27- 29.

TWENTY-SEVEN:

Kiss and Make Up

The dream shifted abruptly, and I found myself standing on a brightly lit balcony, overlooking a small garden and a sea of lush green grass, stretching off in the distance. The air was crisp, the sky clear, the sun smiling down with warm, comforting rays. Abby inched up beside me, entwining her hand with mine. I pulled her in front of me, wrapping my arms around her as I rested my chin on her shoulder. Her skin was warm, the smell of her hair a heady scent in my nose. A delighted squeal sliced through the peace and quiet and a pair of children sprinted out onto the lawn, laughing uproariously as they chased each other round and round.

A boy and a girl, but with the dusky complexion of Murk Elves.

“They’re such good kids,” Abby said absently, tracing her fingers over the back of my hand. “How did we get so lucky?” 

She was right. We had gotten lucky. Twins, when few Travelers even had a single child. We had a future together. This was the happy, healthy, normal life I’d always wanted for myself, and somehow I had it. Though the details were hazy. What happened to Thanatos, I wondered briefly? Had we defeated him? I couldn’t remember, but we must have. And, honestly, I didn’t actually care what had happened. Standing there, holding Abby, watching our kids play… I’d never been happier. 

The how wasn’t so important. Not at the moment.

A whiff of something rank drifted through the air. The scent of rot and decay. I gagged and pulled away, covering my nose with the crook of my arm. What was that smell? Where was it coming from?

I looked to Abby—the question posed on the tip of my tongue—but found myself face to face with Osmark instead. I recoiled in shock. Where was Abby? How had Osmark gotten here? He also looked subtly off somehow. His skin was unnaturally pale, almost corpse white, and his brown hair flickered black at the tips, reminding me in no small part of Thanatos. Thinking of the Overmind seemed to further transform Osmark, his typical Artificer gear vanishing, replaced by Thanatos’ jet-black cassock. A steely scythe appeared in Osmark’s right hand, the wicked curved blade resting casually against his shoulder. 

“Hello, Jack,” he said calmly, stepping to one side, revealing an obsidian altar with Abby sprawled out across the surface. She lay stone still, her arms pinned against her sides, her legs straight as two by fours; she didn’t speak or move, but a stream of endless red tears rolled down her cheeks, filling up the grooves on the sacrificial altar.

“This is the way, Jack,” Thanatos-Osmark said, extending his free hand which now held the sacrificial blade, forever seared into my mind. “This is the only way,” he said again, pressing the hilt of the knife into my hand. “You can’t run from it. Spending a few days playing house with your little girlfriend in the woods won’t stop the inevitable. If you want to win, you have to sacrifice everything. You have to kill what you love.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head vigorously, trying to refuse the knife. “I don’t want to do that. I already crossed that line once, I won’t do it again.” Even as I spoke my fingers closed around the hilt of the blade, accepting the weapon.

“You say that, but we both know it’s not true. You’re more like me than you’d care to admit. You’ve already done the unthinkable.” Thanatos-Osmark paused, slowly pacing along the balcony, the cassock swishing around his ankles as he moved. “You’ve sacrificed your friends. Killed the woman you love most in pursuit of a video game quest. Made deals with reprehensible people. The Spider Queen. Abubakar Mubarak, an arms dealer. Me,” he said, glancing over one shoulder. 

“You’ll do what needs doing, I have no doubt. And that”—he waved at the blade in my hand—“is the price tag. Sometimes you have to sacrifice what you love for the good of everyone. That’s not condemnation, just reality. Stop pretending otherwise and do your duty,” he said, though now he sounded like a chorus of different voices. Osmark, Thanatos, Sophia, even Abby, all speaking as one. “Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it,” the voices chanted in unison. “It’s the only way. To save yourself. To save everyone. To win. Do it. Do it. Do it.”

The voices drilled into my ears—a relentless drone demanding I pay attention. Demanding I act. Act now!

I grimaced and turned toward Abby, raising the knife in my hand, regarding my reflection in the length of the blade. Maybe it was just a trick of the light or the distorted angle of the metal, but I didn’t look like myself anymore. Now the image staring back at me was the odd Osmark-Thanatos amalgamation. I took the first, heavy step toward Abby, steeling myself as I prepared to strike. To do what needed doing, just as I’d done down in the trials beneath Stone Reach. Just as I had done every day since returning to Yunnam. Putting the Alliance first. Putting the mission first. Pushing her away.

“Yes,” Osmark-Thanatos muttered in their numerous voices, urging me on. “This is the only way, Jack. Do what’s right for the good of everyone. Drive her away. It’s for the best.” 

I hesitated. Drive her away? It’s for the best. No, that didn’t sound right.

“It’s necessary for people like us to be alone, Jack,” Thanatos-Osmark urged. “If we don’t care about anyone, then it never hurts to make the hard decisions. Isolation is the way. The key.”

This was wrong. I didn’t want this, not even if it was the only way. 

And the truth was there was always another way. If my time in V.G.O. had taught me anything, it was that the solution that made the most, pragmatic sense on the surface was rarely the best answer. Kowtowing to Carrera when he threatened me had made logical sense; instead I’d found a way to take Rowanheath for the Alliance. Murdering Arzokh the Sky Maiden had been the only way—right up until I set her free and earned the blessing of the Jade Lord in so doing. Killing Khalkeús had been the only way to get the Reality Editor, but mercy had been the real key there, not violence. 

Hell, even the Vogthar were proving the point: that violence, murder, and cold sacrifice was not the only solution. And certainly not the ultimate one. 

I’d made a mistake by killing Abby—and I’d justified it because I’d seen no other option at the time. That wasn’t a mistake I would make again. I’d been pushing her away for weeks, slowly driving a wedge between us so that it would hurt her less when I went on to face Thanatos and didn’t return. I’d been miserable since Stone Reach precisely because I’d been making the same mistake over and over and over again. Even though I hadn’t killed her, I’d sacrificed our relationship on an alter of necessity in order to fulfill my quest to stop Thanatos. True, I hadn’t plunged a knife into her throat, but I’d inflicted death by a thousand emotional wounds on her.

And on myself, for that matter.

But I was done with that. 

