Epilogue - The Hydra's Rise

Jacob Kilburn, Viashislov Shuisky, and Edwin Rass stood and watched the sunrise over the construction site. The facility--its inorganic parts, at least--was approximately two-thirds complete.

"Gentlemen, we are making history." said Shuisky. "Biomancy, architecture, and mechanical engineering, all integrated into the same wonderous living device."

"The Sons of Thunder are ecstatic with the results." said Rass. "They're sending more materials and workers then even I'd thought they'd be willing to cough up. Of course, there's the problem that we still don't have a name."

"We have 'The Hybrid Project' up to now. But it does not roll off thee tongue." said Shuisky.

"I've been thinking about that." said Kilburn. The Reaper had dropped him off a few weeks earlier. He didn't know what had happened to the other laborers and didn't want to think about it. The only change in his appearance was that he cropped his hair close--it had started to turn black from the ears down, so he'd cut it off in shame. "I broke away from Chimaera. That should have been my doom. But it looks as though this new facility is going to put Chimaera to shame. What should have killed this project has made it stronger. So I came up with a name for this place."

"What is it?" asked Rass.

"Hydra. Hydra Laboratory. Cut off its head, and two more grow back."

"I like it. I like it a lot." said Rass. "Doctor Shuisky?"

"I could get used to it." said Shuisky, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Hydra it is, then." said Kilburn.

Chapter Eleven - The Chimaera's Fall

The autumn shadows stretched long over Ulgotha as Savant Viggo Helmsman walked through the evening light. He took the long way home to Chimaera Estate, past the new Stronghold that was under construction in Keystone's Comfort. The reinforced dome was already taking shape, only six months into the project. Crossing through Bright Lace Park, the Savant took in the bright panorama of the changing leaves, one of the few places the turning of the trees could be seen inside the city.

Helmsman didn't normally come home except during the weekend any longer. Without a need for food or sleep, he spent his nights revising blueprints, doing paperwork, or mapping out one-man jobs. Today was a Thursday, but it was a special one--Agnes' sixtieth birthday. He'd let everyone out at five and given them Friday and Saturday off. This was to be nothing less than a celebration--he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a vacation.

He knew it had been more than eighteen months. He'd been undead for that long, and had been working constantly. Of course, there was quite a demand for Chimaera's construction aids and home appliances since the Battle of Ulgotha--there was still a lot of the city left to replace. Most estimates said it would take upwards of fifteen years to fully heal the city. There had been a lot of people killed--nearly a hundred thousand--but there were new immigrants to the city every day.

One face he'd seen less often lately was William Rainsford. He'd been taking time off lately due to declining health. Helmsman decided it was understandable--the man was in his fifties now, and had been working hard for more than thirty years with barely a break for all that time.

Helmsman reached the gate to his home, Chimaera Estate. He unlocked the gate and strode across the green lawn, admiring the few trees out front as they turned to vibrant red. He strode into the front hall, past the mithril alloy Chimaeric Guardian* and up the stairs.

"Agnes, I'm home early! And I've brought you something!" he called down the hallway.

"Just a moment, Viggo!" he heard her call back. "I didn't expect you home today! Give me a chance to put my face on, dear!"

"Nonsense, darling!" he said, throwing the door the bedroom open. "I love you no matter what you--"

The hand holding the flowers dropped to his side. The Savant's head drooped forward, and he retreated into the hall, shutting the door behind him. A moment later, a figure followed him.

"Well, Bill." said Helmsman. "I suppose this was inevitable."

"Viggo, I--" said Rainsford.

"No, I understand. She's a widow and you're a widower. And of course you've been spending a lot of time around here, ever since I stopped coming home during the week. It's only natural."

"I'm so sorry, Viggo--"

"And after all, there's things I can't do for her anymore." continued the Savant. "Since I'm a corpse."

"I didn't mean to--"

"Dammit, Bill!" shouted the Savant. "She's my goddamn wife! And you're my best friend! How did you think this would end!? Did you honestly think I would never notice!? You've known me for more than thirty years, Bill! The only things that have ever mattered to me were my laboratory and my family! And no matter how much time I may be devoting to one, I will never forsake the other! Get out of my house! Both of you! You can carry on all you like, but dammit, you will not do it under my roof!"

