Now, Earth
Tessa missed the stinky fertilizer. She’d trade it back in a second instead of running wind sprints across the park with a weighted vest along with weights around her arms and ankles. Normally fifty extra pounds wouldn’t have been a problem for her.
Her dad made it a problem with his powers. Magnetic fields added significant resistance to her ability to run forward. Even pumping her arms and legs was a struggle.
Hell week.
Tessa didn’t think much of the term when her dad had told them that was going to be the start of him taking a more active hand in their training. It was also part of their punishment for running off to fight cultists contrary to the rules. She vaguely remembered listening in during one of her dad’s and uncles’ drinking sessions back when her Uncle Cal hadn’t left for another world and her Uncle Eron hadn’t gone south.
She recalled that her dad and Uncle Cal had to do hell weeks during their high school sports days. From the sounds of it her dad had a tougher go of it than her uncle. The latter had said that he stayed in shape year round and would actually prepare for hell week. He’d ratchet up the intensity of his cardio in the weeks leading up to it, so that by the time it came around he was better able to handle the rigors.
She figured that having super stamina wouldn’t make it a big deal. After all, she could run a couple of miles at a sprint before she even started breathing hard. What she didn’t count on was her dad really taking this whole thing seriously.
“C’mon!” her dad bellowed as she rounded the cone and started back down the way she came. “Three more, Tessa!”
Her lungs were on fire and her arms and legs felt heavier than she had ever realized they could. As she passed Veronica coming from the other direction, she noted that her little sister had a look of fierce determination on her face.
Jesus Christ. Vee’s probably repeating the word justice in her head, Tessa thought. She tried to hide the pain and misery that was probably plain on her face. She had to look more determined than her sister, set the example.
Veronica waved and even gave a slight smile as they crossed.
Damn it! Dad’s probably taking it easier on her. Not fair! Tessa thought. She put on a burst of effort. She couldn’t let Veronica catch up to her at any cost. I can do this. Fifth wind time. Let’s go!
“Three more, Veronica!”
Her dad’s voice spurred Tessa on. Almost as much as Veronica’s footsteps that her tired mind was imagining getting closer and closer.
Tessa could barely see clearly by the time she crossed the cone on her last sprint. She collapsed onto the green grass and rolled over to her back. She was gratified to see that Veronica finished well behind her.
Her little sister dropped to the ground beside her.
“Get up! Hands on your head! Breathe!” Her dad barked like some kind of demented drill sergeant. “Small sips of water when you’ve got that under control.” He placed a water bottle next to each of them. “Five minute break. Then we go again. Super stamina means we really need to work hard to push your limits.”
‘We’… there was no ‘we’. Tessa would’ve glared at her dad if she wasn’t too busy dying of oxygen deprivation. He was just standing around with his stupid visor and whistle. Where’d he get those anyways?
“Yes, dad,” Veronica said in between deep breaths.
Her little sister was already standing with her hands on top of her head.
Tessa struggled to her feet and copied her little sister’s pose. It helped open up her lungs to help with the oxygen issue.
“One more hour of this then we break for lunch. After that we’ll do an hour of stretching. Then we’ll head to Miss Gozen’s for two hours of melee weapon training. Then we’ll lift weights for an hour, followed by dinner. Another stretch break. Then we finish up with two hours of powers training.”
Remy saw the looks of dismay on both his daughters’ faces. It was one thing to intellectually comprehend the concept of hell week. It was an entirely different thing to live it. He tried to stamp down the sympathy he felt. He reminded himself that he had to do this because they had almost died. The lesson had to be harsh for it to sink in properly.
“Don’t worry girls,” he used his gruffest voice, “we’re just getting started. You’ve got a whole week of this to look forward to.”
The looks on their faces were eerily similar to the ones they had many years ago when Eron had accidentally let slip that both Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny were fabrications to encourage rampant consumerism. That hadn’t been a fun day.