Maybe I wouldn’t survive what was the come—maybe Abby wouldn’t either—but that simply meant I needed to fix things now. To enjoy the time I did have with her, without worrying about what might or might not happen. Inadvertently, I’d turned myself into Osmark: a cold, distant, isolated man, who trusted no one, and kept every relationship at a safe, comfortable distance. Osmark was a competent and accomplished, but no one would call him happy. The truth was, we didn’t need another Osmark. We needed a Jack. 

I faced the spirit haunting me, taunting me into action. 

Driving me into solitude and loneliness.

“No,” I said simply. “I’ve already given you too much control over my life. I’m not going to give you anymore. I’ve let people push me around—I’ve let them make me think I don’t belong, that I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m done listening. I’ve made it this far by being me, not by being Osmark or anyone else.” I hooked a thumb toward my chest. “I made it this far by being me and staying true to myself.” I opened my hand and dropped the knife. “And I’m going to keep doing what I think is right, even if no one else agrees.” 

The bladed clattered on the tiled floor and the sound rippled out like a struck gong, waves of golden light blasting through the Osmark-Thanatos specter. Obliterating him like the bad nightmare he was. Banishing him back to the dark recesses of my mind…

***

Morning came bright and early, Abby’s fingers caressing my cheek softly, luring me from my rest. 

“Good morning,” she said with a sly grin, leaning in to give me a long, full kiss. “Jo-Dan made breakfast for us—for all the volunteers, actually. He even brought enough coffee to fill a kiddy-sized swimming pool.” 

“Now you’re speaking my language, lady,” I replied with a sleepy grin. 

We dressed quickly and indulged in a leisurely breakfast chockfull of all the goodness anyone could ever ask for—slabs of thick cut bacon, grilled ham steaks as big as my head, fried eggs, sweetened steel-cut oatmeal with berries, and a wagonload of buttery rolls. Then we metaphorically rolled up our sleeves and dove into the work. All day, I thought about the odd dream. Turning it over in my head and examining it from different angles while I dug troughs, hauled stone, and nailed boards into place.

The only conclusion I could come to was that I’d been an idiot over the past few weeks. I’d forgotten myself—where I’d come from and who I was. I’d let the stress and pressure twist me into someone I barely recognized. Zendu was right, to remember the way back is to find the path forward. By stepping away from the war, I’d found the path again. 

The rest of the day practically flew by. With the planning done and all the manpower at our disposal, the small village sprang up around as though by magic, brought into existence in the span of days, instead of weeks or months. True, this place wasn’t the Greek-inspired city of Idruz, but it would work well enough for now. And the Vogthar refugees would be far safer here than back in Morshiem, under the distrustful eye of Legion guards, looking for any excuse to shed Vog blood.

The houses and shops had been designed by Dwarves and, as a result, boasted many of the arcitetcual flairs I’d seen during my time in Cliffburgh—jutting stone chimneys, wide windows, buildings all vaguely Viking-esque in appearance. However, the spider silk additions, serpentine gables, and leather furnishings were one-hundred percent Murk Elf. Then, after hearing Zendu describe Idruz, Jo-Dan drudged up some cut marble and roman-inspired statues from the bowels of his crypt—so they wouldn’t get too homesick, Jo insisted. The result was neat and orderly village that was equal parts Stone Reach, Storme Marshes, and fallen Roman temple. 

I’d never seen anything even remotely like it but was also inexplicably thrilled with the results. Did it really work? 

Yeah no. Absolutely not. 

The different styles and architectural embellishments formed an eye-wrenching combination, but the fact that all of these people had come together to build something for people without a home… That kinda made it perfect. 

It was late evening on the second day by the time the village was well and truly done. Abby and I had managed to relocate the Vogthar refugees from all three of the Alliance controlled cities—no small feat. There were just under three thousand of them all told; a relatively small number considering the virtually endless sea of Vogthar Thanatos had been throwing against us. The few unscripted caretakers were skittish around us, but the younglings seemed inquisitive more than anything else. They inspected the buildings with a gusto, a few even playing with the lingering corpse hounds or clambering about on the spiderkin. 

The brown-furred spiders tolerated the presence of the gray-skinned children with surprisingly good grace and long-suffering patience. Like a disgruntled family cat meeting a toddler for the first time.  

It was endearing to watch.

Lowyth, they gave a wide breath, which was probably a good idea since she stalked around the little town like a sheriff on the prowl for lawbreakers, ready to mete out justice in an instant. 

On the other hand, the Vogthar took to Jo-Dan like he was practically one of their own, and before long he had a troop of older kids following him around as though he were the Piped Piper in the flesh. Mostly, they nattered on excitedly amongst themselves in their odd language, though once in a while they paused to ask Jo one question or another in broken, halting English. “Was he a Traveler? Why didn’t he have a face? Could they ride the Corpse Hounds? Where was his home? Was he in love with the Spider woman?” Some of those questions were deeply personal, but coming from the mouths of children, they were far less intrusive. 

Abby and I stood on a slight rise away from the rest of Haven, looking down on the flutters of movement as the Vogthar settled into their new dwellings, spiderkin making rounds, ensuring the new inhabitants were tucked safely away from harm behind the low palisade walls.

“We did a good thing,” Abby whispered from beside me, her voice content, her body warm as she pressed up against me. Reminding me of our time together on the dream-balcony. Watching the Vog kids play below wasn’t quite the same as watching our own children, but it was close. “Though it’s probably best that we keep their presence here secret for a while,” she continued, drawing me from my thoughts. “I imagine most people would have a hard time trusting them, no matter what we tell them about the scripts and the Lorekeepers.” 

“No joke,” I said, thinking back to both my brief time in the Dusty Mustache and Senator Caius’ causal hatred of the Dokkalfar—bitter resentment left over from a war fought decades before we’d arrived in game. Until now, I’d seen the Vogthar as disposable, faceless bad guys to mow down while moving from one Quest to another. They weren’t people, they were mindless monsters. Even knowing what I did, seeing them down there, swarming those houses made me just a tad nervous. Assuming all of the Vogthar could be freed from Thanatos’ corrupting influence, how long would it take for the rest of the people of Eldgard to let go of their suspicions and hatreds? 

Would they ever be able to?

“Hey,” I said, facing Abby, a tired smile creasing my face. “I wanted to say that it’s been really nice just being with you the past few days. I know things have been weird lately. Between us, I mean.” 

