Brigends (The Final War Series Book 1) (23 page)

The hunters withdrew as a swirling vortex formed and expanded around him. He rose in the air and the deafening growl grew louder. The thugs tried to flee, but were caught in the epicenter’s pull. At its critical mass, the tempest imploded, devastating everything within the immediate vicinity.

The shockwave erupted out of the ground with volcanic force, discharging tons of concrete, earth, and fragmented bodies into the night air. The hunters staging directly topside, who were not killed by the initial blast, were swallowed by the consequent sinkhole. In the havoc, the disreputable crime lord of Brooklyn plummeted to a less than glamorous death. The cascading rubble covered Cho’s resting place, eliminating it forever from existence.

Despite his calamity, the remaining hunters were not leaderless. Cho’s dark benefactor lived, having rocketed free of the danger.

In the escape tunnel where the soldier escorted Max and the others to freedom, a black cloud roared through. A large section of the ceiling caved, pinning them to the ground. After the dust partially settled, they dug out, retching silt from their lungs.

Tank flipped a wide slab off his legs. “What happened?”

Emil checked the corporal. A smashed skull was evidence of the man’s death.

“We gotta go back,” Max yelled as he pawed the rubble.

Tank pulled on him. “You can’t go that way. Don’t worry about them, they got out.”

He wanted to keep digging, but even if everyone had pitched in, it would have been impossible to return to Agarha from that route.

“Let’s go,” Emil signaled. “Keep moving forward.”

The exit wasn’t far. Up ahead they could see light sifting through the dirty air. As they got closer, they heard voices and footsteps.

“Target four o’clock!” a hunter shouted.  

The men raised their weapons for a fight. The cocking of guns pinged off the tunnel walls. There was nowhere to hide.

A single gunshot rang out from a skittish triggerman. They dropped to the ground as muzzle flashes created a strobe effect.

“Hold your fire!” a man ordered. “Goddammit! Hold your fire! Cho wants them alive!”

The General looked at Tank. There was no escape. “Don’t shoot! We surrender!”

They tossed their guns to the feet of the approaching gangsters. Emil looked to the kids. Max was holding Marta, pressing his hand on the left side of her belly, trying to stop the blood pouring from the wound created by a wayward bullet. He rushed to his daughter and pulled her limp body into his arms, even as many hands threatened to pry her from his grasp.

The Old Man saw a nocturnal sky painted with streaks of smoke and ash drifting on the breeze. His broken body rested in a shallow pool. He couldn’t move. From a supine position, he could see a bit of the destruction. His home was now a wide crater. For ten levels straight up to the surface, there was nothing left intact.

Straining his neck, he looked at the mangled corpses of the hunters who had laughed at him. There was a waning itch shifting throughout his body. He lifted a hand. Gone were the markers of age. It didn’t last long. The rejuvenation wasn’t enough to save him and he suffered as his body reverted to decrepitude.

As he waited to die, he sensed a presence watching him. Exerting great effort, he twisted his head to find his voyeur. There the man was, hovering in the smoke. The assassin may have dreamt of this day, but at that very moment he didn’t seem to revel. He hung there, looking at the wrecked old man with remorseful insinuation.

“Alex,” he cringed to say. “Alex... I forgive you.”

Forgiveness was not what the Zolarian needed from him. It severed the connection and his empathy became hate once again.

The tel-link of a dead hunter chimed. “We got them! We got the brigends!”

Kroll looked up at the sky and then back to his despised father. “I will not kill you. You are an aberration and do not deserve mercy. Instead, I will leave you here to die with the rest of the vermin.”

He lifted himself out of the crater on a gust of neural-energy.

Alone, the Old Man waited to die. He may have foreseen this ending, but he wasn’t prepared for how he would feel about it. He wasn’t scared. He had an inkling of what was on the other side of the physical transcendence. No, he was scared for his dear Zoe... for Max... for Marta... and in some ways, for General Pavel, too.

Corrupting

Urban Reintegration Center #22 sat inside the southwest quadrant of Central Park Hub. As a prison for the majority of New York's undesirable dissidents, it was the Alliance’s greatest political asset in North America. In its bowels, appalling cruelties were carried out by inhuman administrators. The mere mention of its name was enough to curb any insurgency before it became a problem.

The complex itself was comprised of an in-processing facility adjacent to a wide black tarmac and several auxiliary buildings. Docked atop the center structure was a large airship that housed the main cellblocks. The vessel had once been the U.S.A.S. Intrepid, pride of the United States Air Force. Its use as a means of segregating veterans from the rest of society was a cruel irony not lost on those who found themselves interned within its metal walls.