"Viggo--" said Agnes, coming to the door.

"Quiet, Agnes! Get out! And take that lout of a son of yours with you! You're not welcome here any longer!"

*

The sun set on Ulgotha, and Viggo Helmsman stood on the top of Chimara Estate's tower. He'd thought briefly about jumping, but decided all it would do was break some bones and require a housecall from a biomancer. Instead, he looked out at the sun going down over the spires of the city.

"Damn, how things have changed." he said to the city. "Damn, how things have changed."

*A gift given to Helmsman some years ago, it had been given a prominent place in the entryway of the Estate once the main building had been constructed. Constructed of Celestian mithril, the silvery statue of Chimaera Estate's namesake was said to bear an enchantment that would bring it to life if Chimaera estate were ever threatened. Though it had never been observed to move, the servants had reported that the statue grew noticeably warmer than usual during the Battle of Ulgotha.

Final Interlude - Vibrant Meadows

Imperator Michael Meadows and a group of adviors were waiting in Helmsman's office when he returned.

"Savant, I apologize for the imposition, but my Stronghold is much the worse for wear and your facility was the closest facility with acceptable fortification." said the Imperator from Helmsman's desk. Time had not been kind to Imperator Meadows; he looked every one of his seventy-five years. Meadows had a scar running across his forehead from a botched assassination attempt twenty years previous and his cheeks were covered in pockmarks, the remains of a childhood bout of Lupus that had been driven out by biomancy when he was a teenager. His eyes were pale blue, but bright as ever. Though his hair had gone completely white, it was still thick, another indication of Meadows' stubborn refusal to die.

"So I've seen, sir." said Helmsman. "It's an honor to serve Sardipa."

"Glad to hear it." said the Imperator. "Now, I'm afraid I'm going to have to throw you out of your own office, Savant, as we need to use it as a War Room at present."

"I understand, but I have bad news. Consul Cross is dead."

"Unfortunate, but not unexpected. It's just as well; his ambition was beginning to interfere with his duties."

Helmsman hesitated.

"Is there more, Savant?" asked the Imperator.

Before Meadows had passed off most of his meetings to Cross, Helmsman had met with Meadows a number of times. The two men generally got along well, though both were conscious that Meadows' rank was not the only thing that made him superior to Helmsman. Cross had told Helmsman that Meadows' health was in decline, but the man before him looked unchanged since the last time they had met.


"Sir, I was told that your health was in decline." said Helmsman.

"Cross told you that, because it was a lie I wanted him to believe. He was useful, but would have gotten uppity without the feeling he could take over soon. So I led him to believe that I was getting senile to keep him productive. As Diocletian himself once said, 'Weakness is greatest veil for strength.'"

"I see." With that, Helmsman left. There would be time to explain the circumstances of Cross' demise later.

"All right, men." said Michaels, calling his advisors back around the desk. A map of the city was lain across it with an army of red and blue figures. A black circle had been drawn across the area surrounding the docks. "There are two remaining Totem Ships on the water." He gestured to a pair of blue ships placed on the river. "What have we got to get rid of them?"

"A pair of heavy cannon companies from Garrison Twelve are moving in here." said the newly-appointed Grand Marshall Cuthbert. "And a squad of anti-magic projectors are meeting them at the intersection of Scullery Lane and Red Brick Avenue. The plan is to fire the antimagic at the first Totem Ship and then follow with a bombardment from the cannons. All they have to do is knock down one mast and her rune configuration will collapse; she'll be defenseless. Then the crews do the same thing to the other Totem Ship."

"Good." said Meadows. "Now, we've got reports of six squads of Hoplites with Spellslinger backup* moving through the Middle Barrens and Keystone's Comfort. What are the Militia and the Army doing about it?"

"I've got four regiments blocking their advance through Keystone's Comfort and are equipped with Mage-Breakers to take down their magic," said Brigadier General Birmingham, "but the Army Depot in the Stronghold basement was annihilated. Troops from Ralston's Ferry, Lower Barrens, and the Gray Knell are on their way--the meteors didn't reach that far and the Depots are untouched."

"And the Militia?" said the Imperator.