“Gee, you don’t say,” she replied, eyes rolling so hard I thought they might pop out of her head. “I hadn’t picked up on that.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” I conceded.

“I’m not blind, Jack,” she said. “You’ve been pushing me away. And I get it.”  

“About that,” I replied, dropping my gaze. “I want to explain. To apologize.” 

“Explain?” She snorted. “I’m also not a dummy, Jack. I know you. I’ve seen how you are.” She pressed in closer, jabbing a finger against my chest. “Plus, I can totally read people better than you—I knew Osmark was a snake, and I knew that you were the one guy in the world I could trust when I needed someone. I was right on both accounts. You’re a good guy, Jack, and you thought pushing me away would make it less painful if something happened to you.” 

Well yeah. She’d known this whole time? 

I sighed. Who was I kidding? Only myself, apparently. 

Of course she’d known. 

“You’re right again. Two for two,” I said, shuffling my feet as I worked through this next part in my mind. “The thing is, I was being a moron. I was so worried about hurting you long term that I failed to see how much I was hurting you now.” 

“Hey,” she said, tipping my chin back up with her cupped hand. “This is all new to both of us and it’s a lot of stress. No one expects you to do things perfectly, including me. That’s part of growing. Screwing up. Making mistakes. Learning from them.” 

“Now you’re three for three,” I replied with a heady grin. “And the thing I’ve learned?” I drew away from her, slipping my hand into my pocket and pulling free the simple golden band with the diamond stud perched on top. “I don’t know how long I have with you, but I’m going appreciate every single second we get together. I’m not going to live with regrets.” I dropped to one knee, lifting the ring. The stone caught the silver light shining down, glimmering like a trapped star. “So, I guess what I want to know, Abby, is will you marry me?”

She froze, eyes locked onto the glittering ring, her chest hitching a little. 

For a long, terrible moment I thought she was going to say no…

Then she squealed, accepting the proffered ring and sliding it onto her finger with a gasp. Before I could say anything else, she pulled me to my feet and threw her arms around me, squeezing the life out of me with her enthusiasm.  “Of course, I’ll marry you.” We swayed back and forth. “There’s no one else I’d rather be in this with than you,” she murmured into my chest.

After a few minutes she reluctantly released her death hold. “I’m glad to have you back, Jack.” She eyed the ring with a quirk of her lips. 

“You okay?” I asked.

“No,” she said with a little shake of her head, “but also yes. A lot of mixed emotions is all.” A sly smile crept across her face. “But enough of that. Come on”—she grabbed my hand and gave it a tug—“I like your motto of living without regrets and it just so happens that the Dwarven architects built an extra little place for visiting dignitaries like us.” She glanced over a shoulder and shot me a wink. “I think it’s time I finally finished my Firebrand courtship dance. You interested?” 

My mouth was dry, my palms slick. “Sounds like we should walk faster.”

“I’m on board,” she said, picking up her pace with a giggle. “Then tomorrow we can go serve Thanatos a great big ol’ can of whoop-ass, so we can get married and have a proper honeymoon without having to worry about someone trying to murder the world.”

TWENTY-EIGHT:

Final Preparation

I tromped through the mud and muck of the Siege Yard outside of Idruz, my breath misting in front of me in the early morning light. Osmark kept pace to my right, Abby to my left, the rest of the amassed Eldgard War Council fanning out around us in a semi-circle. We were a few members short, since there was still a war on and we needed generals and officers to keep the train on the rails. All the heavy hitters were present and accounted for, though. A first since the invasion started. Surrounding us in an even wider ring were members of the Imperial Janissaries and Alliance shock-troops, ready to dance if Thanatos had some sort of preemptive strike waiting in the wings. 

Marching ahead of our sprawling party were Vlad and Enzo, both looking particularly pleased with themselves. I had to admit, they had good reason to be pleased. 

Despite the logistical challenges and the personality differences—namely, Vlad and Enzo trying to eviscerate each other at every possible turn—the Siege Towers were done. All three of them. Two of the three had already been deployed, preparing for the inevitable raid against the Necropolis, but the crowning jewel was still here in the Siege Yard, waiting for our final inspection. And everyone wanted to get a sneak peek since these siege engines hadn’t come cheap. Aside from the labor and sheer man hours, each tower had cost millions of dollars’ worth of gold, materials, and rare crafting ingredients. 

A lot of that money had come from Alliance and Imperial coffers—a fact that the Imperial Senators were livid about, because of course they were—but the Dwarves of Stone Reach and the Merchants of the Ankaran Trimerite had also ponied up a hefty sum.

“Since this is the one you will personally be piloting, Jack,” Vlad said as we finally came to a stop at the base of the enormous structure, “I decided to christen it as Crimson Hammer.” He waved a gloved hand at an enormous red hammer painted across the front of the structure. The mark alone was the size of a billboard—no one would have any problem figuring out who was in this thing. 

“Holy Bollocks of Banztantium,” Cutter said, gazing up, “that’s one helluva big siege tower.” 

“That’s what she said,” Abby mumbled beside me, though only half-heartedly. Her attention was locked on the tower. I understood the sentiment.

Even after giving blueprints a once over and seeing the work in progress, nothing could’ve remotely prepared me for the reality of the siege tower. Heck, even the term siege tower seemed woefully inadequate to describe the colossal titan I was staring at. It was the Godzilla of war machines. Back in my college days, I’d taken a History Unit called the Early Middle Ages, 284 – 1000 AD, and there’d been a whole section on siege warfare. I’d seen pictures of early siege towers in my textbook, but this thing more closely resembled a Gundam than it did the images I’d seen splayed out on the text pages. 

Instead of cumbersome wheels, the tower perched atop a set of spindly mechanical legs that looked uncannily like the limbs of an enormous spider. They were a steampunk wonder of steel and iron, gears and rivets, pistons and brass tubing, cobbled together by every Artificer in Eldgard all working together around the clock for more than a week solid.

Enzo offered the slightest grin as he watched my jaw drop. “You see my base”—he waved at the mechanized spider legs with a slowly smoldering cigarette—“it is far superior to wheels. A masterpiece of engineering.”

