The New Players: Players of the Game, #3

By James McGowan

There are other Players in a brighter world.  But their future is dark.

 

Ed just wants to walk away from this discussion without starting a war. So does the man with hard, grey eyes standing a foot away from him.

 

There's just one problem.

 

Stopping a war won't end the standoff between the united east and the fractured west. It will just find new ways to manifest. In the dark places far away and near.

 

With flowers that control minds and twist bodies.

 

To stand against this threat, Ed will need to make use of every advantage. His powers that allow him to move at hyper-sonic speeds. His friends and family with magic abilities of their own and super tech weapons.

 

But the eastern empire still holds the upper hand.

 

They have a depraved cyborg goddess on their side.

 

She controls the mind-hacking flowers. And her mutated legions stand ready to smother the land. She will corrupt everything, unless Ed and his allies can halt her relentless advance.

 

You'll love this latest story in the Players of the Game series, because of the expansion into a new world with fantastic characters.

 

Get it now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James McGowan
• Release date: Apr 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9798215643907

Book preview

PART I: CLOSER ENEMIES

CHAPTER 1

The Late Morning of Blite 18th, 1596

Ed Burnhelt squinted against the desert’s mirages. The fortress city’s buildings stood tall above the wavering expanse of the white sand. Five boxy vessels hung in the air above the tan and white urban center, casting colossal, rectangular shadows upon the blistered land.

The city, Findenton, served as the forward outpost of the Holy Alliance on the western side of the Dividing Mountains. Ed licked his chapped lower lip. The planet realm of Trojis stood on the precipice of world war. It all depended on the next few minutes.

This is going to be violent. Ed squinted harder and the glare fell away. Among his hyper powers was the ability to see in a multitude of spectrums, both ethereal and electromagnetic, on a telescopic scale.

One trec from him in front of Findenton’s carbon-reinforced walls stood a solitary man. Countless cannons and rifles aimed in Ed’s direction from atop the walls, but no others joined the lone gatekeeper. He wore black and grey fiber armor with a metallic, angular chest plate. No helmet covered his bristly black hair salted with a few white strands. The gatekeeper’s side arm was holstered at his hip, and a slender saber sheathed on the other.

Another force gathered five trecs behind Ed, awaiting word from him to commence the attack. However, this lone man presented one last chance to prevent the looming death and suffering.

Ed tapped his comm crystal, a glassy nub contoured to fit his ear canal, which relayed psychic communications. He spoke using his thoughts, rather than his voice. "I’m going to talk to this guy unless you think it’s a trap. Doesn’t look like it to me."

"Unexpected, Benefactor’s even-toned voice said in Ed’s mind. His given name was Bennet Burnhelt, though very few citizens of New Grelland called him anything other than Benefactor, including Ed, his youngest grandson. I didn’t think we’d get a chance to de-escalate. This doesn’t look like anything other than what it is, a man who wants to talk. Step lightly, Ed."

Ed strode over the sand, taking care not to make sudden moves with his sleek armor’s variable chromatic scheme set to deep blue and silver. A black, three-pronged Grellish Claw insignia covered his heart to show his allegiance. All of his weapons were hidden within invisible spatial sheaths, the armor’s localized pockets of compressed space, ready to be drawn in an instant. However, with this new development, Ed intended to use them only if the situation deteriorated. Hope for peace took hold in his heart for the first time since awakening this morning.

Tense minutes passed as Ed neared the gatekeeper. He could move faster than this, much faster. This encounter demanded a slower pace. He ground his teeth, yearning to speak whatever combination of words that would assuage both sides. Maybe the lone man had a few of his own to offer.

Ed reached him. Traces of sweat glistened on the other man’s face. Ed’s was dry. It took much more than desert heat to make him perspire.

The gatekeeper took in Ed’s appearance with hard, flinty-grey eyes. He spoke to Ed in Jeean, the Trojisi trade language. I’m Fort Master Harold Mang. I have a deal for you, Edward Burnhelt.

Ed didn’t bother asking how this man knew his name or his face. As a member of the Forever Guard, many strangers knew him well. Instead, Ed glanced back over his shoulder. The guys behind me are kinda pissed at you, Harry. Mind if I call you Harry?

