The God Mars Book Six: Valhalla I Am Coming (49 page)

She reaches her hand out sideways, and one of the
Shinobi passes her the gift sword I threw back at them, still
intact as if one of them managed to catch it after I threw it. She
offers it to me again.

“We will take the warheads and deliver them for you.
You know my Shinobi have a far better chance of success, and will
be able to do so far more accurately. We will destroy the demon’s
key assets, eliminate his physical forms all at once. And then,
when the demon is reeling from that blow, you and I can move to
finish him, together. But first you will take me to your ally, to
your friend Belial, and he will remove what has been set to
consuming me cell-by-cell, but leave me with your advantages.”

“And what about them?” I ask, nodding up at her
prisoners.

“If we are to succeed, the demon must be convinced
that we ended their mission, that we tried to take the weapons from
them and failed. We will use one of the warheads to destroy the
vehicle and this whole site. This is an outcome he expects—you were
right in saying he put me in your path, that he knew I would act to
intercept you, just as he knows our meeting will likely go badly.
So do not give him what he wants, but only convince him that we
have.”

It’s a sounder plan that Earthside’s, sounder than
mine, but

“But you’ll kill them.” It’s not a question.

“We cannot leave them alive and risk Asmodeus
detecting our deceit. You know they are dead either way. Do you
think you have
any
hope of protecting them when Asmodeus
decides it’s time for them to die, or worse? Do you think he will
not use their suffering and deaths to torment you, and revel in it?
They are soldiers. They know their lives were forfeited when they
took their oaths of service. Let them fulfill their duty, let them
die now for our tactical advantage, and they will die with honor,
with dignity; not in vain, in defeat and agony, at the demon’s
whim. Or would you give up this chance at victory that I offer you,
hand the lives of thousands to the demon’s bloodlust, for no chance
at all of saving these
six
lives?”

This is the second time on this trip that someone’s
thrown math in my face, reduced human lives to currency. But
Hatsumi Sakura has no right to speak to me of saving lives or any
greater good.

The look on my face betrays my decision.

“Perhaps your modifications effect more than your
libido,” Sakura disparages me. “Perhaps the decision should be made
by clearer minds, by those who still understand the sweetness of
their own mortality, and that of their fellow man.” She turns back
to the crest, looks up at the prisoners, and shouts: “
Major
Corso: Are you prepared to die for the oath of service you have
taken?
”

I can see her hesitate, agonize, knowing there’s a
blade over her head, knowing that her next words may bring it down
instantly, but that it may fall regardless. Is it better to die by
choice or by…?

“
I am!!
” she shouts down at us defiantly, her
voice breaking.

“Sakura.
Don’t.
”

“Then do so with honor.”

It’s too far away. And it happens in a fraction of a
second. A quick flick of the straight blade—I don’t even see it
meet any resistance of meat and bone—and Corso’s head tumbles off
her shoulders and goes bouncing down the slope into the great pit.
Then her body falls forward after it. The others recoil. Scheffe
stifles a scream.

Sakura turns back to me calmly, and I’m sure she’s
about to say something else she thinks is magnanimous and profound,
but I speak first, my mouth twisted fully into a snarl.

“
That was a stupid thing to do.
”

In my own fraction of a second, I draw my pistol and
shoot down two of the three Shinobi standing over my remaining
people before they can react. The third—the executioner with the
straight blade—drops out of sight before I can end him, leaving his
victims behind.

My intention made clear, the others react swiftly and
decisively.

One of Sakura’s retinue charges into me from my left
and tries to cut my gun arm. I avoid the cut, catch his blade with
my left hand and stick the muzzle of my pistol right in his mask.
But I don’t pull the trigger, not until I point the gun down into
his bladder and blow his testicles into the rocks. Then I shatter
his sword arm and his jaw and his knee in the split-second before I
have to deal with another one running into me, sword hacking the
air like a whirlwind.

