The Blood Solution (Approaching Infinity Book 3) (41 page)

Sosa was not prepared for what assaulted him. He raised his arms to block his chest and face as he was buffeted by waves of rot and decay. These had cleared the field of everything between them, befouling the very air, reducing living, breathing men and gene soldiers alike to pools of putrefaction. Liquid black poured off of Sosa, his serpent head melting away to reveal a face not unhandsome, but with inset eyes wide and terror-stricken.

“Kalkin, behind you,” Vays warned through his Artifact. “I’ll take care of the snake.”

Kalkin turned to face the recent arrival who stood immediately before him. The other was appraising him, and Kalkin was beginning to lose his patience. He lunged for the red and white man, swinging his open hand either to grab him or knock him sprawling, but Kalkin found this one, too, to be much more than what they’d come up against here so far. When the other moved, Kalkin was shocked to see his red body shake and jiggle like fluid contained within a thin membrane. But it wasn’t a membrane, he soon realized. He recognized that fluid, could smell it. Under those—bones?—he was animate blood. It occurred to him then, rather ridiculously, that this man before him, if man he were, reminded him of Jav in the Kaiser Bones, like some imperfect copy, or another interpretation of the same idea. He raised both fists high over his head and brought them down, finding the ground his only victim.

“You are dangerous,” the red and white figure said from behind. “I am Garlin Braams, Initiate of the Seventh Secret. Tell me your name before I am forced to eliminate you.”

“I’m Lor Kalkin. And you will have difficulty eliminating me.”

As if to punctuate this, as Braams’s flurry of Tiger Claws ripped easily through Kalkin’s prodigious midsection, the sickly purple flesh mended instantly after each pass.

“Some mild frustration, perhaps, but difficulty? No. It’s a shame. I sense in you, with the beating of your cancer pump, a nobility I would be drawn to under other circumstances.”

This gave Kalkin pause. His mind raced with anxiety and foreboding as he watched Garlin Braams claw at the air, much as Jav did when practicing the Eighteen Heavenly Claws alone, and the air grew hot. Currents of liquid fire began to follow the course of Braams’s hands. Strangely, Kalkin felt that this fire was something beyond normal; it seemed to be more than it was, pregnant in a way with infinite potential.

Kalkin composed himself and lashed out again with the Fuhai Hadou. More bystanders, collapsed into wet, stinking pools, but Braams was too fast, too agile. As he let the flow of his psychic rot cease, he saw Braams stop, perform a series of gestures, as if pulling fuel from the heavens, and strike the air between them with both claw hands, palms aimed directly at him.

A raging column of fire, orange-white and faceted like a colossal, ever-expanding gem exploded from Braams’s hands, striking Kalkin, filling the space between his arms and legs, so that he was caught bodily and sent, much as Jav had been by Bask Sosa, through the air.

“
This is cruel mercy
,” Braams cried after Kalkin’s retreating form and out over the roar of liquid fire spouting from his palms. “
You repair yourself, but my fire will not burn out until you are consumed
.
Contemplate justice, Lor Kalkin
.”

Kalkin clung feebly to the fire, a streaking comet with him at the head that threatened to eat him away like his own cancer. It burned into him unceasingly and drove him further and further from the battlefield, past the Root Palace where he tried desperately to think only of Tia Winn, through the stratosphere, where he could endure in silence no longer, letting out a monstrous wail though he had no mouth through which to do so, and out into black space, where consciousness abandoned him.

Tia Winn blanched. She had been watching the fighting from a protected balcony, had witnessed Abanastar’s redirected sunbeam and not been concerned, had seen the thick lance of fire come their way and pass them by, not concerned this time either, except that it had been Kalkin on the receiving end of that fire and it had shot off into space.

“Lor,” she probed with her Artifact. “
Lor
!”

Silence fed her panic and panic was her only recourse.

Jav heard the cries in his head through his Artifact, but he couldn’t make sense of them. That couldn’t be Kalkin streaking like a meteor out of the atmosphere and into space. It had to be something else. The cold needles still littered his guts, numbing him and making everything fuzzy. Focus seemed maddeningly close, but just beyond his reach.

