Chapter Eighty-Six: Square One
Artillery blasts thundered in the near distance, sending tremors through the cobblestones of Greenflame Plaza.
Cass Galavis watched Adamsprite soar away into the haze until all she could see of him was the red light emanating from his sprite body.
Immediately a foreboding doubt wrapped around her stomach and clenched. Why the hell did she ever agree to remain in Greenflame Plaza until he came back? What a stupid, stupid thing to agree to. Something was bound to go wrong. Something always went wrong.
He wasn't coming back.
"Right," Cass murmured, setting off across the plaza at full sprint.
The Black Queen stared at the closed double doors serving as the entrance to her throne room.
Her fingernails clacked an impatient rhythm on the polished armrests of her amethyst throne.
What was possibly taking those clowns so long?
The Queen pursed her lips, choosing to gaze into her personal fenestrated window.
At the moment, the window showed her a lovely view of the Courtyard Droll piloting a shuttlecraft.
While initially this seemed innocent enough, further investigation revealed the presence of a one-eyed turtle consort lounging behind the communications console, casually aiming a flintlock pistol at the Dersite Agent.
The Droll appeared to be giving impromptu shuttlecraft flying lessons to the consort. No doubt the consort would dispose of the Droll once the shuttle's controls were grasped. Were the Queen in the consort's position, she certainly would not keep the squat Dersite agent alive.
As it stood, the Queen had no intention to assist the Droll in any way. Even if she wanted to help her Agent, she would have been unable – that shuttle was currently traversing interplanetary space, far from any elements of the Dersite Navy.
And speaking of…
The Queen switched the feed of her fenestrated window to something a little more invigorating: a fleet of Dersite naval warships, around fifty strong, advancing in tight formation towards a significantly smaller opposing force of Prospitian vessels.
Behind the defensive position of the Prospitian fleet was Prospit itself, spinning slowly and silently in space. The Golden Moon rotated around Prospit, tethered to its mother planet by the colossal gold chain. Four towers protruded from the moon's skyline, each marking the home of one of Prospit's four Heroes.
To the Queen's knowledge, none of these four Heroes were home at the moment.
Prospit was begging to be torched, and the Queen had committed the bulk of her navy to see it done.
A corner of the Queen's mouth twitched in a momentary grin. She made a mental note to check this feed again later. Prospit in flames was a sight she did not want to miss.
Before enjoying the demise of her sworn enemies, however, the Queen had to finish her rounds.
The window feed switched to a view of a nondescript gray building in the middle of a desolate rocky wasteland. The epicycloid image of the Seven Gates was emblazoned on its walls. Two smaller structures branched out from the main building, each bearing the same symbol.
While the building itself did very little to capture the Queen's attention, her interest was nevertheless piqued by the Prospitian shuttlecraft resting in a nearby crater, as well as the group of five people rigging explosives on the wall of one of the smaller buildings.
Humans.
A Sage, a Muse, and a Seer; all gathered in one place, with two adults as a garnish.
Delicious.
The Queen ran her tongue across her pointy teeth, savoring the anticipation. Here waited a golden opportunity to wipe out half the Heroes in one fell swoop.
Granted, that opportunity was bound to slip away if her incompetent chief lackeys continued to run late-
The double doors serving as the entrance to the throne room parted with a clunk, slowly swinging open. Jack Noir strode brusquely inside, followed closely by the Draconian Dignitary.
"At long last, the clowns make their grand entrance," the Black Queen remarked as the two Agents approached her throne. "Did you stop for coffee on the way? Along with a bathroom break or three?"
"No," Jack bluntly replied, before the Dignitary had a chance to chime in with something a bit more diplomatic. "We were busy trying to handle the Obsidian Moon. In case you haven't noticed, it's on fire."
"Head feeling heavy today, Jack?" asked the Queen, her expression growing stony. "I could remove it for you. That would take the immense strain off your shoulders. Would you like that, Jack?"
Jack's permanent scowl deepened, but he took the hint and remained silent.
"These Heroes awakened a month ago," the Queen continued, "and despite your repeated efforts since then, seven of them remain alive today. Seven. How can that be? How can my most capable Agents be foiled time and again by children? Are you ready to do your jobs properly? If so, a simple nod will suffice."
Silent nods from Jack and the Dignitary.
"Good. I have missions for you both. But first, let us be perfectly clear:" The Queen leaned forward a hair, "Another failure will reflect very poorly on your lifespans."