I drop my pistol back in its holster as I smoothly
duck his blade like his best effort is less than a child’s, and I
put the first one’s blade through his gut from side-to-side,
liver-to-spleen. Then I tear his right arm clean off with my bare
hands and stave in his ribcage as an afterthought. I glare at
Sakura then, tossing aside the severed limb like trash, my face
painted black with sprayed blood in the night, and let her know
that when she predicted our meeting would go badly, she had no
fucking idea.

All my rage floods me at once, whatever self-control
I had left gone with her last act of casual calculated murder. This
smiling bitch has proven time and again that she’ll kill
anyone—even her own—in
any
number—for the slightest
advantage, without mercy or remorse. Let her see what a real
monster is; let her see what she was demanding to become.

There will be no honor in this, no dignity.

Sakura draws both her own blade and the gift katana,
and squares off against me. But her posturing is distraction. Her
brainless, loyal thugs wouldn’t let their mistress engage me
directly. I get pelted by sharp projectiles from multiple
directions as they circle and dance. The few that I let hit me do
an impressive job of finding gaps in my armor, and my Mods tell me
that the small throwing blades have been loaded with toxins and
bio-agents. I pluck two out of my armor and send them back from
whence they came, but with speed that gives them bullet-force. I
sever a spine through a throat and pierce another liver. Then one
gets desperate enough to throw a grenade, and I redirect it at
their lady. One of the Shinobi between us catches it like this is a
game, dives away and falls on it before it goes off.

Then they decide to show me their real plan. They’ve
been leading and herding me into specific ground, and staying off
of it themselves. I read the net just under the barren regolith an
instant before they charge it.

It generates an impressive amount of current over an
octagonal field about four meters across. I expect it was designed
to disable my tech or at least provide impairing interference, but
what it does is feel uncomfortable, annoying. I spread my arms and
give them a shrug. I see their hesitation—even Sakura’s, despite
her mask. They clearly expected it would do more than this; or
maybe they were told it would, shown it would. They should have
known better. But they’ve always been overconfident in their smug
superiority.

But they do have a second line: Three more Shinobi
appear out of hiding, deactivate their camouflage and aim rather
large weapons at me. On their backs are containment tubes. (So this
is Sakura’s Plan B, as expected: If I don’t give her what she wants
willingly, she’s set me up to take it. Or maybe that was Plan
A.)

In succession, the Shinobi fire their weapons. Each
one is good for one shot, launching a rapidly spreading net that’s
lined with long, fine needles, likely designed to sink whatever
charge they carry deeper into me. The first one is easy enough to
duck and swat away, but the next one catches me from my right and
wraps around me very effectively, followed by the third that hits
me from behind—I manage to duck enough that it doesn’t get full
purchase, but it still adds to my entanglement. The nets
immediately charge, their needles stabbing into me like I’ve fallen
into a hedge of cactus, made worse as I struggle. But the current
still does little more than annoy, even though it slows me down
significantly and fuzzes my senses.

It does nothing to my strength.

I find my knife and start cutting, ripping. I tear
myself up in the process, but in my rage I don’t care. The Shinobi
start throwing things at me again, and one dares try a spear. I
take it from him and impale him through with the blunt end, then
break the blade off and throw it at another.

Once I do enough damage to the nets, they lose their
charge, and I get my speed back in seconds. Worse for them, my tech
has absorbed a significant quantity of the energy, so the first
Shinobi I get hold of gets electrocuted. I smash his face in as
he’s feeling his heart fail. Then I gather up a bunch of the torn
netting and turn it into a whip made of needles, slashing at them
in all directions, until I manage to snag one of them. My makeshift
weapon chews him up as I drag him into my knife, and then I cut him
much deeper, systematically butchering him.

I barely realize that the ground net has died under
my feet, expended.

Absorbing the blood I’m soaked in, I face Sakura.

“Did Asmodeus
tell
you that this would work?”
I ask with a sneer.

