Blacklight born, p.16
Blacklight Born, page 16
The guard’s fallen spotlight twirled on the floor and cast its beam back at the melee across the room. Three guards were swinging simultaneously at Cego, who was moving like a demon, dancing between their strikes and countering with lethal accuracy.
One guard tried to club him with his crackling rod, but Cego wrapped up his arm and broke his shoulder in a fluid movement. He held the screaming man at bay and kicked another in the chest. The third guard came from behind and ripped his long staff across Cego’s back, tearing the leather from it and searing his flesh beneath.
No matter how much Cego had changed, Sol still wanted to help him. But her own opponent was stalking her. The guard swung his steel menacingly as she backed up again.
“Know your stuff, do you, girl?”
“Why don’t you fight me like a real Grievar?” Sol growled. “Need a weapon to take on a girl?”
The man laughed. “No, but I’d like to see how you smell when I fry you.”
He charged.
Sol anticipated the movement and grabbed the man’s weapon-wielding hand with both her arms. She sank her hips and tossed him over her shoulder.
Seoi nage. Worked even better on the big ones.
He landed on the lab counter, smashing vials and glass. Sol ripped at his weapon and pried the rod away. She held it for a moment, her eyes transfixed on the pulsing electric charge. Sol considered using it, putting her opponent down in one lethal strike.
She tossed the rod aside and backed up as the man slid off the table into a crouch. “Guess I’ll be the one choosing to fight you like a Grievar,” she growled.
A loud crack across the room drew Sol’s attention. One of the guards had swung on Cego and smashed his rod into the casing behind him. A series of fissures sprang up the side of the glass.
“My work!” the little Daimyo screeched with his hands up to the machine. “Protect my work!”
The glow from within tube leaked its light onto Cego and the guards still surrounding him. But there was another light source now. It was coming directly from Cego. A strange radiance streaked across his arm where the leather had burned away. The guards approached him in unison.
Sol’s opponent capitalized on her distraction, shooting low for a takedown and blasting her to the ground. She defended from her back, placing her feet against the man’s hips to keep him at distance.
“Got you where I want now.” The man pressed forward, attempting to throw a looping overhead at Sol while she was on her back. She pushed forward as hard as she could with both feet against his hips. The man stumbled and Sol used the opportunity to stand.
The guard kept the pressure on, though, diving at her. Sol sprawled her legs back and wrapped her arm deep around his neck, fishing for the guillotine. She cinched the strangle; it was tight.
The guard reacted in desperation, lifting Sol into the air and slamming her onto one of the lab tables. She winced as a shard of glass dug into her back. The man slid her across the granite surface, wildly attempting to break the choke, but Sol held on, even as more glass shards tore into her body.
Sol kept the strangle up, and finally, the body atop her went limp. She breathed heavily as she kept her arms tight to finish the job.
She stared back across the room. Cego was glowing even brighter now, with blue flames pulsing across his back, streaking his shoulders to his fists. Sol had seen it once before, years earlier when he’d fought in the final’s match. Whatever this strange force was, it appeared stronger within Cego now.
Sol let her opponent drop lifelessly to the ground and slid off the slab of granite. She reached behind her and ripped a long shard of bloody glass from her shoulder.
She strode forward to help Cego but saw nearly all his opponents were down, unmoving on the floor. A single guard still stood between Cego and the Master Maker.
“Get the Maker,” Cego said.
Sol saw the Daimyo cowering beside the giant tube. Wisps of curly white hair were damp across his veined forehead.
The remaining guard screamed as he charged Cego, wielding a fully charged long staff in both hands. Before the man could even start to bring his weapon in a downward strike, Cego punched his burning fist into his opponent’s chest.
The guard looked down with a bewildered expression at Cego’s arm, which had pierced his body down to the elbow. Cego ripped his bloody hand free and the man fell to the floor.
The lab was quiet for a moment in the battle’s aftermath. Sol could hear her own heart pounding, the Maker whimpering, Cego breathing hard.
“Are you…all right?” Sol asked.