Osmark crept up beside me, “Enzo is insufferable, but I told you the man was a genius. Hopefully your boy Vlad lives up to all the hype. Though if the exterior is any indication, I suspect we’ll have nothing to worry about.”

“The tower,” Enzo declared from ahead, giving voice to Osmark’s musings, “it is serviceable.” He frowned, shrugged noncommittally. “Perhaps even adequate.”

Vlad scoffed and idly reached for the crossbow strapped to his back. “Serviceable,” he muttered darkly. “Will show buffoon serviceable as soon as Thanatos is in ground.”

Despite Enzo’s dismissive and overt skepticism, the siege tower itself was a skoosh beyond serviceable. 

Thirteen stories tall—not counting the added height from the base—covered in reinforced steel armor, and positively littered with smaller siege weapons. So. Many. Weapons. 

Externally mounted platforms with ballista and arcane shadow cannons. Steel-shuttered windows with car-sized grappling hook cannons, attached to wrist-thick lengths of chain—perfect for tearing away sections of the wall or allowing Infiltrators to scuttle across to the battlements. A full contingent of steam-powered Gatling guns festooned a section of the tower which would be level with the top of the Necropolis’ outer wall. Ideal for cutting down frontline defenders manning the icy ramparts. Protruding from the both sides of the tower were oversized mechanized arms—one capped by a sledgehammer the size of a tank, the other wielding a three-foot-thick metal shield as big as a freight train car. 

Perched on top of the tower, like the Eye of Sauron, was a circular golden orb covered in flowing silver script. I had no idea what it did, but man did I want to find out.  

“It is a wonder,” Ashur eil Akhiqar said from behind me. “We Ankarans believe in trade, art, and luxury—not war. Yet this…” he fluttered his wings, feathers bristling, and shook his head. “Bu guzel. It is incredible.”

“Etekleri zil caliyor,” one of the other Accipitor merchants teased, jostling Ashur with an elbow. 

“And so what if I am giddy, eh?” Ashur shot back. “It is a wonder to rival every building in Ankara. Unlike you, Mehmet, I was a craftsman long before I became a merchant and made my fortune—I can admire the skill here. From one craftsman to another,” he boomed to Vlad and Enzo, “I say elenize saglik. Health to your hands.”

“Spasibo,” Vlad replied tipping his chin in acknowledgment. “Come, will give you all a tour of inside. That is where true artwork lies. Many features.” He paused, tilting his head to one side. “I believe it is my best work to date.” While he spoke, the spider legs hissed, steam spurting out from each of its eight appendages as it lowered itself to the ground. A rear loading hatch—large enough to accommodate even a creature Devil’s size—lurched upward like an oversized garage door. A metal ramp emerged, setting down gently on the muddy field. “So many features,” he said stoically, though there was a smug smirk on his face.

“As the representatives of the Imperial taxpayers,” Senator Caius said dismissively, “we shall be the judge of that.” 

Man, that guy was the absolute worst.

We marched up the ramp three abreast, our boots clanging loudly on the plated metal. 

The first-floor interior was a wide marshalling yard with ample overhead clearing, obviously meant to stage gear and divide units so they could deploy to the correct level of the tower. Signs were plastered all over the walls and glowing arrows were painstakingly engraved on the floor—showing unit commanders where to go at a glance. Cannoneers to level three, siege operators to levels five, eight, and eleven. Ariel and archery units to level ten, foot and infiltrators to nine. Medic stations on all even floors. Engineers, artificers, and crafters to the operating sectors on level two and seven. 

On and on. 

The forethought and planning that had gone into this place was staggering.  

There were no stairs—Vlad informed us that they took up too much space—but there were hearty ladders everywhere, connecting to steel catwalks which ran overhead. Attached to those catwalks were ropes, pulleys, and cranks that could be used to hoist heavier siege weapons to the upper levels. Makeshift service elevators, all powered by small steam motors—though each also had a hand-crank incase power went down during the raid. Vlad was a firm believer in fail-safes and redundancy measures.

My Chief Weaponeer ushered us through the various decks, each more impressive than the last. 

The floors had all been custom built to serve their unique purpose and a host of individual rooms, scribed with powerful ward runes, meant each section could be locked down in case the enemy somehow managed to breech the tower and get inside. The real wonder, however, was on level seven, right in the heart of the tower: the war room. A magically fortified diamond window—imported from Ankara, nearly indestructible, and incredibly pricey—looked out from the tower, giving the inhabitants of the war room an unobstructed view of the battlefield.

I’d expected a bridge similar to the set-up Cutter had aboard the Hellreaver, but this place was far more USS Enterprise than Pirates of the Caribbean. Two oversized leather chairs, secured to the floor with heavy bolts, faced the window, and in front of each was a diamond-glass console each studded with their own baseball-sized emeralds. Reclaimed Dungeon Cores, I knew from my time with Jo-Dan. There were no steampunk levers or manual toggle switches. Just the lifeless glass consoles. Positioned in the very center of the room was a third rig, more expansive than the other two. 

It came with its own control console but there was also a strange emerald helmet perched on the seat.  

“This room is my crowning jewel,” Vlad said proudly, shooting Enzo a withering glare. “Unlike awkward, unwieldly Artificer Goliaths, this system is intuitive and works through player interface. Is very complicated but user friendly. Look.” He gestured to the chairs. “Two lieutenants sit here, da? One connects with engineering department on levels two and seven. Engineer can use Darkshard Ore to make instant repairs or upgrades to tower. Second chair is A-Gunner, governs backup weapon systems, deploys Keep Guardians.”

“Keep Guardians?” Osmark interjected. “How is that possible? Guardians are bound to cities and their respective Keeps—they have a very short geographic operating range outside of preset parameters.” 

“Is true,” Vlad said with a nod. He strutted forward and picked up the emerald helmet. “Guardians are powerful tools, but how to use them in Morshiem, Vlad wondered. Then, inspiration.” He grinned. “Make each Siege Tower its own independent, mobile Keep. This is Keep Stone.” He ran calloused fingers over the green helmet. “Allows the pilot to control the whole Siege Keep as though they were the Primary Keep Guardian. Also connects to the Seer Stone on top of the Tower—gives the wearer a panoramic view. Was very difficult to build. Steep learning curve.”

