Drago had never felt like this before.
He moved through the worshippers like an emotional tornado, his presence shaking the moods of thousands like a leaf, and leaving those within his reach forever changed. He clasped hands with a hard looking former soldier, that profession obvious by his stance and his physique, but the other mobian had tears in his eyes.
"Bless you, Father! Bless you!"
Drago nodded, brightly smiling, and moved on. When, after he had finally been accepted as a Miracle Worker and Mogul's plan had finally taken shape, Drago had found himself swarmed by the eager and faithful, all signing his praises, he had been initially rather timid. While he had a talent for speaking (or 'talking his way out of trouble,' as Hershey had said more than once), he was not really accustomed to crowds. He had grown up as the member of a small pack and extended family, and spent many months at a time alone, or in the company of just one other.
Gradually, he had become more comfortable as the center of attention of what was little more than a mob. It helped that they were all willing to die for him, rather than just want him to die. Being chased out of town was never fun, first time or fifth time. Still, it was part of what he had to do, and he had no intention of reneging on a bargain that had been so profitable, much less one brokered with someone as dangerous as Mammoth Mogul.
"Father Saul! Praise you!"
At first, Drago had been secretly skeptical about the whole affair.
"Bless me with your touch, Father!"
Mogul had promised him power "beyond the physical." Serving several consecutive lifetimes in a maximum-security prison, without the possibility or parole, what did he have to lose? Drago knew of Mammoth Mogul, of course, and how he had nearly taken over the world by absorbing all the Angel Island Emeralds, though he had not been present for those events firsthand. Drago had, during his imprisonment, gotten to know Mogul's former henchmen, the so-called 'Fearsome Four,' pretty well, and they had spoken often enough about their old employer. It had been a surprise when Mogul showed up, not to aid his ex-companions, but a lowly rogue and traitor like himself.
Mogul had offered him freedom and power, and those (along with whiskers on kittens and girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes) just happened to be a few of his favorite things. Of course, he had been a little disturbed when Mogul handed him a Chaos Emerald and told him what to do with it, but the longer Drago held the gemstone in his hands, the more sense it made.
Was it not the right of all creatures to strive for happiness, always?
His own plans had gone awry, and left an already improvised but ambitious soul with nothing. Wasn't it true that all happiness came, inevitably, from another's sorrow, just as all life came from death? For one to be free and strong, it had to be at the expense of someone somewhere! Didn't he have not just the right, but also the responsibility, to fight with all he had in him for his future, and for his happiness, even if it was like swimming against the current?
Of course.
Additionally, it had given him the opportunity to settle numerous old scores. Mogul had been clear that he indulge himself as much as he liked before getting to work, as long as it was mostly 'under the radar.' That rat bastard of a guard, Lewis, had been the first. Drago had watched him and two other guards as they nearly pummeled another prisoner to death for giving a guard the 'evil eye.' Ol' Rocky had died in the prison infirmary just a week later, they said. Drago had taken some selfish satisfaction in pulling Lewis through the bars, breaking every bone in his body in the process.
Then there had been the others: others who had wronged him, and who needed a nice long sendoff to Hell. He had also thought about going after Sonic or Princess Sally, but decided that (for all the trouble they had caused him) they had never been out to screw him, not really. Plus, he didn't want to cause a lot of trouble so early into his escape. As much as he was willing to kill, he didn't particularly enjoy it most of the time. Sometimes, he even felt bad about it afterwards, when he'd see the guy's family, or hear about how he had made some kid an orphan.
Before he had met Hershey, he probably wouldn't have cared, but after she had told him what it was like to lose her mother and her family… he shook his head. He was done with that, now, and on to bigger and better things. Mogul had told him that he could use his powers to win the adulation of the more religious mobian factions in the southlands. When he finally gotten around to trying that out, he hadn't expected anyone to see past his rap sheet.
Amazingly, it turned out that few mobians here really cared that he was a 'traitor' to the Crown. His more sordid crimes, like smuggling, debauchery, counterfeiting, drifting, maintaining a 'bawdy house' and even murder were forgiven. The Monks he had fallen in with thought that the Source had not only forgiven him, but Redeemed him as well. They gave him a new name for those early days, a name he had kept after his official 'conversion.' He became Saul, the one who was Redeemed, and who now Redeemed others.
Mogul had been right.
Drago felt foolish for doubting the ancient tyrant. The Emerald not only gave him powers to impress the locals, but he found that it gave him power over their emotions as well. He called it his "Power Voice." Even if a sermon came out lackluster, he could empower a mob by that alone. It had taken a while, but he finally achieved the power that he had wanted. It wasn't absolute, but who wanted that anyway?
Absolute power just encouraged others to fits of envy. Drago wanted just enough power to live comfortably, but not enough to become a huge target. Already, he was a little annoyed that his prestige was getting out of hand, but he felt safe with the red ruby embedded in his chest. An assassin had already tried to kill him, and had no more success with a poisoned knife in ending his life than the cliffs outside the Devil's Gulag. It had been another "Miracle," and another parable in the living legend of Father Saul.
