by Caris Roane
“No,” he screamed long and loud, so that waves of energy pulsed from his body, radiating in a large circle around him.
Alison hadn’t just opened the portal as his Seers had foreseen over a year ago. She had closed it as well, allowing no breach, no means by which he could continue to secure Third Earth death vampires.
He watched as obsidian flame and Alison began to sink slowly back to earth, back into Endelle’s mist.
When Greaves understood that he would be unable to bring his force through the now healed portal, he knew that his last chance at winning this war without invoking his virus-based morphing ability had just disappeared.
He folded back to Estrella.
All his generals and aides turned toward him, waiting. For a long moment, he couldn’t speak the words. He was stunned at what had just happened.
Finally, he told his staff the truth. The elevated spirits began to dissipate, just like his own. He would change that in a moment, but even he needed time to digest the ugly reality that he would not have his Third Earth force with him today.
At last, he waved a hand over his body. He changed from his elegant Hugo Boss suit into very basic black sweatpants and nothing more.
His generals backed up. He could see the shock, even the disapproval on their faces, so of course he had to give them a small demonstration of things to come. He let his claw emerge.
He smiled as the same group took another step back.
“Don’t worry, my friends. All is not lost.”
He then closed his eyes, and oiled up his body, top to bottom, in order to facilitate the coming change.
“I want a formal presentation at once,” he ordered.
His generals fell into line, each now restored to composure, eyes intense and focused on him.
“All begins and ends here,” he said, his voice filling the space with a faint resonance, nothing to harm his men this time but sufficient to build determination within each soul.
He glanced from face to face, warriors all, each having given himself fully to the Coming Order.
Greaves was not a man of sentiment, but he moved forward and went from man to man, cupping each at the back of the neck with his palm. No words were spoken as he passed down the line.
When he was done, he stood back and said simply, “You have your orders.”
The line broke as each man moved to his station in the room to sit before a computer screen and to monitor the ranks under his command. If so moved during events at White Lake, he would order an outright attack.
As it stood, however, mobilizing the entire army served no purpose since Leto had stolen half his force. For the moment, Greaves had lost the military advantage he’d worked so diligently to create, but he saw no sense in expending warriors when he might have need of them later. If during the coming battle he actually failed, he would fold to his Geneva stronghold, recover, then rebuild.
He had made his decision about how he would morph during the coming battle. He would hold nothing back. By the rules of war, approved by COPASS, both he and Endelle could do their worst.
And so he would.
He was therefore taking a small contingent to White Lake, not even a full regiment, just five hundred seasoned death vampires. They were an exquisite force of pretty-boys, all with blue-tinged skin and glossy black feathers when in flight. His force, if nothing else, would be a beautiful, terrifying sight to behold.
With him, he also had his diminished squad of three remaining Third Earth death vampires from the original lot he had snuck through the breach in the portal over the past six months. The majority had already died—some at the hands of Thorne five months ago in Moscow Two, and the rest more recently because of Casimir and Leto’s combined efforts.
When an aide called out that the mist from White Lake had just disappeared, Greaves bid his generals to await his orders, then folded to his landing platform at the mouth of the vast Estrella Mountain underground barracks. His death vampires stood in formation, lovely to behold in black kilts and maroon weapons harnesses. He’d ordered his own form of the cadroen, so that his men presented a uniform appearance.
He smiled. Using a form of mass telepathy, he communicated in a firm mental voice, Today we vanquish our enemy.
As one, each right fist pumped the air and a deafening battle cry filled the cavern.
* * *
Endelle stood on the bank of White Lake, her mist withdrawn. She felt deeply sobered by watching Alison fulfill a destiny that Alison had predicted at the time of her ascension. Obsidian flame, Leto, Thorne, Kerrick, and Alison flew toward her, and landed one after the other in an arc in front of her.
Each ascender was equally sobered, as though in some mystical way, they knew as a group that what happened next would be pivotal.
By prior agreement, she folded everyone to the Apache Junction Two landing platforms. Once down the ramp, she turned, let the group gather around her once more, and ordered obsidian flame to use Marguerite’s Seer ability to have a look at White Lake.
Fiona, Marguerite, and Grace faced one another. Endelle could feel the power flow from deep in the earth. Thorne stood near them, ready to anchor all that power as needed.
Endelle knew the moment when Marguerite entered the future streams; it was as though a switch clicked. The same switch got flipped again as Marguerite withdrew. But her face was pinched, and her eyes wide, as she met Endelle’s gaze.
Endelle knew that Marguerite had seen something about the battle that horrified her. She had a split-second decision to make about what the group should know and finally called out to Marguerite, “Come here and show me what you’ve seen. Just me, do you understand?”
She nodded and moved past the other two women to reach up and put her hands on Endelle’s face. Marguerite let the vision flow.
