Paxolnaz, outside the circle, watched with deep satisfaction. The human was a fool. It had expected it would be forced to endure more difficulties and trickery, but the human had simply… taken the Blade. After all those schemes, it had simply given in at the last hurdle.
The Demon's expectant excitement was transformed into grinding disappointment when it felt the very thing it had known would be coming anytime now. The call of the Unwinder. The human always seemed to engage in important actions just as the call came and pulled Paxolnaz away, it was lucky like that.
Paxolnaz began to fade away. The human would still be here when it returned. The Unwinder was close—very close—to release; but not quite there. It would have a few more moment's of freedom—plenty of time. When it returned, the human would be ripe and ready.
But that was when the Contract binding it activated, too, pushing back. Because there was something it needed to do.
'Hey DemonShit, get over here. Don't you have a promise to meet?' It was the human, who was standing tall, the sword grasped in one hand, and it seemed oddly in control of itself. Maybe the Demon within was possessing it already?
Paxolnaz gazed at the human, feeling at what was going on within him. The shred of a True Demon was all through him. His Soul was corrupting at a visible rate. It was a wonder he was still able to speak; but that would not last. With the loss of its Mask the human had very little time.
'Fine,' spat Paxolwaz, and it clicked a shadowy finger and the Soul Rot collapsed in a puff, dissolving. Strains of Nicolai's Soul, now no longer rotted, passed through the circle and into him.
'And there's something else, isn't there?' he said.
'This is the location of the Lizard,' said Paxolnaz, and it tossed out a sealed bulb of energy that floated outside the circle. 'It can't go through the circle so you have to come and get it.'
Paxolnaz turned and began to leave, the Contract releasing it now it had done what was promised. It was anticipating the moment of its return. The human would be a malformed beast by then, outside of the protection of the Guard and the Contract.
As it went, it saw something scuttling over the ground. The human's Mask.
Paxolnaz eyed it, and then reached out. The human had cast this thing away but it might as well destroy it regardless. However, as it reached for the Mask, which quailed, Paxolnaz saw bands of red light appearing. It felt the pressure of the Contract. It was unable to harm the Mask; the Mask was still considered the human's dependent.
But why? The human had cast it away, seemed done with it, in which case…
Paxolnaz's eyes, if it could be said to have eyes, shot wide. The Mask tumbled past it and skittered on its roots towards the human.
The human stepped out of the circle, claimed the knowledge Paxolnaz had left, and then the Mask hopped onto his face—and the human let it.
Paxolnaz was dragged away as the Shard of the Unwinder pulsed harder, stronger and stronger as Paxolnaz failed to answer the call. It stared at the human, who did not look like the losing figure it had anticipated.
Its form was beginning to shift, its Soul bulging and merging with the Artifact Blade, which it held in one hand, the end resting on the floor.
But in spite of all this the human, with the Mask settling over his face, was wearing a huge, twisted grin, one that was mad, yes, but mad in a way that spoke of winning.
Paxolnaz had time only to let out a cry of fury and confusion before the Shard within it dug like a great fist of barbed wire and towed it away.
###
After Paxolnaz was gone he collapsed. The battle within his Soul and mind was overwhelming. He didn't know who he was or what to do. The fight was all there was, all that mattered. He was helped by others, one who had returned to him making the most difference, allowing him to maintain himself for longer.
His body lay where he'd fallen, slumped and twitching as the Blade's Demon tore into his Soul.
But then one of the factions within him, the AIs, activated the Spinal Jack.
Nicolai's body, now ignoring the conflicting and confusing commands of his mind and Soul, obeying only these AIs, rose to its feet and started moving. At this point, within his plans, he was supposed to reach for his final Locum Flower, and teleport. The AIs realised that this was not possible. With the chaos of his Soul and the mad drives of the Blade, he would not be able to sit still and spend five minutes activating the Flower.
But he could be pointed in a direction. Go that way, the AIs spoke to his warring mind and Soul, there are things to kill that way. Via the Spinal Jack they controlled his legs and got him moving, and then the madness within kept the momentum going. Would they arrive in time? It was impossible to say, but this was their only option.
Before they left the AIs performed a final act. They sent out a pulse over Link, one that reached toward a distant drone. From there the message was passed on to another drone, and another. Drones he'd been stringing between this place and another for some time, now.
Those drones reached towards a place above the Castle Core. A place where a large amount of explosives had been placed. When the signal arrived, they would detonate.