He had never had power like this before, but he had never expected to be loved either. Not by so many, in so abstract a fashion. This was the feeling Drago had never experienced before. Not power, because he had already had a vague idea what that was like, but to be the center of a movement, and an object of adoration. This was new, and deep down he didn't quite know how to feel about it.
Because he wasn't Father Saul.
He was Drago Blackdance.
Everything he did was a lie. He wasn't healing others with the 'Revealed Mysteries of the Source" … he was using the Chaos Powers Mogul had give him. He couldn't read the runes because the Source had enlightened him, he could read them because he had coaxed the information out of the senior monks, and realized that no one knew what the higher echelon ones meant. No one thought to contradict him, because of his powers of speech and showmanship. He was actually healing mobians, this was true, but even as he did so he felt the evil thoughts rise up from within.
No: this was something different giving him his abilities. Originally, when he had used his power to crush the life out of someone he hated, he had assumed that the foul thoughts were his own. It wouldn't have been the first time he had them. But to want someone to spontaneously combust while you try to fix their broken back or arm… it wasn't normal. Mogul hadn't mentioned that, much to Drago's annoyance. He still hoped to get used to it, after a while.
He passed through the throng, nearing the back and feeling weary.
Hopefully, soon, King Max and the rest would be whipped out, and Drago could settle down to running a nice little theocracy. Then he wouldn't have to use his powers anymore, except maybe once a year, and he could relax for the rest of his days eating grapes and flank steaks. Maybe he'd even give a Source-inspired "a-ok" to polygamy as well. The southlands were full of attractive young things, and with his power there wouldn't be any rusty old Wolf Pack Shamans around to chide him for his 'feline perversion.'
Still… he wondered if they would be thinking of him as Saul or Drago?
"Father Saul! Bless me! Give me safe childbirth, please!"
Drago sighed out his nose, making hardly a sound, and placed his large white palm on the female's slightly rounded stomach. She was a feline, all black on both belly and body, nearly at full term. Mobian children were small, and rarely caused complications, but medical care was scarce here in the south. Unlike with the obviously injured, there was nothing he could do for her except pretend. If there was a problem when her time came, and if there was no doctor to perform surgery, she would probably die.
She held his hand there for a moment longer than he was comfortable, and pulled away gently. The light in her eyes and the adoration on her face made him actually hope that nothing went wrong. If they did, would her last thoughts be about him, and why he couldn't save her? He didn't like that thought. He didn't like feeling responsible, and he didn't like the idea of others depending on him. He just wanted to be happy and live a life without worry or obligation.
"Would you bless me as well, Father Blackdance?"
He recognized the voice instantly, his back straightening stiffly. His eyes searched for the source of the voice, and found her as she moved through the other mobians towards him. She was close. Close enough to have taken a shot at him, and she was closing the distance. She wasn't wearing the uniform of His Majesty's Secret Service, which made sense give the circumstances. He wondered for an instant if she meant to stab him, but then she wouldn't have alerted him to her presence.
Maybe she just wanted to hit him.
Or bash his head with a rock. He smiled at that, and let her approach. One of his brown-cloaked monks nearby moved to intercept the female feline, but Drago held out his hand. If Hershey assaulted him here, she would be dragged off and torn apart by the mob. She had to know that. Why was she even here? He motioned for the crowd to part and let her through, and they did, mumbling about this newcomer in their midst.
She looked well, but looked more reserved than he was used to, wearing a black babushkah but no other clothes, reflecting the traditional lack of dress of mobian peasant females. He knew it was the favored female fashion to wear something around the chest and neck but that was frowned upon by the Church when on holy ground. Which was a pity. She still looked beautiful to him, but much less exotic.
"Well?" She asked, as she approached him. "Will you not bless me, Father?"
He blinked in momentary confusion. "What ails you?"
"A broken heart," Hershey replied, her voice heated with resentment. "Do you think you can heal that, Father?"
He bit back a growl, and leaned in closer to whisper into her ear. "Why are you here? To kill me? To bring me to justice?"
"And if I was?" She whispered back.
"Don't you know?" He smiled a little. "I cannot be killed."
"Drago… you fool…" She licked her lips, and he heard a tremor to her voice. "You're already dying…"
His eyes widened. "What?"
"Drago. Have you really changed? Tell me you have."
"I… I have…" He lied. Or did he? He wasn't sure anymore. Not really. Even if it was a lie, he wanted her to believe it. He wanted someone who knew Drago, not Saul. He wanted someone who had loved Drago, despite his flaws, not Saul in spite of them.
"I want to believe you," she said, and he knew she meant it. Hershey was usually a poor liar, though she had tricked him that one time... "I'm not here to kill you, Drago. I just want to talk… for now."
He noticed the crowd watching them, and frowned a bit. He didn't want anyone to overhear any of that. He leaned back and faced one of the monks.
"Brother Joshua, this one will come with us."
"As you wish, Father Saul," the monk said and stepped back, letting Hershey enter their procession. Drago went back to shaking hands and offering alms and prayers, but behind him he felt Hershey's critical gaze. The Emerald within his chest stirred, like a phantom pain, telling him that she knew, that she would betray him, that she was fooling him. That he should kill her.
