In my campaigns I’ve found there are two types of effective soldier, the gazelles and the grunts. The gazelle is capable of incredible bursts of speed but can be flighty, distracted, and useless, but in those moments of brilliance, nothing can catch a gazelle. The grunt, on the other hand, will never blind you with his grace or swiftness, but will simply plug along until the job is finished. Now after watching the Imperium in combat action, I must add a third type. I’d thought I’d seen warrior fanaticism amongst the Moro, but I was unprepared for the total devotion of the Imperium warrior. Say what you will about their methods, but a true believer is not to be trifled with.
—Captain John J. Pershing,
Army Observation Report on the taking of Vladivostok, 1905
Free City of Shanghai
It was a nightmare wrapped in a poem. It was a dream shrouded in fog.
Toru struggled against the beast rampaging through his very thoughts. He knew how to fight with his hands, but he did not know how to fight on the battlefield of his mind. The creature was there, in the background, whispering, speaking in lies and secrets.
Time passed in incoherent fits and starts. He was in the present. Then in the past. He was back at the Iron Guard academy, a young boy, standing proud while his sensei beat him with sticks to test his resolve. He was in the present, screaming in agony as the pain like a drill bit bore through his eyes. He was in the past, collecting heads in Manchuko. Then he was in a dream, listening to the words of his father, or perhaps that was Hattori’s past. He could not tell. And then the present, except that had to be a hallucination as well, since Hayate had been there.
Hours passed, days maybe. He could not tell. But he relived every single moment of his life against his will as if the invader inside his head were flipping randomly through the pages of a book. Exhausted, he drifted into an unconscious haze.
His Iron Guard brothers came to unchain him, but they were not his brothers. He could see that now. They were wearing the skin of men, but their insides were foul corruption, an extension of the Pathfinder’s malicious will. They had been Iron Guard once, until Dosan Saito had exposed them to the cancerous sludge and it had slowly dissolved them into these mindless shells. That would be Toru’s eventual fate as well, only mercifully his life would end long before that process could be completed.
The kanji of paralysis was roughly scrubbed from his forehead and he could feel life returning to his limbs. The chains were unlocked and he fell to this hands and knees. The Nishimura armor clanged when it hit the floor.
The false Iron Guard were on each side. Toru would die fighting. He reached for one, but nothing happened. He willed his arms to work, but it was as if his spirit was a helpless prisoner inside his own body. He was no longer magically paralyzed, but it did not matter. Hands were placed on his shoulder, and against his will, he rose. No! He tried to shout, but his mouth would not work.
The Pathfinder’s puppets did not have to speak in order to communicate with each other. They brought over the Nishimura helmet, and his body obediently bent so it could be placed over his head. Magical kanji began scrolling across the interior glass but Toru couldn’t even steer his eyes to follow.
His feet were moving, one in front of the other. His hands opened and the steel tetsubo was placed into them. He wanted to kill them, to strike them all down with it, but no matter how hard he strained, nothing happened. His body was an obedient slave.
Toru was furious, far angrier than he’d ever been, angrier than he’d ever thought humanly possible. This was offensive. Insulting. He would die as a pawn, used as an example of the imposter’s greatness. This was unacceptable. He would have flown into a berserker rage if his damned limbs would just respond.
They stopped and waited at the end of a darkened tunnel. Two hundred yards away, the imposter stood upon a dais, speaking to a proud troop of Imperium warriors. The soldiers were standing in perfect formation, awestruck by the Chairman’s presence. One by one their names were called, and they walked up to stand before him to be presented their medals. Merely being near the Chairman was the greatest moment of any of those soldiers’ lives, and that made Toru even madder. These noble warriors, their entire empire, they were all being lied to.
The ceremony was over.
The puppets let him into bright sunlight. The helmet’s glass automatically darkened to shield his eyes from glare. The Nishimura armor lumbered into view of the crowd, obviously towering over the muscular Iron Guards’ flanking it, and they all turned to gawk. There were thousands of people in the courtyard. Stands had been erected around the parade ground. They began to shout and jeer him. He was heckled, booed, insulted, and mocked by his inferiors.
More Iron Guard came from under the palace, leading a line of prisoners. The captives were chained together, shackled at the wrists and ankles, and the short chains forced them into the indignity of shuffling. Grimnoir knights. Survivors of the raids. Most were from the Traveler. A few were from Shanghai. All of them had been severely beaten so badly they could barely stand, and then marked with kanji so they could not call upon their magic.