Nicolai sprinted through dark corridors. The great Blade he held in one hand carved vicious circles around him, hungry for blood.
###
Nicolai moved through the castle like a wind of steel and blood.
Get to the tower.
He encountered bugs, and he encountered undead, and he encountered humans, but none slowed him.
The Blade led, and it cut through everything they encountered in singular swipes, screaming and howling with its glee to be free at last. At first it was sucking on him, drawing on his Soul and body and Oma, but as its blade became coated in blood the blood seemed to power it. As they cut and killed, its crushing pressure on his Soul reduced, vented as it drank greedily on the straight line of carnage they cut through the castle.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
That strength was currently directed outwards, but the moment it refocused on him, it would be over.
Nicolai's body moved like some mad kinetic marionette. His feet were puppeted by the spine jack and the Modules, while the Blade held sway over his arm.
His Soul was a site of war. Factions struggled within its, tearing every which way. But through this war his Soul still burned with a singular need, a need that had been programmed into it through careful time and attention.
Get to the tower.
###
'Move, move!' cried Borg, waving the flow of people past him. The hulking Cyborg had been set to this, his newest duty, by Vikrum. He was in the upper jungle, guarding and directing all those who came towards the Chosen's side of the Trade Link. The castle was now shaking continuously—not a minute went by without a tremble, and each was worse than before.
Borg was glad that they'd all joined together, at last, that the fighting was over. Now they could work together and look towards a common future. And, if there were any problems… he was used to his duty in subtly dealing with them. Quite a number of people he'd sent sailing off the edge to enjoy the long, long plummet to the jungle below. It wasn't a job that caused him any particular bother.
It was as he stood there that he caught movement. His eyes zoomed, and he saw a face he recognised. A man drenched in blood and gore, hair a dark and dirty tangle, face twisted with a vicious grin, hefting a great and curving sword of dark metal.
Nicolai was sprinting through the upper jungle, and Borg tracked him thoughtfully. He was carrying some monstrous sword, but there was no gun visible on him.
Borg snorted, and lumbered into a run, aiming to get ahead of him.
He'd long wanted Vikrum to just order him to kill this man, and had struggled to hide his eye-rolling irritation each time the others, even Vikrum himself, was bested. Just let me deal with him, he'd thought.
Vikrum still wanted Nicolai dead, and Borg was happy to deliver. It was shameful, truly, that both Gilvine and Vikrum had been defeated by this individual.
The remaining refugees could make it on their own. Borg had a prize to catch.
He got himself into a position ahead of Nicolai. There he lurked, in waiting.
After only half a minute, he heard the man's speeding footsteps, and stepped out from hiding. He activated his hologrammatic face to show a satisfied smile. He was speaking before he even moved.
'There you are, Viper. Or should I call you Nicolai? We've met, but never been properly introduced. My name is Borg, and I'm going to—'
Viper's head whipped around to stare at him. The movement was inhuman. One of his eyes was a bionic but the other… the human eye…
It was a pool of black, as though filled with oil. A black that drank the light, and Borg saw the same black carving through his veins, awful bulging things.
He dimly realised that Viper was coming straight at him, flashing through the undergrowth.
Borg took a step back. His Combat Drive was screaming at him to raise his gun and blast the man, but Borg was overwhelmed. Because within him, his human brain was connected to bionic eyes that saw the sword.
The sword that was no longer a sword.
His fumbling metal leg took another heavy step back as he saw it, rising before him in awful majesty, something terrible and ancient and full of bloodthirst, rising and spreading its wings, and then it was there, before him.
However, to his Combat Drive the sword was just a sword, and Viper just a man. Recognising its users inability, it took full control and acted, raising his gun.
As it went to fire the magazine was tugged free, snapped away toward Nicolai. A single shot went off but it was deflected by a shield. The Combat Drive looked at the sword coming for it and determined it wasn't a vibro-blade. So, it stepped forward to meet the attack, raising an arm, secure in the knowledge that no mere blade of steel wielded by a barely augmented man could cut through Borg's tough exterior.
SUFFER AND DIE! screamed the sword as it came around, unstoppable. It carved through Borg's arm and then his midsection in a brutal arc of shrieking metal, a tangle of wire and broken components exploding outward as it tore him in half.
###
Vikrum frowned as he looked around, seeing the madness of battle everywhere. He was in the upper-jungle, near to where the Coalition's Trade Link access was. It was conveniently located for both his people and for theirs.