“When…” she stammers, the first time I’ve seen her
really unsettled, “…when the pig kissed me, I subtly cut him with
my claws, took a sample…”

“Then he either set you up with a false sample or he
sent one of his inferior clones,” I tell her what she’s probably
already understanding. But I have to rub her nose in her stupidity:
“Did you understand
nothing
? The only reason things like me
are here, the only reason history has progressed as it has, is
because in our own timeline there was
nothing
that could
harm us! We made ourselves too well. There is no magic weapon, no
Kryptonite. The only thing that can remotely protect you against
one of us is another one of us, and you’re long out of good will. I
am almost tempted to give you what you want, just to see you rise
as another one of us, another unstoppable monster who would happily
destroy the very last of you.”

I’m raving, lost in my wrath. Every callous,
treacherous act they’ve done since I met them floods my brain,
perfectly preserved by my digital memory.

I am the sword of Yod.

Sakura signals her remaining few warriors, and they
turn and run in opposite directions, as does she.

“
Good fucking idea!
” I yell at their backs.
Then I charge after Sakura, knife in hand.

I barely see the shape shimmer in my path. His
camouflage is better than the others. Then his thin straight sword
goes through my chest, through my heart, artfully finding the gap
between my breast and shoulder armor. He becomes visible as he
pumps current through the blade to try to cook me.

But my Mods are already set to deal with electricity,
and I absorb it all, just as I begin to absorb his blade, dissolve
it as I break it off inside of me.

He has another, and draws it with impressive speed. I
catch it on my knife. This seems to surprise him—he was probably
sure his weapon could cut any material. He gets his next surprise
when I counter his fluid movements. He doesn’t use Japanese sword
technique, as his fine light blade is better suited to a Chinese
straight sword style. I am familiar with this style, and have no
trouble riding his weaving, circular parries and slashes, and
expecting his quick thrusts.

Initially, I stay out of reach, letting him pursue
me. But then I harden my gauntlet and grab his blade long enough to
slash his wrist down to bone. As he tries to keep control of his
sword, I cut him above the knee, hobbling him. Then I eschew my
usual sense of style and give him a good solid punt in the groin,
hard enough to crack his pelvis.

He impressively tries to keep fighting, but I spin
him around, get behind him, and very carefully break his spine in
the right place to paralyze but not kill. He goes limp in my arms
like a corpse, his blade clattering on the rocks. I’m tempted to
leave him like this, but…

“You owe me a head,” I growl into his ear, pressing
my knife up under his jaw. He thinks he knows what’s coming—I can
feel him resign himself to it. This only inspires me. “I’ll accept
partial payment.”

I pull the blade upwards, splitting his jaw. I feel
the knife go through bone, then teeth, then bone again as I drag it
up through his upper jaw, his sinuses behind his nose, then finally
through his eye sockets before I rip it out through his frontal
sinuses, avoiding his brain. His mask and goggles drop free, then
his severed face plops to the ground with a sickly sound. He never
screamed once, but I could feel his agony in his rasping breathing,
savored it. His blood soaks into my hands, feeds me. I let him go.
He drops on top of his own face.

His suffering has given Sakura time to disappear.

Up on the crest, Horst has gotten free of his bonds
and freed Lyra. He covers her with a Shinobi PDW while she frees
the rest. I’m thankful for the darkness: hopefully they couldn’t
see the full horror of my acts.

“
Get back to the rig!
” I shout at them. There
are still Shinobi running around loose, and probably more I don’t
know about, but Kel should be able help to cover their retreat.

I step over mangled and mutilated but still-living
bodies, looking for sign of Sakura. A few try pathetic attempts to
lash out at me as I pass. The one I initially shot through the
balls is trying to end himself with a grenade. I stomp his
remaining arm into mush before he can trigger it, leaving him to
die with his companions, slowly in agony. No honor. No dignity.

Sakura seems to have dropped out of sight, possibly
through another tunnel system. I could keep searching, but I hear
bursts of gunfire from Kel’s chain gun from the plain above me. I
will have to finish my business with the Shinkyo later, after I
know that the surviving crew are relatively safe.