Nearly half of Cego’s leather uniform had burned off, whether from the guard’s attacks or his own internal energy, Sol wasn’t sure. But she did know he was injured, a nasty gash across his back. Sol also realized it wasn’t Cego that was breathing hard. She looked up toward the tube.
It was the thing within that strained to breathe.
They turned to the broken glass casing, which was leaking a thick green ichor from the cracks. Cego stared up at the creature within, and its alien eyes met his. Its skeletal chest rose and fell like a pump.
Sol tore her gaze from the strange creature and advanced on the Master Maker.
“Wait,” the little man whimpered. “Please don’t hurt it.”
“It?” Sol asked. She realized the Maker wasn’t concerned about his own life. He was staring up at the experiment floating in the tube beside them.
“I know what you are!” The Maker scooted on his knees toward Cego. “You…you’re one of them. One of the Cradle brood.”
“You know nothing of me,” Cego said, still staring at the creature through the glass.
“Oh, but I do!” the little man said. “In fact, I was part of the team that helped develop the vats that you were born in. Of course, the Minders did the difficult work, but—”
“Shut up.” Cego moved toward the man, blue energy still pulsing up and down his arm.
“Cego!” Sol said, moving to intercept him. “We need this man for the mission. Don’t you remember?”
“Don’t you see the miracle of this all?” The Maker began to smile maniacally. “That you…the first generation of truly enhanced Grievar, are here to witness the next evolution of your kind.”
The man stood and placed his hand to the vat, staring into the creature’s eyes as it continued to take labored breaths.
“You mean…this thing,” Sol whispered, “is supposed to be a Grievar?”
“Yes,” the Maker responded. “I know she doesn’t look it yet, but she’s still in the first stages of her development. Give her a year…and she’ll look far different. She’s still growing and learning.”
“No!” Cego abruptly screamed, the first time Sol had heard him raise his voice. “This thing is not like us. This is an abomination.”
“An abomination?” the Maker asked. “No more than you, my boy. And she will grow faster, stronger, become a better vehicle of violence than you will ever be.”
“No,” Cego said as he turned and smashed his blazing hand through the glass of the tube. The green ichor within rushed out, and the creature gasped desperately.
“What have you done?” the Maker tried to get to the vat, but Sol held him back. “She can’t breathe the air yet; her lungs are not yet fully formed. We must get her into another amniotic solution!”
“No,” Cego said again. He stared into the creature’s black eyes as it crumpled to the floor of the vat, heaving for air. “It’s not made for this world.”
“Neither were you!” the Maker screamed, clawing at Sol to try to free himself. “We let you live! Who are you to decide to take her life?”
“You did not let me live,” Cego whispered, turning his blazing eyes on the Maker. “I survived.”
Sol trembled as she watched the creature curl up on the ground amongst the shards of glass and ichor. Its breathing became barely discernible before its chest was still.
The Daimyo stopped struggling. The little man went limp in Sol’s arms and began to sob.
A voice came over the com, startling Sol.
“Squad three…status report.”
Wraith. He was breathing hard.
He was alive.
Cego turned from staring down at the dead creature in the tube back to the Daimyo in Sol’s grasp. “We have the Maker; we are on the way back to the lift.”
“Good,” Wraith said. “We’re ready to get out then. Rendezvous by the entry point at the bottom of the lift.”
“Wait!” Sol yelled. “Are Knees and Brynn all right? What happened?”
“Yes, your friends are alive, though not all of the team was so lucky,” Wraith said grimly. “We’ll debrief when we’re clear.”
The Flux lieutenant’s voice faded, and Cego grabbed the little Maker from Sol’s arms by the neck. He pulled the Daimyo onto the top of a lab table and reached toward the handhold for the ducts above.
“Do you even care?” Sol asked, staring at Cego. “That our friends are safe?”
Cego didn’t answer. He pulled himself and his new hostage above.
IX
THE MIGHTY
Though one often returns to the past to learn from mistakes, they must remain feather-footed there. Treading too heavily in memories, dredging up either joy or regret, will only serve to impede the path of progression.
