“It cannot survive in that body long, can it?” Alarion asked.
“I…” Centre paused, trying to find the right words in Vitrian to answer the question. When he failed, he fell back on his native tongue, but Alarion wasn’t listening. He hadn’t been asking Centre.
“No,” ZEKE replied in Alarion’s ear. “Not a categorical no; the wyrd parasite is not so well studied that I expect anyone has tested such a niche case—but it is doubtful. Fiendish biology is poison to everything. The Etrusians conducted horrific experiments with Soulless and Steelborn—trying to tame fiends. All it did was kill us. If it can kill metal, it will poison a Systemborn. Or’Valde is living on borrowed time.”
“See if you can find out just how borrowed,” Alarion said without hesitation. Even if Centre understood the one-sided conversation, he’d likely just assume that Alarion was talking to Nessa.
With that done, he steadied himself and cycled his mana for several seconds to push his own Simu onto the proper channel. It took too long. Even after years of practice, activating a complicated bound field took too much time and concentration—one more weakness he hadn’t yet overcome. “This is Master Sergeant Orphan to local command, requesting assistance.”
There was a pause—another pointless delay—then someone spoke. “Proceed, Master Sergeant.”
“There is a False Heart active in the Upper City it-“ Alarion tapped his ear and spoke quickly in Ashadi,
Alarion swore, then reactivated his simu. “It has a UCL of approximately 361 but-“
“That falls under low rank III. At best,” the voice on the other end reminded him.
“But it has been… inhabited by a Systemborn. This Systemborn is intelligent and enhances its host. Its current rank is unknown, but the danger of a runaway infestation is severe; you need to-“
“Your orders were clear, Orphan,” Williams cut in. “As are their rules of engagement. The law is not a suggestion. I will order them on standby in case this gets out of hand, until-“
Alarion cut the channel to save Williams from his vulgar, unproductive retort. They were idiots, hidebound legalists more interested in what was permitted than what was right.
People were going to die because Williams cared more about his career than their lives.
Alarion wanted desperately to finish what he’d started. A quick jab to the sore spot would shut Centre up for the foreseeable future—but they couldn’t afford it. He understood why others listened to the old man. He had a way of making even the morally abhorrent feel inevitable.
“You,” Alarion said, catching the attention of a nearby soldier. “Specialist…”
“Lifeline, sir.”
“This man is the seditionist leader, Centre. He is unawakened and under my protection. I am placing him in your care,” he motioned over two others as he spoke. “Take him inside, heal his jaw, and find him a Simu activated for only channel 33. Then keep him here until I return. If he is injured by anyone, I will hold you responsible. Is that understood?”
“Sir!” Lifeline nodded.
“Good man,” Alarion told him before looking to Centre, “As far as my men are concerned, you are just a turncoat, nothing more. I do not need them losing focus, arguing over whether we should listen to you if they find out who you ar.”
“Of course.” Centre nodded.
“Kotone.”
“Yes, Miss! Yes, Miss!” his familiar said, happy as ever.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Alarion pointed to Lifeline, “Follow his orders and protect these men.” He then pointed to Centre. “If this man attempts to leave the walls of this villa, kill him.”
“Yes, Miss! Yes, Miss!”
“I see I am in capable hands,” Centre scoffed, fully aware that even the flimsy Thoughtborn could follow through on the threat. “Good luck, Martyr.”
Alarion was gone before he finished the platitude.
The Ikeda Estates had seen better days. The once pristine compound was painted with blood and littered with debris. Parts of it remained ablaze—heavily restricting visibility—but the worst of the fires were under control. It was a grim sight, with bodies of friend and foe alike littering the battlefield, but nothing seemed amiss.
The same could not be said for the unrestricted channel.
“-Does anyone have eyes on-“
“-Evans is dead! It was so fast I don’t even-“
“-Please. Someone, I need-“
“This is Orphan to all martyrs,” he said, his command codes ensuring his voice dominated the chatter. “We have a False Heart on the loose with a UCL of at least 360. A Systemborn is controlling it, so expect it to be intelligent with unusual abilities.”
Alarion paused in his instructions as he flickered to his next destination, a wave of questions and fearful cries washing over him the moment he reappeared.
“This is nothing new, just subjugation on a smaller scale than usual. The outer wall of the compound is our cordon. Nothing gets through that. Every team with an average UCL less than 100 needs to evacuate to the outer perimeter of the Inn as quickly as possible and stay on guard until we locate the False Heart,” he continued. “If you have or see any injured, even the enemy, evacuate them as you go. Link up with other teams to avoid getting picked off. The first goal is to minimize the spread; then we find and smash the heart. If you see the fiend, pass the information along through the command channels. All artillery sections, you are on standby.”
Alarion didn’t wait for any confirmation of his orders. His next flicker brought him down atop the compound’s outer wall, and he took a breather to recover some of his MP while he switched over to the command channel. “What have we got?”
“Still working,” Kali said brusquely. “Best estimate so far puts it just south of the-“
“Mar-tyr!!!!”
“-Just south of there.” Kali finished. “At least it isn’t sneaking around. What does this Systemborn have against you, exactly?”
“I killed him. Or some of his friends. Or… maybe family.” Alarion wasn’t sure what the connection between the various parasites was, but he had a feeling Or’Valde’s anger was nihilistic. It was dead the moment it inhabited the False Heart, and it blamed Alarion. “We can use that to our advantage. Keep its eyes on me.”
“No Ashadi on comms,” Kali snapped in annoyance.
“He does not speak Vitrian well,” Alarion clarified quickly. “One of the prisoners turned informant right before the False Heart was released. I will translate.”
“And you trust him?”
“Not at all. But we will quickly find out if he is lying.” Alarion snorted.
Alarion relayed the information as he ran along the top of the estate’s outer wall. Men and women of the 238th moved beneath him, scurrying through the streets as fast as they could. Some were the walking wounded, others carried bodies—both alive and dead. A False Heart could propagate through the dead as easily as the living, and Alarion felt a swell of pride seeing his soldiers risking their own lives to strip fuel from the fire.
They looked up at him as he passed, and he saw hope. They had far more faith in the Martyr than he did in himself.
pleaded Bergman.
Alarion suggested.
Centre sounded apologetic as he delivered the bad news.
A young, unfamiliar voice interrupted the conversation, “Contact!”
“Where?”
“Three buildings north of the… Agh!”
“Specialist?” Alarion pressed.
“Prodigy,” the boy clarified. “We are north of the… ugh, these damn streets.”
A gout of flame shot skyward, only a few streets away from Alarion. Then a second, and a third. Alarion sent Echo flying toward the invitation.
“We see you. Hold him there if you can!” Kali ordered before Alarion was able.
“One of us is down. Another is… ngh…”
“Just stay focused. I am coming,” Alarion reassured him.
“I can’t. I…. it hurts! Oh, Mothers, it hu-“
Alarion teleported, then did so again without hesitation. A flight of needles raced through the air just above him, and he quickly reoriented in the air, searching for the Ashadi boy.
But what was splayed out beneath him hardly resembled Prodigy.