When Endelle watched the images pass by in a swift wave, she watched the nature of her own transformation. She saw Greaves as well. She didn’t understand how her new form could battle his and possibly win. She was still herself, except without flight gear, and her wings had changed, morphing to enormous, ethereal, floating panels without feathers; more butterfly than bird. Her hair floated in a mass of iridescent pastel shades. Her naked body, while still very female, also bore what looked like a flame pattern of the same pastel shades and very iridescent. The effect was beautiful but not exactly the lethal presence she would need to defeat a monster.
In the vision she flew in Greaves’s direction; then the prophetic images faded to nothing. Was she flying to her doom? Because Greaves looked like a man now covered in impenetrable plates like a medieval knight, yet made up of his biological material.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment absorbing what she had seen.
She simply couldn’t believe what would be required of her or how the form she had chosen could actually battle Greaves.
When she opened her eyes, she drew a deep breath and told Marguerite to remain silent and not to share the images with anyone.
“Endelle,” Thorne called out. “This isn’t right. You should tell everyone.”
“Perhaps I should,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “But there is part of the vision that concerns only me, which I intend to keep private between me and Marguerite. The rest, however, I can communicate, but I want all the Warriors of the Blood in the folding hangar as quickly as possible, in flight gear, their brehs with them.”
Thorne got on his com and started barking orders one after the other.
Endelle didn’t wait to watch anyone arrive. She turned instead and walked in the direction of the hangar.
Once through the broad doorway, she inclined her head to Gideon, who stood on the elevated command platform that overlooked the enormous room. She noted the tension in his eyes and in his stance.
Everyone felt the proximity of battle.
She moved to stand near the extensive folding platforms, her back to the room. She could feel her elite force arriving one after the other, as well a
s Havily and Parisa, who were bonded with Marcus and Medichi.
When everyone had arrived, she turned around—and the sight took her breath away. All nine of her beloved Warriors of the Blood, all in battle gear and ready for war, waited for her, shoulders back, spines straight, eyes alert.
These were her warriors, the men who had been with her for centuries, battling death vampires at the five major Borderlands in the Phoenix Metro Two area. Her throat felt tight, her eyes burned, her heart ached.
Each had suffered while striving to do right by Second Earth, to keep mortals and ascenders safe from the killing inherent in the soul of the death vampires.
She loved them all, but she wondered if her warriors knew how much she valued them. She let her gaze move from one to the next, starting with Kerrick who had bonded with Alison, the first of the men to be struck down by the breh-hedden. Marcus was next, his slash of brows over light brown eyes. He gripped Havily’s hand. Medichi was the tallest, his arm tight around Parisa’s shoulders. Jean-Pierre, as was his habit, stood behind Fiona, his arms wrapped around her; Fiona’s head cradled against his neck and shoulder.
Thorne leaned down, saying something tender in Marguerite’s ear. She smiled up at him and kissed him.
Leto met Endelle’s gaze and gave a brisk nod, his arm hooked around Grace’s. Luken stood next to Grace, one of three remaining unbonded warriors. He had the biggest shoulders she had ever seen, bigger than even Braulio’s. He was her new leader of the Warriors of the Blood, having replaced Thorne.
Zacharius, with his thick curly hair that drove the women wild, smiled crookedly. Santiago stood next to him with all his Latin charm, flipping a ruby-studded dagger.
Her men.
Her warriors.
“Madame Endelle,” Gideon called out.
She turned toward him and nodded.
“I just received word that Greaves and a large contingent of death vampires are now in flight over White Lake, just beneath the Trough to Third Earth.”
Her heart rate kicked into high gear. “Do we have visuals?”
“Coming.” Gideon spoke quietly into his com. He tapped on his computer keyboard and a moment later the huge screen behind him came to life.
The visual left nothing to the imagination. In a vast line, from the vortex and gathered in row upon row to the south, were hundreds of death vampires, the bright sun of the desert glittering off the gloss of their wings and exposing the pale skin tinged with blue. Each wore a maroon weapons harness, the signature color for Greaves’s army.
Greaves led the parade, but he hadn’t mounted his wings. He merely levitated at the head of his force and he seemed to be wearing only a pair of pants. His body gleamed with oil, which confirmed what she and Marguerite had seen in the future streams.
Greaves would change shape, and she would be forced to as well. She would have to morph into something that had a chance of subduing what Greaves would become.
“Dear Creator,” she whispered.
And for the first time in millennia, Endelle knew fear. She could hear her warriors murmuring.
Thorne drew close to her. She met his gaze and asked, “What do you suggest?”
“We’ll need a Militia Warrior force five times that size.”
Endelle saw the glitter in his eyes. “You have the force ready, don’t you?”
Thorne met her gaze and smiled. “Damn straight I do.”
“And you’ll need healers on the banks and Militia Warriors in speedboats to pull the wounded out of the water and get them to shore.” Wings could easily get caught in water and drown an ascender.
At that, Thorne smiled. “Already done. They’re a mile from the vortex, in a flotilla ready to engage.”
Endelle shook her head. “I keep forgetting that you’ve been planning every contingency for months.” She drew a deep breath and said, “You have command of obsidian flame. Do with them what you see fit on every level. I know they’re not warriors so if you can help it, don’t put them into battle. Find some way to use them that will support me or your troops.”