He walked over and handed me the helmet. 

“Please, Jack. Sit. Try for yourself.” 

“Well surly he shouldn’t be the first to test it,” Senator Caius objected. “Not with all of us inside.” 

Yep, that was it. I was done putting up with his B.S.

“Senator, this is my rig,” I said coolly, “and if you don’t want to be here, I’m sure we can arrange for you to be escorted out. Maybe from the top level of the tower? You’ll be on the ground in seconds. Or you can shut your mouth.” 

“How dare you,” he growled, balling fat fists in a huff. 

I ignored him completely, slipping the helmet on over my head as I took a seat in the command chair. There were no eyeholes, and for a second everything was unobstructed darkness. But then the whole world lit up like a bonfire—everything coated with the subtlest tint of green. The view caught me off guard and took my breath. I was no longer sitting in the command center chair. Instead, I had a brilliant, unobstructed view the Siege Yard and all of Morsheim from the top of the tower. 

I was actually seeing through the enormous Seer Stone.

<<<>>> 

Enable Crimson Hammer Siege Keep Interface Link? Yes/No

<<<>>> 

I accepted. For a beat nothing happened, but when I turned my head to look for Vlad, the whole world rumbled around me.  

“You are the tower, Jack,” Vlad said, his voice perfectly clear in my head. “What you do, we all do.” 

“What’s that now?” I asked, feeling a little thunderstruck. I was the tower? 

Hesitantly, I stood up.

My physical body refused to move an inch—I was locked into the chair. But the tower noted my intention and stood in my place, the mechanical legs straining as we rose higher and higher and higher into the air—eventually reaching the tower’s zenith, some a hundred and fifty feet above the ground. Along the bottom of my vision, communications icons and status reports for various areas of the Siege Tower populated: basically, a series of mini health bars, which told me how our systems were fairing. Along the peripheries of my vision were a variety of weapon and spell icons. 

The whole interface reminded me the old hotkey slot system some of my favorite RPGs had employed. All of the system icons were currently red and when I tried to select them nothing happened. 

“The weapons aren’t armed yet,” Vlad said, his voice coming from nowhere and everywhere. “The siege items are on board, but the crews will still need to load them and prep them for fire—but you and you’re A-Gunner will have complete control of the main weapon systems. This vehicle is an extension of yourself.” 

“What about the spell slots?” I asked. “At least, I assume that’s what those are.”

“Da,” Vlad replied. “We have special platforms for spellcasters with runic circles that will amplify their spell effects. You will have command of all of them.”

I raised my right arm and gasped as the enormous hammer-limb I’d seen on the outside responded. My left controlled the shield arm. Oh my god. I had my own medieval mech. This was maybe the single coolest thing I’d ever seen since coming to V.G.O.—and I’d ridden on the back of a jumbo-jet sized dragon and become the living incarnation of a deity. I’d asked Vlad to do the impossible and he’d exceeded my expectations in every conceivable way possible. 

With a grin, I removed the helmet. 

<<<>>> 

Crimson Hammer Siege Keep Interface Link Disabled.

<<<>>> 

I skimmed over the message and stood. Without the helmet in place, the tower froze. “What happens if I take this thing off in battle?” I asked, eyeing the helmet, turning it over in my hands before gently, almost reverently, setting it on the seat. 

“A-Gunner automatically assumes the bridge,” Vlad replied confidently. “The secondary interface consul is not so expansive but will do job in a pinch. If A-Gunner goes offline, Engineer takes command. Should the engineer abdicate, the tower will become temporarily immobile and the various weapon systems will revert to manual—all control returning to the siege crews stationed throughout the rig. Is not a problem.”

“And if I understand correctly,” Osmark said, a thoughtful expression on his face, “there are two more of these?” He stuck two fingers into the air.

“Oui,” Enzo said, ashing his cigarette, which had burned almost down to a nub at this point. “The Crimson Hammer will be piloted by Jack and his own hand-picked crew. Another, the Imperial Blade, is en route for Oxrus.”

“The third, The Phoenix, is bound for Einnheimr,” Vlad finished before Enzo could steal all his thunder. “The rigs will be in place within a few hours.”

“We are just waiting for the final order to load,” Enzo said, giving Osmark a sidelong glance. “Then, we can attack at will.” 

“Excellent work, the two of you,” Osmark crowed, more excited and alive then I’d seen him in ages. “I’ve seen some impressive feats of engineering in my days, but this certainly takes the cake—especially considering the time frame you had to work in. Now,” he said, facing the War Council, “are there any questions for our noble Engineers?”

“Yes, I have one,” Caius said, still grumpy from getting burned a few minutes before. “We’re assuming Lord Grim Jack, should pilot this machine, but isn’t that the type of thing the Council should have a say in? And furthermore, who will operate the other two machines? There is a significant investment of Imperial resources, after all, and it would be irresponsible for us not to properly vet whoever it is we are entrusting these weapons of war too.” 

“Exactly, what I need to speak with Jack about,” Osmark replied primly, folding his hands. “Now if that will be all, Enzo please escort our guests out and see them safely back to the camp’s Mystica Ordo. Thank you for your time ladies and gentlemen—final rallying orders will be dispatched shortly.” 

“If this has to do with the invasion plan, I think we have a right to stay,” Caius pouted. 

“That’s it ya Imperial wanker!” Captain Raginolf boomed, marching across the floor and grabbing the Senator by the ear. Impressive considering their relative height differences. “Aye’ve had as much of your disrespectful, insubordinate tongue as Aye can handle! Out with ya!” He lurched into motion, dragging the whining Senator from the room like a misbehaving toddler. “We’ll see ya on the battlefield, Grim Jack,” he called over his shoulder. “Time to spill some blood, eh!” He peeled off along with his two lieutenants, leaving the command room behind.

TWENTY-NINE:

Inside Job

The rest of the War Council departed in a much more dignified fashion after a muttered round of goodbyes. Only a handful of Council Members lingered behind: Sandra and Jay on the Imperial side, and Abby, Cutter, Amara, Otto, Vlad, and Anton from the Alliance. I folded my arms and took a moment to absorb everything as the click-clack of departing bootheels faded. The enormous war room felt oddly empty with only the ten of us inside.