Ian Wright was in the lead. The proud young man was shoved so that he would kneel. The knight spit in the Iron Guard’s face, so the Iron Guard shattered Wright’s kneecap with a swift kick. Wright fell to the ground, writhing in pain. His chains snapped tight, and that pulled the others to their knees. Dr. Wells was at the end of the line. The alienist seemed mildly amused by all of the activity.
The Iron Guards walked away from the prisoners and left them there. The audience immediately began throwing things at them, garbage, rotting fruit, rocks, bottles. Allowing such items into the presence of the Chairman was inconceivable, so they had more than likely been supplied to the nearest spectators for just this moment. Hard objects bounced harmlessly off of Toru’s armored shell, but the Grimnoir flinched and cringed as they were bashed, cut, and further injured. A scalp was split open by a bottle. Blood flew and the crowd screamed at the traitor and his conspirators to hurry and die.
The imposter appeared in the center of the parade ground.
Toru bowed. He did not wish to. He would never willingly have bowed to this wretched thief, but the Pathfinder was controlling his body. Even as he was still being struck by rocks and insults, the greatest indignity of all was that he was forced to offer respect to the real traitor.
The rocks stopped falling. The crowd grew still, awed by the presence of their leader and hero. They spoke in hushed whispers or not at all. This was a day that none of them would ever forget.
Okubo Tokugawa’s face displayed a stern look. He raised his voice so that all could hear. Magic carried his words to the outer edges of the crowd. “Behold Toru, once of the Iron Guard, who has committed the crime of treason. He has been subverted and led astray. He betrayed many of his brothers so that they could be assassinated by the foul Grimnoir. He has been plotting with the Grimnoir in order to murder the son of heaven and the entire council. They would overthrow your lawful rulers. Their organization is evil, and exists only to plunge the world into chaos . . . What do you have to say for yourself, traitor?”
Toru’s hands moved up to his helmet, opened the seals, and carefully removed it. Of course the imposter would force him to show his face. There could be no doubt of the identity of the man in the armor. Toru wanted to shout the truth, but only lies came out of his mouth. “Your judgment is correct, Lord Tokugawa. The Grimnoir wish to end our civilization. They intend to crush the Imperium. I have been sent by them to murder you.”
“Let it be known by all that Toru is a capable warrior who fought in many righteous conflicts before his fall. He is a Brute, recipient of six war medals, six campaign medals, and fourteen separate commendations for exemplary service. Today he wears the legendary Nishimura armor, granting him even greater strength . . .”
The masses were frightened. They had faith in their Chairman, but Toru’s legend had grown.
“It will not be sufficient.” The Chairman placed one hand on the hilt of his sword. “I, Baron Okubo Tokugawa, Chairman of the Imperial Council, accept your challenge.”
There were hundreds of gasps from the crowd. Truly, the imposter intended to give the masses the display of heroism they’d hoped for. Toru’s hands lifted the helmet back into place. The forces controlling his limbs were careful not to twist his head off, because an accidental beheading would be an underwhelming finale. Kanji flashed before his eyes as the tetsubo was hoisted from the ground.
Toru charged.
He was so angry he could taste it. The charge was clumsy, full of Power and show, but useless. It was an embarrassment to his skills. The blustering fury would look intimidating to the onlookers, though, which was all Dosan Saito cared about. The imposter easily dodged the tetsubo, again and again, then he reached up, channeling Brute strength and slammed Toru across fifty feet of grass.
He hit the earth and dug a divot. Toru willed himself to spring right back up, but his body took its time, making a great display of how terribly hard the Chairman had struck him. LIES!
They circled. Toru saw half a dozen different angles of attack, but his body would not listen. He attacked wildly, spinning, swinging, with big flashy movements and overhead blows that blasted showers of dirt high into the air.
The Chairman’s face was expressionless, nearly bored as he moved far faster than was humanly possible. He was demonstrating to those harboring doubts that he truly was the greatest wizard of all time. Behold as I toy with the terrifying Toru. Then the Brute magic switched to that of a Massive, and the imposter froze in place, willing his body as hard as steel.
