First actual chapter with actual plot, yay!
Enjoy!
I'm still new to this, so please tell me what I'm doing right or wrong!
...
"Fear not!"
He descended upon wings of fire.
"Hear me, oh sons of the Earth!"
He had come again, in His guise as an angel.
"The gods have heard your prayers."
It had become second nature by then.
"They have heard your cries of lamentation, and can bear it no longer."
Darius-Upesh-Na-Ark stood next to him, massive and unyielding as always. His skin was earthen, and his eyes smoldered as if from the inner heat of the very Earth. Slight Senesefretu leered in his dragon face, and held horizontal the enormous staff of law. Dutiful Abu-Agenota, raging war god, wept blood from his eyes and wielded an absolutely tremendous sword of judgment above his head. Triumphant, shining Gynogoran trumpeted their coming with his great horn of absolute victory. And Achish, brutal Achish-nam-Maccam, stood, stark black, in his cloaked guise as death, slowly, ever moving, following behind his companion's footsteps. Each was a minor deity, and a symbol of Order's victory over the Forces of Chaos, the Great Enemy, the Grimm. But even they paled in comparison to the Figure before them.
The massive Angel led them. He was so bright, the people could barely look upon His majesty. Twined around Him were thousands of intricate melting rings, upon which were another thousand weeping eyes. His eight wings were set afire and covered His glorious shining face as if to hide His Holy Sight from the impurity of the world. Always around Him, there were the endless susurrations of the old speech.
Deus ex Saboath, Deus ex Saboath,
Holy, holy, holy is God!
He was Istahariel, one of the Seraphim, direct Messenger of God. While the rest of His divine entourage were merely exalted mortals, He was a true Messenger of Heaven.
The Angel's feet touched the base clay, and He strode towards the first of the terrified supplicants. He had done this a thousand times. He had memorized each and every detail.
They would fall to their knees. They would weep. Then, when He was gone—
He was still thinking when the first man stabbed Him in the stomach.
…
The first sign that something was wrong was when Jaune felt an intense pain searing across his stomach. He tried to move, tried to curl back, to get away, but his joints seized up, and his eyes widened, as the HUD of his power armor fizzled. Instantly, the illusion shattered, leaving a gleaming chrome figure where there had once been an Angel.
It was no ordinary blade.
"Las'a Ma'alegi Emet!"
You are not an Angel.
The man roared, tears of hatred in his eyes, into the sparking camcorders in Jaune's face. Spittle coated the screen, now unable to fully clear because of the damned EMP blade—
Jaune backhanded the man, the power armor adding to his strength, and the man flew across the square. Jaune grunted with relief as the ice-cold rush of painkillers indicated his armor had reengaged. Only the fact that man hadn't been holding the disruptor blade correctly had saved him.
But it was no longer just that man; the whole damned town had just gone bugfuck nuts.
The next peasant to charge up received a blow to the stomach for his troubles. Jaune gritted his teeth, as his own muscles tore.
Impossible.
Ordinarily, a Chord was a force of nature in the lower worlds. In their own time, entire armies had fallen before them and each member had decided the destiny of nations, uplifting kings and casting down idols.
As they had been assigned here. But now—
A Chord team did not fight. That was left to the actual Gens-men and retainers. And for him—
Disgraced—
He had no choice.
I trust you will do a good job, my son.
His fingers tightened. The memories came back.
Come back with your shield, or on it.
And he had done neither—but—
He let years of instinct take over.
You were supposed to war for the glory of the Clan.
A burning temple. Laughter. Blood, spilt on the streets. The Unbound. His mother—
The spear—
He pushed it all away. Three thwacks. The next three screaming men fell, just like the dust of his memories.
"Fall back! Fall back, to the center of the square!"
He hurled himself away, trusting they would follow his orders. Hitting the ground hard, he dodged a yet another screaming woman with a pitchfork, tripping her. Her two friends were felled in similar fashion, ignominiously. He stomped on their weapons, hoping to break them.
They shone and rang, the force ricocheting up his foot. Lines of eldritch Xartupotisian flared to life on them, defying the rule of nature. He cursed. This was very bad.
Imbued.
By now, the rest of the Chord had reengaged in the center of the square. Darius roared, and let the blood of the Lords of the Crescent flow through him, lifting up two men and hurling them into the crowd. Senesh, son of the Priest-King of the Red Lands, had deftly dropped the oversized ceremonial staff and even now was raining curt, expert blows upon his enemies. Achish, Bearer of the Divine Fire of Jeroboam, the Land of Miracles, cast down baleful judgment upon those who would attack him. And Agen and Gygor were busy holding their own as well.
Gygor slammed another man against the floor. Something cracked. The man didn't get up.
"Senesh, where the goddamned fuck is the shuttle?"
"Elam's balls, it's hard enough fighting and transceiving and with your voice—"
There was a massive explosion from above. Agen swore.
"Do not tell me that was—"
"Clear!"
Achish had hurled something into the middle of the melee. Agen's eyes widened as he recognized—
It exploded.
Four of the five gleaming men stood firm. Only Jaune, with his compromised armor, was knocked down.
The townspeople weren't so lucky.
The Enron class was not lethal. But the effects had been designed to work on powered armor, which the townspeople did not have.
Most of the people in the square were down. But more would have heard the commotion. Something had shot down their vessel. And the power gauges of their powered armor slipped had perilously low, as the people began to raise a massive disruption field.
Still, there was a brief moment of silence. Coughing, blinking the tears from their eyes, they shook their heads and tried to clear their wits. Small pieces of their newest home, the Seraphim-class shuttle Ira Aquila, floated down gently. But there was no time to grieve.
There was a hissing sound as Jaune disengaged his helmet.