The gatekeeper made no reaction. I don’t... Ed. He waited a beat and continued when Ed gave him no retort. And I think the Hobgers actually have a problem with the Holy Alliance itself, not me and not my city.

Ed shrugged. You’re closer to them than the rest. His eyes narrowed. So, what’s your deal for me?

Harry jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Findenton’s defenders. I’ll order my side to stand down, if you do the same for yours. Everyone walks away. Everyone lives.

Immense, double-barreled magnet cannons lined the center of the curtain wall, as did boxy missile launchers. The airborne vessels, steelclads, all bristled with more of the same. Ed then noticed another person, standing outside the walled city’s towering hard carbon gate, a petit woman wearing similar armor. She leaned on a grey spear with a black, serrated tip.

I like that, Ed said. The Hobgers won’t. Like I said, they want blood. He shifted on his feet, taking in the many defenders, especially the woman standing before the gate.

His briefing identified her as Shelocke, a mighty Titan who possessed the ability to grow a few hundred feet tall, like the rest of her race. He wondered why she wasn’t here with the mere Human. Ed stayed wary. He doubted very much that mere aptly described this man from Findenton.

Harry ground the sand beneath his toes with his left foot. You know what happens if they attack. Total war. It’s going to happen eventually. But it doesn’t have to happen now. Or more importantly, here.

I need to talk to my guys. Ed leaned in closer. Can you give me a few minutes?

Harry nodded. I’ll be here.

Without another word, Ed blurred away. He ran over the five trecs between Findenton and the Hobger army. The world took on an azure tint when he ran at hypersonic speed. A burning blue aura surrounded him, shielding him from the air’s friction, absorbing the heat. His perception of time made the trip seem longer than it was. A relative minute passed for him. Two seconds passed for everyone else. He cut his strides, back-peddling to slow his velocity.

Ed halted before an army of forty thousand Hobgers, all awaiting word from him. None stood shorter than seven feet tall. Piecemeal armor of hide and metal plating clad their dark-greyish green scales. Rows of misshapen, pointed teeth lined their jaws. Their black eyes with yellow irises carried a collective menace Ed did not want to provoke. Most brandished melee weapons like pole arms and maces, though a few held energy rifles. A quarter of them rode Kalpines, equine creatures with scaly hides, clawed hooves, and fire smoldering from their nostrils.

Despite their primitive means, the Hobgers held the advantage. They drew strength through an ethereal link to the very earth of their homeland, enough to give even the Holy Alliance pause. They possessed the might to wrestle Dragons and Titans, but only while standing on sands of the Pale Desert.

Their leader, Lord Urgath, marched through the army’s ranks toward Ed. His repulsive, bestial face furled. He drew in his white and grey fur cloak over his black-scaled body, then slung his oversized particle rifle over his broad shoulder. A spiked mace dangled from the leather belt of his piecemeal hide armor. Saliva dripped from an under bite of jagged teeth as he spoke. We saw your exchange, Grell. We will not stand down. It’s a trick.

Ed looked up at the eight-foot tall warlord, resisting the urge to laugh at the utter madness of talking this army out of spilling blood. His jaw held firm. If it is, then what do you lose? They know you’re out here. There’s no element of surprise. Everyone knows you outclass them.

We do now. Urgath leaned down toward Ed. But not always. Not when they start bringing in fleets of war machines, mighty creatures and dark mancy. You supported our cause earlier. What’s changed?

Ed locked eyes with the mighty Hobger. A reasonable man. Until he showed himself, we thought we had to strike first. Now, we have time. Time is worth a lot, Lord Urgath.

To their side too.

Yes. Ed gestured to the formidable army with an out-swept arm. But holding off now might just save a lot more of your people’s lives than choosing to attack. New Grelland will be in a better place to help. So will the Union Cities.

The Hobger’s jaw clenched while he stared hard at Ed. At last, he snorted. We will withdraw if you can best me in unarmed combat, Grell. If you refuse or if you lose to me, then the raid commences.

