Fin hopped off the giant, demonic-looking horse’s back for the first and, hopefully, last time.
The Dread Paladin had brought them to a dark alley across the street from the Cabal’s main base.
Riding on a horse running vertically up and down the sides of buildings had certainly been a novel experience for Fin. That was taking into account that he had ridden on drakes and wyverns more times than he could count.
The horse neighed and stomped its hooves.
Eager, bloodthirsty thing that it was.
Fin cautiously scried the outer edge of the building perimeter.
Magic.
The familiar stench of the Cabal brand was all over the place.
Slave soldiers patrolled the parking lot and guarded the entrances.
The Dread Paladin inched his horse toward the Cabal.
“Not yet,” Fin whispered.
“My vengeance…” the Dread Paladin rasped.
“It’s mine too and if I can wait a bit more, then so can you. Our chances will be better,” Fin clenched his fist.
Focus. Calm. You are prepared for this.
The object in his chest pulsed with warmth and power.
The Dread Paladin’s eyes glowed with unholy light through the thin helmet slit as they regarded him.
“I will not wait much longer.”
Inside the building, Cambion ordered his acolytes to hold their defensive positions.
A shiver had run up his back.
Nerves or something more?
He wasn’t certain and he wasn’t going to risk complacency like some of his fellow Elders.
“You feel… tense…” Zepar probed.
“No. I don’t want a massage,” he replied flatly.
“This better not be a waste of my time, Cambion,” Mammon said. “I could be sinking my claws into wealthy, powerful people right now.”
Gremory muttered something under her breath.
Cambion regarded the closed door leading to the stairs up to the top floor where the Vitiator was working a great spell judging by the mana flowing upward throughout the entire building.
“Does it feel like a waste of time, Mammon!” he snapped. “Tell me, would our great master be drawing on months of stored mana for no reason?”
Mammon shrugged, but tellingly, he kept his mouth shut.
“If you want to do something that isn’t a waste of time, then go make sure your acolytes are alert and ready for anything. The other elders’ unconcerned demeanor requires countering.”
“… dreadful…” Gremory mumbled.
“What are you babbling about?” he turned on the other elder.
“Trying to see. Nothing but darkness. I dread what lurks within,” Gremory’s eyes had rolled up into the back of her head.
“Future trance,” Zepar said.
“Yeah… I’ll go make sure my guys are on their toes,” Mammon headed for the elevator.
“Have them turn off the elevator after you use it,” Cambion said.
He gazed out the window.
Rain blanketed the city in darkness occasionally illuminated by branching arcs of lightning as thunder rattled the windows.
“Something about the rain,” Zepar murmured.
“Red fingers stealing,” Gremory continued.
Zepar exchanged a look. “Fine, fine, I’ll take notes while you brood, Cambion.”
His fellow elder went in search of pen and paper.
Elsewhere in the city, Aims put a silent shot into the forehead of a slavemaster.
The slave soldiers erupted into action, covering the rapidly cooling corpse with their shields and bodies, while searching for the shooter.
“I hate how they aren’t even concerned about their own safety,” Hardhat viewed them through the thermal binoculars. “Well, looks like they won’t be leaving the body any time soon. Nice of them to cluster around so closely together. Dastardly should be just about to—”
A red object arced across the street, exploding above the slave soldiers.
Hardhat saw the warm cloud, striking in the cold, blue rain, settle on the collared men and women.
One by one they toppled over and remained still.
Rangers flowed across the rain-slicked road like wraiths to bind the sleeping slave soldiers and into the small clinic.
They had dealt with the defenses and it was just a matter of securing the skeleton crew of nurses and a doctor to keep them from raising the alarm.
Dastardly called it in a matter of minutes.
“Site three is secured, copy,” Hardhat spoke into comms.
“On our way, over.”
They weren’t going to wait for the other rangers with the stolen vehicles.
Their timetable was tight if they wanted to get in on a little revenge.