"In shambles." said Militia Commander Gruff. "The base of operations in the Stronghold was utterly destroyed along with fully half of the installations around the city. To make matters worse, our Mage-Breakers were based in Installation twenty, of which there are no reported survivors. What forces my officers have been able to marshall have congregated at the edge of the blast radius on what was the intersection between West 17th Street and Commodore Boulevard, but we have too little antimagic to be effective against the Palosians."

The Imperator looked up from the map. "Understood. General Birmingham, I'm giving you full jurisdiction over the Imperator's Militia. Use them to supplement your own forces as you deem necessary.

"Gentleman, this is the greatest city in the world, and we are under siege. I will do what I need to in order to see that it survives."


*The Hoplite and Spellslinger were Palosia's signature military units. The Hoplite was a heavy infantryman equipped with a long spear, a broadsword, full plate mail, and a tower shield. Hoplites also used numerous Auras and encahntments to elevate their fighting skills and endurance to superhuman levels. Spellslingers were the ranged equivalent of Hoplites, using enchanting crossbows with exploding bolts. Both were hated by Sardipan Regulars, as they were extremely difficult to deal with without the use of an antimagic field to neutralize their various enhancements.

Chapter Ten - Ironclaws

The demon's meteors had wrecked a huge portion of the city and a greater portion of the Palosian fleet. In both cases, significant pieces remained. It took more than a meteor shower to sink a Totem Ship.

The Sardipans had gotten lucky; one of the ships had been caught unaware--its mast had snapped under the weight of the first meteor, disrupting the fragile configuration of the runes etched all over the hull. Its enchantments collapsed and the ship sank. The remaining pair of Totem Ships were battered but still floating, pulling up to the crushed rubble along the dockside. They disgorged more troops than could possibly have fit within a mere two ships, then pulled back into the water to deliver support at range.

On shore, the what remained of the Sardipan defenders rallied. This time, numbers were on their side.

Meanwhile, a pair of gray figures crawled out from a hole beneath a freshly demolished building.

"'Nevermind, Savant,' you said!" one figure yelled to the other. "'He does this all the time,' you said!"

"I fail to see what yelling at me is going to accomplish, Savant." said Daniel Talon. "Now I suggest we get to someplace safe. I can hear gunshots in the distance, so it seems the fight is still on."

"Damn, what happened here?" said Savant Viggo Helmsman, looking around. "Everything's been levelled from here to the docks."

"I'm not sure, but it would account for the thunderous roar we heard up here. Let's see...this used to connect Abyss section nine...which would put us on--"

"Imperium Street." said Helmsman, a piece of crushed statuary in his hand. "The West end. This was a piece of the Statue of Henry XVII on the corner of Imperium and 329th Street."

"Impossible. We'd be able to see the Imperator's Stronghold from there."

Helmsman turned slowly. "Who says we can't?"

Indeed, part of the fortress' granite dome still stood, but it lay gutted by the meteors, an empty shell. That was when they noticed the Wight.

It was standing atop a pile of ruined stonework, looking intently at a man who seemed to have survived the collapse. Bloody and battered, the man lie on his back with a piece of rubble half his size on his chest, pinning him to the ground. The Wight loomed over him--it had to be seven feet tall. It was wearing a long leather coat and an iron mask, but it was the hands that caught Helmsman's attention. The leather sleeves ended above the elbow when they were encased by the same black iron of the mask. The guantlets looked to be a part of the Wight's body, as they extended into fingers nearly two feet long. Each one ended in a pointed talon. A dusk cloud surroundeded the Wight, pulsating regularly. The Wight stood at the center of the swirling dust, otherwise motionless.

Helmsman had never had much of a drive for personal survival. It had been either the efforts of others or blind luck that had let him last for sixty-two years. Without a heartbeat, any sense of self-preservation in the Savant was long gone. His curiosity beckoned him to the Wight, and he followed.

"Friend of yours?" he called to Talon, pointing to the Wight.

"I've seen him before, but only recently. They call him Ironclaws." said Talon, jogging alongside Helmsman.

As Helmsman drew up, he could hear a regular hissing noise coming from the Wight. Each time he heard the hiss, the cloud of dust pulsated. When he got within a few feet, he could hear the man groaning. Helmsman looked down at the man and started in recognition as he looked down into the bloody face of Nathan Cross. Cross' eyes opened wide when he saw Helmsman.