Ed’s breath caught in the back of his throat. He repressed the urge to cough. I have a question. His mind called for more diplomacy, but his mouth opted for something different. Are you fucking kidding me?

Ed widened his eyes with wry indignation as he continued. The Alliance has ten steelclads ready to launch twelve kinds of hot nasty at you before their ground forces roll in next. This isn’t the timeeath caught in the back of his throat. He repressed the urge to coughuse or if you lose to me, then the raid commences.."

Urgath remained impassive. Is that a refusal?

Give me a second, he said aloud. Mentally, he said. "They’re going stupid on me, Benefactor."

"Ed, you need to humor him, Benefactor said via the comm crystal. He risks a coup from his own people unless you beat him."

Ed kept staring at Urgath’s visage. The Hobger scrutinized him, suspicious. Ed kept his face from showing the stress throttling ever tighter in his throat. "And that’s better how? He’ll look weak to them if I win."

"It’s the better of two bad choices. The Hobgers haven’t united behind one leader in centuries."

"Because the Alliance has attacked them in the dark, especially in the last five years."

Benefactor didn’t answer immediately. "That’s right. And they’re completely justified in retaliating. But if they do, they pull all of us in with them. That man waiting outside Findenton wants to save the city for his short-term survival. We want it for long-term strategic necessity. And we need the Hobgers on our side in either case. We have a chance here, Ed. Take it."

Ed rubbed the top of one of his knuckles. Ok, Urgath. Fight me.

The giant Hobger threw a blurring punch at Ed. The Grell dipped to the side, moving even faster, and grabbed Urgath’s wrist in an attempt to yank him off balance. The eight-foot tall brute jabbed his other fist at Ed’s stomach. With a hyper-accelerated spasm, Ed jerked a foot away from the hit. The cool rush of his hyper powers spread through the rest of his mind. It swallowed his anxiety, bringing him serenity, focus. This needed to end fast.

Ed tore into Urgath, throwing a torrent of punches, each one measured and precise. The air snapped with his escalating momentum. The Hobger withstood the onslaught and backhanded Ed with a surge of hyper speed.

Its impact knocked the Grell thirty feet away on his back, away from the gathered army. His ears rang, but his skin was unbroken from the coarse bony growths in Urgath’s fingers. It took a lot to break Ed’s skin. He always dodged if he could. Before her death years earlier, his mother told him to treat every attack as certain death and respond with finality.

As Ed rose, the bellicose leader stormed toward him, arms low, fingers outspread. Ed waited, the moments crawling in his elongated perception of time. Urgath lunged at him, and Ed punched him in the sternum with a flash of motion. The leader of the desert army hurtled back, dragging along the sand’s smooth grains. He stopped just at the edge of the throng of his kin.

Ed pounced on him faster than sound, grabbed the dazed leader by the collar, and hefted him over his shoulders in an arching motion. Urgath slammed into the sand in the next pico second. Particles of the powdery sediment shot out in all directions as though propelled in a sandstorm.

Ed stomped on his chest and pressed down hard. His vision went blue and hazy along the edges. Flames of Tumult blazed from his eyes, another of his powers. He had no intention of venting that dire energy, but his eyes sometimes smoldered when anger took hold of him. He leaned down toward Urgath, maintaining the pressure between his foot and his opponent’s rib cage. Stay down or I cave in your chest.

The Hobger tried tripping Ed with a swipe of his arm. The Grell intercepted his opponent’s hulking fist with his palm and pushed back with greater force. He also pressed his foot harder into Urgath’s torso.

The blue, flaming haze around Ed’s vision intensified, darkening in hue, making heat waves in the air between them. Order your people to step back and leave.

Urgath gasped in a breath through his stumpy nose. You’re stronger than you look.

The azure halo around the edges of Ed’s sight regressed. People tell me that. He pulled his hand away from Urgath’s fist and lightened his foot’s force on his chest. Do you yield?

Several seconds passed. Urgath’s face took on a pensive expression, likely looking inward. At last, he answered Ed’s question. I will. We will quit the field of battle.