Aims, Hardhat and Dastardly all owed the Cabal for several dead friends.
Back at the king’s castle, Cal led Shrewed and Drake into the sublevels.
He blocked the guards and various staff from noticing their presence, all while keeping a distant eye on dozens of disparate elements throughout the city.
The king was getting ready for his big entrance and there was nothing he could do for Hanna without endangering the Quest.
A handful of lives weighed against twenty thousand.
“Man, this is creepy,” Drake flinched out of the way of an armed patrol.
“First time?” Shrewed snorted. “Relax, kid. You could run them over and they wouldn’t notice, right, boss?”
“Yeah, but let’s not take chances,” Cal replied.
They entered the king’s dungeon.
Cal went straight to the lone occupied cell.
“You? I remember you,” the disheveled occupant said. “Somehow… I swear this is the first time I saw you, but I saw you a while back. Yeah, you freed those Arabs. Didn’t free me.”
The cell opened with a click.
“There you go. You can do whatever or you can come with me. There’ll be fighting. You can personally pay the slavers back while helping me free thousands of enslaved people.”
“Fuck, I don’t know you, but,” he sniffed, “you smell honest. Name’s ‘Howard’,” he stuck out a hand.
Cal shook it.
A calloused hand and a hard squeeze.
Stronger than the man’s short, stocky build suggested.
He stood eye to eye with Howard, which was a nice change from usually being the shortest one around.
“Do you need a weapon?”
“Nah,” Howard flexed his hands, displaying thick, sharp nails, “got these. I figure I can grab the first slaver’s I kill.”
“Okay, two more stops before we hit the central control unit,” he led them deeper into the underground complex.
Guards stood outside the chamber.
A deep, feral growl emerged from Howard’s throat.
Cal held the man back with a thought.
With the next thought he put all of the guards in the immediate area to sleep.
“Grab any weapon you want. I’ll destroy the rest. Wait here,” he opened the thick, steel door with a gesture, stepping through.
The pregnant woman, Lyta, stared at him with wide, hopeful eyes.
“It’s time if you want.”
“Yeah, absolutely, I don’t even care if we don’t make it. I’d rather die than stay here and be treated like an animal.”
He split the clear wall of her prison disguised as an apartment.
“Wait, the trackers—”
“Disabled, along with the explosive. We’ll take them out later.”
Lyta stepped through the smooth opening and followed him out of her prison.
“The fuck?” Howard said.
“Walk and talk.”
Cal strode with a purpose.
The timing needed to be nearly perfect.
He kept a mental eye on the party above.
Hanna and her students were—
He wanted to look away, but he needed to watch to honor their sacrifice for his plans.
“Uh, what about the guards?” Lyta said.
“They won’t be waking up until I decide.”
“Hey, lady, you might want to grab some shoes. Reckon it ain’t smart to be running around barefoot, especially in a combat scenario,” Howard said.
“It’s fine. I can’t wear shoes if I want to use my power,” Lyta said.
They had to backtrack to reach the castle’s security command center.
“I can take the lead. Bullets don’t scare me,” Howard said.
“That’s okay,” Cal opened the door with a thought.
Inside a dozen security staff slumped in their chairs, heads on their desks or laid flat out on the floor as if they had decided to go to sleep where they stood.
Cal pulled a phone out of the security chief’s pocket.
“Mr. Griffin, we have something you might want to see down in com-sec,” he said.
“Fuck… this better be good.”
He dialed another number.
“Ms. Pond, you are needed in the command center.”
“What is this about, chief?”
“Something, something, important,” he added a touch of mental compulsion.
“Alright, I’m on my way.”
He turned to Shrewed.
“They’ll have an escort. Two guards each. I’ll give you first move.”
“I got this. No mercy?” Shrewed said.
“Quick and clean. I’ll need you at the central control unit.”
Cal dropped the patrols they passed.
“Say, what’s up with… uh… that?” Howard pointed at Lyta’s pregnant stomach.