'If she means me… us… harm, then she will die,' he promised the gemstone, after the bombardment of thoughts and demands grew too intense. The Emerald wormed back into the depths of his soul, feeding contently off his base emotions. It finally nestled within his carnal fantasies, replaying all the times he had been rough with her, or mistreated her. All the times he had imagined that he was his father and she was his mother. It did this sometimes, when he hadn't done anything it 'liked' for a while.
It wanted to relive those moments, those times, and those feelings.
Drago silently wished he had turned Hershey away.
Hunter had seen many places over a lifetime of work and pleasure.
But never anything like this.
They were down in the deepest belly of Haven, past Reactor Access and Life Support, even. After slowly climbing down the first elevator shaft, a situation Knuckles has enjoyed an easy time with, the two of them had entered the working bowels of the complex. The air here was just as stale as it had been a hundred feet up, and the main corridor having collapsed forced them down a winding jungle of tubes and ductwork. Fortunately, they had not encountered any of the demonic little creatures that had plagued them before.
Very fortunately.
The tight and twisting confines of that place would have been perfect for an ambush, but the monsters had kept to themselves. They had been there, of that Hunter was certain, but hadn't attacked. Instead, they had continued crawling and worming and infesting the place. Finally, they had found the service elevator down. Haven's reactor was still operational, despite all the failing lighting and faulty systems, and the elevator had chimed cheerfully when they called for it.
But when it came to them, the inside was splattered with dry blood.
Hunter, veteran killer that he was, had felt a chill at the sight. It was everywhere, a lifetime's worth of crimson: on the floor, on the ceiling, in specks and trailing handprints on the walls. He had expressed his discomfort with what they were likely getting into to his companion, but Knuckles didn't seem to be in the mood to listen.
Hunter sighed.
Either the echidna was getting overly emotional, or he was shutting himself off from the world, or he was acting completely erratic. It did not fit the psychological profile Hunter had studied, back when he was first planning to make sport of the Guardian of Angel Island. The problem was that Hunter had no idea what was the cause of it, except for possibly the extended and unpleasant confinement. It was possible that Knuckles was just going stir crazy, after living his entire life in relative freedom, but the human doubted it.
There was something else.
Something he couldn't understand.
It didn't take long for him to guess what that was. Certain chemicals and illnesses aside, Mobians and Humans tended to suffer under similar environmental circumstances. Yet, there was one phenomenon that mobians were famously sensitive to at times, and humans just as famously deaf to: Chaos Energy. He hadn't even thought of it, really. It was normally far from the mind, but all this… strangeness… and Knuckles bizarre behavior…
Did it have something to do with Chaos Energy?
'Nothing can ever just go smoothly, eh?' he wondered silently, and watched Knuckles as they descended in the tainted elevator. The echidna had turned and put his palm up against one of the red smears, matching the handprint there. Hunter triple checked what little weapons he had managed to arm himself with.
Would he have to kill the echidna?
Would he be able to?
Hunter tended to think 'yes' on both accounts. Knuckles was growing more and more deranged, and he doubted that getting closet to the source would do much to help the young mobian's mental health. If Knuckles snapped, or tried to power up using the Master Emerald, Hunter would have no choice but to remove him from the equation. The thought filled him with remorse.
Killing Knuckles, the Guardian of Angel Island, would be a crowning achievement! One he would have liked recorded for posterity, and one undertaken over more enjoyable circumstances. As he was, the echidna was even more sloppy and wild than before, probably due to his straining sanity. Killing him now would be as simple and unsatisfying as avoiding the first blow and pushing a blade between his ribs or across his throat. Hunter sighed again.
"Would you stop that?" Knuckles growled, crossly.
"Oh. My apologies," Hunter replied, cordially.
The elevator descended, disappearing into the darkness.
Lara wasn't sure how she knew something was wrong.
She just did.
Their pace had quickened considerably, as the three travelers followed Miles' nose. They were close. Very close. But they had to proceed carefully, or run afoul of a trap or hologram. But it wasn't that, she somehow sensed, which troubled her new ally and benefactor. He seemed almost apprehensive, as if he knew the way to his goal, but wished to take a different route.
"Miles?" she asked, taking a couple quick strides to get closer to him as he walked.
He looked back at her. "Yes, Lara?"
His eyes were unreadable, but she could feel his worry. Over what, she could not begin to imagine. "Something's wrong, isn't there?"
Instead of anxiety, he offered her a confident smile. "There is a little problem. But I'll take care of it."
"Are you sure?" She pressed, hoping he'd tell her more.
"It isn't something you should worry yourself over." He focused forward again, with fierce determination. "Trust me."
"I do…" she said, and fell back a few steps. She did trust him. She trusted the older version of him that had sent her into the past, and she trusted this younger incarnation that had saved her. She trusted him with her life. It didn't seem to matter that she had only known him a short time. There was a bond between them. Different from friendship or camaraderie, it was deeper somehow.
Like a Soultouch.