Ed stepped away from him. Blown sand settled back down upon everyone, adding a layer of grit to them. The Hobger army regarded him in silence. The bloodlust for the Allied Army no longer apparent in their sedate body language.

Urgath rose, rubbing his chest with tender motions. Edward, before you leave, I want you to think hard on something. His dark eyes hardened. It bears repeating. If we delay the war, we will have more time, but so does the Holy Alliance. And that could be the West’s undoing. Attacking now is smarter. I bet my people’s lives on it just to draw you mighty Grells into committing. The Keepers and the Union Citizens would follow you into battle. We could unite against them.

The edge of Ed’s mouth twitched. Urgath had a point, but his plan got people killed now. That mattered much more. One of us is wrong. He glanced over his shoulder, back to Findenton. For all our sakes, I hope it’s you. We’ll be in touch.

Urgath said something else, but Ed didn’t hear it. He tore away faster than the last time, racing back toward Mang and Findenton. The Grell covered the distance between the Hobgers and the city well within a second. He stopped ten feet in front of the city’s gatekeeper and instantly realized his mistake. Ed had returned too fast and startled the already tense defenders.

The gunners atop the curtain wall opened fire on him with splinter guns, weapons that used their own mass as ammunition, one tiny fragmented bullet at a time. The magnet cannons refrained from shooting their high caliber rounds, likely to avoid hitting Mang. Through Ed’s sped up perception, the tens of thousands of projectiles moved as though they gently sank through water. He evaded the first few hundred with deft finesse, but soon a virtual wall of glittering metal hurtled at him.

From the thin air in front of him, Ed reached with clasped hands and yanked his arms back, pulling forth two swords from the spatial sheath of compressed space localized to his armor. The larger sword, Bluestreak, left a glowing azure trail behind its long, straight blade as it wove through the air, deflecting thousands of splinter bullets skyward, away from everything. The smaller, parrying saber, a filv, had no name, but the sturdy omsteel blade also made quick work of the bullets. The low-pitched pings of metal sounded muted while moving this fast.

Through the ten-second barrage, Harry Mang waved his hands in slow motion with his back to Ed, frantically ordering his subordinates to cease fire with a single, elongated yell of, STOP! Through it all, only one splinter bullet managed to nick Ed’s cheek.

The petit Shelocke continued to lean on her spear next to the gate, making no move to attack. That was a small piece of good news. Ed wanted no fight with a Titan today. That would definitely spark off a war if this shooting didn’t.

The barrage ended, leaving an eerie silence in its wake as the gust of wind that had trailed Ed’s path along the desert, wafting over them with airborne sand. Harry Mang yelled at the top of his lungs. CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE!

Benefactor spoke far quieter in Ed’s mind. "You weren’t mindful of the situation, Ed. It could have gotten you killed. Be better."

"I know, I know."

Harry Mang turned back to Ed, eyes wide with fury. You gods damned moron! The fucking last thing I need is a dead Burnhelt on my doorstep.

I’m hard to kill.

That suggests otherwise. He pointed at Ed’s cheek. A tiny lick of flame burned at the wound. Whenever the hyper-powered Grell bled, a blue flame flared up and hastened the healing process. The fire winked away, leaving no sign of harm on Ed’s face.

I’m better than fine. Ed kept his swords lowered and released their hilts. The blades vanished back into his armor’s localized spatial sheath. The Hobgers are withdrawing. Your city won’t be attacked.

Not today, Mang said in a caustic tone.

Today is all that matters.

Mang clenched his teeth. Get out of here, Grell.

See ya around, Harry. Ed gave him an exaggerated, broad wave and launched into the sky, running upon the air as though it were a solid platform. He reached the stratosphere, crisp air rushing around him. He sucked in a deep breath of thin oxygen, angry at his carelessness, but happy that he had kept the peace. A queasy feeling in his gut told him it would be fleeting.

image-placeholder

Svithe leaned against the immense earth-toned wall encircling Findenton. No one paid him or his gold-skinned bodyguard any notice because Svithe, the man within the white bandages and tan clothing, did not want to be seen.