“I’m pregnant,” she said flatly.
“Howard, how’d you end up in that cell?” Cal knew that the woman didn’t want to talk about it, so he redirected.
“Long story,” Howard grunted.
“We still have some walking to do.”
“Suit yourself, ain’t that big a deal. I knew some good folk up north. They got a buncha their people taken. Tracked them down to here. Was lurking around trying to narrow down where them people got taken to. Ended up running into a buncha bastards that I thought might’ve been like me at first. Thought we had some similarities… my mistake. I don’t transform for one and I ain’t into eating people… unless she wants it… you understand?”
“Absolutely,” Drake said.
“Smart kid. Ended up helping some of their ‘prey’ escape… not that they got far… fucking slavers slapped collars on them. Tried to do me the same way. No idea why, but it didn’t take. Guess I’m just too good at doing what I do and that’s staying free. Been in here since then. Used to run tests trying to get the collar to work. See how far they can push my healing,” he regarded Lyta. “You must the one they wanted me to,” his face twisted, “breed with. Told the king I’d rather ass fuck him. Sick fucks made me… uh…” he scratched his wild mane of black hair, “donate… sorry.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Yeah, let’s not do this,” Lyta said.
The reached an intersection where the corridor split into three directions, like a cross.
“Drake?”
“I got this.”
“The guards are asleep and they have the key cards you need to get through. Don’t mess around. Go, get him and head right to the central control unit.”
The young man jogged down the left corridor spear in hand.
“Wait a minute, am I going to have to fight? You do know I’m pregnant?” Lyta said.
“No. The other three will do the fighting. I’m planning to find a safe place to hide you. Or you might decide to take your chances out there.” Cal led them to the elevator leading up to the building where his target sat. “I wouldn’t recommend it though. It’s going to be a dangerous night out there.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that feeling. I’ll stick with you for now,” Lyta said.
As soon as the elevator doors slid open, Cal felt a flicker of thought on the edge of his perception.
Strange.
It took time and effort to hone in on it, so it was fortunate that they were headed to the same place.
Like before, he felled the guards in their path.
“Seems like there won’t be much fighting,” Howard said.
“There will be once I’m inside the chamber,” he pointed.
He felt the presence somewhere in his immediate area.
“Howard, I’d like you to stay out here and guard the door. Lyta, follow me,” he went to the door and laid a hand on the handle.
He suddenly spun and reached out with his mind.
“Drop it or I’ll make you.”
Howard and Lyta looked at him like he was out of his mind.
Until a figure dressed in black body armor wearing a skull-faced helmet painted in the red, white and blue appeared suspended in the midair.
“And you are?” Cal already knew everything he needed to know with a light scan.
The young soldier, Death’s Dancer, glared impotently.
Cal held him perfectly still.
There was nothing the young man could do. No way to find leverage to use his considerable strength.
“Let me guess? You’re here to steal the secrets to the slavery collars,” Cal sighed. “Naturally, you don’t want to enslave people, but you can’t resist the potential military applications. The thought of making soldiers without fear, willing to give over a hundred percent, obey orders without question, is too good to pass up, isn’t it? Well, that’s not going to happen. What’s going to happen is that I’m going in there and I’m going to blow the whole thing up. No more collars, no more slavery. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I can’t let you do that,” Death’s Dancer said.
“Yeah, I guess that’s what you have to say. But… let me ask you this. Orders or conscience?”
“I’m loyal, unlike you.”
“Ah, but consider that your orders are impossible to complete. What then? Will you still try to carry them out even when that means that you’ll fight me as I try to end slavery? A fight you’ve already lost if that’s the route you intend. Orders over conscience…”
“Fuck you. You don’t know anything about me.”
“You’re wasting my time. The slavers could be getting wise to what we’re about to do.”
He followed the surface level thoughts of the young man.
Loyalty to the ideals of a nation that, to him, wasn’t dead yet.
Deeper than that.
The desire to do right.
To be the hero that saves the day.