Maybe. She wasn't sure.
Lara-Su reached up to her collar, and ran her fingers down the ruby red gem he had left inside her. She didn't even really feel its presence there as one might expect. It felt natural, like a part of her, and when she thought about it, she felt warm and appreciated and even a little lightheaded. It was like a great gift he had given her, a piece of his soul forever entrusted into her care.
"You're a pawn, you know."
That was Nail.
She knew only what Miles had told her about him. He was an echidna, genetically engineered. A clone of her father, Knuckles. He, too, had chaos powers derived from an Emerald in his body, though Miles had told her that it was not one of his. Nail had helped train Miles in the powers of the mind. The kitsune seemed to have a good amount of respect for the lessons learned, but not so much one who had taught them. Nail had wasted his talents, according to his former student.
"A pawn?" she asked him. Miles was ahead of them, not totally outside hearing range, but he gave no indication of caring about what they were talking about. Lara ended up alongside Nail as they walked. He did look like Knuckles, save for the cloak and the headscarf.
"That Chaos Emerald in your chest is a leash… a chain. You're his pet. His pawn," Nail said bitterly. "That's all we are to those with that kind of power. I don't think all the training in the world could have changed that about him. Or them."
"How can you say that?" Lara defended the kitsune. "He has given me a part of himself. What greater sign of trust can there be?"
"It isn't about trust. Don't you understand, Lara? From when you met him, to right now, and into the future… the only things on his mind are the ends. I can't say I disagree with that end, or those aims… to fight an evil that would corrupt the world requires steadfast opposition. But to cloak one's actions towards that end, to use others and call it justice… to call it anything except exploitation…"
"Would you rather be powerless?" She snapped, a little angry with him. "Would you rather be nothing, or a pawn? All power has a source, and a price!"
He looked at her, surprised. He had not given her enough credit, it seemed, and he took a moment to re-evaluate her. She was young, but older than Miles had been when he had decided that he knew better than everyone around him. When he had left behind the name of Tails. Lara-Su, like Miles, had a maturity and understanding that came from experience, not learning.
"You're right, of course…" he conceded. "You probably have the kindest Master of us all."
"If he is to be my Master… then I will accept that with an open heart. I can feel through this chain, through this leash… that he has caring within him, and that he is a force for good. Even if hard things must be done, he will be a force for good." Lara held her hand over the little red jewel. "What better purpose can one life have?"
"It looks to me like you've become pretty smitten with him," Nail said, and shook his head in disapproval. Lara was just like Rouge in that respect. The batgirl had fallen for his power and his blood, and Lara seemed to be likewise, though under different situations. Even Amanda had not been immune. In different ways, all three females had become attached to him for what he could be, rather than what he actually was.
"That would be the Emerald you feel for, not him," he admonished. "You may have a connection to his heart, but I've seen his mind. Even if only for an instant."
"You didn't like what you saw?" Lara asked.
"I do think the arrogance and cruelty was transitory… but the willingness to dominate, to dictate… the thought that his power and his knowledge place him above morality or condemnation - I don't think that has changed. When he realized his potential and his place in the world, we became cogs in his great machine." Nail sighed. "I do not believe that this world will ever know freedom. Not for another Age. Perhaps not ever."
"I think I know what you mean…" Lara admitted. "Like you have a choice, but not really. Your choice is already made, all you have to do is agree with it. Sometimes I think I had no choice but to end up here, even though it was what I wanted. Even though I took every step in the journey."
"A pawn can only move forward," Nail said, bleakly.
"Unless it becomes a Queen." She smiled, cheerfully. "Or in your case a Rook."
"Not a Knight?"
"The Knight is actually a weak piece. All show and little substance." Lara paused. "Look. Something up ahead."
Nail had already seen it. Miles was in front of them, and he had stopped walking. There was a large outcropping ahead of them, the side of a large hill of rock. Then they passed through some sort of holographic barrier, and they saw it for what it really was. The side of rock held a cavernous opening that dipped down into a hanger.
But between them and that, stood a lone figure.
"No…" Nail hissed between clenched teeth. "Not him…"
"It is about time you made it, Miles "Tails" Prower…" The large frame of Mammoth Mogul, replete in tailored brown suit and jacket approached them, his cane occasionally tapping on the ground. "And I see you've brought some friends. Let's see: the clone, and the girl from the future. Yes. It was wise not to come here alone."
"I suppose this meeting was only a matter of time." Miles crossed his arms over his chest. "You look better than I've ever seen you, Mogul."
"I paid a high price for it." Mogul cocked his head to the side, and examined the kitsune before him. "You've grown so much since we last crossed paths. You used to be such a little kit, and now you stand before me, eye level. Truly amazing."
The fox and the mammoth exchanged looks for a few long seconds.
"Your friends may continue into this fallen Haven, but I'm afraid you may not, Tails." Mogul held his cane before him in a relaxed posture. "Or Miles. Which do you prefer?"
"Miles is my preference. The boy you knew as Tails was only a dream." Miles inclined his head to Lara and Nail, who stood only a few feet to his right. "Go on. Find Knuckles, and do what must be done."