Heedless of the observers, Harry Mang trod back toward the fortress city’s borders with two fingers pressed against the communicator mounted on his collar. Meve, do you have a fix on the kid and the army?

A gruff voice squawked from the device at his throat. Your debate partner wasn’t lying. The Hobgers are moving westward, deeper into the desert. The Burnhelt baby is already long gone, out of range.

Yeah, figured that. They honored the Xandina Treaty. Didn’t use Distance Doors in our territory. Harry grunted with a weary expression. So they sent someone who can move at what, Mach 20?

Mach 24 plus.

Svithe resisted the urge to correct them. Ed Burnhelt’s top speed was actually closer to Mach 30.

Harry stopped in his tracks, turned around and looked upward. No sonic boom when he moved. Must be a stealth feature with his armor. He can sneak up on any spot in Jeea inside of an hour. The guys back in Reapings. They’re gonna make things worse. Step up the covert attacks. Use us as a forward base. Generally fuck up my city’s long-term security.

Harry’s always been sharp, Svithe whispered to his bodyguard.

The golden man gave his employer a single nod.

So that makes me think about our orders, Meve said, his voice pensive. Defend sovereign territory of the Holy Alliance at whatever cost.

Harry resumed his path back to the curtain wall. A grimace swelled on his face. And the cost this time was letting the Hobgers retreat so the Grells don’t join them and wipe us off the map. The cost is that Reapings command will probably demote or execute me.

Meve scoffed in the radio. You’re still too popular to fire, let alone kill, Hare. They’re cheering for you inside the city. You just faced down a Burnhelt. Told him to leave, and he listened. The surveillance network caught all of it. You’ll be fine.

Harry’s visage remained unchanged. Thanks for not shooting along with the wall gunners, Meve.

Navy training. So much better than what you get in the army.

Sure. Keep telling yourself that.

At the gate, Shelocke nodded to Harry with warm, brown eyes. She stood just over five feet tall, capable of getting much taller. I’ll make sure your ass is covered, Hare. They won’t risk pissing me off if I say you did the right thing. She winked at him. Which you did.

Thanks for not coming out there with me. I needed him to feel more secure facing off against a lowly Human, rather than a Titan.

I’m not one for fighting anyway. And you’re much more than lowly. Shelocke pounded a fist on the gate, making an echoing clang with far more sound than her dainty hand should have been able to produce.

The hard carbon gate slid upward to admit them. A cheering crowd choked the tan-hued streets, welcoming their defenders back home. The roar drowned out any other words the pair might have said.

Svithe looked to the gold-skinned man, his bodyguard. Garland, I believe we need to take a more active role in Trojis. The war was supposed to start today. Here. Ed and Harry surprised me with this development.

Garland glanced down at his employer. What do you plan to do about it, sir?

Leverage some local talent.

CHAPTER 2

Three Hours Later:

The Noon Hour of Blite 18th, 1596

The naked woman with purple hair materialized at Svithe’s feet, curled in a fetal position. She shivered upon the illuminated, white, square-shaped surface. Impenetrable darkness pressed in on all sides of its borders. Bloody gashes ran down her back, arms, and legs.

Deep-violet tattoos of serpents twined around her neck and down her spine as glyphs rather than detailed images. The haunted woman looked to be in her mid-twenties, but she was far older than that. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears ebbing from them. Moans escaped her lips in feeble breaths.

The bandaged man relished seeing her like this, defeated, raw, vulnerable. He brought her into the borders of the void room, an amorphous pico realm contained within the lair of Hekati, his Trojis-based ally. The naked woman shivered, not opening her eyes.

Svithe tasted her fear in the air between them. So sweet. He wanted this to last much longer, but time wasted ill suited him.

With resignation, Svithe crouched and laid a gloved hand on her shoulder. Mary Night, you’re freed from hell.

The woman stiffened under his grasp. Corsis?

I’m wearing the Svithe bandages, but yes. He stood away from her. I pulled you out ten years before you were due to return.

Mary Night sat up and looked up at him with pitch black eyes flecked with deep-purple irises. I can’t go back there again. I’m sorry for everything. More tears flowed down her cheeks. So sorry.

