geoffrey got down on one knee, as if I was about to wave the Imperial regalia over his head.

“Blessèd One!” he said, staring at me with the utmost sincerity. His eyes were like fire.

The others followed suit moments later, their armor rustling as they moved, and clinking softly as they knelt on the vinyl floor.

“Blessèd One!” they repeated.

For once, not only had my plan worked, it had worked even better than I thought it would.

I let myself savor a momentary bit of smugness.

Praise the bow-tie, I thought.

From the end of the half-ruined aisle of desks and consoles, the ghost of Lord Yuta Uramaru stood, shaking his head at me, his eyes wide shut in bemusement.