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The girls were having lunch with their mother, which meant that Remy had an hour free to take care of some unpleasant business. Namely a meeting with the city council. It was a high level meeting including the leadership of the Watch and even a representative from the interim state government. Although if he remembered correctly they had dropped the ‘interim’ tag a few months ago. They were going to discuss the next steps in what to do in regard to the discovery of the weird cultists and the fishman.
Remy walked into the room and took the nearest open seat at the table. In his haste to stay close to the door he had failed to notice that he was now sitting next to Colonel Wayne Johnson. The grizzled, retired soldier in charge of the community’s organized fighting force, which was mainly the Watch. Although the colonel was working on getting a more professional force started he was having some trouble with getting the younger generation to buy in.
“Cruces.” The colonel chewed glass.
“Colonel Johnson,” Remy nodded. He had learned that any further pleasantries would’ve been pointless.
“Cruces, do you have time after this meeting? I’d like a word.” Officer Demi Lawrence, operational commander of the Watch, spoke from the other side of the colonel.
“If it ends early. I’m on a tight schedule.”
“I heard about that. Well, it’s important so, I’d appreciate it if you could make time. As soon as possible.”
Remy noticed that the muscles of the colonel’s neck and jaw tighten. For an older guy, he was still in pretty good shape. Something must’ve pissed the old man off. Remy didn’t care too much. He checked himself. He was starting to think like his brothers. He didn’t want to be quite as antagonistic as they were when it came to interacting with the authority figures.
“Tomorrow at this time.”
“I’d rather we get it done today, but alright. We’ll meet in my office.”
Several more people filed into the room as Remy tried to ignore the waves of hostility emanating from the colonel. It was almost palpable. He wondered if the old man had somehow picked up some kind of Skill that converted disgust into an aura. He hated that it was a legitimate possibility. He considered asking the colonel, but the meeting was called to order.
“Right, we’re all busy. Let’s get right to it,” Councilman Scott Deakins said. “What are we going to do about San Francisco?”
“Does anything need to be done? The only thing we have to go on are the words of children,” Councilwoman Devon Castleton said.
It occurred to Remy that the city council hadn’t changed much and they were at year six going on seven post-spires. It was a wonder that term limits and elections hadn’t been discussed yet. Something to look into.
“One of the representatives from San Francisco was the principal figure in the summoning ritual that we partially interrupted.”
Officer Lawrence said that with a straight face. She had come a long way since the early years.
“Additionally, we have the magically mutated bodies of the other representatives in our morgue.”
Again, she said it with a straight face. It had taken her years, but it seemed that she had finally bought into the spires’ bullshit. Remy hadn’t been to a meeting in a long time. He needed to reassess how he viewed the watch leader.
Councilwoman Castleton was aghast.
“There’ll be an issue with that,” Councilman Trent Smith said.
The long-retired local politician was already ancient when the spires had appeared. Surprisingly, he didn’t look that much different from what Remy remembered.
“Whatever the circumstances, we killed their people. They can use it as an excuse. A cassus belli.” Councilman Smith nodded toward the colonel.
“Can they though? We’ve got evidence. Assuming things happened just as our brave young men and women described. Well, they were attacked first. We can claim self-defense,” Councilman Deakins said. “We’ve got the scene secured. The blood circle, plenty of pictures, video. The mutated bodies of the people they sent to us under the guise of diplomacy, along with the other… indigents.”
“From their attire, the rest of them were mostly from a motorcycle gang,” Officer Lawrence chimed in.
Councilman Deakins gave her a thumbs up. “Right! San Francisco clearly attacked us first.”
“While all of that might be true, it doesn’t matter,” Colonel Johnson graveled. “Councilman Smith is right. We have to treat San Francisco as our enemy. They were planning this from the beginning. We got lucky that we stumbled on it early. Imagine if they were able to set up those summoning circles around town. They could’ve had us drowning in those fishmen before we knew what hit us.”
The colonel spoke like a man that was still resisting a full buy-in. He was right though. Remy had already considered that possibility.
“Was this fishperson even real? It was dark, maybe the kids only thought they saw it. Might’ve been a man in a costume,” Councilwoman Castleton said.