I need your talents.

I can’t be what I was, not after... She trailed off, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to finish.

You will be what I want you to be. The bandaged man spoke the words in an amicable tone, but coldness lurked beneath them. Luckily, it doesn’t involve spree killing. He shrugged. For now, at least.

They tortured me, Corsis! The woman with purple hair shot to her feet, staring him in his covered face. Pierce wounds pocked her nude torso. Suppurated and swollen, but not bleeding. I was born in the land of a hero’s bad dreams. Compelled to be everything he stood against. Flipped ‘nightmare’ to ‘Mary Night’ as a joke. Tortured his dreams and his waking life. He killed me. I deserved it. I deserved everything I got in hell. It ripped the madness from me. I have to make things better.

You will make things better for me if that means anything.

And worse for everyone else.

You will work for me again, Mary. Svithe clenched a hand into a fist. Or I will arrange for those who tortured you in death to follow you here.

She shrank back, eyes wide with dread. No. Dear gods, please don’t.

The bandaged man did not share her apprehension. Anticipation simmered within his heart instead. So you’re working for me again, then?

She glared at him, hateful and helpless. I have to.

Good to hear. Svithe backed away from her. I’ll give you a little time to take things in. I’ll be back shortly with company.

He crossed the incandescent square’s threshold into the darkness. Within it, he turned around and watched her in silence, waiting for her to presume that he had truly left her. More than a minute passed before Mary Night again sank to her knees. Trembling hands covering her sobbing face. And Svithe enjoyed her anguish, just as she enjoyed the anguish of so many others nearly a century before.

image-placeholder

Hekati grinned at Corsis as he rose from the tangle of clothes on the floor, disrobed from his Svithe alias’s bandages and clothing. I love it when you come to visit. You always give me the most fun things to do.

Corsis looked down at Hekati’s nude form. Not a freckle or mole blemished her green-grey skin, save for two of black polished stones mounted on the center of her collarbone. They depicted her insignia as the goddess of knowledge, a mirrored pair of identical crescent moons, tips touching. Far more pleasant to regard than Mary Night’s scarred body.

The carnal delight he experienced with this woman never failed to awe him. You’re an artist in so many ways. He gestured to the quarters around them. This marvelous sphere being but one example.

The concave, gently sloping, opaque walls of her command chamber belied its outer shape of a spherical vehicle that roved the interior of her vast complex, the Unmaker Laboratory. Within its confines, one never got a sense of movement, but it constantly roved through the wide halls.

Oh, you flatter me about design, but this is what you really meant. She rose, then ensnared him in a fierce embrace and a kiss that ended with her biting his lower lip. The knowledge goddess pulled away from him and gave him a fierce slap across the face.

Corsis returned the favor. Her head tossed back. Then he slapped her again on the other cheek. Her long black hair lashed, the streaks of green at her temples flowing within it.

Hekati’s grin intensified with an eyebrow arched, her grey-green pupils dilated. Mmm. Mmm.

Corsis held up a hand, ordering a halt to their mutual post-coital sadism. Let’s resume this later. I need you to make Mary better.

There’s a loaded term. She pointed to the left to a lavish, oval-shaped bed that they had not used. Its blue satin sheets pulled inward, then the rest of the bed wavered. It grew taller, but thinner, taking on the form of a sleek, glossy cabinet with black sides and a non-glassy, transparent front.

Within this former bed, a ball of twined metal fibers levitated toward her. The thread-width coils spooled off it and into her dingy-hued hand, supplanting her flesh with metal cybernetics. Grey, stringy matter spun away from her into another orb of pulsating protoplasm within the cabinet, increasing in size as the metal sphere shrank, like thread in a sewing machine. Both strands of the liquefied metal and malleable flesh passed through the surface of the clear front.

Very little held constant shapes in Hekati’s lair, including the goddess herself. The Unmaker’s mastery of fleshmancy made body mutation as inconsequential as switching pairs of shoes.