Craters pockmarked the streets and sidewalks of the Obsidian Moon, many still smoldering fiery red from the superheated shelling.
Artillery shook the ground underfoot with each new impact. The air was choked with acrid fumes which left a bitter taste in the mouth, billowing from the thousands of fires threatening to burn the entire district down.
Cass's lungs burned hotter than all the fires combined, clamoring for air she had no time to give.
All she had time to do was run.
How many city blocks had she traversed?
Difficult to say. Cass wasn't keeping count. No time to keep count.
Only time to run-
A nearby bakery vanished in an abrupt firestorm, shooting splinters of stone and glass everywhere. The shockwave from the artillery blast swatted Cass off her feet. She landed hard on her back, striking her head on the cobblestones.
Stars exploded across Cass's world, dancing around the peripheries of her vision. As she staggered back onto her feet, colors grew abnormally vibrant and started to blur into each other. A sensation of pressure mounted in her skull, making her head feel heavy and sluggish.
Cass tried popping her ears, but this did nothing to alleviate the pressure.
Before she could attempt a second popping, the sky was abruptly torn apart by a roaring inferno of red flames, blowing away the smog and smoke to reveal Adamsprite at the center of the conflagration, locked in combat with a deranged Gino.
Immediately Cass launched herself in Adamsprite's direction at full sprint, breaking eye contact only to avoid falling into molten craters as she crossed from street to street.
The weaponsfire and screaming no longer sounded quite so distant as they had before. If this kept up, Cass would soon find herself stumbling into the middle of a battle. Some help she would be then, with energy bolts cutting her to pieces.
A steady stream of Dersite civilians trickled through the streets in an effort to flee the nearby battle. Most sported severe burns and lacerations. Several had lost arms. Cass even spotted a Dersite whose legs ended in gory stumps above the knees, arms wrapped around the neck of his friend who carried him. She fought the urge to stop and help, continuing to hoof it down the street, keeping her eyes deadlocked on the sky.
The Dersite civilians scrambled to get out of her way, having no desire to be knocked over. By the time they could register their shock at seeing Cass alive, she was already gone.
Adamsprite and Gino continued to slug it out in the sky, trading red fire with bolts of black energy. Trying to follow either of them caused Cass's eyes to ache, so she kept her vision loose and relaxed. As she neared the fight, Adamsprite's fire started petering out, dimming and weakening with each successive blow.
Gino's dark energy, by contrast, seemed only to be strengthening.
Adamsprite would not last much longer.
Cass's lungs felt ready to burst. She wouldn't last much longer, either. Her parched throat throbbed, tantalized by the thought of ice-cold water.
Keep moving.
C'mon.
Just keep moving.
Gino unleashed another torrent of dark energy upon Adamsprite, who attempted unsuccessfully to block it with his Aspect. The bolts of energy overwhelmed the Force shield with what sounded like a cross between twisting metal and a screaming fox, swatting Adamsprite from the sky.
FUCK.
Fortunately Adamsprite still possessed enough strength for several powerful wingbeats, slowing his freefall and steering himself into the fabric canopy of a corner café, two blocks down. He crashed through the fabric and ripped the canopy's support poles from the café wall.
Keep moving.
Another artillery shell made impact nearby, consuming another cluster of buildings in the blast, sending tremors underfoot.
Shadows flickered across the street, dancing up the sides of buildings in the firelight. Slowly as Cass approached Adamsprite, the shadows congealed into an inkier consistency from which curled tendrils of pure darkness, heralding the arrival of Gino descending from the sky towards the ruins of the café.
Immediately Cass accessed her strife specibus, retrieving her assault rifle.
As soon as Gino touched down, he started walking toward Adamsprite's unmoving form, dark energy coalescing around his clenched fists and lower arms.
"Gino!" Cass took careful aim, widening her stance and bracing for recoil.
Gino turned to face Cass, his empty eyes glowing with a sickly white luminescence, staring but not seeing.
Cass tightened her grip, laying her finger gently around the trigger. "Gino, if you're still in there-"
Dark energy surged angrily forth as Gino thrust his fists forward, intent on frying Cass with a single attack.
Cass squeezed the trigger before she could even fully register what just happened, sending a small round through Gino's left thigh.
Gino's attack dissipated as he crumpled to a knee, clutching at his bleeding leg. Before Cass could shoot twice, he struggled back onto his feet and launched himself skyward, vanishing into the smoky veil.