The tetsubo impacted with a hit that radiated down the shaft, through the armored gauntlets, and through Toru’s bones. The crowd came to their feet.
But when the dust cleared, the Chairman was still standing there, completely unharmed. He lifted one hand and a gout of fire leapt from his hands, engulfing Toru. The Nishimura suit sounded an alarm. Toru wanted to fight through it, but his body flailed back wildly instead. He was struck with ice, then lightning. Gravity changed, and Toru was falling into the sky.
The imposter leapt, intercepted Toru in mid-air, and slammed a golden, glowing fistful of magical energy into his chest. Toru hit the ground so hard that everything went black.
* * *
If he hadn’t been a master of gravity, density, and mass, Sullivan was pretty darn sure he would’ve passed out seconds after jumping off the Traveler.
Jake Sullivan had done some dangerous shit in his life, but surely this took the cake.
He began spinning, harder and harder. Blood rushed through his system. Sullivan just concentrated and willed himself dense. Blood goes where I tell it to go. It was a good thing he was so analytical under pressure . . . I’m going clockwise. He adjusted gravity’s direction slightly, pulling himself gradually out of the spin. That’s better.
He could’ve made himself light as a feather and slowed himself down, but spending extra time in a place with no warmth or atmosphere wasn’t a particularly inviting idea. The runes Browning had carved into the Spiker armor were glowing, keeping him from freezing, but he didn’t have a whole lot of faith in the fragile oxygen tank. What the hell? Let’s see what this thing can do. He tucked his arms into his sides, put his feet together, pointed his helmet at Shanghai, and increased gravity’s pull.
It was like being launched from a cannon.
Sullivan streaked through the upper atmosphere. The sky went from black to dark blue. It felt like he could see half the Chinese coast from here. He picked out the blue line of the river and followed it with his eyes. Shanghai was the cluster of grey and black lines in all that organic green, brown, and blue. The city covered a big area, but he had plenty of time to pick out landmarks and tug himself toward the correct destination.
His Power was burning hot, analyzing all of the forces, pulls, and friction, but his new magic seemed to be keeping up. Earth was pulling him in, so he reached out, took hold, and willed it to pull even harder. This was what a speeding bullet felt like. Sullivan’s body was moving faster than sound waves.
He’d have to check the record books, but he was pretty sure he was the first man to go faster than sound. He’d read a Popular Mechanics once saying that was impossible, because a man’s innards would blow up if he went that fast, but Sullivan figured he was about as pliable as a bar of iron right about then, so there really wasn’t much that could hurt him.
Except for hitting Shanghai at six hundred miles an hour. That would probably do it.
He had to admit, it was scary as hell, but it was kind of exhilarating.
The Spiker armor was holding up, because John Browning was the greatest inventor in the history of the whole wide world. It wasn’t just on his body, but the magical connection made it practically an extension of his body, and when he went dense, so did it, and steel was a whole lot tougher than flesh to start with.
But then the oxygen bottle ruptured with a pop. That was a bad sign. Sullivan held his breath and pulled even harder. By the time he needed to take a breath, he’d damn well better be someplace where there was actually air to fill his lungs.
Once he’d gotten the ocean on the right, he oriented himself toward his target. He’d memorized a map of the city, and all it took was a bit of concentration to shift gravity’s pull every few seconds to correct his course. He used the river as his compass and shifted gravity’s center toward the correct end of the town.
There was a horrible whistling noise screaming past his helmet. Sweet, sweet air. Cold enough to hurt his teeth and so thin it was barely there, but it was still air.
There were small shadows beneath him, and they quickly grew into Imperium airships. There were black puffs of smoke as they fired upward at the Traveler. Surely he was too small of a target to have been noticed, but that didn’t make him any less comfortable flying between the shells. He went through the smoke. It was tempting to steer himself right through one of those warships, but a man had to know his limitations, and he didn’t know if he could go that dense.
He was past the screen of ships so fast that they’d probably never even known he’d been there at all. Shanghai was close enough he could pick out individual neighborhoods. Gravity’s center changed to the Imperium Section. A few seconds later and he picked out the rectangle of the main compound, then the green square of the parade ground in front of their palace.