"Savant." he coughed. "Get this rock off me...that...thing...I think it wants...to take me to hell."

Helmsman looked at the Wight. From his new vantage point, he could see the front of the Wight; its face resembled an iron gas mask. Beneath the eye holes came a red light, sending two trails of crimson into the surrounding cloud of dust. Aside from the regular swirling of the dust, the Wight hadn't moved.

"What are you doing, then?" Helmsman asked the Wight.

The Wight's movement was unexpectedly fluid, given its bulky appearance. It didn't speak, but lowered its head and raised a talon, tapping its neck. Helmsman noticed that the Wight was tapping the head of a screw.

"I think he wants you to unscrew that." said Talon.

Ironclaws nodded and went down on one knee, putting the screw at eye level.

"What are you...doing?" gasped Cross. "I'll die if you don't...help me!"

Helmsman rummaged in his pockets until he found a screwdriver. The screw was stubborn at first, but came open without too much fuss. The Wight turned, exposing an identical screw on the opposite side. Helmsman took it out with barely a word.

"Do you want to keep these, then?" he asked, holding out the screws.

The exaggerated talons reached up and pulled the front of the mask. It gave and unfolded from the top. The face beneath was that of a man about Helmsman's age, with long, flowing hair that came loose from the helmet unfettered by sweat. The face was normal, if slightly oversized, except for the eyes; the irises glowed red, casting a light. The hissing sound continued, and dust swam out from the mouth and nose.

"No." it said in a whispery voice. "I don't think I'll need them any longer." Ironclaws turned to Cross. "As for you. I'm not here to drag you down to hell; I just want to be here when it happens." Ironclaws paced around to the other side of Cross. "And it looks like I won't have much longer to wait."

"Helmsman, please." rasped Cross. His voice was getting fainter.

Viggo Helmsman hardly considered himself a hero. But when it came down to a scenario like this, he didn't see where he had a choice. Cross had been a power hungry bastard, but he couldn't leave him to die like this.

"So, you want me to try and save you from a slow, painful death?"

"I beg of you."

"Well, all right then, but only because you begged." Helmsman put his hand into his pocket. It came out holding the revolver that had killed King Rarc. He shot Cross in the head--the death was instant.

Talon looked on, stunned.

"I've seen things like this before." said Helmsman. "And they always wind up bleeding internally. It's a slow, unpleasant way to die. It would take a hell of a biomancer to bring him back from where he was, and I don't think we'd be able to find one." He blew the smoke coming from the end of the barrel and put the revolver back in his pocket. "What about you? Did you get what you came for?"

"This man," said Ironclaws. "Is the reason I am a Wight. I served him loyally for nearly a decade, and he killed me in cold blood to keep me silent. He rewarded my loyalty with death; I merely wanted to see justice delivered."

"Then justice is done." said Talon. "Now come on. Those gunshots are getting closer, and I don't want to spend any more time out in the open. We can get back to the Abyss--"

"Forget the Abyss. This looks like the edge of the blast radius. My facility is a few miles down whats left of this street, and if it's still standing, there won't be a safer place in what's left of the city."

Ninth Interlude - The Battle of Ulgotha

The alarm bells of Keystone's Comfort rang out through the pre-dawn air. A pair of yellow lanterns hung side-by-side in the signal towers, beneath a single red one. The signal was clear: the Palosians are coming by water.

Upstream, framed by the rising sun, dozens of masts were visible, moving quickly down the Magginoth River. A blue-and-white pennant flew from each; the Palosian flag. The fast, agile Corsairs cut through the front of the fleet, with the larger Battleships behind. A discerning eye could even pick out a handful of the dreaded Totem Ships, semi-sentient vessels with unparalleled magical ordinance. A Totem Ship could sink anything short of a Dreadnaught in a one-on-one battle without taking a hit. The combined fleet was enormous--possibly enough to take Ulgotha.

Sardipan riders departed from the guardhouses, shouting the news to the city.

"To arm! To arms! The Palosians are coming! To arms!"