The metamorphosis took only a minute. In that span, her grey skin shifted to a far more human pink-bronze hue on her lower face. Shiny gold chrome replaced the rest of her body. An opaque-black visor replaced her eyes. A gold skullcap covered her head, though a large plume of now blonde hair drooped from the top of her head in a ponytail. Four additional golden arms grew at her shoulders. The orb of flesh now floated back to the cabinet. This six-armed cyborg form was one of her favorite guises, though Corsis preferred others to it.

Corsis pointed at the pile of bandages. The end of one levitated toward him, but Hekati grabbed it with two of her lower hands. No. I have a gift for you. Her voice sounded a touch deeper, and synthetic, like she spoke through a microphone. And I want you to wear it now because I know you’ll just go back to these ratty things when you leave.

A wounded expression crossed the archmancer’s face. Ratty?

She walked to the cabinet, which spun around at her approach. Its dark backside dilated open in an oval-shape. The six-armed woman reached inside and pulled out new vestments, an obsidian bodysuit with gold glyphs twining upon its arms, legs, and torso. A full black mask of the same fabric hung next to it.

Corsis approached her, intrigued. "I am partial to black and gold."

She brushed her warm metal hand down his cheek. I know. Put it on.

Corsis donned the vestments and had to admit they fit well. Once again becoming Svithe, he looked upward at the ceiling mirror. The pitch-black face mask hid everything but his reptilian eyes. The fabric absorbed all light, making the tan glyph designs even more striking. It’s nice.

She smirked at him. I know you’ll never wear it again.

Probably not. Svithe picked up the tan cloak amidst his unspooled bandages. I need the cloak, in any case. For many reasons.

Of course you do. While her eyes were now hidden behind the visor, Svithe didn’t doubt that they viewed him with droll bemusement.

He opted to change the discussion’s course. Attire aside. The conversion spore. You have it ready, I assume.

Ready to plant in the western Stretch. She leaned in close with a mischievous expression. The Alliance’s Horrinshal network still intends to distribute it throughout the West’s black market.

Good. What’s the gestation time for conversion?

I diluted this iteration. We’re looking at about 630 to 650 days. I’ll have a better idea when it gets closer.

Just under two years. Too gradual for those infected to seek aid or for the governments to take action. Svithe ran a finger along the tan glyph on the back of his thumb. Unless we throw out some obvious clues to the Grells at, let’s say, the Nth day minus 2 or 3. Just enough time for them to stir up panic. A series of nice, loud distractions while other events unfold while the realms of Sufrinzon and Trojis are at their closest proximity in centuries.

You and your little drama. She shook her head. It’s going to burn you one day.

The Game demands it. If that burns me, then I accept that.

Mary might be party to such events. I can’t reprogram her. She has a mind, but no brain. Are you absolutely sure you want to involve her? She’s damaged beyond repair.

Oh, definitely.

Then let’s have a look at her. Hekati strode past the cabinet, which sunk into the floor as though it melted. She reached the wall just as it dilated open, with a plank extending from it.

Beyond them yawned a vast metal canyon lined with buildings varying from squat to towering. A metal canopy enclosed the entire complex from the outside, illuminated by incandescent, crisscrossing bands imprinted on the concave surface. Grey-skinned Humans and Humanoid creatures bustled through the canyon’s many sections.

Svithe’s attention drew away from the rest of the complex to the black cube in front of them, looking the size of the command chamber’s roomy interior, the void room containing Mary Night. None of Hekati’s minions greeted them. Only the gold-skinned Garland stood guard next to the void room.

Svithe exited down the ramp and turned around. The command chamber indeed looked like an immense, chrome-covered ball bearing, now with an opening on its side.

Hekati walked past Garland without a word of hello. Svithe gave his bodyguard a nod of greeting as he and the Unmaker passed through the black cube’s threshold like it was standing air. They trod through the darkness to the inner illuminated square where Mary Night sat with her knees against her chest.

Hekati pointed at her as soon as they entered the glowing surface. She was friendly with Corsis in his many guises, but few others. Far more people witnessed her icy demeanor than her intense intimacy. Rise.

Mary did as the goddess bade, making no attempt to cover her nudity or the wounds marring her.