Forbis Vays stalked the formerly serpent-headed Entitled, chasing him through the still-crowded battlefield. He had learned patience to some degree through his respect for Kalkin, but he was angry at what he saw here on this planet, angry with what had been done to him, angry at how their various shows of force had been blunted, defeated, or turned back on them. He forced the change, pushing himself to one hundred and twenty percent. Plates upon his armor shifted to reveal red and green lights and the excess vents that regulated his power, preventing him from simply exploding. Empowered now as he was, Vays had little trouble catching up with Sosa, getting Sosa’s attention by jabbing the Titan Saber through the back of his right shoulder.

Sosa turned, enraged not so much by the wound, but by what he considered to be a breach of fair play.

Vays sensed his indignation and would have none of it. “Only those running away need fear being stabbed in the back by me. Cowardly? Thorough? Which of us is which?” Vays shook his head. “Defend yourself.”

“I shall. I am Bask Sosa, Initiate of the Fifth Secret.”

Now that he’d stopped, Sosa took a moment to rebuild his Halo, recalling his serpent’s head. Tendrils of black rose up his chest, covering it, and continuing to rise up, wrapping around his head and binding it in that form. He hissed, holding his right hand up and bent at the wrist so that the fingers pointed towards Vays, the overall image that of a snake ready to strike. His left hand was at his right elbow and the way he moved, Vays could almost see the body of an actual snake: the head Sosa’s, right hand; the body continuing to the right elbow, bending at the junction with his left hand and continuing again down the length of the left arm.

Vays was entranced by Sosa’s movement, but only momentarily. His own indignation had grown too severe. He swept at Sosa with the Titan Saber, but Sosa was lithe and moved with supple grace, just like the snake he emulated, to avoid the deadly blade. They wove in and out and despite his expert application of the Single Element Ghost Sword, Bask Sosa proved to be an elusive target.

A howling stream of fire rocketed overhead. Vays noted with horror that Kalkin was on the receiving end, being driven away, black smoke bleeding off of him as the fire burned. “
Kalkin
!” The sight gave Vays a sick sense of dread that was like a punch in the stomach—and stole his attention long enough to leave him open to Sosa’s strikes.

Sosa’s fingertips pressed suddenly and with unexpected force against the middle of Vays’s armored chest. Vays felt thousands upon thousands of needles push through not just the impact point but his entire body. Numbness threatened to creep in and cripple his chances for survival. Another fingertip strike upon his brow sent him reeling. He nearly tripped over a corpse, but steadied himself through superb reflex action before going down. He was dazed, but at a hundred and twenty percent, the effects were short-lived. He regained his senses and nearly lost them again as his indignation overflowed, evolved into a higher order of rage. He shot forward, crying out, “Star Factory!” his blade jabbing with impossible speed one hundred and eight times. Not all the jabs found their marks, but Sosa was bleeding from several wounds spread out all over his body.

To endure Kalkin’s attack, Sosa had had to scour the depths of his near perfect knowledge of the Fifth Secret. He had not come out unscathed and now he faced a madman with a sword. He needed time to recuperate, if only for minutes, if he was going to be of any more use to the Three Worlds. He turned to flee.

Vays saw Sosa attempt to run yet again and became even more incensed. The Titan Saber flashed and Sosa’s left arm came away, cleaved cleanly at the shoulder. Blood started to pump out. Sosa, still in flight turned to look, appalled. Black strands rose up from around the wound, wrapping it even as his right hand clamped over the sheared surface. Sosa did not stop, did not stumble. Thick black smoke billowed out from his hips to engulf his lower body and he rose up into the air upon a lengthening trunk, over the crowd upon the battlefield and away from Vays.

Vays paused a moment, watching Sosa’s retreating form, then he moved with explosive speed and accuracy, tracing a pattern in the air with the Titan Saber. A hundred meters away Sosa stopped in the air as if snared by an invisible force, the column of smoke about his lower body scattering in an instant, but the neon red lines of the Grudge Star appeared about him, his head and limbs—except for his missing left arm—each confined to one of the five points of the star that was framed in a perfect circle.

“
It was your choice to run
!” Vays cried. He pulled the handle of the Titan Saber apart along the hidden rolling track within. The hammer and trigger popped out, and Vays clicked the handle closed again. “I’m ashamed for you”, Vays said through gritted teeth, quivering with barely controlled rage. “It’s unfortunate that you meet your fate with your back turned.” He aimed the crooked hilt of his sword at Sosa, the blade at an angle, pointing towards the ground. He cocked the hammer with his thumb and fired.

Sosa screamed as his right arm exploded.