“I agree wholeheartedly.”
“Then let’s do this thing. Let’s see if we can’t finish off that bastard right now.”
But Thorne took her arm gently in his. To her mind, he sent, I saw the vision as well. It flowed into my head as Marguerite saw it. I could also sense that there was something permanent about the change, unlike what I am able to do when I morph. Are you sure you have to do this thing?
Yes, Braulio explained it to me.
He searched her eyes, I’m so sorry that this is on you, Endelle. You deserve so much better. Regardless, I’ve got your back.
Endelle nodded. I know. Just his nearness calmed her fears. Thank you.
After Braulio had told her the difficult truth about her new ability, she had known she was facing one of the toughest moments of her life, to choose to become something she would have to morph into the rest of her ascended life.
But the hour was too late for regrets or for making other decisions. There was nothing to be done or to be undone. Apparently Greaves was going all-in, pushing his last chip onto the table and expecting to win because of his little secret.
Of course, he had no way of knowing what Braulio had done to her.
As she pondered the vision of herself in her altered state, she wondered why the hell she would have chosen something that looked so vulnerable. A ruse of some kind?
Then she remembered something about scorpions. Some carried a poison that could kill a human being but couldn’t harm a cat. She thought about adding a fine stinger tail to what would otherwise be a quite beautiful transformation, but the vision hadn’t included anything like that, just an odd almost continual shedding of perspiration, probably to keep the wings flexible. If nothing else, she would be quick in the air, much more agile than with her usual wings.
She gave her orders and with obsidian flame, including Thorne, backing her up, as well as her Warriors of the Blood, she folded to White Lake. She now levitated in the air fifty yards from Greaves. And because Thorne had built the army, and had made sure his force drilled a variety of maneuvers every day, she could sense her force move into place behind her: twenty-five hundred seasoned Militia Warriors, male and female.
Greaves was suddenly in her mind, busting past her mental shields, a reminder that the bastard had power. You can surrender now and live, he sent.
There was resonance and force behind his words, as though he shouted into a canyon. His voice hurt.
She sent back her favorite phrase, however, and added her own resonance. Fuck you.
With pleasure, she watched Greaves list, ever so slightly, midair.
A faint mist suddenly surrounded Greaves, and Endelle knew the time had come to morph. Her throat grew tight as she also swirled her mist. She got rid of her flight suit, took a deep breath, then let the morphing begin.
The physical ache returned from the time Braulio had first infected her with the virus, deep in her muscles and bones, as everything began to stretch and reshape. She kept the future stream image firmly in mind and, despite the pain, allowed the new being to come forth from her body.
But dear Creator, help her to understand how this shape could slay a monster?
* * *
Thorne saw Endelle’s mist, as well as Greaves’s. He knew what was transpiring, though he could hardly believe the transformations that would take place. At the same time, he had to get his army poised for battle.
He turned to face what was essentially a full regiment of twenty-five hundred warriors, which meant five warriors against every death vampire, a necessary equation. He touched his com and spoke to his twenty-five Section Leaders, each of whom had charge of a hundred men and women.
Like a ballet corps, the force split vertically, forming five layers, one above the next, in the air, thirty feet between each layer so that Thorne’s gaze now traveled up and up.
Wings flapped sustaining positions. He spoke again, and the forc
e now spread across the width of White Lake, bank to bank, another means of allowing for battle maneuver.
He glanced at both sides of the lake and noted how the hotels and gardens were completely empty of people. Colonel Seriffe had done his job well and evacuated everyone against the battle now shaping up on the lake.
He turned to face Endelle once more and saw in the distance that Greaves had completed his transformation and was hovering near the surface of the water. According to the vision, the battle between Endelle and Greaves would take place just above the surface.
Thorne extended his vision to see Greaves better.
Jesus H. Christ. The monster had become more of himself but with what looked like a biological suit of armor. He was twice Greaves’s normal size. His face was still there, but his body had heavy plates that could probably withstand hand-blast capacity. He looked physically powerful. If Thorne could guess, then blow for blow Endelle would have to become something similar to be able to battle him, and according to the future streams, she would not be anything close.
Endelle’s mist evaporated and what emerged was like something from a massive chrysalis: an angelic butterfly that glittered beneath the sun. Thorne had to put a hand up to shield his eyes. It was as though she were covered in gems that reflected the light.
She was so beautiful.
Though he had a sinking sensation that what she had chosen to become could never battle a fully armored Greaves, he thought wryly that Endelle had created one helluva spectacle costume, something that must have pleased her soul.
As he saw Greaves’s death vampire force—and because Endelle had given him complete command of the army—he made a quick decision.
He touched his com and ordered his regiment to perform one of his favorite drills, a massive group flight, at an angle rising into the air in order to achieve a superior advantage over the enemy.
A split second later, his Militia Warriors, as a unit, began to flap every shade of wing imaginable at an upward angle that within less than a minute, if unimpeded, would place them above Greaves’s death vampire force.