Corsairs & Cataclysms

Chapter 24

Without the help of the combo of Preternatural Insight and the secret channel, I barely registered the flying projectile that flew past me and struck the chariot. It was so fast.

What I did see was the fire and the fury of the explosion. The chariot was flipped into the air and the six occupants were thrown to the ground only to have the wreckage of their vehicle fall on them before rolling into the side of a nearby building.

I glanced behind me and saw Brant down on one knee holding a bleeding ear. My best guess was that he had turned himself into a firing platform for Sheamus, though where the mad bombardier had got to afterwards was anyone’s guess.

Up on the roof of the theatre, I could see Trisha clinging to the sign Claudia had erected to guide the evacuees. How she got there I didn’t know, but it was probably a safe bet that Raven hadn’t flown away like we thought earlier. Maybe she stuck around to watch me get clobbered.

“Impossible!” Greybeard yelled in shock. His gaze drinking in the ruination of an entire elite vanguard unit. “The freshly integrated cannot be this strong. You are sheep, ready to be led to the slaughter.” He finished with a growl of menace.

His visage had settled upon me, and hate pulsed from his veins in waves you could almost feel.

Quixbix suggested.

That was a fine idea but there was a definite wobble in my legs. The downside of coming back to myself was that the surging adrenaline had tapered off. Exhaustion and a stack of debuffs inflicted by the swarm of Lamers who tried to kill me left me struggling not to keel over in a shuddering lump. Running or jumping away would likely result in me faceplanting in the gravel-strewn parking lot rather than making a sharp exit from danger.

“At the very least, I will cut the head from the venomous snake,” Greybeard hissed.

We’d been upgraded from sheep to a snake. I would be happy if not for imminent death.

Greybeard readied his blade and shifted his posture to rush me only to be interrupted as a bolt of magical lightning hit him squarely in the chest and forced him to re-evaluate.

The spell had been cast by the elf Tavar who strode out into the parking lot, past Brant who had been hauled back into the building to recover. Tavar was not alone. A full squad poured out the doorway and there was a second lined up to join them.

The Lamer Commander took one final glance in my direction, spat on the ground in disgust, and sprinted away. He’d abandoned the wounded warriors without hesitation to save himself.

Shattered Storm warriors streamed out of the building. Two members of Tavar’s squad rushed over, put my arms over their shoulders, and guided me back inside seconds before my legs gave way. A few of our people gave chase, trying to run Greybeard down, but he must have activated a mobility skill because he was already out of sight.

“Don’t go far,” I half-mumbled, concerned this was just another ploy to draw us into a trap. There were more Lamers on the chariot train than what had been killed here and by the Razorhound.

Tavar was ahead of me and reined in the overly ambitious without needing my input. As an off-worlder, he knew exactly what kind of tricks the Liberation Army could play. Instead, he had them concentrate on executing those who were down but still alive.

More experience to fuel the progression. I blazed past thirty-five and thirty-six and was well on the way to thirty-seven. I tried to smile at the thought, but it only reminded me of my dislocated jaw and the two crewmen carried me inside.

***

It didn’t take much longer before the foyer emptied of evacuees, though there were a few new ones that were escorted in by the newly arrived squads. They’d been hiding in the surrounding buildings until the fighting had concluded.

Mia fussed over me and wanted an explanation for my foolhardy behaviour, but that had to wait until one of the medics realigned my jaw.

Something which hurt.

A lot.

Once that was done, I was pulled away to our private chambers further back in the building. Trisha had been brought down from the roof and was lying on the bed in a recovery position. A brace was locked in place around her injured hip to provide extra support. Events outside had calmed down enough that Claudia didn’t need to keep her vigil at the waypoint entrance.

“What happened?” Mia demanded.

“Ashli, or possibly his fragment,” I told them. Now that I’d broken the connection, I could recall the way it had whispered in my ear at the speed of thought. Egging me on and feeding the delusion of grandeur. It probably didn’t have to try very hard to come up with the mindset, merely channelled its own. “Things looked grim, and I was searching for an edge. Anything to shift the odds back in our favour and I tapped into the Framework blind spot. It had to have been lurking on the same channel and got inside my head. It was insidious.

“At first, the guidance it offered was incredibly helpful. I could see and anticipate my enemy’s every movement. But it was all a ruse to gain trust. It never lied, but it occasionally omitted info or undersold it. Enough that I took risks, and made poor choices that endangered me. It almost worked. Quixbix broke me out of it.”

“If you hadn’t waited as long as you did, Torin wouldn’t have almost self-imploded his head,” Trisha reminded him, and I had to tune the imp out as tried to make the case for his defence.

“Thank you, Quixbix. Late or not, you came through for the team.”

“Will this be a problem moving forward?” Claudia asked, worry in her voice. “A way for Ashli to influence your psyche.”

“No, I don’t think so,” I told her confidently. “The secret channel might connect us, but it wasn’t until I forced my mind inside that it was able to reach out and manipulate me. We both have access to the resource, but we can’t use it to cross over. Only meet in the middle.”

“I still don’t like it,” she said.