Like in the comics hidden underneath a little boy’s bunk back in his bunker home.
“This is your chance, Death’s Dancer. You can follow orders doomed to failure,” he gestured toward the sleeping slaver guards, “you can spend the next few hours with them in dreamland or—”
“Better than they deserve,” Howard spat.
“You stand shoulder to shoulder with people willing to lay their lives on the line to do what’s right.”
“Say the word and I’ll let you go or put you to sleep.”
The moment seemed to stretch out to eternity for Death’s Dancer.
The young man agonized for what felt like hours to him.
He blinked.
“I’ll do it,” Death’s Dancer said softly, “I’ll help you.”
“I’m trusting you,” he released the young man. “That makes four of you to defend this chamber. Shrewed and Drake will be here shortly. C’mon, Lyta.”
The central control unit was behind another set of heavily reinforced doors, yet he could sense the strings rising out of it, connecting to every collar and to the Slaver King.
“The guard station is probably the best place for you to wait this out.”
“Um, what about the guards? What if they wake up?” Lyta said.
“They won’t, but you can cuff them if it’ll make you feel safer.”
Cal left the woman to approach the central control unit.
“Almost time…”
He placed Ms. Teacher’s nullification crystals just as she had instructed.
The special device to start the process hovered in invisible hands. Not quite touching the glowing orb.
Now he just needed to wait for Bennett to finish placing crystals at the other locations.
From the looks of it, Bennett was almost done.
Back at the security command center, Kim and Eric ran into each other.
None of them had noticed all the sleeping people they had stepped around in the corridors.
“What’s this about? I’m missing the good stuff,” Eric scowled.
“Sick bastard,” Kim said. “I thought this was your fuck up, like usual.”
Eric opened the door.
“Whatever, bitch—”
The thick blade sunk deep into his forehead.
Kim screamed and stumbled on her high heels, trying to run back the way she had come.
Their bodyguards were slow to attack as if they were just waking up from a nightmare.
Shrewed moved economically through them.
Stab here.
Cut there.
Four down in seconds.
The screaming woman had barely gotten twenty feet down the corridor.
He drew his pistol and squeezed one round.
The woman dropped and lay still.
Shrewed didn’t like shooting someone in the back, let alone a woman.
Then again, these two were part of the ruling elite of the slaver kingdom.
Ugly ends for ugly people.
“Fuck around and find out,” he sighed.
He ignored the chime in his ears.
Subquest done.
No time to review it now.
He ran to rejoin Cal.
----------------------------------------
Hours Earlier.
Hanna set in a cell.
The bars didn’t keep her there.
It was the threats to those she was responsible for and the knowledge that she just had to be patient.
The time approached when the slavers would have a lot more to be concerned about.
She’d use the chaos to escape along with what was left of her students.
Oh, but how she longed to cut the bars and take her freedom back.
Her body groaned in protest from the injuries she had taken.
Nothing debilitating, bruises, contusions, what felt like cracked ribs and perhaps a slight fracture in her right arm judging by the shooting pain when she flexed it.
Enough to slow her down… slightly.
Footsteps on the cold tile heralded visitors.
“I’ve finally decided on a punishment.”
The Slaver King appeared with a smile.
A dozen bodyguards fanned out behind the man as he stood in front of her cell.
She stared at him without expression.
Not as a human being, but as something that needed to be killed, a monster.
“You know, I agonized for hours over my decision,” he continued. “It had to be visible to match your crimes. And since your failed escape attempt has been viewed over a million times by now, well…” he shrugged. “So, I thought my party would be the perfect time. Hundreds of my nobles and most powerful citizens gathered in one space. The entire thing being broadcast on screens to the thousands gathered on my estate and to everyone else watching at home or in bars and watch parties throughout much of my territory. That’s right, not just here in Miami and the surrounding cities and towns. We went through quite the struggle to get the signal out to the rest. I’m not going to bore you with the details, I’m sure you don’t care. Point is, almost everyone in the New American Republic will see what happens to those that reject my kindness and spurn our way of life. So, it had to be memorable and what is more memorable than brutality?”
