Chapter 61 - Brace

  “Move!” Corvus shouts at Alex, causing him to jolt free of the awe-struck terror of witnessing the descent of a nightmare god. That alien eye consumed the whole sky, and Alex is left with the impression that it isn’t just looking at him, but that it sees him. Even after taking the last few steps into the depot and having the walls and ceiling between himself and that eye, he still has the inexplicable sensation that it can still see him.

  The warning that accompanied the appearance of that eye had felt like being hit by a tidal-wave. Even with the unmistakable restraint in its tone, just having those two words spoken into his mind was enough for Alex to nearly piss himself, if not for his body no longer needing those functions.

  As it is, Alex’s legs are shaking as he struggles to get them to work. And as he looks around, he sees Corvus circling overhead and Hara hunkered down with her belly against the ground. The poor hound is terrified and shaking. He calls out to her, reaching to rub her side. “Hara, Hara it’s ok. We’ve just gotta get inside.” He says, making her flinch as he startles her. “Come on, let’s go. Just a lil bit further.”

  The wild-eyed look that Hara returns tells Alex that even having the Animus to strengthen her spirit, the overwhelming weight of that presence is still rock the normally stalwart hound’s poise. She takes a moment, just staring at Alex before giving a quick and jerky nod. Then together, they manage to put one foot in front of the other and make the last few staggering steps to get into the depot.

  Inside, multiple other runners have collapsed onto the floor or slump against the counters. Many of them appear to be knocked out cold, with the few who are still mobile trying to drag them into the more sheltered areas of the building’s interior. Without needing to be told, Alex grabs an arm and starts helping to drag one of his coworkers across the floor. A casual glance is enough to tell Alex several critical details.

  The longer it has been since someone’s last Animus recharge, the worse they’re affected. Those who’d recently topped-off are the ones who are stable enough to help the others. Most are dazed and so weakened that all they can do is stay out of the way. Alex’s last visit to the ‘Quick Fix’ was weeks ago now, but his continued exercise of his spirit had given him enough resilience to withstand the worst of the effects.

  He’s in the middle of helping move a third person when he catches sight of something that causes him to almost drop them. Slumped over the edge of the satchel-return bin, unmoving and unnoticed because she hadn’t been in the way, is Jewel. Getting the one person settled as quickly as he can manage, Alex rushes over to check on Jewel.

  Struggling a bit at first, Alex grabs under Jewel’s arms and heaves. It’s tough pulling her up from the bin, she’s completely limp, dead-weight. “Jewel, come on. Hey, you ok?” He asks, giving her a shake as he slides her down to sit on the floor, leaning against the bin rather than almost inside it. The woman is completely insensate, unresponsive to anything Alex tries to do to rouse her. She’s still whole, so the risk of dissolution isn’t imminent. But one look at her pale face and drained pallor is enough for Alex to know she’ll need a recharge very soon. All of the downed couriers will.

  In the scramble to help the others, Alex hadn’t noticed that Corvus never came inside. The crow sits atop one of the streetlamps, eyes locked in the direction of the oncoming surge. Several other Apex who’d remained in the city likewise take up positions near their investments and holdings. Each and every one can feel the ‘current’ of Leviathan’s sea pushing against the shockwave, but even with the immensity of her power, it won’t completely stop the force.

  Taking a deep breath, Corvus dispels his guise and stands atop the lamp, taloned feet gripping into the metal. As he draws upon his Animus to fuel his protective measures, the limitations of his Deal with Alex resist the direct intervention. “I bear some responsibility in this.” He chides himself, arguing against the metaphoric chains. Focusing his intent and will on the singular detail that without his interference, Alex wouldn’t be in harm’s way. But it isn’t enough to truly convince himself, and he feels his spellcraft falter.

  But Corvus is undeterred. “Fine. The hard way it is.” He mutters, and with a mental ‘switch-flip’, the mantle of The Guide is brushed aside for The Carrion Lord. With that shift in distinction, the task at hand reframes. Corvus is no longer acting to protect his charge as a guide. Instead, threads of purpose lance outwards, each aimed at the innumerable faded souls within his presence. Those so far gone that they’re relegated to being overlooked, discarded. Those who barely hold value in themselves. The offcast, the ignored, the ‘carrion’ of Hell’s appetites. They belong to Him.

  This time when Corvus draws on his power, it leaps to obey. There’s not even a waver from the Deal-bond constraints. Alex being aided isn’t even a secondary concern. The magnitude of Corvus’s power when enacting his role as The Carrion Lord is no different than as The Guide, what causes the explosive surge in might is the intensity to which the flame of his spirit is stoked.

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  Just as Leviathan’s eye seems to consume the sky, a second layer of possessive domain spreads across the district of New Europa. Instead of an alien eye, every soul would feel the sheltering protection of dark wings enfolding across their huddled forms. The Carrion Lord lays claim to their continued existence. Their purpose is not yet served.