The speed was so great that he was worried if he lifted his arms away from his torso they might get ripped off. He let go of three or four extra gravities of pull and immediately began bleeding speed. He got his arms up, one armored finger running across the back of his other hand. The rune was already prepared. If this worked, Captain Southunder would receive his voice loud and clear. It came from his mind more than his vocal cords. “I’m almost there. Turn Fuller’s machine on!” He hoped that would go through, but there wasn’t time to mess around if it didn’t. Sullivan switched hands and went to the rune on the other side. Now this one had to work, or he was screwed.
The ground was rushing up to meet him and he had just set the world air-speed record. It was time to throw the brakes on. Sure, folks jumped out of airplanes using parachutes, but he was a Gravity Spiker. What did he need with a parachute? Sullivan was positive his trajectory would take him directly into the Imperial courtyard. The moving sea of colors down around the green square was people. The place was packed with bodies. Good. The more witnesses the better.
He changed gravity’s direction. Now instead of pulling him toward Shanghai, it was coming from above. He imagined that the Traveler was the new center of the world, but he was gentle, just one gravity at first, and then another, and another. Timing was everything. As his momentum died off, he slowed. Not too slow, though, because he really didn’t want the Imperium army to take up skeet shooting, and if they hadn’t seen him yet, they were bound to soon.
He was still going a couple hundred miles an hour when he felt he was in range to activate the second spell. There was a matching rune engraved into the inside of his helmet, right in front of his mouth. Fuller had come up with this one, basing it on the magic of a Babel he had once met. It had worked fine when they’d tested it, but he hadn’t been flying through the air at the time.
Dr. Wells had simply pointed out what they’d always known. To the Imperium, the Grimnoir were the bad guys. They were the Imperium’s boogeyman. In every piece of propaganda, the Grimnoir were evil incarnate. It seemed so obvious, but then Wells had asked, why would you ever take a villain at his word? In what possible way would the Iron Guard ever believe a warning from the Grimnoir about the real Enemy?
By telling them something so easy to believe that they wouldn’t even stop to question it.
It was time to play the villain.
Please, dear God, let this work.
Sullivan ran his finger across the rune and activated the spell.
First Shadow Guard Hayate watched the duel with increasing unease.
Iron Guard Commander Goto stood next to him at the window. “Hah! This is excellent. The Chairman is taking that traitor apart.”
Hayate tended to stroke his chin while thinking, a habit he’d picked up long ago. “Have you ever seen Iron Guard Toru in a fight before?”
“He is no Iron Guard!” the commander roared. “How dare you?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Hayate said soothingly. It would not do to have to get himself into a duel because he’d hurt some blustery Iron Guard’s tender feelings, not that he would have been in any danger of losing, because Hayate would simply cheat and have the man poisoned first. “My apologies . . . I have seen the traitor in combat before. In comparison, he seems off today.”
“He is probably just overwhelmed with shame, as he should be, there in the magnificent presence of his father!”
He was not sure, and Toru’s words kept running through his mind. The Grimnoir were capable adversaries, but they were few in number. Why would they throw away so very many of their warriors in an assassination attempt against a man they had repeatedly been shown was immortal? Such a waste of resources was not like them. He had enough respect for his longtime opponents to know they had to have logical reasons. Had Toru somehow convinced them of this delusions, and if so, how?
Hayate was surprised at himself. Truly, the Chairman was correct. Toru’s words were poison.
A soldier ran into the room to give a report to the Iron Guard. “Sir, we just lost contact with Zuiryu. Other ships report seeing a large explosion at its last position.”
“What!” The control room sprang to life. This was dire news indeed. There had only been four of the death-ray-equipped Kaga-class vessels built so far, and they’d already lost one last year. The Auspicious Dragon was the most capable vessel in the entire region. “Was it attacked by that unidentified dirigible?”
“We do not know, sir. Telescopes confirm that the dirigible is still up there at an extreme altitude. The Navy has launched one of their experimental demon interceptors to deal with it.”
Curious. Hayate glanced back out the window. The Chairman was still whipping Toru like the Brute was a disobedient puppy. He noticed a flash of reflected light in the air high above the grounds. There was an object falling. “There is something up in the sky.” He pointed.
The chief of the Tokubetsu Koto Keisatsu squinted. “Is it an aircraft?”
The Iron Guard, fuming about the potential loss of such a valuable vessel, turned to look. “It’s a bird.”
“No . . .” Hayate leaned forward. “I believe that is a man.”
