Issue 15: For Whom the Bel Tolls
C.A.P missive to the Morrigan: We have spotted the target. Within the confines of the old territory of the Golden City. Within the Tombs of the Endless. Extreme caution is recommended. Energy readings observed through Council's resonance crystals indicate new levels of power within his sword.
The Tombs of the Endless. Where Ta’mathon buried defenders who fell against the various adversaries arrayed against the Golden City at its height. Even a few Arcane Acolytes found themselves bestowed the honor of residing in its hallowed halls. What is Mordred seeking there?—The Arcane Archives. Vol 12 of the Modern Era
That was the biggest warning At’lan could give me. Arthon’s next message confirmed it. Mordred wanted particular files. Not for himself. But for another. Bel had yet to finish her vendetta.—Sleeping in Starlight, a memoir of the 23rd century (vol 2)
The Tombs of the Endless
Egypt (Outer Golden City Ruins)
January 14th, 2116
Mordred dashed under the hulking legs of the animated statue.
The transporter was beyond this room. The sword knew. It held a remnant connection to the Markav tech it came from. According to Thoth, this blade had been forged from metals made within Atlantis. The gateway had been referenced in the text Thoth had taken from the Golden City. Mordred had simply borrowed the book for a while. Deciphering more of it would require a lifetime he didn’t have to waste so it was time to find Atlantis.
Mordred dived down a side shaft. Daring to spring more traps rather than face the wrath of the magic stone guardian. He landed with a thud. Dust rising around him. Within, Bel rolled her eyes. Foolish. If this place was anything like standard Egyptian tombs it would have more defenses. He activated his artificial eye. Noting the red outlines of pressure plates further down the hall.
Statues of Ra, Anubis, Isis, and other demis lined the walls. Holding their weapons out before them. Mordred stepped carefully across the stonework. Keeping a grip on the pommel of the blade. It's metal warming to his touch.
///Markav teleportation pad 1000 yards ahead.///
Bel coiled around Mordred’s mind. Worming her way deeper.
She would regain control.
Eventually.
*****
The Morrigan’s black crow wings caught the last draft of air as she dived towards the triangular tops of the Tombs. Her blood rising as she closed in on her prey. She tucked herself into the ridge of gold and copper. In a place like this, it would be better to remain in crow form. As her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness of the main hall she saw her quarry maneuvering below. Avoiding the basic level traps. At’lan’s warning ringing in her ears.
“Mordred has found a way. I cannot override the sequence from here. That cursed sword of his is made from metals from my foundries! We must have that blade. ”
She prayed Arthon and his muthra brothers and sisters would be ready.
Whatever Mordred desired wouldn’t be pleasant.
*****
Mordred crossed the sliver white glow of the transport pad.
Thoth had never talked about his time with the people of Atlantis. As the light faded he found himself in an artificial room. The markings above the archway stenciled in Markav. The sword translated what it could.
//Transport Room 126//
He exited. The sword highlighted a path outlined in green.
He didn’t notice the small crow that followed. It hopped from one arch to another. Keeping to the service vents.
*****
Arthon paused. The alerts closing off most of the shipboard travel. Placing civilians in safe zones. No audible distress was being promoted. They wanted Mordred to think his stealth was an utter success. No, the muthra’s task today was to acquire that sword. They would capture Mordred this time. The question was: Where to jail him afterward? Nuul waved his son forward.
//Mordred is in the foundry district. Sublevel 12. Set the trap.//
*****
At’lan was just beyond Pluto. He didn’t like staying in one spot too long. Ingrained response to being hidden. Sul and the others were in a Markav striker scout ship. While Doc flew right next to me. The black scrawl on the probe had been the most blatant warning At’lan could give. It wasn’t the true Scrawl. The message was clear though. Mordred was making his move. As the outer shell of the Terraforming vessel came into view, Doc’s defenses snapped into place. A message ran across my H.U.D.