Serov gloated. Emil Pavel, the thorn in his side for more than thirty years, now hung from a hook by his wrists. Close by, but not out of sight, Minsk and the crew of the Crimson Bandit dangled in similar fashion on the far racks. Their capture had come hours before when Alliance troopers raided the South Side Dock.

Upon hearing of Grigori Minsk’s arrest, Serov had to verify the incarceration in person. He hated Emil with a passion, but he held a special disdain for the Bandit’s chief. To him, the man was a traitor to the Russian Imperium, deserving a sentence of hard labor in a Siberian labor camp. He vowed, when he finished with the Romanian, he would personally see to Minsk’s punishment.

Confined to a rack in the rear of the compartment were Tank and Max. Although the guards ignored them, neither protested nor made any attempts to break free.

Serov stood less than a meter from his nemesis. “The Avenging Ghost General of Eastern Europe,” he said sarcastically.

Emil spat. It was the first action taken by him since his arrival.

The Russian laughed. “I told you one day, you would die by my hand.”

“
Sa arzi in iad
!” It was worse than torture to be within striking distance of the man who carried out Romania’s destruction and not be able to lash out.

“What would you give to kill me with your bare hands? How far would you go to see it done?”

Emil tightened his muscles against the electrical bindings and arched his spine. “Everything! I will never stop! I will see you dead and bloated at my feet!”

Serov grinned, feeling protected from the impotent threats of vengeance.

The door slid open and Kroll entered. “That will be quite enough.”

“You said
he
would be mine. I am only having fun.”

“And you shall, but only when Malus is dead and we control the Spire.”

“How can I trust you when you have lied? You had him for years, but never told me.”

“Watch yourself, General. Remember your place.”

The blood drained from Serov’s complexion.

Emil laughed at his servility. “You are a dog, barking on command. You’re not a man.”

The Russian raised his hand to strike.

“Enough!” Kroll bellowed.

Emil laughed again. “Your master has spoken. Dogs have more honor than you.”

The observation puzzled the assassin. “Honor? Honor is a human concept easily exploited when needed.”

“You’re wrong. A man without honor is nothing more than an animal. You will turn on your own master. What does that make you?”

Kroll considered it a shame that the Romanian had to die. His courageousness made him a worthy adversary. In spite of the admiration, he knew he had to squash the man’s nobility. Such defiance represented a dangerous contagion, which if not dealt with decisively could threaten his well-orchestrated machinations. But, to destroy a man like Emil Pavel, he first had to break him.

“General, I must thank you. You see, without your help, none of this would have been possible. You have done well, sir.”

Emil didn’t understand.

“Think. Search your mind and see the vagueness of your actions. Were there any moments in the last few days where you doubted yourself?”

He understood the implication.

“Yes, I see it in you.”

Was it as he feared? Emil strained to realize the legitimacy of the claim even as the horrible reality slapped him in the face. He refused to accept it. “No. It can’t be true.”

“I must admit, controlling you was no simple deed. Your willpower is far too strong for petty tricks. Trancing would never have worked. Oh, believe me when I say, I tried to break you. But, in spite of my best efforts, it never worked. In the end, I had to find a more creative solution.”

The pieces of the mystery clicked into place. “The Zolarian witch — she's the reason I found the crystal.”

“Yes. Milari was a trusted disciple of mine, and a devout believer. I had a weakness for her, much like what you had for your dear Adi Vasile.” He waited for a reaction from the prisoner. “And, let us not ignore Ms. Vasile’s part in this deception. You see, her mind was not nearly as difficult to break.”

Emil’s spirit dissolved into vapor.

“What a terrible burden this must have been. I admire you, more so than any other human I have ever encountered. You are resourceful, sharp witted, and if nothing else — persistent. Conversely, I required Nadiya’s ora and you presented the only opportunity available to bring it to me without revealing my involvement.”

“Shut up!”

“For three years, I moved you between facilities in search of it. I theorized, because of your bond with her, you might be drawn to it. And, so you were. You see, love is your greatest weakness. It anchors you to those you care for the most... especially Nadiya. I exploited that failing, giving you the right nudge here and there.”

The Haiduc looked to Heaven and prayed for the Lord Almighty to hear the sobs of a single penitent son. Satisfied with the humiliation, Kroll turned to leave.

“You still lose,” Emil whispered. 

The demon stopped, but did not confront him. “How so?”

“The crystal is lost.”

“Yes. It is inconvenient, but also immaterial. I have something more valuable now.”

“You’re wrong. Marta is a child.”