Suddenly there was a great noise, a boom like thunder, so hard it rattled the windows. The crowd shifted, thousands looking upward as one. Even the Chairman paused in the administration of his beating and looked to the heavens.
A terrible voice came after the thunder.
“Attention Imperium. This is Jake Sullivan, knight of the Grimnoir.”
It was a fascinating magical effect. Hayate had clearly heard the words in Japanese, but since he could also speak Mandarin, Cantonese, English, French, Dutch, German, and Russian, it was as if he had heard it in all of those simultaneously. If he had spoken other languages, he had no doubt he would have understood it in those as well. Truly, that was a masterwork of spellbinding.
“Shoot him down!” Iron Guard Goto commanded. His men were scrambling. “Go! Movers prepare to deflect incoming!”
“I’ve got a message for the warriors of Dark Ocean. The Pathfinder has returned.”
That was such an unexpected message that many of the Iron Guards temporarily froze in place, shocked. It was not often they heard those names invoked.
The shape in the sky was getting closer, gleaming metallic in the sun. It was clearly man shaped. “Your Imperium schools have been infiltrated. Its monsters are hiding among you right now!”
Then there was another voice, just as loud as the first. Okubo Tokugawa shouted back at the new challenger. “Do not listen to him! The Grimnoir are evil!”
“The Chairman says we’re evil . . . Well, he’s right. We are evil. I know the Pathfinder’s here because I AM THE PATHFINDER! I answer to the Enemy. I’m bringing it here right now. You hear that, Dark Ocean? I am your worst nightmare.”
“No!” The Chairman’s voice shook the world. “Destroy him! Kill him!”
“Go look to your Imperium schools and see. We’re already there. We’re all over the Imperium. You want a fight? Come get some!”
The Chairman extended his hands and lightning blasted upward into the sky.
There was another horrendous boom, much closer and stronger now. The windows cracked. It was as if the man falling through the air had suddenly accelerated. He fell quicker than any bomb, streaking downward impossibly fast. No amount of concentrated magic from the Movers could turn that aside. He hit the ground so hard it caused a massive explosion of earth. It obliterated a huge circle of the parade grounds. The Chairman disappeared beneath a rolling cloud of dust.
“In the name of Dark Ocean, protect the Chairman! Go!” The Iron Guard were running for the exits, trying to get to their Chairman’s side. One leapt through the cracked window, launching himself into the crowd four stories below because it was the most direct route.
Hayate scowled. “Fascinating.”
“Are you mad?” the leader of the Iron Guard shouted. “That is how they destroyed the Auspicious Dragon! We are being attacked. The Enemy has returned! We must protect the Chairman!”
“Indeed.” Hayate stroked his chin as he thought it through. Perhaps Toru had not been mad after all. It was either a brilliant deception by the Grimnoir for some unknown tactical reason, or something much, much worse. Either way, the truth would be discovered and justice would be satisfied. “And the Chairman is an immortal super wizard. Do not dishonor him by thinking you can protect him when he cannot protect himself.”
“But—”
“Remember your training, Iron Guard! Preventing the arrival of the Enemy is our greatest single mission. You heard the invader. We have been infiltrated. Send word to the schools.” Hayate turned to his own aide, who had been trying to appear even more innocuous than his master. “Dispatch shadow strike teams to every Imperium school. Investigate everyone. If anyone tries to stop you, kill them. If we are turned away, firebomb the schools to ash.”
And with those words, the sacred eradication mission of Dark Ocean began anew.
UBF Traveler
“It isn’t working.”
“Damn it!” Schirmer hit Fuller’s infernal device with a wrench. “How about now?”
“Nothing,” Fuller said. He was so excited that the inside of his bubble helmet had fogged over, so he was having to put his head at a really weird angle to see the instruments.
Schirmer whacked it again. “Damn it!”
Lady Origami found it fascinating that the greatest magical mind in the world and a man who could build any mechanical device out of junk and spare parts were reduced to beating on their invention like chimps with rocks. “What is wrong with it?”
“I failed to take the current lack of thermoenergy available in the omnilocators into—”
“It’s frozen,” Schirmer translated.
“Oh? Is that all?” She placed her gloved hands on the machine’s housing. She’d never understood the science behind how magic worked. She had grown up in a home where her extremely pious father had believed magic was the interaction between the spirits which dwelled in all things. So his talented daughter was simply gifted in talking to the fire spirits, and that was how she had thought of her Power ever since. It seemed to work well enough for her. “Yes . . . The fire inside is very dim. Should I wake it up?”