//Danger, Threat Level 5: State credentials!//
I was about to send mine when M’tak overrode me. A service entrance near the main docking bay opened up. Doc and I landed first. Scanning the area. As the triangular blue and green ship parked in behind us. Sul exited. Taleer and M’tak flanking her. Their weapons at the ready. Paxton’s armor hugging his body. Ready for vacuum. His lance humming with energy. A green holo snapped into place.
At’an spoke, “By the stars!”
He bowed at the Executor. “Please follow these indicators. Arthon and Nuul wish to know what Mordred is after.” He turned to me. “We will need you to take the brunt of the issue should that sword prove problematic!”
Doc’s grip on my bicep firmed.
Her face remained composed.
>>I rather be poisoned by it than anyone else. Can’t afford to have you hit.<<
We followed the path laid out before us.
White snarled. <<It is not a True Weapon of Creation. It is blasphemy.>>
The poison called to that part of Nyx’s venom that rested within me.
At this point, it wouldn’t be much of a shock if the Keepers themselves experimented on the metal. It didn’t matter what Mordred did to Bel’s body. No matter how much he altered himself: The metal’s taint remained.
*****
Morrigan flew into another high alcove. Watching Mordred rummage through a cache of relics. His voice was not his own. He rode in the body of a woman. Morrigan hopped from one section of grating to another.
Inching closer.
*****
Bel was tempted to warn him. He was aware of his mother. Blood was thicker. He had some extra training. Sent back to Earth by the All-Father. By Chronos. The sword would be taken but she no longer resided within its confines. She waited. Observing things from the very place her demi powers activated in her brain. Part of his soul remained with the blade. She stilled. There was no way this should have been this easy. He was just realizing that when a dart erupted from the darkened storage bay. Striking him in the chest. He grunted as he removed the dart.
Mordred sneered. Sleeping concoction.
They wanted him alive. Chronos was correct. Pathetic.
It would prove advantageous though.
His father wanted one thing. Mordred didn’t care. This would give him the keys to repay mother for all her tender care over the years. He lurched to the right. Barely dodging more darts as they rained down upon him from the space above. A shimmer caught his eye. Muthra camo.
He chanted. One woman screamed as she fell to the deck.
With no Shaman to counter his dark rites dragged the stunned victim to his chest.
“You know how this goes? Of course, you do!” He held the blade near the vulnerable flesh of her spine. She froze. His mother was watching. With those callous dead eyes. He shouted, “Oh mother. Should I make a gift of this to you? Wash the blood and entrails across this pristine deck?” He laughed.
Dark, silky, and demented.
The Morrigan’s silence was his answer. The sword inched closer.
Pain exploded in his wrist as a blur pulled the sword from his hand. Its black scrawl sigils keening a warning followed by smoking flesh. The Star-Spangled Banner winced yet remained clutching the blade in her left hand. Her iconic gloves missing. More pinpricks hit his flesh and he collapsed.
They would regret “capturing” him.
His eyes locked onto his mother. Her form shifting from crow to beggar in an instant. Her bronzed red hair tickling his face. His throat seized up as her wards cut him off from his Dark Shaman rites. Inside his laughter grew. He wanted them to store him in the most secure place possible. Take me to the Arcane. The real power behind the protections of Earth. He would rip his mother’s magic from her. Then give her to the warm embrace of the Breeding Pits. Watching as her womb birthed horrors.
*****
I kept my hand wrapped around the hilt. Listening as it cursed at me. Not sapient in the way we are but howling with the souls of the damned. So many had been eaten by this thing. Doc checked the other Muthra. The woman was shaken but unharmed. The hilt ate away at my skin. My muscles spasmed yet I clung on. Arthon raced over to me. Placing the warding box in front. “Quickly!” I placed it within. The murmurs ceased. The poison lifting from my mind. I stopped Doc from touching my hand. “Let O’rioh take a look first.” She glanced away.
>>I know. And I love that was your immediate impulse but that sword is pure evil.<<
She gripped my right hand instead. “He made that too easy. What are they after?”