Stowing the rifle back in her strife specibus, Cass hurried down the remainder of the block to the corner where Adamsprite lay, crouching over him to examine his wounds. Surprisingly there were no visible wounds, although the light exuded by his energetic body had dimmed to a dull ruddy brown instead of the usual vibrant crimson. Even sprites had their limits, and Adamsprite danced with his.
Cass eased her arms underneath Adamsprite's armpits, lifting him from the cobblestones and slinging him over her shoulder. She was surprised and overjoyed to discover that his body weighed practically nothing. Good thing, too, otherwise she doubted she'd make it very far before-
"Stop right there!"
A warning shot tore into the cobblestones next to Cass's feet, discouraging her from running.
"Turn around!"
Slowly Cass obeyed, swiveling around to face a group of three Dersite commandos. They stood in loose formation half a block down the street, leader in front with the other two behind, faces obscured by reflective goggles and balaclavas, rifles aimed directly at Cass. One of the two lower-ranking commandos gave a sharp whistle, signaling an additional four to emerge from the nearest alleyway, taking up positions behind the first three.
"Drop the light creature and place your hands on the back of your head!" the commando squad leader ordered. "Do it now!"
Shit.
God damn it.
Cass ground her teeth, seething inwardly as she gently lay Adamsprite back onto the cobblestones.
"Down on your knees!"
Once more Cass obeyed, putting her hands on her head as she knelt.
The commandos began to approach, weapons at the ready.
The heavy obsidian doors thoomed shut, sealing the Black Queen's throne room.
Jack Noir and the Draconian Dignitary quickly walked the length of the entrance hall, eager to put the Obsidian Keep far behind them.
Jack started to say, "Remember our-"
"Sh." The Dignitary silenced Jack with a sharp glance. "Not inside."
Jack's fingers quivered, longing to grab his knife and carve a lesson of respect into the Dignitary's shushing fucking face. Was it a good idea to blab just outside the Queen's throne room? No, probably not, but even still, no one should ever shush Jack Noir and expect him to forget it.
The two Agents passed through the entrance doors, underneath the portcullis, past the guards stationed outside. Descending the front steps and crossing the palace grounds, they approached the main gate of the Obsidian Keep's outer walls.
Awaiting the two Agents beyond the main gate were a pair of shuttlecraft, ready to whisk Jack and the Dignitary away to their respective missions.
As Jack stepped onto the boarding ramp of his shuttle, he took a moment to fix the Dignitary with his trademark glare. "Remember our agreement, D," he warned. "Start anything without me and I'll put you in the ground." He turned away and entered the shuttlecraft, boarding ramp retracting behind him.
The Dignitary's cold unflinching gaze followed Jack's shuttle up into the sky, waiting for it to vanish in the distance. He then boarded the second shuttle, joining the pilot in the cockpit as the transport began to ascend.
Ordinarily it was against protocol for passengers to enter the cockpit, but the pilot certainly was not about to cite regulations to the Draconian Dignitary. Sometimes the bending of rules was not such a difficult thing to ignore.
The Dignitary watched through the front window as the rooftops fell away and the curvature of Derse's horizon grew apparent. Gently the pilot engaged the main engines, propelling the shuttle forward at high speed. Inertial negators embedded within the shuttle's hull dampened the force of acceleration – all the Dignitary felt was a slight lurch, whereas without the negators he would have gone flying into the bulkhead.
Slowly the Obsidian Moon crested the horizon, linked by the Great Chain to its mother planet. The horizon of Derse fell away as the pilot steered the shuttle into the spatial no-man's-land separating Derse from its moon.
A veil of smoke obscured the entire moon, smoldering with red and orange light from the thousands of fires slowly consuming the city underneath. The fires were most densely concentrated in Long Night District, burning brightest near the lunar anchor of the Great Chain.
Clustered above this bright spot was a naval battlegroup consisting of three frigates and a larger battleship in low geosynchronous orbit. Every minute or so, the main batteries of these ships silently roared to life, firing volleys of massive blazing white energy bolts into the smog, striking targets radioed in by commandos fighting on the ground.
The Dignitary watched the bombardment dispassionately, treating it as a meditation. Rarely did he ever encounter an opportunity such as this to relax. Always there was some crisis requiring immediate management, a Hero on the assassination docket, or Jack Noir sending him out on dead-end assignments as revenge for a perceived slight.