  The other Apex who remain within the city likewise erect their own protections. Some altruistic, others self-serving, but none dare give a half-measure. Barriers of solidified will, bulwarks of stone, air turned to glass, shields of empowered glyphs, a patchwork quilt of protections bloom across the city, all aimed towards the coming danger.

  Alex makes Jewel as reasonably comfortable as he can, and is about to return to aiding the others when Dale bursts into the depot’s workfloor. “Everyone! Get down! Brace!” He shouts, a liquor bottle still clutched in one hand. The other hand extends and makes a sweeping downward pull, grabbing onto all the bay doors and slamming them shut with a telekinetic yank. The metallic clatter fills the bay for only a heartbeat. Then Dale jumps down the short stairs, thumping onto the stonework floor.

  One by one, he checks over all of the couriers who’d managed to return. Those in the worst condition, Dale grabs them by the arm and mutters a ‘modified’ version of the Animus loan Deal. Those who are conscious enough to hear it eagerly agree. When Dale makes his way to Jewel, he frowns. “Damn, out cold. She can’t accept it.”

  He’s about to turn to the next in need when Alex speaks up. “Can I make the deal for her?” He asks, catching Dale’s attention. “An Animus passed to her for five seconds, on the condition that I repay you a top-up cost’s worth in runs.” Alex blurts out, only to see Dale shake his head.

  “Animus can’t be taken from others. She’d have to will it back to me.” Dale explains, and then huffs. “But, I owe that girl more than I’ll ever admit to. And I trust her.” He says, then reaches down to put a hand against Jewel’s shoulder, ‘gifting’ her an Animus. “I know she’ll give it back when this passes.” He says, then looks over at Alex. “You stable?”

  Alex nods. “Yeah, I’ll be ok.” He answers, just before a tremor runs through the ground.

  Corvus’s voice reaches into Alex’s mind, “Alex, brace yourself.” That brief extra warning is the last they get.

  Alex barely has time to hunker down against the counter before another, far more violent quake rocks the city. The lights go out, plunging the depot into complete darkness. The first true darkness that Alex had seen since arriving in Hell. It briefly reminds him of the Abyssal Grotto, but without the silver silhouette outlines. But the thought is chased from his mind as a deafening crack shatters the air.

  The thunderous crash of sound wanes into a turbulent roar as the shockwave hits in force. Stonework cracks, structures waver like grass in the wind, loose items are sent flying in every direction. And then the pseudo-reality of Leviathan’s domain pushes back against it, smothering the chaotic blast under the weight of an eternal sea. And every soul present feels the instinctive need to hold their breath.

  The moment passes, and the depot’s bay is filled with the sound of choking gasps as every courier and employee greedily gulps the air. As the dust settles, light starts to permeate the area. With the mechanism that gives New Europa its artificial day cycle knocked out, Hell’s ever-present ambient light returns, suffusing everything with an even glow. In the dim illumination, it would appear that Zephyr Courier Services had largely survived the catastrophe intact.

  Outside, Corvus gradually lowers his guard. Bit by bit he withdraws his assumed claim on the area, reeling in the threads of purpose that bind him to all that lies forgotten and discarded. The blast-wave had rattled him, but it was far less than what it could have been. Leviathan’s efforts had dramatically contained the worst of the damage. And a touch of pride wells within him as he judges that not a single casualty had been suffered among those he sheltered.

  With the ambient light returning, Corvus looks up. Gone is the false sky, gone is the artificial sun. Far above, the ceiling of the massive cavern is visible, if just barely. The illusion of mortal normalcy didn’t survive the event. He lets out a low sigh and shakes his head. “A shame, that will take some time to repair. As will the cracked foundations.” He says, turning his gaze back to the city around him. Nothing moves, the whole city holding its breath to see if another aftershock follows.

  Leviathan hangs suspended, barely moving. The effort to suppress the worst of the damage had taken almost all she could give without resorting to measures that would have been equally damaging as the detonation. The shockwave had finally dissipated, becoming only a light tremor though Hell’s bedrock as it passes beyond the region. Gradually, she withdraws her sovereignty over her domain. The conceptual sea retreats, allowing Hell’s natural state to once more stand alone as the true reality.

  But as cataclysmic as the detonation had been, the troubles originating from its origin are just beginning. But those matters are for the lesser Apex to fret over. Wincing, Leviathan turns back, swimming through the solid stone until she can sink back into her personal ocean’s depths. She’d glimpsed an inkling of what the fool had done, the one who had once been known as The Cultivator. He had survived the storm, but doubtless it wasn't in the way he’d intended.

  In the heart of the ravaged chamber, a man opens his eyes. His new title thrums with more power and potential than he could ever have dreamed. The Gardner of Eden. But instead of the Title feeling that it’s something he possesses, it feels as though it is the Title that possesses him.