The six-armed woman paced around her in a slow gait. Svithe loved watching this woman work. He had adapted much of her technology and mancy over the centuries, but he preferred coming to witness Hekati’s genius.

Hekati came to a stop in front of Mary. Let’s get to work.

The goddess pressed her hands into the resurrected woman’s body, literally molding it like clay, rubbing away the wounds first, then erasing the serpent glyph tattoo. Her purple, flowing hair became auburn-red with neck-length curls on either side of her head. Her breasts reduced to a perkier size. She shrank a few inches and her olive skin took on a pale, milky pigment.

Mary’s black eyes filled with white and her violet irises became brown as her eye’s shape narrowed a bit. Her face became rounder, less narrow. The aggregate of the changes transformed her into a completely different woman.

Mary shivered for a moment, then felt her body for the wounds. Finding none, she looked at Hekati’s dispassionate face and spoke with a new voice, a softer one. Thank you.

Svithe frowned at her. You don’t have a problem with getting a new body?

No, the new woman whispered. She frowned at Svithe, likely surprised by his change in attire, but she made no mention of it when she said, Mary Night is dead.

She’s still inside of you, Svithe said. Always remember that.

Mary lowered her head. Yes.

Svithe gestured to the new woman. We have an identity waiting for you in Findenton, complete with a tragic history and actual reputed parents. You’re to interact with a fort master named Harry Mang. Your new name is Candice Quentra.

The woman now known as Candice nodded.

There’s one other thing you should know. Svithe paused for a moment, wanting it to draw out a bit longer. Xax is also in Findenton, acting covertly in the shadows.

Candice croaked out a gasp. He’ll know. He was there when I... when Mary died.

Hekati scoffed. You’re a Draqu. You hide in plain sight. And Xax is an idiot. He won’t figure it out.

Xax is many things, Svithe said. But he only acts the fool to hide his craftiness. Be on your guard should you encounter him. He moved in closer to her. Because he knows exactly what you are.

Candice gave Svithe a feverish nod.

He leaned in with his obsidian mask nearly touching her cheek, savoring her fear, her humiliation. And do you know what you are?

A murderer. A tear glimmered at the edge of her eye. Damned to suffer.

That right. And the extent of your suffering will very much depend on how well you perform at the Pale Desert’s frontier. He patted the side of her cheek. Act well, my dear. Act well.

CHAPTER 3

Ten Hours Later:

The Late Evening of Blite 18th, 1595

Harry downed a shot of Raker’s Rum. The spiced liquid burned on the way down his throat, just the way he liked it. He slammed down the glass with one hand, and with the other snatched the handle of a knife with its tip buried in the wood of his desk. With a lash of his arm, the fort master pulled out the blade and threw it at a bullseye target mounted on his office wall. The dagger struck dead center, rattling the target on the dull-grey drywall of Harry’s office.

He looked away from the target to the ceiling fan, stirring the dry, warm air with a dull breeze. His gaze then fell upon the tinted window, slightly thinner than the span of Harry’s shoulders. Illumination from the many city lights looked dimmer through the window’s transparent metal surface, giving Findenton’s clusters of tan buildings a brown hue.

Meve Harlander, leaned his hand against his cheek. How many is that?

Shelocke took a sip of the Raker’s from a tumbler glass with a few ice cubes. That’s twelve shots and twelve throws, Ship Master. She crossed her feet in a reclining position atop the edge of Harry’s desk. Not even close to that record Meve never shuts up about.

It is impressive. Meve stabbed a finger into the desktop. And I’d like to see you do better with Drault Whiskey. Meve flicked his fingernail against her glass. Something that can actually get a Titan drunk.

Shelocke took another sip of Raker’s. You two got me hooked on this stuff.

Meve gave her a stern and falsely critical stare. Uh huh.

Harry blinked away the dizzy feeling of inebriation. Think I’ll call it a night with a dozen.

Lightweight. Meve leaned back in his chair. He was Harry’s age, but time had treated him far worse. His weathered skin covered a severe face. The remnants of his hair encircled his head in a white buzz cut. Ten years ago, five years ago, you went to twenty.

Harry winked at Meve. "You’ve always