Here in the cockpit of this shuttle, however, the world and its endless troubles fell quiet to the gentle hum of the main engines.
Another searing barrage erupted from the cannons of the four ships, vanishing into the smoke momentarily before the yellow-white flares of detonation pulsed through the veil.
More deaths, more rubble, more costly repairs years down the line.
The Dignitary wondered for a moment how long it would take to rebuild the moon. Eastvale District still bore scars from the previous uprising, and that was over two thousand years ago. Assuming the Queen was even interested in-
A sudden blaze of raw white light and blinding fire consumed the battleship in charge of the fleet, exploding jagged crags of twisted metal debris in all directions. Some of the debris was flung free of the Obsidian Moon's gravity well, spinning off into the Furthest Ring while all the rest fell from orbit.
The debris chunks flared brightly with the heat of reentry before they were swallowed whole by the clouds of soot and ash, pummeling the city beneath.
For the first time in a very long while, the Dignitary felt surprise. Already he could hear the pilot's helmet exploding with frantic radio chatter.
Without another sound, the Dignitary absconded to the cabin of the shuttlecraft, sealing the cockpit door behind him. He produced his personal radio, tuning it to a very specific encrypted frequency which would connect him with his cronies at the Amethyst Tower.
"Dispatch, this is Diamonds," the Dignitary calmly spoke into his radio mic. "Please respond."
Static crackled through the speaker for a moment before resolving into the tinny voice of the dispatch commander on duty: "Dispatch here. Go ahead."
"Do you have ears on the airwaves?"
"Affirmative."
"Comb through all local transmissions broadcasting from Long Night District and find out how the dissenters were able to take down a battleship."
"Working."
The radio fell silent as the dispatch commander on the other end relayed the Dignitary's orders to his listening crew, delegating the workload accordingly.
Patiently the Dignitary waited. He focused on his breathing, keeping the inhalations and exhalations to a gentle consistent rhythm. Time itself seemed to slow whenever he made conscious effort to control his breath, which was essential for maintaining a healthy undercurrent of sanity in his often chaotic world.
He glanced at the radio.
No response, yet. What was taking them so long? It should not take-
The Dignitary quickly caught himself in the act of losing concentration. He allowed the squirm of impatience to run its natural course and dissipate like vapor, inhaling slowly and deeply to reestablish the old breathing pattern.
Back in control.
Dangerous to lose concentration at a time like this, on the cusp of entering a warzone. The Dignitary had little affection for battle. He much preferred the quiescence of a sterile interrogation room, where everything was under his delicate control. Battles contained far too many variables, too many surprises, too many instances of meticulously laid plans falling to pieces.
They were messy affairs.
"Diamonds," squawked the radio, rewarding the Dignitary's mostly-intact patience. "Still there?"
The Dignitary brought the radio up to his lips. "Diamonds here," he replied. "Go ahead, dispatch."
"COM chatter is scrambled," the dispatch commander reported. "Everything is in disarray; the ground offensive was being coordinated from that battleship. Field officers are attempting to re-assert control, but everyone is screaming at once. Scouts behind enemy lines have spotted a massive sinkhole near the anchor of the Great Chain, around which the dissenters seem to be concentrating their-"
"Dispatch, I did not ask for a full situation report."
"Acknowledged. We do not know what destroyed the battleship, however we have overheard scattered sightings of two unidentified airborne hostiles who appear to be fighting each other. Aerial visibility is very poor as a result of the fires, so none of these sightings are conclusive… Hold one moment…"
Hushed voices conversed on the other end of the transmission; too quiet to understand, yet not too quiet for the Dignitary to hear.
Within a few seconds, the dispatch commander was back on the line: "This will interest you, sir," he stated. "One of my jockeys just overheard a local transmission from a recon squad; a commando is claiming to have spotted the Sylph, alive and well."
The Dignitary blinked – a momentary hesitation before leaping into action. "Isolate that transmission. Has it spread up the chain of command?"
"Negative. The squad leader is waiting to confirm the Sylph's identity before calling it in."
"Excellent. Patch me through to the squad leader immediately."
The metal cuffs' unforgiving edges bit into Cass's wrists.
She could scarcely breathe underneath the stifling black balaclava the commandos had forced onto her head. They put it on backwards so Cass could not utilize the eyeholes to see, utterly divorcing her from any knowledge of where she was and what was happening.
Not that Cass required eyesight to see how royally screwed she was.