She said nothing.
“I considered taking a finger or a toe, since normal people would be greatly affected by that. It’s the empathy, you see, most can’t watch something like that without picturing themselves going through the same thing. The problem is that I’d diminish your ability too much if I took a few fingers. You could compensate pretty easily without, say, a pinkie… but then that wouldn’t get me the desired impact. I mean, if you ask someone, which finger they’d give up, it’s always the pinkie. It’s my most common punishment. You need your hands to be at your best, which is what I want. What’s the use of a cripple? I might as well slap a collar on you and call it a day,” he sighed. “I considered other things before I finally settled on something that fits my objectives. With a small spark of poetic inspiration. I decided that you’ll mirror that girl you’re so fond of. Granted, it’s not ideal and it’ll certainly weaken you as a fighter. Plus, you’re so pretty that it’ll be like taking a knife to the Mona Lisa, a hammer to the statue of David, a missile to Mount Rushmore. Every time you look in the mirror you’ll remember your crime. Each time another person looks at your face they’ll remember what it means to betray their king and nation. A shame, but needs must. What do you think about your punishment?”
“The word is torture.”
“Excuse me?”
“Not punishment.”
“It is what I say it is. The powerful decides what is reality. When I speak, everyone obeys. I don’t even need to use King’s Decree. That’s how the world worked before the spires,” he grinned. “Classes just ripped that thin coat of paint right off. Superiority is quantifiable, verifiable. People aren’t equal, they never have been. There have always been people better than the rest of the flock. Now, we can see it as clear as day on our personal account page. It can’t be denied any longer. You of all people should understand that. Isn’t that right, swordmaster?”
“No.”
“Eloquently put,” the Slaver King chuckled. “You’ll be taken to receive your punishment in a few hours or more. Timing is important, after all. Anything else to say? No last minute begging? Threats? No? Okay… one last thing. Try to escape and your precious fodder will suffer ten times what you will. Remember, most of them aren’t that important to me in terms of keeping them intact. Hell, I’ll even let you pick parts. I’ll see you at dinner,” he waved.
Now.
Everything was cold.
The manacles on her wrists and ankles.
The metal ‘X’ they had attached her to.
Even the blood dripping down her face onto the rest of her naked body didn’t stay warm for long.
It hurt.
One side of her face was a throbbing, stinging pain.
She strained to look to her right.
The girl, Basilisk, was chained to a pole.
Mercifully, the slavers hadn’t added to the girl’s injuries.
The rest of Hanna’s students were likewise arranged on the edge of a circular platform, facing out.
She didn’t know who was on her left.
That side was dark.
She tried to turn her head, but the mundane iron collar kept her chained tightly to the ‘X’.
“It’s going to be okay,” she rasped.
Her mouth was dry.
The slavers hadn’t given her anything to drink for hours.
She licked her lips and tasted iron.
Her students remained silent. Undoubtedly readying themselves for the worst.
A loud rumbling sound elicited gasps from some.
The sudden vibration sent a jolt of pain through her.
It took a moment to realize that they were moving.
Up.
Bright lights shined from above.
Murmuring voices, turned into cries of dismay and shouts of anger.
It was hard to focus.
Her eye was blurry.
The lights harsh.
The platform stopped with a jarring thud.
A great hall filled with hundreds of dining people greeted her.
“My citizens,” the king’s voice, “this is what happens to those that threaten our way of life. This is what happens when you kill one our own. For our enemies, this is a warning. See the consequences of unjustly attacking the New American Republic. We will defend ourselves with righteous fury against all enemies, foreign and domestic.”
I’m sorry, the little voice in her head said, you’re the only one that can free yourself. Wait for the moment. Catch them off guard. Don’t hesitate. Strike decisively. They’ll be slowed for only an instant. You’ll know when the time comes.