“Uh . . . Yes, please, but gently,” Fuller answered.
“Sure.” She concentrated. Fire dwelled inside everything. Sometimes it just needed to be agitated. Within seconds, the interior of the device began to glow with a warm yellow light. The electrical lights began blinking on Schirmer’s instrument panel. The ball on top of the device started spinning. “How is that?”
“It’s working! It’s working!” Fuller exclaimed as the device began to emit an ominous hum. “Thank you!”
“Begin sweeping,” Schirmer ordered the two UBF men. “Aim it at Shanghai first, then work it up and down the coast, then inward. I want to hit every school in China!”
She was disappointed. She had hoped the magical beams it released would be visible. But nonetheless, it was a good thing that she had come down to see off her Heavy. Whatever would these people do without her?
BANG!
Everyone lurched and nearly fell as the Traveler shook from the impact. Lady Origami fell and slid across the floor, but her safety line kept her from falling out the open door. One of the UBF men was not so lucky, and he went rolling over the side. His line snapped taut, so he did not fall the seventy-five-thousand feet to his doom, but instead he was dangling, flapping in space, ten feet past the ramp. Schirmer grabbed that rope and began tugging the screaming man back from the abyss.
She sensed the intrusion into her ship. Demons made their own sort of fire, deep within. This one was tiny, but it was inside the Traveler now, and it was growing. When the Imperium vessels could not climb high enough to shoot them with bullets, they’d started launching demons at them instead.
Warning buzzers began to sound. They were losing altitude. The demon was attacking the interior of their ship. It was inside the third cell of the port bag. It sensed her and shrieked in frustration. She concentrated hard on its internal fire and made the demon explode. It took even more magic to keep that fire from spreading, but there wasn’t anything she could do about the original damage.
The suit was clumsy, making it difficult to stand, but she did. She rushed over and took hold of Fuller’s device and helped the other UBF man struggling to aim it. Sullivan needed this to work. She would not let him die in vain.
BANG! BANG!
More demons. They were tracking in on the ship, punching holes, and ripping the Traveler from the sky.
BANG!
Free City of Shanghai
Father . . . Please help me. I need your strength. Banish this ghost from my soul. Free my limbs so that they may work. Do not let me die a failure. Help me achieve the dreams of your Dark Ocean.
Toru opened his eyes. There were black clots in front of his vision, and then he realized that they were merely dirt clods resting on the glass of his helmet’s visor. He was lying on the grass of the parade ground.
The imposter stood above him, his sword drawn. Apparently the show was over and the time of his execution was at hand. Yet, the imposter was looking to the sky.
And then there was a terrible crash.
They were blasted with a rushing wind and then a wall of dust, dirt, and grass.
Now was his chance.
Father! Grant me your will!
And then Toru was filled with light.
The light scalded him. It burned like the sun. The invading ghost inside his mind screeched, wilted, and died.
The imposter was silhouetted above him. A shadow in front of a searing second sun. The invader in Saito’s mind was older, stronger, and far more entrenched. It did not shrivel and die before the onslaught, but it hissed and thrashed as it was scorched by the light of truth.
Thank you, father.
He could no longer see the imposter through the cascade of dirt. Toru willed the Nishimura armor to move, and this time it did. The tetsubo erupted from the ground and swept through the air in a blur of steel, and he felt it hit the imposter, sweeping him aside like a rowboat before a tsunami.
The impact sent the imposter flying. Toru forced himself up and out of the hole his body had dug. He took a halting step, awkward to be in control of his muscles again, and then stumbled and went to his knees as a terrible agony ripped through is head. He was barely able to get one hand up to pull open his mempo. Flying grit struck him in the face, but he had to. He leaned forward and retched.
The vile black liquid he’d been exposed to had been alive. Now that it was dead, his body was forcefully expelling it. Toru coughed and hacked, spitting up chunks of the foul stuff. It tasted like lethal chemicals. It poured out of his nose like snot, fell from his eyes like tears, and dripped from his ears. It burned, but he was glad for the burn, because that meant he was free.