Lara seemed torn. "But…"
"No buts, Lara. Please do as I say, and find what you came looking for here in the past." He was smiling, reassuringly. "Listen to Nail. Despite his many, many faults… he has at least some vague notion of what to do when a situation becomes dire."
"Hmf!" Nail grumbled, loudly. "Nice to see your opinion of me is so high."
Lara still hesitated. "Are you sure…?"
"Quite sure." He faced Mogul again, who seemed composed and even a little bored by the whole exchange. "Neither of you are destined to face this one. This is a matter for the two of us to decide. I'll be fine, I promise."
"Is this the only reason we're here, Miles?" Nail asked, and started to walk towards Haven's Gate, his eyes on the looming threat of Mammoth Mogul for any hint of aggression. Lara quickly caught up to him, but her eyes were on the stern young kitsune that protected them.
Miles didn't reply immediately to Nail's question.
"Yes. It is," he finally said. "However, I trust in your skills enough that wishing you luck is merely a formality. Go now. Before you test Mogul's patience."
Across from him, Mogul snorted loudly in unspoken agreement. The two echidna broke into a jog for Haven, the eyes of Mogul and Miles following them. The fox heard them yell something back at him, wishing him luck as well, and then they were gone. He tried to put the danger they would be in out of his mind, and focus on the task at hand.
"I wouldn't become too attached to them, if I were you," Mogul spoke again, now that they were alone. "I wouldn't become too attached to any of them. Their existence is transitory. Sooner or later, they will die… or wish to die… and then where will that leave you?"
"It will leave me alone, with shadows and regrets," Miles answered, and his voice was not without emotion. "But it will not turn me into a creature incapable of caring, for fear of loss."
Mogul didn't seem convinced. "You say that now, when you are young. I wonder: would your tone waver if you saw your children and grandchildren die of old age? Would your tone waver when your wife and lovers leave you and return to the dirt from whence they came? When all you knew is dust and fading memory?"
"Don't you think I've asked myself that? Don't you think I've wondered if the years will turn me into you, or Merlin, or even your former apprentice?" Miles felt a burden fall from his shoulders, discussing this with someone who could understand it.
Mogul's eyes narrowed. "Do not place me in the same durance as you, Merlin, or The Devourer. I cling to life because I choose to! Because I still have much to offer this world! Not because I cannot die. Not because I have no alternative!"
"Is that what you think of me?" Miles asked, genuinely insulted.
"You have a cause now. You have that which you believe in. I can respect that, because that is what drives me, as well. But without death… without the threat of it hanging over your life, you are nothing! You are a rock, a mountain, a river; you are a force of nature. Not living, only existing!" Mogul seemed saddened by this. "Chosen One. When your dreams turn to bitter remembrances, you will become one of the Deathless… you will exist not because you choose to, but because you are doomed to!"
Miles shook his head.
"I have seen it. With these eyes of mine, I have seen it. Your idealism and beliefs will bleed out of you, and leave only an empty heartless shell, with no ambitions, no dreams, and no hopes. All that will be left is a husk of what once was. I pity you that, Miles," Mammoth Mogul's words seemed entirely genuine. "I pity that you will never know the life of a normal man. I pity those you have ensnared in your plans and schemes. You, who would be Master of Puppets."
"If living so long makes one wish for death, than why do you cling so tenaciously to it?" Miles asked, and lowered his arms. "Why did you let The Devourer, who you hate, place that Brand on your chest!"
"It was a moment of weakness," Mogul admitted. "You must think me a tyrant. But I do believe that the world would be better off in my grasp. I do believe that I can bring this world peace and order and security. I have to believe that! Or what other reason do I have for all I've done!"
"I did think you a tyrant. When I was younger, and you threatened destruction to those who opposed you. When I was younger, and you announced the dissolution of all my friends had fought for. What did I care for the Kingdom of Acorn? But living under your rule, no matter that it would have ended the war with Robotnick, no matter that it may have saved lives, no matter that it may have been what was best… would have hurt my friends. It would have destroyed their spirits!"
"And now?" Mogul asked.
"Now… Now I cannot let you run free. Even if you were not in the thrall of The Devourer, you would still prove a potential obstacle to my own designs. I never hated you, Mogul, but I will not let you do what you want, now that we have met once more…." Miles made a fist, and then pointed an accusing finger at the mammoth mobian. "I won't let anything or anyone stand in my way! That is my One Absolute Determination!"
"Young kitsune… for all I despise and regret what I have become over the last year, for all that I hate this Emerald in me… I will not let anyone kill me! I will fight for life! I will fight with every fiber of my being! It is the only way I know how!"
Mogul unbuttoned his coat, and tossed it aside to flail in the fierce winds that had kicked up. He held out his hands, and the Emerald that made him a Slave began to glow, like a fire in his body. Bright green light flooded out, bathing Mogul's features in a menacing malachite highlight. His clothing ripped as his body grew, larger and larger, muscles erupting from beneath cloth and tearing it to shreds. He leaned back and roared, and the ground shook beneath him.