“Good riddance,” Osmark said dryly throwing his hands up, once the room was emptied of outsiders. “Honestly, if there’s one thing I’m looking forward to when this is all said and done, it’s that I’ll likely never see that bunch again.”

“Agreed,” Sandra said, pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance. “I swear if I hear Caius open his mouth one more time—just one—I’m going to have him water-boarded. I know at least a few spec ops guys who made the transition that could do it without batting an eyelid.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “Yeah, good luck with that,” he said. “We’re never gonna get rid of that turdbag. Dude’s gonna be crawling all over our asses for the next fifty years—especially after all the money we spent on these things,” he said glancing up at the arched ceiling, then turning his flat gaze of the diamond-glass window. “Him and the whole Imperial Senate.”

“Good thing I don’t care at all about what the Senate thinks,” Osmark replied with a chipper grin. “Besides, if everything works out according to plan, Caius will be someone else’s problem before much longer. Or, perhaps, Thanatos will just have mercy on us all and kill him. And speaking of death by Overmind, it’s time we go over the final arraignments before we launch,” he continued, turning toward me and Abby, standing hand in hand. His lips quirked into a slight smile as his eyes skipped over the diamond hugging Abby’s ring finger. He shot me a quick wink—so fast I almost could’ve imagined it—then forged on without mentioning a thing. 

“So, this is it, then,” he said. “The eve of battle. I have to admit, I wasn’t sure we’d make it this far, but here we are.” He spread his hands. “And I’d even say there’s a fair to even money chance we’ll take the Necropolis. These Siege Weapons are certainly more impressive than I’d imagined, which, incidentally, brings us to the first logistical question on the agenda. Who is going to pilot them? Obviously, Jack will be in this rig, and I plan to helm the Imperial Blade, but that still leaves us with a third rig. Any suggestions?”

“Abby or Sandra?” I replied, eyeing both women in turns. Either would be more than capable and, though I didn’t particularly like Sandra, I knew I could trust her implicitly to accomplish any mission Osmrk gave her. She was ruthless and dangerous, but at the moment she was also on our side.

“Unfortunately no,” Sandra said bluntly. “I plan on shadowing Osmark during the mission. We’re too close to the endgame now and we can’t afford for something to go wrong. Not after everything else we’ve gone through to get here.”

“She’ll be my acting A-Gunner,” Osmark elaborated, “and I plan to bring Enzo on as my Engineer. Jay”—he waved at the Blood Monk—“is going to be my floor commander and raid leader once we breach the walls. I was assuming you would have Abby close by,” he said after a drawn-out beat, “but if you won’t be utilizing her as an A-Gunner, I’m certainly open to her being the third pilot.” 

Sandra sniffed and glared at Abby, disapproval in every line of her body. “Well, I suppose if there is literally no one else,” she said, tone cool and clipped, “then the Firebrand could work. She certainly has a knack for getting in the way—maybe this time that will actually work in our favor.”

“Bitch,” Abby muttered softly under her breath. 

“Now is not the time or the place to air old grievances,” Osmark said, sharing a look between both Sandra and Abby. “Besides, I think if Jack and I can put aside our differences to work for a common cause, you and Ms. Hollander can do the same, Sandra.” 

“Of course, Robert,” she replied, straightening her back and casually adjusting her snug-fitting leather jacket. 

“So, Jack?” Osmark said, pinning me in place with his unwavering attention. I could almost hear the unspoken accusation echoing beneath his question. Are you sure this is for the best? This will be dangerous. There’s still time to push her away. It’s the safest thing to do for her.  “What will it be?” he asked.

Everyone was silent, all eyes looking at me. Including Abby. Did I want her close by? Of course, I did. I wanted her safe. I envisioned holding hands with her as we watched our kids scamper and squeal on the sea of verdant grass. That was the future we were working for—and she had a right to fight for it just as much as I did. Besides, there was also no one else I trusted more with a mission like this. She’d proven herself a thousand times over. She’d earned a spot on that third rig, and I couldn’t take that away from her.

“This isn’t my call. Abby, it’s up to you,” I said. “You interested? The Phoenix sounds like it was custom made for you anyway?” 

“Am I interested in driving around a medieval Voltron?” She replied with a smile, nearly bouncing on her toes. “There has never been a stupider question on the planet.” She faltered, her smile slipping just a hair. “But only if you’ll be my A-Gunner, Otto,” she said to the Risi warrior, standing quiet and somber, hands folded behind his back. “We’ve come a long way, you and me. And if I’m running a mission like this, I need you at my back.” 

The Risi didn’t even hesitate. Not for a second. “It would be the honor of a lifetime,” he said, bowing his head. “And, I suggest we bring on Captain Raginolf as our third. He has proven himself to be a peerless warrior and, as with most Dwarves, a natural engineer. He would be a good fit.”

“How touching,” Sandra said, though she actually sounded like she had just thrown up in her mouth a little. “But perhaps we can move things along, since we still need to discuss Skálaholt and our time is running short.”

“Rude, but not wrong,” Osmark said, pulling out a gray metal sphere, similar to the ones I’d seen him use against the temple guardian. This one he tossed into the air and, instead of thudding to the ground like a stone, a gentle whir filled the room as the ball hovered, perfectly still. A host of blue lights encircled the sphere and a holographic pop up appeared above the orb, showing off a rough view of the Thanatos’ inner city. “I’ve established communications with our contact on the inside. Dr. Jeff Berkowitz.” The image flickered, revealing a tall man, broad across the shoulders in raven-black plate mail. His face was uncovered, revealing a full red beard and a mop of hair pulled up in a ponytail.  

Abby sputtered and nearly choked. “No way. Jeff Berkowitz? You can’t be serious.”

“You know him?” I asked. 

“Yeah. Everyone at Os-Tech knew about him. Guy helped engineer the deep dive system, oh and also he went insane and probably murdered Alan Campbell.”

“Jeff was not responsible for Alan’s death,” Sandra snapped. “Alan was too smart for his own good, refused to listen to directions or respect company policy, and was fully culpable for his own actions. None of that was on Jeff. Not directly.”