“It was there as described,” Remy jumped in. “My daughter has better than normal human eyesight. Her perceptions are also superior. The fight would’ve moved slowly from her viewpoint. Plenty of time to take in important details. Especially since it was a new kind of monster. One that talked.”
“That’s impossible. Are you sure she wasn’t imagining it? Like I said it was dark and scary. She’s only sixteen…” Councilwoman Castleton looked desperate.
Many of the faces around the table shared a similar look. Remy knew for a fact that everything he had said was already in the report that all should’ve read. He supposed that hearing it from him drove in the reality of it.
“I taught her. I trust her.”
As far as Remy was concerned the matter was closed. It seemed that the others agreed. No one had anything to add.
“We need to track that fishman down. We need the intel it’ll provide,” Colonel Johnson said. “Matter of fact, more intel is what we need right now. The only thing we know about what’s supposedly going on in San Francisco came from those people and clearly that information is now suspect.”
“It stands to reason that a fishman, even if it can somehow survive on land, needs water,” Councilman Smith said.
“The descriptions we got suggested that it had gills at the sides of its neck, head,” Officer Lawrence said.
“Tessa was clear on that as well. She noted flaps that reminded her of fish gills.”
“How is that even possible? How can it have gills and also breathe air?” Councilwoman Castleton said.
“Gills take oxygen from the water. Mudskippers are amphibious,” Remy said to a blank look on the councilwoman’s face. “Also it could be magic.”
“Oh.” The councilwoman nodded in comprehension.
Councilman Smith cleared his throat. “There are canals it could’ve went to. The creek leads to Lake Berryessa. The ship channel can take it to the Sacramento River and all the way to the bay. It occurs to me that there might already be fishmen hiding in all of those places.”
“We’ve got eyes on likely assault points,” Colonel Johnson said. “You should tell your people to do the same,” he said to the state government representative.
“I will do so as soon as I have an opportunity.” The woman didn’t look up from the notepad she was furiously scribbling into. “As an aside. Can I get copies of all your evidence? Pictures, videos, autopsy reports?”
“Of course,” Councilman Deakins cut in before Officer Lawrence could say anything. “In the event that conflict does break out can we count on your support?”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
The state rep raised her head. “I can’t say anything without consulting the governor. What I can say is that if the state is attacked then we will defend ourselves.”
“Surely it’d be better if we worked together,” Councilman Castleton pleaded.
“Officially, the state has respected your decision to remain independent.” The state reps eyes drifted to Remy. “Unofficially, you have the biggest gun by far in any conflict situation. If that’s not enough then our help won’t matter.”
“Wait a minute!” Councilman Deakin’s eyes lit up. “We were working on getting a goodwill type of visit going. I remember that they really wanted you and Nila to be part of the group. Why don’t we do that? They did invite a delegation. You go and if there’s a problem you deal with it.”
Remy was about to tell the man that there was no chance of that happening when, to his surprise, Colonel Johnson beat him to the punch.
“Not happening. There’s no way I’m letting Cruces and Chen get within twenty miles of San Francisco unless it’s part of a properly planned action. They wanted you two, which tells me that they weren’t worried about your power. That concerns me.”
Remy frowned. The thought hadn’t occurred to him.
“But—”
“Not up for discussion,” Colonel Johnson said. “We are not going to give the enemy exactly what they want under their terms and control.”
“Our focus is on intel, like the colonel said. Priority target is the fishman. Secondary is to trace where the bikers came from. They were malnourished, which suggests that the San Francisco reps likely picked them up somewhere outside our city limits. We might learn something useful investigating that link.” Office Lawrence looked at Remy. “We could use your help investigating the areas further out. The wyverns are a big threat to us, but not to you.”
The refusal was on Remy’s lips, but he thought it over for a few seconds. “I’m busy this week, so I can’t just look everywhere. However, if you give me a list of target locations then I’ll check them out.”
“Thanks for taking the time out from spanking your kids’ behinds to help out on this vital operation,” Colonel Johnson ground out.
