A day earlier.
The dead world shook like the reanimated corpse of a giant. Deep in the bones of its ancient structure, Cadiz watched cracks spread over smooth stone that had withstood the end of a sphere. Temperature was rising steadily. It smelled like powder and charred meat.
The others looked at him wearily.
“Sire. The emergency portal…”
“Is not working. Iago. The bomb. Now.”
The powerfully built lord opened the metal case and worked through the control with great speed. The heat. It was becoming unbearable. The others were moving closer with eyes closed in resignation. To their credit, none of them spread the blame, even though they had dedicated their lives to the blade, only to face death by fire.
He pulled a pendant.from his shirt and brushed a finger over the smooth surface. It bore the semblance of a butterfly, or a moth perhaps. Death wings and a body like a dagger. The faint smell of tree sap and blood emanated constantly from it, only when one was looking. Another brush and he heard a scream of terror. The room under the Last City darkened every so slightly.
“It is done, my liege.”
“Thank you, Iago. Everyone, please gather around me.”
They did so, exchanging last nods of respect for fellow blade masters.
“I hope this works,” Cadiz muttered.
“My liege?”
The Progenitor firmly pressed on the pendant’s body. A thin needle snapped through his thumb. He felt it bite into the bone and drink greedily.
The pendant consumed a tremendous amount of power in a single instant. The intensity made Cadiz hiccup and would have forced him to move away were it not for his adamantine self-control. All of the squad felt the tether latch.
Suddenly, they were standing in the air above the ground where a mushroom of fire and death expanded upward over gutted ziggurats and crumbling towers. Shimmering colors danced around them as the ground blurred and became distant, then they were watching a beige orb hovering in the void, with a sun and distant stars in the distance. Then they were going faster and faster, locked in place. Distance changed meaning until straight lines became an absurd, diminishing concept, until the tiniest fragment of icy rocks carried an unacceptable mass, until even that and time resembled traps designed to swallow their true form in the muddy pit of existence.
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And then they were inside of a dim room covered in pillows. The air smelled of tobacco and something else. It was warm. Comfortable.
“Well well well,” a voice said.
A woman in an exotic gown that revealed a pale, naked shoulder lounged on a sagging couch. She tapped her pipe against the wood. Long, inky hair surrounded a gaunt yet elegant face like a waterfall of darkness. Her eyes were pits of nothingness.
“You lot, clear out. This is not a conference.”
Though the squad did not speak fae, the meaning carried through them anyway. Cadiz nodded to signal his assent and they made their way out respectfully.
“Cadiz. My lovely.”
“My lady Carnaciel.”
“I give you a gift of affection and you employ it as a lifeline. I am most hurt.”
“I apologize, my lady. I would not have resorted to that if I could have used an other method. Our other lifeline failed us.”
“It is that little cub, is it not?”
“She has done well. I believe she will win.”
“So you do not wish to return?”
Cadiz smiled. He shrugged. The movement felt incredibly liberating. The air here smelled good and familiar. His gaze followed the casually revealing cleavage to the barest hint of a dark nipple. An amused smile bloomed on Carnaciel. It was full of mischief.
“I have done my part. She is the one favored by fate now, and besides, I have been missing you.”
“Then come my little fencer. The night is young.”
***
Outside the room, the squad distinctly heard a moan of pleasure.
Lady Inez crossed her arms, radiating disapproval. That was most cavalier.
“Do we just… stand there?” Iago asked.
A door opened behind them. A goat man stood at the threshold.
“Come on,” he said in high Likaean. “I have prepared tea.”
“We cannot drink tea.”
“You can drink this one, vampires. Come now. I have much to explain.”
***
In the bowels of the Last City, a slave rushed by a patrol, carrying a crate of large proportions. The warrior leading the patrol turned to scream but the slave smiled and pointed up. The warrior screeched.
A moment later, this entire part of the complex collapsed on hin, burying the entire patrol under thousands of tons of rubble.
The slave shrugged. That was good enough. He stopped.
His body shifted, his form filled until what was left behind was a man, or rather, something that looked like a man. The newcomer had wild, white, messy hair like a windswept bush, and odd-colored eyes. He smiled to reveal a pair of fangs.
“Welp, suppose this is far enough.”
He dropped the third and final bomb, armed it, then stood away. He rummaged in the pocket of his coat and finally grabbed a box that could not possibly have fit there. He shook it a little. The box remained inert.
“Meh, I do not want to see that old monster anyway. Kilimandjaro is great at this time of the year. Time to brush up on my Swahili!”
He tossed the box and pulled a large book from his breast pocket. Just like the box, there was no possible way the massive tome could fit there. It floated in the air and opened at a seemingly random page, showing the picture of a large mountain.
“That was fun and new… but I can’t possibly work on a dead world to make it weirder,” Vanheim said.
He jumped into the image.
The book stayed floating for a second, shivering with outrage at being left behind. Then it willed itself back to earth through sheer annoyance.