The voice in Hanna’s head fell silent.
It had helped her get through the torture with its comforting presence.
Its absence had left a void.
She tested her bonds.
The metal around her limbs felt magical.
The one around her neck did not.
I Am The Sword.
She began to cut at the insides of her manacles with small, precise movements, less sword and more scalpel.
The Slaver King continued his speech.
Time felt like an eternity.
Her eye roved across the diners.
Recognition.
Her friends.
Allies.
Horrified shock on their faces.
Barely repressed rage.
Don’t throw your lives away for me, she urged silently. Escape in the confusion when I strike.
The Slaver King strode into her view. Winking, he turned his back to her.
“I hope everyone is enjoying dinner. My chefs worked really hard at it. I apologize for the brutality of this display,” he gestured to encompass the circular platform, “but, it’s necessary. Feel free—”
Hanna cut her bonds.
She slashed at the king’s exposed back.
Jacket and shirt parted.
A thin red line appeared on his flesh.
He turned with a grin. “Ah, ah… before you try again, why don’t you take a look at your feeders.”
She couldn’t help herself.
She had only seen Basilisk.
The others—
Were also chained to a pole… with slave collars around their necks.
“I told you the rest weren’t as important to me,” the Slaver King took a small device out of his breast pocket. He released everyone except for Basilisk with a click. “It seems that you haven’t learned your lesson. Now, I can’t take away your remaining eye, so… your punishment… you’ll have to kill the very people you’ve tried so hard to strengthen. Attack her,” he pointed at Hanna.
Old Deirdre shot a fireball, which Hanna cut out of existence.
Sinclair, Lance, Bernard and the others fanned out to surround her.
They all had that same vacant smile.
“Stop it! Don’t listen to him!” Basilisk thrashed against her chains.
“The strong do what they want to the weak. It is reality,” the Slaver King said. “You’re strong, Hanabi, but I’m stronger.”
Hanna cut the king a dozen times in a second.
He merely held his arms out wide, smiling.
His jacket and shirt fell off his bloody torso in shreds.
“Not strong enough,” he smirked
The cuts healed before her eyes.
“I don’t need to be.”
Her path was clear.
Time.
They needed more of it.
She wanted to give her students a chance to escape with her friends and allies.
A glance showed them on the verge of jumping to her aid.
She couldn’t allow them to throw their lives away when only one was needed.
Chaos.
“I have something to say, Slaver King,” she sneered.
“Ohoho… an inspiring last gasp? Fine,” he shrugged. “It’ll make good drama for everyone watching.”
“I have decided that while I live, chains won’t,” she locked her gaze on the Slaver King. “I had a choice presented to me when your torturer was doing this,” she pointed to the lines of cut skin on the left side of her face. To the bloody hole that was her eye. “I make it now. I, Hanna Gozen, swordmaster… reject everything you and your so-called nation stand for. Until I die, there will be no chains in this world. That is my promise as the… Sword of Freedom.”
She flared her aura farther than ever before.
First… the collars around her students’ necks and the chains around Basilisks wrist.
“Moron, you just kill—” the Slaver King frowned.
They didn’t go berserk or drop dead.
“That’s impossible,” his jaw dropped.
Second… everyone else that she could see in the grand hall.
Enslaved waiters and waitresses carrying food to and from the tables through a gauntlet of roving hands.
Enslaved bartenders serving drinks from the half dozen bars scattered throughout the hall.
Enslaved men and women keeping the place spotless as drunk nobles and other elites spilled their drinks without concern while their children ran around undoing the cleaning work almost as quickly as it was completed.
“You are all free!” Hanna roared. “And you…” she glared at the Slaver King, “are mine.”
“What a waste of a fine woman,” he sighed.
Chaos erupted in the great hall as freed people ran or sought revenge on the nearest slaver as security forces rushed to action.
“I’ll free the rest over your corpse,” she snarled.
“No. You. Won’t,” he wagged a finger before charging.