…
Massive fuckup.
That was my first thought. I could taste the blood in my mouth, but I ignored it.
"Senesh, get the emergency beacon ready. I don't want to die in this shithole of a village."
Agen shook his head grimly.
"Never again. Not like Udi."
There was a brief silence as we contemplated dear, departed Udi. Then we where moving.
Fuck converting Edom. I have had enough of religious heresies. We were getting out of here.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. Chords were not overwhelmed.
Ordinarily, a situation such as this one was unthinkable. We were a group of five against five hundred, but we where the Devoted while they where the Faithless.
No matter the numbers, it was untenable. You simply could not take down power-armored troops with Steel Age tech. The difference in power was simply too great. I kicked at a nearby blade again.
The disruption field flickered. Clan technology, alright. And it wasn't just that either—even the normal peasant weapons had been reinforced by power granted directly by the High Council. Not even I, or even some members of my family—
Not your family
Not even some of my rulers knew Old Xartupotisian.
Someone had set us up. Someone had gone against the Code Fidelitas and had given the Lower Kingdoms up-tech, and Imbued them with reality defying power.
Goddamned idiots.
If any more of the Bound Grimm managed to get ahold of such might, it would be a disaster—even before the Imbued weaponry was factored in. The Denovan Enclave had given ample proof of that. And we had paid the price. Or at least, Umid-Ayan-Udiwah did.
I spat. This was not the death I was looking for. Not yet—
Something missed me by a mere centimeter. I howled as the heat of the passing burned my face.
Gygor roared.
"Gunshot! Those fuckers have AP guns!"
Achish sneered, clapping his hands mockingly. They rang with a metallic ting.
"Well, that's it. We're fucking dead."
Darius slapped him across the helmet.
"Shut up, Achish. We're not dead until we're goddamned dead. Got it?"
He looked up at me, as the distinctive whine of a machine gun warming up became more apparent.
It was a shame. I hadn't been with Darius the longest. But over the years, we had become as close as brothers.
I gave him a sardonic smile. He grinned back.
"Jaune, sir, it was—"
His armor cracked and he fell, boneless, limp. There lay the son of Ark-isu-na-dad-Koresh, the King of Kings, Heir to the Universe, Lord of the Empire of Ark-an-Assad. Just like that.
Something cold
I coughed
It gripped me.
"No."
Senesh turned around, shaking his head, eyes for once wild.
"Field's too great! No warp—"
He fell back, clutching his shoulder, red blossoming. Agen pulled him away, trying to shield him with his own body. Gygor screamed, gesticulating at the heavens. Achish was looking around desperately, for an opportunity, anything. No one wanted to die, even him. And Darius…
"No!"
I could hear more people screaming from the distance. The slow wrm-wrm of machines powering. The heavy hsh-hsh of the breathing of my teammates.
"We will not die here."
I spoke, and I knew it rang with the weight of truth.
My glory surged. It—
Instantly, my armor locked.
Emergency—unauthorized use of Talent—standby for Termination.
I could feel the whine.
No no no no no
It was forbidden.
It was not for me.
If I used it—I would die. They would die. The whole place—
No
I would die anyways—
I was not—
Not for the Excidosus, not for you—
I broke the Code, and
Desecrator!
I lost it—
Traitor!
No!
And I screamed, and tore my armor away. It crumpled like so much tinfoil.
It was ridiculous. I must have looked ridiculous, in my skinsuit, near-naked, bullets pinging all around me—
But
I held my Talent, my aura, and let go.
The earth shook, under the weight of my all consuming glory.
...
Darius—
Darius was in a maze of pain. It hurt.
Am I…dead?
A burst of pain raged through his body as some damned fool stepped on him—
"Arkensis fuck!"
What was the damned whistling—
Something grabbed him, and he tried to fight back.
"Calm! Calm! It's me, Gygor!"
"Wha—what the hell is going on!"
There was a tense laugh.
"Someone's about to lay down the hurt."
…
What defined the right to rule?
Was it Law of the Council, with their Golden Answers, Bulwarks to the Six Hundred and Sixty Six Questions posed by the Grimm to reality itself?
The Surety of Science? The Beliefs of Man?
None of it, at that second, was the right answer to me.
It was solipsism.
I am.
I existed.
I was sovereign.
To use the Talent
In the videos and manuals and comics, it was described so easily.
Gesture
Feel
Believe.
Then, it came.
No.
This was to use the Talent.
I spoke, I gestured, I thought, it was.
I commanded the elements, and they cowered before.
The winds howled, hurling back their blandishments. The sniper, gunner, shooter, whatever it didn't matter—
He raised high his weapon, and dared to bring it against me.
We locked eyes, I showed him eternity.
He fell, the gun falling from his hands.
In hordes they came, bringing swords, guns, explosives and more against me. In my weaker self, perhaps I would have deigned to distinguish between them. Perhaps I would have fallen. Perhaps I would have died.
They were not worthy of my attention. They were moths before my fire.
I waved my hand, and their blows could not harm me. I spoke, and they fell down and knelt before me. I thought, and they begged for my mercy.
One man
He wept, performing proper obeisance.
I allowed him forward. He raised something black.
What was this?
I was amused.
I was invinc—
A memory flashed—
A Neuro-Mnemonic—
Loop-
Loop-
Loop-
Loop-
Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop
He spasmed, and fell.
…
And so it was.
Darius held onto Jaune's body, grimly.
Senesh staggering, had gotten onto his feet.
Bloodied Achish was laughing, daring death to take him.
Gygor was singing a hymn, something he had heard when he was at his mother's knee.
Agen once again held high his glorious, useless sword.
They awaited death.
But it never came.
For
the
sky
exploded.