“You cannot deceive me, for you see as well as I do what she is and the power she possesses. No, Marta is more than a child; she is her mother’s daughter. The only distinction between the two — this one is impressionable.”

“She will never serve you.”

“Do not be naive. Stranger things have transpired. For example, I was unaware of her existence until you exposed her to the world. If there is any consolation, find it knowing your daughter will be of great use to me.”

Emil thrashed against the restraints and roared insanely. Soon, hundreds of other dispirited voices rose to join with his in a demonic symphony. The prisoners brewed a storm, threatening to usurp their captors’ illusion of control.

Kroll stunned Emil with a neuro blast. Helpless, he slumped and dangled by the bindings. The troopers went about repressing the prisoners by any unmerciful means necessary. The cellblocks quickly fell silent again.

The Zolarian turned to leave.

Max yelled, “You bastard! You said you wouldn’t hurt her!”

Kroll paused, this time annoyed by the disruptions. “No, Mr. Zander, I gave my word I would take care of her, and so I shall. As was our arrangement, you will be rewarded for your services.”

With a wave of his hand, the binders deactivated and Max dropped to the deck.

“I don’t want your money.”

“As you wish.” Not affected by the refusal, Kroll motioned for the guards. “Remove him from the base.”

Two Vityaz lifted Max up by his arms. He fought. “Let her go! We had a deal!”

“And, the deal was honored. Good day, Mr. Zander.”

As the guards carried him out of the compartment, Kroll exited through a hidden door. The space he entered was dark, except for a lone light shining over Marta, who was lying naked on a metal exam table. Blood from her wound collected in ridges along the edges of the gurney. Her pallor was death.

He loomed over her. She was too weak to escape.

“Do not be afraid.”

He held his ora and focused his energies. He fought to penetrate her psionic defenses, but she resisted. The light flickered.

The stress overwhelmed him and he yielded. Weakened, he propped himself on the table. “You are more powerful than I imagined.”

“Leave me alone,” she begged.

“I cannot. Your injury is too severe for a human surgeon to treat. You will die if you refuse me.”

“No. Max! Max! Somebody help me! Please?”

“Dear girl, he is no longer with us.”

“What did you do to him?”

“Max is safe. He collected his reward for helping me save you, and returned to his life. Just like you, he was caught in this terrible ordeal by no fault of his own. What I did was provide a means for him to make this right.”

Her grasp on reality slipped. She knew she should’ve been afraid, but his behavior was gentle and his expression caring. She wanted to trust him as she had Max.

“What about my friends?”

“They were never your friends. Pavel murdered your father, because your father was protecting you.”
“No, he didn’t... a monster killed him... a metal monster.”

The light surged then dimmed.

“No, it was Pavel. He killed your father.”

She didn’t remember the General’s responsibility for the crime, but the Zolarian’s tenderness was too convincing for her to suspect otherwise. Maybe he was telling the truth. “No... I don’t think...”

“Your memory is frail from blood loss. Of course he murdered him and then tried to convince you that he was your father.”

“Why would he do this?”

“He knows what you are and wanted to hurt you like so many other innocent people he has harmed.”

“But, not anymore? You saved me?”

“Yes.” Kroll smiled. “I saved you from this terrible man. You are safe now.”

She believed him.

“Marta, I can heal your wound, but first you must open your mind. Will you let me help you?”

She heard his offer, but when she made an effort to consent, her words came out as an incoherent string of syllables.

He asked again, “Will you allow me to heal your wound? I need you to let me into your mind willingly so together we can wield your body to repair the damage.”

She gave permission, convinced of his good intentions. He again placed his crystal over her injury. Energy from him flowed into her body. As she rived from the absorption, he placed a hand on her sternum. The light swelled again and their minds linked as one. Her every thought, emotion, and sensation was available to him. As he probed her consciousness, he left his residual mark on every strand he tainted.

Properly conditioning a mind required a delicacy as not to expose the violation transpiring. Kroll was prideful of his honed skills as a trancer.

His link with her persisted unabated. Her wound mended, but the delicate surgery on her psyche continued. When he was confident of the corruption, he ceased the incursion and lurched from the table. His body convulsed and he grabbed a chain hanging from the overhead to brace his balance.

Marta was motionless and scarcely breathing. Because of the shock he had just inflicted on her, he waited for her to rise. He wasn’t concerned, because he could sense her Zolarian spirit pulsating and reenergizing her strength.

He had risked more than was evident to link with her. By drawing vast energy from his ora, he in turn exposed himself to the Collective. He didn’t care; his scheme was well underway.

Let them come
.