“As for Dr. Berkowitz’s mental health issues,” Osmark said, “those are tied almost entirely to Thanatos. Aside from Alan, Berkowitz spent a record number of hours inside of V.G.O. during the early Alpha test phase. That was well before we knew many of the physiological issues of long-term use and exposure. Admittedly, he also had some personal issues even before that, but those issues were only exacerbated by exposure to Thanatos and the repeated in game deaths he suffered during the test phase.” 

“And that’s the sod you want us to trust?” Cutter said. “I make it my business to deal with disreputable people and even I don’t like the sound of this.” 

“It is true,” Amara said. “They can’t be trusted. The only good Darkling is a dead Darkling, and I would not see this mission hinge on the help of one who has turned his back on his own humanity.”

“Eh. He’s not such a bad guy,” Jay said with a casual shrug. “I worked the underground fighting circuit for a while—this was before I hooked up with Mr. Osmark. I ran across Jeff a few times. He’s a little unbalanced, but no more so than any of the people in this room. Seems to me, anyone who is willing to cross Thanatos directly has to be a little screwed up in the head.” 

“I would also like to point out that we have no other choice,” Osmark said, “which certainly simplifies things. The location of the Shield Generator isn’t common knowledge, but he can get us where we need to be. And he does have incentive. Thanatos cost him everything, including his family—who are now here in V.G.O. They live in New Viridia and Berkowitz would very much like to make amends with them. This is his chance to do so. To fix things.” Osmark looked me in the eye than glanced to the ring on Abby’s finger. “I’m sure that’s something we can all understand—the desire for a second chance. And since this is literally the only way, it’s just a gamble well have to take.”

“So if there are no further objections?” Sandra asked, a scowl painted across her face that said she might just decapitate anyone who said anything else.

“Excellent,” Osmark finished without a second thought. “Now, is our Hexblade count still at five?” 

Anton coughed into his hand and edged forward. “Uh, yes,” he said, tone clipped as always. He pulled a brown leather bag from his inventory and cautiously plucked out one of the dark blades. “That’s correct. I was hoping we might stumble across more here in Morsheim, but no one has turned up another. So, five is the max number for our away party, I’m afraid.”

Osmark drummed his fingers along the grip of his Repeater, face pinched as he thought. “Five,” he mumbled. “Sandra and I will be going. Jack and Abby make an obvious third and fourth. I assume the thief will be accompanying us as well?”

Amara pulled free a curved knife the length of her forearm and idly began picking at her nails—a habit she’d picked up from Cutter. “If you mean my husband,” she said slowly, evenly, “Spymaster of the Crimson Alliance, Gentleman of Rowanheath, and First Prince of Ak-Hani Clan, then yes, he will be going. It will be an honor to his name and our clan.”

“Good,” Osmark said, ignoring her threat. “It wouldn’t be the same without him and his skills will be invaluable, no doubt. Still… Five. I was hoping for a proper tank or a cleric in the mix. It’ll be tough with just five. Though, I suppose with Jeff’s help, it’ll be manageable. As a Morta Knight, he can pull for us if need be. It’ll have to do.”

“We’ll be fine,” I said, waving away Osmark’s concern. “We just need to get in and take down the Shield Generator. One mission. Quick and easy. If the Lorekeepers come through, then that should draw most of the Darklings into the outer Necropolis. Which means we’ll just need to get past whatever skeleton crew remains in the inner city. I’m sure there will be a few guards protecting the Shield Generator, but nothing five of us can’t handle. We take them down, cut the barrier, and then our army comes pouring in. It won’t be easy, but it should be simple.”

“I wish I had your naïve optimism,” Osmark replied. With a flick of his hand he banished the image of Jeff and once more brought up the aerial view of Skálaholt. “Jeff hasn’t exactly been a fount of information, but he’s given us a few tidbits to work with and this is going to be harder than any of you seem to realize. After using the Hexblades, each of us will respawn at a random location somewhere within the city boundaries, but where exactly is impossible to say in advance. For all we know, any one of us could end up respawning in a prison camp or in the middle of a Darkling stronghold. We also won’t be together, so working out a rendezvous location will be tricky. 

“And then there’s the issue of the transformation. Apparently becoming a Spectral Revenant has a number of unfortunate drawbacks that could make our time in Skálaholt exponentially more difficult. What exactly the effects are, I can’t say—because I don’t know—but I think it would be wise to assume none of us will be operating at full capacity. In theory, Jack could use the Reality Editor to open a doorway to Eldgard—effectively returning him to the land of the living—which should undo the effects, but that will be of little solace to the rest of us. Plus, we’ll need the disguises to pass among the Darklings anyway.”

“Don’t know if you’ve heard,” Cutter said, “but improvisation is our specialty.” 

“He’s right,” I said. “Let’s just worry about taking the outer city first. One thing at a time.” 

“For once, I agree,” Sandra said, grim faced. “Now, the blades please.” She extended an expectant hand.

“Of course.” Anton cleared his throat as he unlaced the cloth bag holding the daggers, passing them out to each party member in turn. Once they were gone, he stowed the bag and scrubbed his hands across his finely stitched robes, face twisted in disgust.

“Very good,” Osmark said, holding up his own blade, studying it with a steady gaze. “Then all that’s left to do is invade.” He twirled the dagger and stowed it. With a snap of spidery fingers the floating orb retuned to him, the holographic display vanishing in a blink. “Unless anyone else has anything to discuss, we should be going. Tomorrow is going to be a very busy day and we still have a fair number of plans to make. The portal, if you would, Jay?” 

The Blood Monk grunted and pulled out a one-off scroll, popping the ribbon with a thumb, conjuring a shimmering doorway that peered into a sophisticated room with polished wood walls, brass gaslamp fixtures and a hulking desk, covered with a massive map of Morsheim littered with color-coated figurines showing troop dispersion and potential attack points. Osmark’s office, at a guess. 

The Monk cast a glance at us over one shoulder. “Good luck, losers,” he said, giving us a quick wave before leaping through the portal, hands glowing a vibrant gold. The man landed in a crouch and spun like a top, scanning every inch of the room for potential threats. After a moment he stood and waved his boss through. 

“Until tomorrow,” Osmark said with a tip of his gaudy top hat. He and Sandra stepped through, the opalescent door snapping shut behind them, leaving a purple haze hanging in the air for a moment before finally dissipating. 