Thirtieth Precept of the Combat Codes
Murray had often dreamed about smashing his hand through the glass of a mech and reaching within the inner sanctum to the Daimyo pilot within. Those smug soap-eaters, thinking they had all the protection in the world behind their tech, thinking they could trample the rest beneath their greed and lust for power.
And so, Murray channeled that deep-seated rage into his arm, diving forward with a leaping cross aimed to spear the pilot in front of him.
His hand shattered against the Sentinel, the small bones in his fist fracturing and sending bolts of pain coursing up his shoulder.
“A worthy attempt!” Maharu laughed from a seated position across the room. The Daimyo Lord sipped a glass of Hiberian amber as he spectated the trial by combat beside Farmer and his two guards.
Murray saw the Sentinel pilot smirk through the blood his fist had smeared on the capsule’s window. The man blinked and the Sentinel’s steel arm shot out in response, impossibly fast. Murray dove back but the thing’s hand still grazed him. The force of the glancing blow spun his body to the ground.
How could he fight such a beast with no vulnerabilities?
Murray stood again, his head swimming, as the Sentinel stepped forward and threw its arm at him. His years of experience in the Circle still served him. Murray anticipated the attack, ducking it and throwing a kick to the knee joint of the beast.
Murray’s foot met the joint and bounced off, stinging but not broken. He’d held back his attack; it was useless to throw full force and incur damage to himself every time.
He shoulder-rolled as the Sentinel threw a front kick that blasted through the folding screen at the center of the tearoom, ripping the wood apart and tossing it to the side.
“Let’s not destroy my house altogether,” Maharu said.
Murray ducked another looping roundhouse, lowering himself to a crouch and shooting past the Sentinel toward its back. He grabbed around its waist with a double clinch.
Murray grunted as he attempted to lift the thing, but the Sentinel didn’t budge. He abandoned the attempt as the Sentinel tried to turn into him. Murray threw a hand over the beast’s neck and hefted himself up onto its shoulder, using his pinched knees to stay latched to its back.
Though he couldn’t move the beast, he could hold on to it. He threw a sharp elbow down to its blocky head. Murray could feel the steel shearing off his skin, but he repeated the action, smashing his elbow into the back of the Sentinel’s head again and again.
“Impressive!” Yahalo let out a shout of enthusiasm.
“Shut up,” the Daimyo Lord said to his guard.
Murray’s elbow became a weapon, the skin gone completely now. He could see the gleam of his sharp bone protruding from the bloody mess. Murray screamed as he continued to hack his bone into the back of the mech’s head. He saw a wire protruding as the Sentinel attempted to spin him off.
“Stop playing with him!” Maharu yelled.
The Sentinel abruptly stopped spinning. The mech bent its legs and threw itself backward, Murray still clinging to its back. It blasted through the weapon’s rack at the far side of the room, throwing spectral rods and staves to the side as Murray was crushed beneath the creature’s weight.
Something sharp punctured Murray’s side, and rings of darkness closed in around his vision. He could barely make out the Sentinel standing above him. It placed a steel boot against his chest and started to press down. Murray’s rib cage crumpled inward.
“What a mess you’ve made of my tearoom.” Maharu shook his head at the Sentinel. “But you’ve done the job, though it certainly took more—”
The Lord’s voice stopped short in a gasp.
Murray looked up through the haze of blood in his eyes. Farmer stood behind the Daimyo Lord, his robed arm wrapped around the man’s neck.
“What are—” Maharu’s words were cut short as Farmer tightened the strangle.
“Command the Sentinel to stand down,” Farmer said.
“I’m going to—”
“Tell it to stand down!” Farmer coughed as held the choke even tighter.
“Stand down!” Maharu yelled.
The Sentinel immediately obliged, removing its foot from Murray’s bleeding chest. Murray attempted to breathe and felt the sharp pain of a rib pushing into his innards.
The mech stood at attention, waiting for the Lord’s next order.
Farmer met Murray’s eyes.