The skies darkened, as rolling thunderclouds collected overhead, like spectators. Miles watched, and tried to gauge what he was to face. Within moments, his opponent was double his previous size, and still growing. Tendrils of lights whipped out of the Emerald in Mogul's chest, weaving themselves around his shoulders and torso, forming a thick linen cuirass, reinforced around the shoulders; then bronze grieves around the legs and feet, followed by armored bracers around the forearms. Gold and silver inlays and cords tied themselves into the ancient armor to complete the image of a Bronze Age warlord. His cane, too, grew thicker and longer, a tapering point forming and expanding into a glaive, a single chaos emerald embedded in the centerline of the blade.
Mogul stood, finally, over twenty meters tall.
"Behold!" The mammoth roared. "The Spear of Rhadamanthus! His Last Work, His Loyalty made Manifest, his Body and Soul Given to Me!"
In his right hand, Mogul's glaive sported a blade longer than Miles' entire body. With a flourish, he slammed the bronze capped rear of the weapon into the ground. A sound like a hundred thunderclaps all blasting at once nearly deafened the kitsune, who was saved only by his own formidable chaos powers. Had Lara or Nail been present, he doubted either would have even survived the shock. The ground split and cratered, looking less like solid rock and more like jelly.
High above, it began to rain: heavy drops mixed with hail.
"MOGUL!" Miles roared, over the tumult of the storm. "Is this your true self?"
"When last I assumed this form…" Mammoth Mogul spoke, in a deep echoing voice that filled all the world. "It was to do battle with The Devourer Himself! This is the ultimate expression of my physical power!"
Standing in the shadow of a giant, Miles smirked. "I'm honored…"
"Well, Miles…" Mogul also smirked in appreciation of the irony. "Are you prepared?"
Miles finger's flexed eagerly. "I AM!"
Mogul lifted the multi-ton chaos empowered weapon. "Then let it begin!"
And it was from the ground, not the sky, that thunder shook the air.
"TARGET ACQUIRED!"
"FIRE!"
Devyn, Echidna Officer Fourth Class, felt the seat beneath him rumble as the magnetic coils in the turret over his head flexed their power, accelerating a bolt of burning plasma to supersonic velocities towards the enemy. On the enhanced vision of his Command HUD, he saw the round hit the target. For a moment, it seemed to do nothing to the small shape identified within the electronic fire control brackets as EHA-017, then the conical shaped charge of the plasma round ignited post-penetration. A distant fireball engulfed the object, three thousand meters ahead.
"Hit! Target destroyed!" The gunner cheered over the intercom.
"Good shot!" Devyn said, not just for encouragement, but because it had been well executed and deserved praise. "Drem! Forward Face to three o'clock!"
"Aye!" The driver said, from his own compartment ahead and below of Devyn's. Behind the Officer Fourth Class, the engine of his armored vehicle hummed softly, hydrogen fuel cells performing at optimal levels. It was reliable, and he didn't worry about it. The most likely problem with the cells would be if an enemy round hit and caused a breach in containment while igniting the store. In which case he still wouldn't worry about it, because he'd be flash fried in a tenth of a heartbeat.
Devyn tried to keep an eye on everything around him while the tank moved across the green landscape. Here and there, he could see the detritus of battle strewn about: wrecked half-tracks and lighter vehicles, and a handful of burning Echidnapolis tanks. There were some shallow graves nearby, hastily dug in a lull between the fighting. More liberally distributed were the corpses of the enemy, bloated and fat in the afternoon sun, their macabre yellow and black bodies mottled with specks of green and red.
There would be thousand more to join them, if Devyn had his way.
"Targets sighted! Two o'clock! Begin approach!" Devyn barked, as the HUD located, identified, highlighted and categorized the opposing armor. They were cresting a ridge, a long hill (Hill 5-28) that had been overrun during the enemy advance yesterday. These had been also identified by airborne intel earlier in the day, and the information downloaded into the tank's computers. There were other shapes too, mixed in: smaller ones, some of them flying.
The turret transversed, as the tank rolled ahead, chewing two long lines in the moist dirt, contemptuously ignoring or crushing anything in its path. The body of the tank moved as well, steering to present its superior forward armor to the enemy. Doctrine stated to approach on a diagonal at all times, and though the crew had never seen combat before the Xialjyet invaded, they had been rigorously trained to fight the Combot Legion. In their minds, this was little different.
"ACQUIRED!" The gunner yelled.
"FIRE!" Devyn commanded and the weapons system roared superheated death. Behind and before them other armored vehicles made similar overtures to the enemy. Several disappeared in fireballs. One seemed to have cooked off its ammo ad fuel in a more spectacular fashion, and the upper half went straight up into the air, spinning like a ten-ton top.
"Got im!"
Devyn grinned widely, when suddenly a sound like the end of the world filled his little world, and shook him to the core. The HUD flashed blue, confirming a hit to the glacis plate – the heavy frontal armor on the body of the tank. Internal control and maintenance noted the damage, and informed him that it was not critical. No primary or secondary systems were damaged.
The tank commander sighed in open relief.