After arresting her, the commandos immediately hooded Cass and whisked her into a heavy vehicle with a loud engine and metal benches in the back. Probably a troop transport of some kind.
Back to the Silent Dungeon, then? More long stretches of mind-numbing boredom and gnawing hunger?
Truth be told, the boredom and hunger were actually the best part of the prison experience. Whenever Cass was dwelling on the boredom and hunger, it meant she was languishing in a cell rather than screaming in the interrogation room.
Perhaps she was bound for another gallows, instead?
Was Adamsprite here, too?
Through the balaclava Cass could not see any red light emanating from Adamsprite's ethereal body, nor could she detect any traces of his familiar heat. Then again, both the light and heat he exuded had been falteringly dim when the commandos showed up. Even if he were close at hand, Adamsprite would be of no help to Cass, not after draining himself fighting Gino.
She was on her own.
Cass felt the vehicle make a turn, followed by a lowering of pitch in the sound of the engine as the vehicle began to decelerate. She took deep breaths in an unsuccessful effort to calm herself down. While she managed to avoid hyperventilating, the anxiety worming through her abdomen and stomach had no intention of leaving.
The claustrophobic hood far too keenly reminded Cass of her earlier hanging. The awful constriction of the noose tightening around her neck, unable to inhale a full breath, incapable of forming a coherent thought before the sudden plunge—
"On your feet."
A strong grip clamped suddenly around Cass's shoulder, hauling her onto her feet. She took a hesitant step forward, only to nearly fall flat on her face when the commando jammed what felt like a rifle barrel between her shoulder blades and shoved.
"Move."
Cass clenched her jaws together, pulling the plug on any potential backtalk before it got away from her. Commandos, in her experience, had no tolerance for backtalk, and they loved to dole out beatings. She had yet to master the art of ignoring a beating.
The commando ushered Cass out of the transport, down some clangy metal steps onto the cobblestones outside. She could hear the artillery blasts still, but they were quieter and the ground no longer shook. The transport had taken her far from the battle.
The ambience of the distant battle faded as the rough cobblestone shifted to a smooth floor. Cass could hear her own soft footsteps and the heavier boots of the commandos echoing against close walls – she was definitely indoors, now.
She wished she were still sitting with Adamsprite on the floor of that transportalizer chamber underneath Anubis's Pyramid. Maybe if they'd just kept talking for a while longer…
The commando gave Cass one last shove, sending her stumbling forward several steps. She heard a door slam shut behind her and winced, waiting for the next painful jab between the shoulder blades. After a few seconds of cringing, she realized the next jab was not coming.
She nearly shrieked in surprise when someone took hold of her wrists, which were still cuffed behind her back. This was a gentle, delicate grip, however; it was not the harsh grasp of her commando handler. This was someone different-
Snick!
The cuffs suddenly fell away from Cass's wrists.
Cass's liberator walked out from behind, circling around to face her, audible by their light footsteps.
"Hello, Sylph," spoke a voice which made Cass's blood freeze. "You may remove your hood now."
No.
Not him.
"I apologize for the rough manner in which you were treated, but I'm afraid time was of the essence."
Please, anyone but him.
Cass tentatively lifted her hands to her neck, slowly peeling off the balaclava.
The Draconian Dignitary stood in front of her, close enough to touch.
Cass's right pinkie finger twinged with pain.
"It is good to see you again." The Dignitary greeted her with a cold smile. "How is your finger?"
The verbal jab awakened Cass's anger, surging through the paralyzing fear – within a second, Cass retrieved her assault rifle from her strife specibus and took aim. "That's real funny," she snarled. "What do you want?"
Despite having an assault rifle aimed at his face, the Dignitary remained utterly unperturbed. "I need your help," he said.
"Sure. And I need you dead on this floor."
"That would be unwise."
"Right." Cass flicked off the safety, curling a finger around the trigger.
"You would gain very little," the Dignitary calmly pointed out, irking Cass even further with his nonchalance. "Momentary satisfaction would be yours, to be sure. But when my subordinates kill your sprite friend in retaliation, I imagine you'll wish you chose differently."
Cass removed her finger from the trigger, her mouth setting in a hard line. "Where is he?"
"Quite beyond your control." The Dignitary took a step forward and gingerly placed a finger on the tip of the assault rifle's barrel, easing it aside. "I said I needed your help, Sylph; I said nothing about asking for it."