“You won’t escape. If you hurt me, the Sentinel will destroy you all,” Maharu said through clenched teeth.
Murray attempted to stand but fell back to his knees. He coughed a thick spray of blood onto the floor and started to shuffle backward, away from the mech.
He looked back to Farmer, the old man still holding the Daimyo Lord’s neck.
“Murray,” Farmer said. “Now is your moment. Go below while you can.”
Murray eyed the Sentinel wearily as he continued to scoot away. The pilot within followed him with coal-black eyes.
“This entire time,” Maharu hissed. “You’ve used me? For what, to get at some rotten Cradle brood floating in my basement? You could have had so much more, stupid Grievar.”
“Go now,” Farmer said as Murray saw a flicker of movement over the old master’s shoulder. The guard, Din, crept forward with deadly intent.
“Farmer!” Murray called out, but it was too late. Din slammed a fist into the side of the old man’s head, sending him to the ground in a heap.
Maharu scrambled away from Farmer and retrieved a rod that had been tossed from the weapon’s rack. The Daimyo whipped around and held the weapon in front of him, a blue charge sparking at its steel head.
“Old habits are hard to break,” Maharu growled. “And apparently, old men are even harder to break.”
Maharu motioned to Din and Yahalo. “Take care of Farmer.”
Farmer slowly rose, hands in front of him as the two mercs advanced.
“Finish your work,” the Lord ordered to the Sentinel.
The Sentinel took a stride toward Murray.
Din charged Farmer, thinking the old man frail and dazed from the blow. But Farmer moved far quicker than the guard expected. As Din attempted to wrap his arms around him, Farmer evaded and threw a swift elbow that exploded the merc’s nose. The guard reeled back, and Farmer followed with a lightning-fast cross to the temple, dropping the man into unconsciousness.
“Incompetent,” Maharu said, clutching his weapon with white fingers. He looked at Yahalo. “Do what your companion couldn’t: kill this traitor.”
Yahalo stared at Farmer for a moment, started to advance and broke away toward Murray.
The kid stepped between Murray and the towering Sentinel. He looked back at Maharu. “Please, spare Knight Pearson, my Lord. He’ll learn his ways; he’ll—”
Yahalo’s head erupted in a fountain of blood, the Sentinel’s hand outstretched. The kid’s lifeless body dropped to the floor.
“Next time, wait for my order,” Maharu said.
Rage burned within Murray. Another innocent kid’s life extinguished, just like that.
With Farmer’s head turned, Lord Maharu threw himself at the old master, swinging the auralite rod. Farmer moved quick enough to raise a hand, but the weapon connected, and that was all that was needed. The electric charge wrapped around Farmer, black smoke rising from his skin as he writhed and fell to the floor.
“Sometimes, you need to get it done yourself,” Maharu snarled as he looked down at Farmer’s lifeless body. “But you, Murray Pearson, I’ll not risk myself. Kill him.”
The Sentinel hurtled toward Murray like an onyx meteor.
Murray felt something cold beneath him as the mech launched itself to the air to crush him on impact.
He grasped the shaft of a staff.
As the Sentinel descended, Murray braced the staff and lanced it into the Sentinel’s belly with all his strength. The onyx-forged weapon plunged through the casing into the pilot’s compartment. The end of the weapon found the Daimyo’s head, bludgeoning it into the back of the capsule and rupturing it like a vat-grown grape.
The Sentinel hung lifelessly above Murray, still propped up against the staff that had impaled it. Murray rolled backward from beneath the mech’s shadow.
He coughed blood again and pushed himself to his feet. Murray grabbed the staff, pulled it hard, and Sentinel dropped to the floor, splintering the ironwood planks beneath it.
Murray tested the weight of the long spectral weapon in one hand. Blue blood and brain matter smeared the staff’s head. Murray turned his yellow eyes on Maharu, who was backing away.
Murray limped forward to cut off the Daimyo’s advance to the tearoom’s exit.
“Wait now… Knight Pearson, I’m sure we can work something out.” Maharu trembled as Murray cornered him.