Vays was surprised by his reaction to the sound of Sosa’s screams. He felt angry and guilty at the same time, a sensation he hadn’t experienced since his childhood. It scared him and he reacted. He fanned the hammer and pulled the trigger, causing each of the points of the Star to explode, attempting to hurry the process to shut Sosa up, to prevent Sosa from making him feel this way. He kept fanning the hammer and pulling the trigger, but the explosions had stopped. Vays didn’t understand at first why the screaming hadn’t ceased. Then he knew. The scream he heard was his own. He stopped with a start at the realization, panting and not knowing how to feel.

Stafros Lowe was bleeding from several ragged wounds, two of which had pierced his body, Dark armor and all, all the way through. But the Entitled who’d identified himself as Pendell Faiz was dead. Lowe now took a moment to recover and marveled slightly at the black smoke serpent that shot through the sky with Jav caught in its jaws. Employing his Lead Cloud Steps, Lowe leapt into the air where he stayed and attempted to assess the situation. His first thought was to go to Jav’s aid, but Jav was moving well out of the conflict zone and out of danger—assuming he wasn’t already dead. If he were dead, or even dying, Lowe could do nothing for him, so he turned his attention to the source of Jav’s sudden departure and made his way towards the serpent-headed Entitled.

He drew nearer, and though he never took his eyes off of his target, a strange red and white figure had joined the black one. Lowe saw Kalkin and Vays arrive just then, the serpent-headed Entitled engaging Kalkin, then being chased off by Vays. He was tired and his wounds hurt, but he pushed himself, trying to increase his speed. Whatever his intentions had been, they were instantly overwhelmed by fear of an order as yet unexperienced. On landing, Lowe watched as Kalkin was now removed from the battlefield, not following a gentle arc to land somewhere terrestrial, but unerringly straight, right off the edge of the horizon. Lowe stood, facing this unknown opponent who possessed unimaginable power, and swallowed hard.

“I am Garlin Braams. Under normal circumstances, I would be impressed with you and your fellows, but as it is, none of you are the King of Spades. Could I convince you to return to your plant, uproot yourselves, and leave the Three Worlds?”

Lowe’s initial fear gave way. He still didn’t know how powerful this man was, to what staggering degree he might outclass him, but it didn’t matter. Speaking had made the man just that, a man, and men Stafros Lowe did not allow himself to fear.

Lowe led with a heavy kick aimed for the head, but which Braams blocked casually with a raised arm. Lowe felt all his force reverberate back through his own body. He’d never felt anything like it.

Wasted seconds might cost him his life, so Lowe immediately invoked the god of his martial art. “Bal Kom Nis Kar Ahn!” he cried, setting his legs to vibrate with power. “Kii Soh Nis Kar Ahn!” He activated the second level of the Lead Cloud Steps but didn’t stop. “
Sai Sen
!
Kar Ahn
!”

Lowe dashed forward, leading with a right roundhouse kick, which Braams evaded with what appeared to be effortless grace, but Lowe, at the third level of the Lead Cloud Steps, was fast and deadly. Kicks flashed unceasingly, and Braams continued to dodge, bowing, twisting, turning, stepping back, moving in. Lowe’s speed seemed to increase, though, as the supposed synchronization with the god, Kar Ahn, became complete.

It wasn’t until then that Braams retaliated. He slipped past Lowe’s kicks easily and drove a claw hand straight for Lowe’s chest. Lowe drew his arms in instinctively, forearms together, covering his chest and the lower half of his face. Braams’s palm hit and cracked the electric blue armor, little flecks falling away like chipped paint, but the blow had penetrated more than just Lowe’s armor. Both Lowe’s arms buckled and were driven into his chest, more blue flecks rising like oversized glitter, the bones succumbing to the overwhelming pressure and crunching sickly. The combined pain and sudden shock to his heart and lungs—even though he didn’t need to breathe while Dark—was too much for Lowe. He reared, sucking in air furiously, took three wobbly steps backwards and collapsed, unconscious, his broken arms curled feebly upon his caved-in chest.

“You’d better hope that he still lives.” Bela Fan’s voice was hard and cold.

Braams chuckled at the irony. He deliberately scanned the battlefield, littered with corpses and fallen Entitled, then stared Bela Fan down. “You come here, you kill with abandon, attempt to take what is by no rights yours, and you have the gall and the nerve and the
idiocy
to threaten me when I defend what is mine, what is ours. I assure you that I will not stop with this one, nor will I stop with you.”