Remy stared at the colonel.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to take time out of quality time with my daughters. It helps that I only need a few hours of sleep a night. Hell, I can go for weeks and it’d take about two to three days before I even start hallucinating,” he smiled mirthlessly.
“Thank you, Cruces. I’ll have the map ready for you tomorrow,” Officer Lawrence cut in.
“Appreciate it.” Remy turned his attention back to the others.
“Okay… we can’t send Remy and Nila, then what about an envoy? There’s a chance that these reps were working on their own or weren’t even true reps of the city,” Councilman Deakins said.
“That’s right! They could be a rogue element. In that case we can avoid trouble if we show them the evidence. They can’t ignore that.” Councilwoman Castleton grasped onto the idea like a lifeline.
“You’d risk the envoy’s life on that chance.” Councilman Smith shook his head.
“There won’t be any trips to San Francisco. That trip will require a fully armed convoy to stand a chance against those damned flying lizards. And I guarantee you that there will be casualties if Cruces isn’t along.”
It appeared as if saying those words made Colonel Johnson physically ill.
Remy had the good grace not to look pleased.
“Then what are we supposed to do,” Councilwoman Castleton said.
The woman’s plastic surgery made her face expressionless. Remy could tell from the plaintive note in her voice and the fear in her eyes that she was extremely concerned. He felt bad for her.
Their community had experienced several years of relative peace and quiet. The last huge threat had been the Midtown Mauler and Cal had shouldered that burden by himself far from the rest of their eyes. They couldn’t be faulted for starting to think that a new, safer normal was perhaps in their hands. To have it all snatched away in a single night was traumatic, especially for the powerless, which was the majority of his community.
The fact that it was a weird cult that used blood sacrifice to summon fishmen made it even worse. It was wrong that real life was less believable than fiction. Remy wished he could’ve said something reassuring, but there was nothing.
Even though several eyes around the table were looking at him he had nothing to say.
The rest of the meeting covered the autopsies. There were questions on the certainty of the mutations being caused by magic. The answer, perhaps unsatisfactory, was that they used magic to determine such. They talked about what the watch was doing to safeguard against further attacks. Now that the fishman issue was settled even the most skeptical minds special attention was paid to the many water ways that flowed near the city. The answers there were less satisfactory for the council members. The only thing that the watch could do was as their name suggested and keep an eye on the water.
It was a relief when Remy’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. The alarm. It was finally time to go. He excused himself and went back to training with his daughters. There was more on his mind this time. Fortunately a stretching session didn’t take much concentration on his part. The weapons training that followed was even easier. Hanna Gozen handled that. By the time weightlifting rolled around he had gotten his thoughts back in order.
He had a plan on how to safeguard his daughters. The only problem was that it would put them in some danger. How was he going to explain that to his wife?
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Then, Threnosh World
Alarms blared throughout their entire fortified base camp.
Caretaker immediately brought up the surveillance feed covering Cold Plains City.
The cragants were on the move. They hadn’t bothered with opening the gates. They simply pulled climbed over the walls. They hit the ground running. Their collective steps were like thunder across the open plains.
Drones rained projectile fire down on the giant humanoids. They raised thick shields over their heads. A few slowed, then fell, but not enough to dent the thousands streaming toward the Threnosh.
Caretaker was confused. The cragants sprinted in a disorganized mass. Not at all like the ordered blocks they marched in during the initial assault on the city.
They took more hits in their haste to close the distance. Why?
Caretaker’s predictive algorithm flashed in their mind. They followed the prompt and focused on a live image focused on the largest city gate.
The gates slid open slowly. No that was wrong. Thick fingers forcefully pried them open. Caretaker was stunned by the sheer physical strength on display. A handful of cragants overpowered the gate’s internal mechanisms. They pulled it open slowly, but surely.
A cragant came out carrying an enormous metal basin.
What followed struck Caretaker like a physical blow. A long chain of Threnosh and humanoids that resembled Honor were dragged out.
Caretaker knew what was happening or rather what was going to happen. They didn’t waste any time.