Dozens of options flashed through my mind but it was the Morrigan who spoke.
“Magic. Not the commonality of it. The Masters.”
The Arcane Council.
M’tak crossed himself. Each fist going to a shoulder. “There is more at work here.”
The Amarche danced around him.
I replied, “What should we do with him?”
At’lan interjected, “Lay a foundation. Calculate options.”
I leaned against Lorain for a moment. The pain sparking with every twitch of my left hand. The black dragon rearing in disgust at the corruption feasting on my flesh. Slow as it was. I sat heavily on one of the crates. Sweat dripping down my spine. “Let’s get things cleaned first.”
Ritark rose from Arthon’s shadow.
<<It has Markav tech. But it is not Hegemony level.>> Sul’sandra rested a hand on Ritark’s head.
“One step at a time little one.”
Ominous chanting rumbled through my skull.
Such a delicious soul. For a bride.
I saw two figures upon a mound of bones.
Thoth’s eyes gleaming. The woman’s face was veiled.
The cool metals of the deck rose to meet me.
*****
Lorain monitored Eliza’s vitals as O’rioh and his brother chanted. They had gone through three batches of holy oils and still, her left hand resisted healing. O’rioh’s face was drawn. Then another entered the healing halls of At’lan. C’tar and the Executor. The latter wore the ancient dress of the Collective. Gold and white robes. Carrying a heavy book in his hands.
“Elder rites must be observed.”
Together all 4 men chanted.
After what seemed like hours Doc’s healing aura closed the seared bone, muscled, and skin. Eliza’s eyes fluttered open. Her face pale. Her eyes darted about the room then settled on M’tak. “We cannot let the bride find Thoth.”
Lorain poured every ounce of rejuvenation into Eliza’s frame. The link via their Union pieces grew. She rested her head against her captain’s shoulder. Flashes of memory rushing towards a shining point. She awoke to find herself surrounded by the dead. Eliza’s empty sockets staring out from a crumbling black throne. Next to her Dexter’s bony remains clutched his trident. Behind them. The curvature of the Earth was dark. Remains of the hab rings drifted. Jagged dead hulks.
The lands below were brown. Mottled with death.
Swarms of Artock ships encircled the tomb world.
A strong hand pulled her back.
The Void’s dark cowled face peered into her soul.
His voice reverberated, “That is a possibility. Protect the Arcane Council. It is more than people.”
She awoke with a start. They had been moved back to the Jupiter Rising. In the Captain’s cabin. Eliza was still asleep. She rose and peeled back the bandages on Eliza’s injured hand. There were still red angry welts. That wouldn’t do. She lifted the hand to press a light kiss to the palm and concentrated.
*****
I turned my head to find Doc probing.
That cool ripple across my palm doing more for my disposition than 20 coffees combined. I reached over to brush a lock of hair back over her ear. “Hey.” She pulled my hand into her lap and sat on the bedside next to me.
I leaned in to hear her say, “The Council is more than people.”
My breathing hitched.
Whatever was at the center of this council would have to be safeguarded.
White didn’t elaborate but her worry was enough for me.
She didn’t know what this was either.
When my belt is concerned. Everyone should be.
I flexed my fingers. “Feels good. Let’s go to the Galley.”
Knowing our crew, they’d want a cake made of bacon.
*****
Bel opened her eyes. Mordred’s mind was asleep. A plain white room greeted her. Reminding her of her days as a normal human at the hands of Chronos. The day of her Awakening. She closed them again. Knowing that the watchdogs here would wonder. Let them. Her mission was more vital than Mordred’s.
Chronos would have this planet.
Her bridegift to him was still on the table.
She hummed. Black Scrawl covered the room.
Outside two men glared at the feed.
“You were right. There are two sets of brainwaves in there. Dominate ones. With at least 3 more beyond that.” The other man nodded.
Abomination.
“Soul Eater.”
Issue 14: Here
Issue 16: Here
No comments:
Post a Comment