The enemy employed armor piercing, fin stabilized, discarding sabot (APFSDS) shells similar to those the dingo used to use in their older post-collapse main battle tanks. Devyn didn't think this enemy used the same Magneto Electrothermal Cannons as the dingo, but he had heard that they used some form of liquid propellant to achieve projectile velocities of around two thousand meters a second. Which was impressive, for a conventional slug thrower. It was certainly enough to punch through the magnetic and electronic countermeasures used by his tank, including the vehicle's external shield.
For their apparently inferior technical sophistication, the enemy had size and numbers on their side. A tiny light, followed by a miniaturized display, informed him that two allied tanks were out of action: a lighter Tobor class, that had been totally destroyed, and one of the heavier Mathias class, which was heavily damaged but not destroyed. If they had the chance, the techs at base could start repairing it, but more importantly it meant that most of the crew could escape and survive… on foot.
Devyn wished them luck.
"'V' Right! Targets: twelve o'clock!" He ordered, and the driver began to slow the vehicle. They had to start moving in the other direction, and draw the enemy between the expanding line of armored vehicles. It would divide enemy attention, lessen the risk of any one vehicle being the collective target of multiple enemies, and allow for a flank on at least one side. The tank stopped for only a moment, jerking Devyn forward a bit, and then moved back.
"ACQUIRED!" Elidor, the gunner, had locked onto another of the enemy. According to Devyn's display, the target was about two kilometers out.
He gave the order. "FIRE!"
The main gun spat fire, and an instant later another enemy tank exploded.
"Another one!"
The whole targeting and firing system was fully stabilized, so the maneuvering of the vehicle backwards at an obtuse angle, turning ninety degrees, and then heaving in the other direction did not significantly harm the chances of hitting the target. Devyn's tank and several others headed right, firing.
Another Mathias class about a hundred meters behind took two consecutive hits, one to the front and another to the rear, near the engine. It was a glancing blow because of the angle, but a long fountain of fire spewed out the back at the fuel cells vented. The tank slowed, and it got off one last parting shot before the crew bailed. The tank commander was on top of the vehicle, about to jump away, when another enemy round hit, puncturing the side armor.
The tank blew apart.
"Targets: ten thirty!"
"TARGET ACQUIRED!"
"FIRE!"
"KILL!"
"FREE FIRE!"
The ECM display blared a warning, and Devyn noted the threat of incoming missiles. The enemy infantry, or what passed for them, were in range and unleashing their anti-armor weaponry. Unfortunately, while echidna electronic countermeasures could spoof most any anti-tank missile on mobius, this enemy seemed to employ an exotic system. They were highly resistant to electronic jamming, and the word through the armored forces was not to rely on traditional methods to get things done. Devyn ran through the list of probable sources of the electronic contact, be it laser or radar guided.
He found it, and not a moment too soon.
A Xialjyet soldier, on the ground about five hundred meters away, was carrying a large tube-like weapon that resembled a mobian CLAW – one of their disposable rocket launchers. The coaxial was facing in the wrong direction, and the external machinegun mount wasn't remote or auto controlled (whose dumb cost-cutting idea was that?) so Devyn loaded the target profile and sent it frantically to one of the nearby Tobors.
Just as he sent it off, one of the handy little light tanks opened up on the Xialjyet drone with its 20mm automatic grenade launcher. The yellow and black creature became engulfed by gray and orange explosions; blown to pieces in an instant. The coaxial laser on Devyn's tank participated, as well. While it was transversing, it fired at another heavily armed Xialjyet soldier, cutting him or her or it in half. Three more took to the air to replace it.
Devyn sighed, patted his helmet (and integrated HUD), and popped out of the cupola to man the external machine gun. The enemy armored column had thinned, but it was still a target rich environment. Gripping the weapon firmly as he stood, he visually took aim and opened fire. A cluster of Xialjyet shook as his aim found them, and they fell to the ground a mess of blasted limbs and torsos.
"Target Acquired!" He heard over the intercom built into his helmet. Devyn felt heat on his face as another tank, a Tobor, went up in flames.
"FIRE!" He yelled back.
The cannon in the turret below and around him roared. Now outside the contained environment of his armored shell, the plasma accelerator sounded like nothing more than the angry hiss of a great ant terrible serpent, as steam and air rushed out of the sides of the barrel. Like a dragon, fire was its weapon of choice, and only a kilometer away (nearly point blank range, now) an enemy armored platform blew to Hell.
The Xialjyet were swarming now, filling the air and scurrying over the ground, the beating of their wings like a hundred living engines overhead. They began to dive in fives and sixes; their formations being cut to pieces by echidna return fire. Inevitably, one suicide bomber would get through, and explode against a tank or lighter armored vehicle. When it did, it splattered a sticky wet substance that burned intensely, forcing the crew to hunker down in their shelters, and blinding their external sensors and making them an easy kill for follow up attackers.
Devyn could see that half a dozen tanks were already burning.
"Target Acquired!"
"FIRE!"
The turret transversed, the coaxial laser burning a handful of Xialjyet on the way.