“Priority target 2 at Gate 13, Designation: Hierophant.” Caretaker sent the alert. They could only hope that it would be acknowledged. They hadn’t been integrated into the chain of command. “Primal, find a line of sight to Gate 13 for bombardment.”
“I see the priority target.” Primal’s gruff voice came back quickly over the team channel. “It is at the edge of my range. Accuracy will be negatively impacted. I will hit the Threnosh and Honor-like humanoids,” they warned. “I request to open fire on the attacking forces instead.”
“Denied. We cannot allow the target to perform its magic. I calculate we have approximately two to three minutes from when it begins the process to interrupt,” Caretaker said.
Caretaker processed the different options they could use to take out the hierophant. Even with the predictive algorithm’s help there was no other way that didn’t lead to mutual death for the team members they could send on an assassination task. There were too many enemy forces in between them. The sun had yet to set, otherwise Caretaker would’ve seriously considered sending Shira.
“All other team members provide defensive escort for Primal. I will join you shortly.”
Caretaker hadn’t yet received confirmation from the senior commander’s staff concerning the alert they had sent. They were going to have to entreat them in person. They made their way to the command center at a run. The timer was ticking down in their face-plate. They weren’t going to make it in time. It was going to rest in Primal’s massive metal hands.
Primal stomped to the vehicle landing zone in the center of the base camp. It had been placed on a slightly raised area, which gave them a clear view of the target as well as avoiding any potential distractions from the Threnosh soldiers as they moved to take up defensive positions on the walls facing the rapidly approaching enemy.
Primal tapped into a surveillance drone high above the battlefield and synced it to their power armor’s targeting system. The distance was at 6.89 kilometers. They needed to angle their aim up in an arc.
The priority target was in the middle of tearing a Threnosh soldier out of their power armor to spill their blood into the basin.
Primal felt nothing. They cared only for the kill. Taking out the hierophant would yield five bosses worth of Universal Points. They were eager to spend their share. A thought crossed their mind as they drew an over two meter long metal arrow, as thick around as a normal Threnosh’s arm and nocked it to their enormous bow. Would they get most of the points if they were the one to do all the damage in killing the target? The rest of their team was merely standing in a defensive posture around them. Yes, that seemed likely.
Primal aligned their aim to the green line that their targeting assist program projected into their face-plate. Once in place they loosed their missile-like arrow.
A loud bang shook the air and the Threnosh in the immediate area. The grass rippled out in a circle around Primal. They were unaffected. They drew another arrow and readied it while they watched the view from the surveillance drone.
Several seconds passed.
The first arrow screamed down out of the sky like a meteorite.
It struck several meters away from the target. Great clods of dirt was thrown up high in the air. Several defending cragants were flung off their feet and sent flying.
The distance threw off Primal’s aim. They grit their teeth. The targeting system made adjustments and they loosed another arrow.
This one landed on the opposite side of the first, bracketing the hierophant.
The dirty-looking giant humanoid chanted something incomprehensible while it took one of the smaller humanoids and bled it into the basin.
Primal sent three arrows in quick succession in a dispersed pattern.
They struck a meter above the hierophant’s head. Red light flashed and strange symbols appeared then dissipated just as quickly. The hierophant was unharmed.
Primal replayed the recording at a slower speed. The arrows had struck some kind of shield.
“Balls,” Primal muttered one of their favorite curses they had learned from Honor. They noted that the countdown at the bottom of their display was steadily approaching zero. “Caretaker, Designation: Hierophant has a shield. I will continue to loose arrows, but I do not believe that I will be able to take it out in time. Be warned.”
“Acknowledged. The entire team will relocate and await orders. Primal, once relocated switch bombardment target to the cragant army. Be prepared for possible magical attack from hierophant.” Caretaker’s voice was clear and calm over the team channel.
The timer was at T-minus 28 seconds when fire engulfed the entire wall facing the rapidly closing cragant army and wide swaths of ground on either side. The flames fell down out of thin air, like a lowered curtain closing a show.