He spit, wiped his face with the back of one gauntlet hard enough to split his lip, and then closed the mempo back up. He was thankful for the smell of stale cigarettes, because anything was better than the stench of the Pathfinder’s mind-controlling ooze.
The dust was settling. Iron Guard were rushing onto the parade grounds to intercept him. Most of them were human, but as the second sun flickered over them, several were clearly revealed for what they were, sacks of human skin filled with pulsating corruption. The human Iron Guard recoiled in horror as their brothers’ true nature was laid bare before them.
The imposter was rising. Dosan Saito was not the Chairman, but the Pathfinder had built him a strong body, and he’d absorbed the magical essence of hundreds of powerful Actives. He was a deadly foe, and he was already rising, channeling the Power of a Shard in order to quickly warp his splintered bones back into place, and the Power of the Healer to knit together his ruined flesh. Toru could see the Pathfinder’s alien presence resting upon Saito. It engulfed him, it rode upon his shoulders, its invisible tentacles stuck into Saito’s ears to whisper its secrets. Other tentacles crisscrossed Saito’s head, embedding themselves into his eye sockets so that he could only see what the Pathfinder wished him to see.
And then the scalding second sun was pointed elsewhere, the Pathfinder disappeared, and Dosan Saito once again appeared to be the Chairman.
The explosion had dug a crater in the field. Something moved, lifting itself from the center of the hole. A gleaming white skull appeared, followed by a steel body.
Very nice, Heavy.
“Destroy them!” Dosan Saito ordered with the Chairman’s voice. “Destroy them!”
But the world had plunged into chaos. Thousands of Imperium citizens were trying to escape the grounds. Some of the Iron Guard rushed toward Sullivan or Toru, while others hesitated, confused. A few had witnessed the truth from the second sun, and they turned against the infiltrators. Brother against brother, as Iron Guards attacked the corrupted. Other Iron Guards who had not seen the truth were baffled by their brothers’ seeming treachery.
A brave Iron Guard tried to strike down an infiltrator wearing the uniform of the Chairman’s personal bodyguard, but was tackled by some of his brothers. “Did you not see! It is as we’ve been taught!” He fought off those holding him and lurched toward the infiltrator. The false Iron Guard turned and stabbed the human in the stomach with his katana. Undeterred, he crawled up the blade, grabbed the infiltrator by the face, and ripped the mask away. “Behold!” He spit blood as the infiltrator tore the sword free. The sword flashed, and the courageous Iron Guard’s head rolled away.
The infiltrator’s true nature was revealed. The torn skin lay across his uniform like a scarf. It had a face beneath a face, bare muscle pulsing red and black under a translucent shell.
The Iron Guard had been taught about such beings since they were inducted into the academy as children. Their worst fears had just been realized.
There were gasps and shouts from the assembled Iron Guard as they pushed their way through the crowd. Bodies were hurled aside as the infiltrator tried to hide its corruption, lifting the torn skin like a mask. The infiltrator was struck by crackling lightning, burst into flames, and was then ripped in half by an Iron Guard who had forced himself to grow claws of bone. Flaming black corruption sprayed across the grass.
“The Grimnoir are in league with the Pathfinder!”
“Alert the high command!”
“Protect the Chairman! Slay the Enemy! Slay the Grimnoir!”
Toru lifted the tetsubo and strode toward Saito. The imposter’s guise had slipped. “There is no Pathfinder here! They seek to trick you!” Saito was panicking, realizing that the Grimnoir had twisted his own words against him to reveal his lies. The real Chairman would never panic, and that offended Toru even more. Saito was focused on using his magic to heal himself, so he wasn’t even broadcasting his voice so that all could hear. “It is a Grimnoir trick!”
Sullivan had done well. Word would spread, faster than the imposter could stop it. All that remained was to destroy the imposter before he could rein in the righteous mission of Dark Ocean.
Jake Sullivan crawled out of the crater he’d dug with his face. When the lightning had come streaking his way, he’d called on all the gravity and density he could to get the hell out of the way. He’d fallen through a train car once, even survived being stomped on by a demon god, and that hadn’t been anything compared to this. The amount of earth he’d moved with just his body was rather awe-inspiring. That was one damn fine spell on his back.