Vlad shuffled forward as the Imperials vanished. He’d been silent through the meeting, but now he looked positively excited. “A moment, Jack. Was hoping to talk about Operation Black—”

“Sorry, mate,” Cutter said slapping a hand against my shoulder. “Need to borrow him for a second.”

“Net,” Vlad snarled, a beefy wrench appearing in his hand in a flash. “Ty shutish, shto li? Eta tak razdrazhayet.” He took a threatening step forward, brandishing the wrench. “No more interruptions!” 

“Right, well then,” Cutter said, slowly backing away hands raised. “I suppose it can bloody-well wait after all. He’s all yours, Vladdie.” 

Vlad grunted, giving the thief a powerful stink eye, before finally stowing the wrench. “Always with the interruptions, that one.” He reached into his inventory and pulled out a long staff crafted of dull black wood and etched with a series of silver runes along the shaft. The Arcane Dampener. I took it, tracing my fingers along the engravings, shuddering from the unnatural chill seeping into my hands. This thing radiated potent magic, or rather seemed hungry for it. A dark void. 

<<<>>>

Arcane Dampener (Faction Bound)

Weapon Type: Blunt; Staff (Modified)

Class: Constructed Artifact, Two-handed

Base Damage: 37 (Modified)  

Primary Effects: 

• 25 points Arcane damage + (.25 x character      level)
• +8% damage to all Blunt Weapon attacks
• Intelligence Bonus = .25 x character level
• Spirit Bonus = .5 x character level
• Increase Spirit regeneration by 5.5 Spirit/sec

Secondary Effects:

• Absorb      250 points of arcane damage on contact
• (1)      Per day, per (4) character levels, activate Nullify on weapon      contact
• (1)      Per day, per (10) character levels, activate Arcane Dampener Dome. 

• Range,       150 meters.
• Duration       (30) minutes. 

To every force, there is an equal and opposite force—light has its dark, the raging inferno has its rampaging blizzard. Magic, it seems, is no exception to this rule…

<<<>>> 

“Is done,” Vlad said softly. “Was not sure I would be able to replicate, especially not while trying to finish the siege towers. But”—he hooked his thumbs into his trousers and shrugged—“Vlad is a man of honor. Achieving the range and duration you wanted were… Tricky. Very tricky. Vlad blew up first version on accident. But, is done.”

Hopefully I wouldn’t need to use the Dampener in Morsheim, but it was nice to know I had it, just in case. I stowed the staff, already feeling a hundred times better about our chances.

“Also, I made you something else,” Vlad said. “Everyone knows Grim Jack Shadowstrider, da? You have been flying around with a spotlight on you for weeks. So I made new armor from the creature you killed. Should be even better than old armor and no one will know it is you. Consider it an early wedding present,” he finished, tapping knowingly at the side of his nose. “Is very good design.” 

With quick hands, he pulled out a jet-black, multi-plated leather cuirass, covered in finely tooled purple runes, intricate scroll work, and silver rivets. Overlapping puldrons, dyed purple and black, descended from the shoulders. Plated thigh tassets, crafted from the same purple and black leather, trailed from the bottom. Once again, Vlad had outdone himself. Although the base itself was leather—offering excellent flexibility—he’d incorporated the black iron plates from the Gatehouse Horror into the design, creating a suit of armor that would rival any platemail I’d ever seen.

 <<<>>>

Umbra Horror’s Bane

Armor Type: Medium; Modified Leather

Class: Engineered Wonder

Base Defense: 232

Primary Effects: 

• +25 to Constitution
• +25 to Dexterity 
• +17% Resistance to Piercing and Slashing      Damage
• Spirit Bonus = 2 x Shadow-Spark Level (Current      Level: 10)
• Intelligence Bonus = 2 x Shadow-Spark Level      (Current Level: 10)
• Luck Bonus = .5 x Shadow-Spark Level (Current      Level: 10)

Secondary Effects: 

• Iron Stance: +13% chance to resist Stunning Blow,      Crippling Strike, and Crush Armor.
• Ironsides: 50% chance to nullify additional backstab      damage.
• Iron Aura: Increases effectiveness of all Aura      spells/abilities by 10%. 
• Iron Resistance: +10% Resistance to all      Elemental and Arcane-Based Damage

The Gatehouse Horror was an unnatural creature, forged of Shadow, Iron, and Hatred. But any tool forged, can be turned against its maker in the proper hands. 

<<<>>> 

“You’re the best,” I said, stowing my current gear, pulling on the new gear, and taking a gander at my stats. 

<<<>>> 

V.G.O. Character Overview

Name: 

Jack

Race: 

Dokkalfar

Gender: 

Male

Level: 

52

Class: 

Dark Templar 

Alignment: 

Dark

Renown: 

2,600

Carry Capacity:

885

Undistributed Attribute Points:

0

Health: 

1320

Spirit: 

2250

Stamina:

1380

H-Regen/sec:

46.45

S-Regen/sec:

33.5

Stam-Regen/sec:

23.98

Attributes:

Offense: 

Defense:

Strength:

81

Base Melee Weapon Damage:

257.05

Base Armor:

255.2

Vitality: 

80

Base Ranged Weapon Damage:

0

Armor Rating:

320

Constitution: 

86

Attack Strength (AS):

742.05

Block Amount: 

95.5

Dexterity: 

122

Ranged Attack Strength (RAS):

409

Block Chance (%): 

98.92

Intelligence: 

147

Spell Strength (SS):

220.5

Evade Chance (%): 

29.6

Spirit: 

173

Critical Hit Chance:

29%

Fire Resist (%):

48.8

Luck: 

16

Critical Hit Damage:

275%

Cold Resist (%):

48.8

Lightning Resist (%):

48.8

Shadow Resist (%):

68.8

Holy Resist (%):

45.92

Current XP:

78,962

Poison Resist (%):

68.8

Next Level.:

126,880

Disease Resist (%):

68.8

<<<>>> 

I dismissed the interface and yanked the grumpy Dawn Elf into a tight hug. “Seriously, the best.”

“Is nothing,” Vlad said, fighting free of the hug. “To thank me—no more hugs.”

With fresh gear, a secret weapon, and three colossal Siege Towers, it was time to show Thanatos why he needed to be afraid. The Alliance was coming and we were bringing Hell with us.