"Target Acquired!"
"FIRE!"
A burning glob hit the cupola, just to Devyn's left. It hissed and fumed, as if angry that it had missed him. Devyn knew about those too – the chemical weapons of the enemy. He had seen pictures of echidna hit by those, as it ate their bodies away and poisoned them, killing slowly and painfully. He swiveled the machine gun, letting his training and the computer in his helmet take aim, his hand clenching hungrily over the trigger.
"Incoming Message from Battalion Headquarters!" A friendly female voice called into his earpiece. "Incoming Message from Battalion Headquarters! Incoming…"
"Damnit!" Devyn cursed, and ducked down into the tank again. He didn't feel comfortable being exposed and having his attention divided. He acknowledged the message.
"This is Battallion HQ!" Now the voice was far from friendly or female. It was the voice of Officer First Class Leewyn. "We have lost Air Support over Sector thirty nine. Withdraw all advance forces to Sector forty-eight. Repeat: withdraw all forces to Sector forty-eight!"
"Aurora curse it all…" Devyn sent a quick confirmation to HQ, and relayed the message to the rest of the Armored Company. Inwardly, Devyn was both relieved and disgusted. Less then two kilometers from Hill 5-28 and they'd been forced to fall back. From here, he could see, with his bare eyes, the smashed and blasted city of Echid Salir. He was no General, but he knew that to get the city back they had to re-occupy the high ground around it.
However, advancing under these conditions and without air support was just plain reckless. The Xialjyet were everywhere, buzzing and swarming. Why hadn't Battalion Artillery properly sanitized the area like they'd promised? Why wasn't the air support on hand? Were they being attacked to the south again? So: they fell back. Again.
Devyn growled under his breath.
Retreat would only be an option for so long. Echidna Romir was holding to the north, but it was only about a hundred miles between Echidna Salir and Echidnapolis itself! The enemy couldn't be allowed to hold the initiative, and be able to project his forces into the heartland of Angel Island.
Behind him, the reliable hydrogen fuel cell engine hummed, and began to move the tank backwards as a good pace. The main gun fired again, and the gunner whooped, but Devyn was still frowning. They were leaving behind damaged but serviceable machines in the retreat, too. He hoped the crews that survived were able to find cover, or jump onto a passing armored vehicle. It took longer to train a good tanker than to build a good tank.
He popped back out into the cupola.
The Xialjyet were not pursuing, content to defend their ill-gotten gains, and pick off any weak looking stragglers. The battle had been fast and furious, like all the ones Devyn had taken part in, but time always seemed to run tightly together when one was fighting for one's life. Far off, he heard the boom of heavy artillery.
Third Battalion – his own.
They were pounding the city of Echid Salir again, trying to break up enemy attempts to move troops through it. To the south near the mountains, around where second Battalion was fighting, the sky was full of tiny fires. Though he couldn't see it, Devyn knew there was fierce fighting to the north, too, amid the deep green of the Mushoom Hills and the forests there. Already that beautiful land had been decimated by Robotnick when he first came to claim the Master Emerald and now those who called Angel Island their home were doing much the same.
Devyn shook his head sadly.
This was not how Angel Island was supposed to be.
Minalkra was led through the hall to what he knew to be his inevitable death. He smiled, nonetheless. What had surprised him was not where and how he was to die, but on how swiftly they had brought him there. It was most generous of them to have flown him, at no small expense, right from the Casino Night Airport to Mobotropolis for 'trial.' He suspected that the city was now in full revolt, by the nervous expressions on the faces of his captors.
Yes.
The King and his Agents had been most generous and amiable to do exactly as Minalkra had hoped they would. He also suspected that the other members in the little Secret Club of which he was a member would be quite happy with his tragic demise. It was difficult for firebrands to get along with one another; it was painful to have to share the stage, one had to understand.
No matter.
The guards ushered him into a special room, with white tile on the floor and walls. There were three hard looking mobias standing around a wooden chair. Minalkra's eyes motioned to the tools of their trade, lying on two tables nearby. He smiled pleasantly at them.
"I do hope one of you gentlemen is a doctor…" he said, as if they were meeting on a golf course and not in a torture room. "I would so hate to die before meeting the King."
"Answer all our questions to our satisfaction, Mr. Chapelleverte, and the doctor will not be required." The voice came from behind, and Minalkra knew it was one of St. John's seconds' in command. It was a little sad that the good Mr. St. John couldn't be present, but it was likely that the King wished to talk to him about that little massacre he's caused. It really was a tragedy.
The mobian, a skunk whose name Minalkra never learned, continued, "Are we understood?"
"Hmm. Not quite, I'm afraid," Minalkra was quite pleased with how he could measure his tone to seem reasonable instead of condescending. "Who is this 'we' you mention so much? I would like to meet 'them.'"
"We speak for His Majesty The King, of course," the skunk replied, and guided Minalkra to his seat. "We ask questions in his name, and you will answer them for He is your Sovereign and not to be denied."
The mobian rat and former nobilitas nodded in apparent understanding.
Everything was exactly as it was supposed to be.