At this point, the Coalition and his Chosen were a long way from enemies. They were fighting side-by-side against the Bugs and Undead. Viper was gone, at last, and with the reveals about the man, Maxine's attitude toward Vikrum had shifted.
Vikrum felt he held most the cards, but with Cornwall's urging he'd became willing to create a kind of partnership between them. She was a very influential and well-liked woman. With her at his side, who knew what they could accomplish?
It transpired that all along, the only problem had been Viper. The madman had been the cause of all of it; all the bloodshed, all the suffering, everything lay squarely at his feet.
Well, perhaps not absolutely everything… but since he'd ran off and could no longer speak up, he'd became a most suitable scape-goat for literally everything bad that'd happened. Now, whenever a new problem arose, Vikrum shook his head and said: "Viper caused this." It made him smile every time.
Should Vikrum ever find himself with the opportunity in the future, then he would do his best to ensure the man died. Though, after what Cornwall had said, he now knew he would wait until he was absolutely 100% sure he cold make it happen before acting. People like Nicolai were not needed in the world Vikrum wanted to build.
Beyond that, Vikrum just wanted him dead. Until this day, if someone had asked him, Vikrum would have said that he did not hate anyone, and never had hated anyone. His life had been a smooth sail from success, to success, to success. Of course, all of those had been organised by his parents, which in Vikrum's view made them not really count.
But then this new world, this Great Game, had arrived. And he had been given the opportunity to do something on his own terms, to succeed without any help.
And he'd done it. All by himself, with nothing to his name. Well, except his augments and Cornwall and being chosen by the Hero Quest, but he couldn't help that. He'd built the Chosen. He'd completed the Quest and his Seed. He'd done it all.
And then, at the moment of his victory, Viper.
The Symbiote of Change had been a very important Symbiote. Vikrum was sure of that. He wasn't sure exactly how important, but it had been important. It was tied to his Hero of Humanity Quest. Even now there was a blinking notification, telling him he must break-in the Symbiote in order to gain his full reward as a Hero of Humanity.
But Viper had stolen it! Tricked him! Taken what was his and disappeared in a flash of light! As his face began to twist into a snarl, Cornwall reminded him of the battle around him. It asked: Where is Borg? He was meant to meet us here.
Vikrum spoke over Local. 'Borg? Borg!' He frowned, hearing no answer. There were still many of his people stuck up top. As the castle had begun to crumble, and all had begun to flow into the Trade Link, the bugs and undead had risen with renewed rage and once more crashed together. There were even some more dangerous beings, strange centipede-like bugs and floating undead wielding powerful weapons, smashing and slicing at one another.
It was chaos, and he worried he and his people, and even the Coalition, might all perish. Most were now in the Trade Link but he feared the creatures might all try to press in and kill them.
I'm down. I got cut in half, came Borg's voice.
What?!
It was Viper. He got me. I don't think he realises I'm not dead, though. He just kept running. Seemed to be in a rush. Moved like… didn't move like something human.
Where is he?
He ran off. I don't know where.
Can you move?
I can crawl, slowly.
Vikrum sighed, then reached into a pocket and pulled out one of his Permits—possibly the best one he had. If it gave Borg time to get to safety, and hold back the undead and bugs while they all huddled in the Trade Link, it would be worth it.
He Examined it and briefly saw some of the words before activating it.
Call-in Permit: AC130 Gunship
This Permit…
It turned into shimmering golden light that widened in his hand. A moment later he held a bulky, ancient-looking radio. It was different to the other Radios, much simpler in nature. Just a single button to enable voice talk, then one more button with a targeting symbol.
Attached to this radio by a wire, slotted into one side of it, was a kind of laser pen.
Vikrum pulled out the pen and aimed it at the sky. The Examine text had explained what to do. He clicked the targeting button.
A large hole appeared in the air far above, limned in red light. Through this hole, engines and turbines howling, came an AC-130 Gunship.
The hole closed and the Gunship began to circle in the air above.
The radio crackled in his hand.
'What are your orders?' it asked.
Vikrum's eyes narrowed. 'Kill the Bugs. Kill the Undead. Spare any humans; except one.' He described Viper. 'If you see him, kill him.'
'Roger that.'
The Gunship opened up, 105mm main cannon and 40mm gatling guns booming down on hordes of Bugs and Undead. Explosive rounds tore holes in their ranks, pushing those attacking the humans back.
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