The goal had been to alert the Iron Guard, and as he poked his head over the side, he’d seen Fuller’s device do its job, revealing the monsters inside. Between that and his words, the Iron Guard had immediately started hacking each other to pieces, so mission accomplished. They knew the Pathfinder was on Earth, and once that hunt started, those merciless bastards wouldn’t let up until they’d exterminated ever single infiltrator.
Only problem was, now they thought he was the Pathfinder.
If he’d flat out said that the Chairman was the bad guy, nobody would have believed him. He needed to give them something plausible to latch onto, and a man’s preconceived notions were a powerful thing.
Toru was gunning for Saito, but much as he’d like to help, a whole mess of Iron Guard were heading for Sullivan. He called on his Power, and gravity bent outward in a wave. The amount used was unexpected, and a wall of pure force crashed out across the lawn, flattening Iron Guard and Imperium citizens. The sudden shift in gravity caused the recently constructed stand’s supports to buckle and snap. The seats came crashing down. Those who had still been inside were tossed aside or crushed beneath.
Sullivan made himself weigh nothing, and he launched himself out of the crater in a spray of rocks. Reaching over his shoulder, he found the BAR and ripped it from the straps. He returned to his normal weight as he hit the ground. The bullpup came up spitting .30-06 rounds.
There were Iron Guards everywhere, they all thought he was the devil incarnate, and they were doing their level best to kill him. Bullets struck his armor. Burning heat and freezing cold washed over him, but Browning’s runes kept them from reaching his skin. The insulation kept the electricity from burrowing through his skin. The BAR came sweeping around, and he pumped bullet after methodical bullet into charging soldiers.
He had to reach Saito. Sullivan could die here, and probably would, but he needed to take that son of a bitch down first.
A Spiker nailed him with extra gravities. Sullivan laughed, gathered it up, and flung it right back tenfold. That Spiker exploded into a pink mist. A Shard came up on the side, magically hardened claws spread wide, and remarkably enough, they managed to shear through a chunk of armor. Sullivan swiveled, jammed the muzzle of the BAR against the Shard’s ribs and blew him away.
A big rifle bullet hit him in the forehead. It didn’t penetrate the steel plate, but it rocked Sullivan’s head back so hard his neck popped. He kept moving, changing magazines, pulling a new one from his chest while he scanned for where that came from. The sniper fired again, and had to be shooting an elephant gun because it hit so damned hard. One of Sullivan’s legs went out from under him and he fell on his chest and slid, but he’d seen the flash and the smoke from the top of the palace. He worked the BAR back and forth, shredding those windows and whoever was behind them.
Before he could get up, there was a Brute on his back. Sullivan slammed a steel elbow into teeth, but the Brute wouldn’t shake loose. He hardened his body for the impact, and the Brute kidney-punched rock. Even then, the Brute managed to dent the suit. Sullivan made himself weigh four thousand pounds and then simply rolled over, smashing the Brute flat beneath.
He tore gravity apart and flung it out, throwing the attacking Iron Guard off and buying himself some time. He was breathing hard. Every magical scar on his body was burning hot. Even his augmented Power couldn’t keep up with this kind of draw. Come on! Sullivan returned to his normal weight and struggled back up. Regular soldiers were rushing in, trying to put their bodies between him and Saito.
There was a flash of light and a ring of steel on steel. Sparks flew from his chest and he was stumbling back. An Iron Guard had seemingly come out of nowhere and cleaved him in the chest with a sword. That ain’t gonna pierce this—oh hell . . . And then Sullivan realized he felt far heavier. The swordsman hadn’t been trying to pierce the armor, he’d been trying to disrupt the runes carved on it.
He must have seen a vulnerability. The Swordsman blocked the rising BAR, stepped inside, carefully aiming his sword point at Sullivan’s eye, and then his skull opened up in a spray of red.
Faye was standing there, holding a dripping Iron Guard sword. She’d just clumsily hacked the swordsman’s face like she was chopping wood. The swordsman started to sit up, so Faye casually leaned over, jabbed her blade between his ribs, and twisted. “Hey, Mr. Sullivan. Are you ready for me yet?”
“Don’t let the Chairman get away,” he shouted. “Nothing else matters!”
She nodded once and then disappeared.
Sullivan looked around, realized Saito was retreating for the mansion with Toru right behind him, what seemed like half the Japanese army was heading Sullivan’s way, and he was standing in the middle of a field with absolutely no cover. He turned and ran for it.