Ulgotha's marine defenders roared to life--a pair of Ironclads and Dreadnaught stoked their engines and pulled free of their moorings. Any hope they might have had was dashed as an enormous fireball leapt from the lead Totem Ship and burned out the docks around a third Ironclad. The second and third Dreadnaughts managed to clear their docks, but the defenders were aware that even with the last ironclad they were sorely outmatched. The Ironclads were more durable than the Palosian Corsairs, but the extra armor was unlikely to be helpful against the sheer numbers they faced. Likewise, the Dreadnaught's powerful cannons would be likely to sink a few Battleships, but would be nearly worthless against the magically shielded Totem Ships.

On land, the Sardipan Army and Imperator's Militia mobilized. As cannonballs flew from the Sardipans ships and cannonshot returned with fire and lightning from the Palosians, the soldiers on the shore loaded flint-lock rifles and prepared artillery. One of the Sardipan Ironclads was hit by a solid bolt of force and began to sink; in response, a rocket launched from the shore struck the main deck of one of the Palosian Battleships and set it ablaze.

Jacob Kilburn raised to the roof of his apartment building in the Middle Barrens to see the harbor battle in greater detail. As he watched, the waters behind the Dreadnaughts began to churn and crackled with magical energy. Suddenly, the waters parted as a creature the size of a several city block erupted from the river.

"A Leviathan." Kilburn whispered in awe.

The massive wurm cleared the water and opened its tooth-encrusted mouth. A fireball hurled forth and engulfed one of the Dreadnaughts. The ship was heavily armored, but wasn't airtight, meaning most of the crew was burned alive in a matter of seconds. The ship drifted forward as its engines used up what fuel remained, careening into the docks and nearly running ashore. The Leviathan's open jaws landed on the remaining ironclad and shattered it. The waves generated by its landing sent a Dreadnaught and two Corsairs crashing into the dockside. The Leviathan seemed to vanish after hitting the water.

The lone Dreadnaught stabilized on the open water, facing down eight Corsairs, four Battleships, and all three Totem Ships. Only now could Kilburn see past the warships to the troop transports behind them. There were at least eight, and they had begun to land. The Totem Ships were bombarding the docks with chain lightning, making sure the troops would have a safe landing. Ulgotha maintained a strong military presence, but this was a full scale invasion and the defenders were left unprepared.

Kilburn took a deep breath. Ulgotha had no chance. No chance except one.

"Reaper of Souls! If you can hear me, now is the time!" Kilburn yelled to the rooftop.

A familiar shadow swept across Kilburn, ending in two three-lobed wings. "Ready to negotiate, are we?"

Kilburn turned. The Reaper of Souls stood on the peek of the roof, framed by the sun. "Okay, I want all of it. Eternal youth, the regeneration thing, but you have to up the ante."

"How so?"

Kilburn pointed to the docks, where the last Dreadnaught was being pummeled with Palosian cannonfire. "We can't hold them. The city will fall something isn't done. I want you to save Ulgotha."

"And you will build the constructs I desire?" pressed the demon.

Kilburn took another deep breath. This was it, do or die. "Yes."

"Excellent. Sign." A contract was passed to Kilburn. "Place your hand on bottom portion."

Kilburn glanced over it, but could barely make out the writing. Every second he wasted, more people were dying. Kilburn pressed his palm on the bottom of the paper. A white hot bolt of pain shot across his hand and he dropped the paper. The Reaper of Souls snatched it back before it hit the ground. As he did so, Kilburn felt as though a weight had been lifted from him. Upon examining his hand, Kilburn found it unharmed.

The Reaper of Souls held up the contract, now emblazoned with Kilburn's handprint. "The pact is sealed. I will deliver."

Suddenly, the sky grew dark. Kilburn heard a high pitch screeching sound, then another, and another.

The first meteor took out a clock tower down the road. The next cascaded into the water of the Magginoth, barely missing the Dreadnaught. More and more meteors fell from the sky, pummeling every surface within a mile of the docks, falling in greater and greater numbers.

When it ended, Kilburn felt thick fingers squeeze across his shoulders. "We will gather you some laborers, and we will go." said the Reaper of Souls.

An hour later, Jacob Kilburn flew away from Ulgotha on the wings of demon, looking down on the perfect circle of destruction the Reaper's meteor shower had left on the center of the city. The Palosian fleet had been devastated, but everything from the Imperator's Stronghold to the Bridge of Sighs had been wiped off the map.