Caretaker stood in stunned silence for a split-second as they watched. Seeing it firsthand was different from watching a video recording. Their power armor flashed a warning about the rise in temperature even though they were hundreds of meters away.
They pushed their way past the two baseline infantry soldiers guarding the entrance to the command center. They were too big and too strong to stop.
Somehow Caretaker needed to convince the senior commander to turn over the defense to them. Otherwise the Threnosh were looking at a complete rout.
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Now, Threnosh World
Eron feinted a punch.
Cal flinched and brought his hands up. He felt the impact dig into his stomach. Clinched, hard abs acted like armor to absorb and dissipate the blow. It still managed knock some wind out of him. He struck back with two wild and wide hooks.
Eron dipped under both and caught him with an uppercut to the chin. His teeth clanged together and jarred his head.
“You are slow and undisciplined. I thought you were better than this,” Eron said.
Cal blinked. He tasted blood in his mouth. He remembered that was why one wore a mouth guard when sparring. He clenched his fists. He realized that he wasn’t wearing gloves. Neither was his brother now that he thought of it.
“Man… aren’t you taking this too seriously. We’re just sparring,” Cal said.
He shifted his stance. His bare feet were tickled by the cold, gray grass as he slid them back into a proper position. Soft music played out of the portable speaker on the backyard table. The lyrics were indistinct over the pounding in his ears.
“No, we are not,” Eron said as he launched into another attack.
Cal put the ear muffs on as Eron landed clubbing punches to his hands on both sides of his head. The impacts jarred his brain. That defense didn’t work so well without large, padded gloves. Then why did he think it was the right move?
Cal didn’t have any time to ponder the question. Eron kept throwing punches. Cal weaved underneath the wide, sweeping hooks. He circled around to Eron’s back and waited for his brother to turn. It wasn’t sporting to hit him in the back. They were only sparring after all.
Eron was slow to turn.
Cal frowned. Something wasn’t right.
Eron was a quick fighter, superhumanly so. He was wild, but he didn’t tend to go with wild, swinging haymakers as his standard moveset. Especially during sparring sessions. Eron tried his best to stick to the basics as Cal had shown him. Straight, controlled punches. Almost mechanically so, since he had never trained before.
Had tried.
Cal suddenly remembered that it had been years since he and Eron had practiced together.
The music from the speakers suddenly screeched, like a record slipping off the player.
Cal winced in pain.
Eron’s fist caught him in the face.
Cal felt his nose break as he saw stars.
“What the hell, man! We’re not going all out!” Cal’s words were garbled while blood poured out of his nose.
“Perhaps you should be,” Eron’s voice was a deep rumble, “because I am.”
“Fine,” Cal growled.
He snapped out a jab up at Eron’s face.
The blow caught Eron by surprise. A follow-up straight left evened up the broken nose score.
Eron roared and responded with wild punches.
Cal dipped and ducked while interweaving face and head punches in the motions. The full force of his blows were lessened by the fact that he was having to punch up to reach Eron’s face.
The music skipped again.
Since when was Eron taller than him? Cal frowned.
His feet slipped on the cold, smooth gray grass as he tried to avoid Eron’s bull-like charge.
Eron’s shoulder clipped Cal and sent him spinning into the wall.
Cal was surprised. The wall hadn’t been there a moment ago. He spun away to avoid Eron’s punch. He caught the enormous fist-shaped dent in the metal wall out of the corner of his eye.
Cal backpedaled away from Eron’s lumbering strides.
Eron shook the metal floor with each step.
Cal frowned. What happened to the grass?
He didn’t have time to think. It was all he could do to avoid Eron’s deadly serious strikes.
Since when did a brotherly sparring session turn into real violence?
No. That wasn’t right. It had always been that way. For some reason, Cal had just noticed.
He couldn’t think. It was like there was a blanket smothering his thoughts and he vaguely knew that it had nothing to do with the blows he had already taken.
Cal grit his teeth as he and his youngest brother battered each other bloody.
All the while the discordant song played in the background.