“I’ll be careful, and I’ve got Quixbix to watch my back. I’ll even let Quinn have a poke around when we get back to Stormblade Harbour. Speaking of which, how are we set? As much as I would like to stay and take the Lamers down a few more pegs, I’m no longer fit to fight. I might be stuck on bed rest again for the next few weeks.”

“Everyone who had already made it here is through to Grand Rapids. We’ve stayed operational in the hopes of drawing a few more refugees in, but I think we have to close it all down. The guild channels that we’re spying on are filled with dire and panicked reports. Liberation Army units have been spotted in downtown Dallas. Dozens more of those chariots and even larger transports have been reported. It looks very likely that the city will fall within the hour.”

I sighed loudly at the news. “Agreed. There is little more that we can do here. We’ll offer what aid we can to the Lone Star war effort through the markets. Pack it all up. Is there anything else? Why did it take Homebase so long to respond?”

Mia and Claudia looked at one another.

“Well, now that we’ve confirmed our departure, it’s safe to tell you. There was an incident at Stormblade Harbour. Don’t worry, Doyle handled it,” Claudia assured me. “But it did pull away the readied squads who would have joined us and we had to wait for Tavar and Sheamus to mobilise from Grand Rapids.”

Mia threw her hands in the air. “That’s not the important part,” she huffed.

I arched my eyebrow in confusion.

“The baby is coming. Shana is giving birth,” she said excitedly.

Oh shit! I was going to be a Dad!

***

Packing up didn’t take very long. Most of what made up the interior was part of the dungeon foyer and didn’t need to be removed manually. Once the last of the refugees were sent through to Grand Rapids, Claudia switched the flow back to Stormblade Harbour and we could head home.

Trisha was carried back on a bier that elicited a few amusing comments about her behaving like she was the Queen of Sheba. Her retort was to wave her hand in an upright position. A proper royal dismissal.

Despite my eagerness to get back and be by Shana’s side, I had a duty to remain until everything was concluded here. The reports assured me that Shana had only been in labour for an hour, and I had a bit of time yet before the delivery. The Darkwyrlds removed many of the potential complications from childbirth and marathon periods of labour lasting twenty-four hours or longer were a thing of the past. Despite that, childbirth still usually took several hours. You were at the mercy of another life and sometimes they were a bit shy about making their debut.

The last act performed by Claudia was to collapse the building above. A dangerous reconfiguration like that was only possible if people weren’t present. The last few stragglers waited in the waypoint recess in Pandaemonium until she was done. Claudia had excavated further back and expanded the area while making it much more comfortable and better defended.

The plan was to make the exterior in Dallas appear as if it had been hit by one of the barrages that the Lamers had launched into the city. That way we could keep the waypoint active and minimise the risk of discovery. Removing the shard and collapsing the waypoint was another option, but this way we had a possible avenue back into the city should it be necessary.

It was difficult to predict what the Liberation Army planned to do once they conquered the city. Whether they would stay in Dallas or simply depopulate the place and move on to the next. The problem we had was that Greybeard had got away from us. He knew that we had been up to something in the former adult theatre but had never set foot inside. He didn’t know that it was essentially a dungeon or that there was a concealed waypoint in the basement.

I was also in two minds as to what I preferred to happen on that front.

One positive perspective was that if the Lamers discovered the waypoint and entered Pandaemonium, we might be able to use it against them. That would allow the Shattered Storm to ambush any groups that were sent in with relatively little risk to us. The waypoint itself didn’t lead directly back to our territory and they couldn’t use the shard to change the flow without Claudia’s assistance.

The single drawback to the strategy was that retrieving the shard could become complicated if the Lamers recognised what it was and set up a permanent garrison to keep us away. It would still be possible, it would require a lightning assault and establishing a bridgehead that could be held long enough for Claudia to do what was needed.

Alternatively, the Lamers never finding the waypoint had a lot of upsides too. Not least of which would be the ease with which we could travel across the country. Should the Lamers move on, the waypoint would make it easier for the Shattered Storm to strike at them where they felt safest. They would have to be dealt with at some point. Quixbix had been clear they operated like a swarm of locusts devouring everything in their path.

Thankfully, none of this took too long and soon I was striding through the halls of the Stormwarden’s Palace. The aches and pains of the earlier were forgotten for the time being even if it would take a week or two to fully heal up.

“You aren’t too late,” Susan assured me when I entered the medical wing and guided me to the room where the action was happening.

Shana smiled up at me when I entered. Dark hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat. The nurse, Mathilda, was at the end of the bed by her spread legs, softly murmuring instructions. Fang Mei held one of Shana’s hands on the far side with Mia, who had come ahead of the rest of the group, hovering beside her. They had left the near side of the bed free and clear for me.

“Get over there then,” Anastasia jeered from a chair in the corner where she lazed languidly. “Shana needs to crush one of those hands of yours to get her own back after you put that bun in her oven.”

“I love you too, Ana,” Shana whispered with a wan smile from the bed.

Shaking my head at the dungeon core’s antics, I took my place at Shana’s side and let her take my hand and crush to her heart’s content. She had a pretty good grip, but I’d endured worse.

Shana was no mutated lobster from hell. Well, from Sholmdir, but it didn’t make much difference.

We didn’t have much longer before Mathilda shouted. “One more big push!”

Shana strained and grunted with the final effort. A split-second later, her face took on a look of pure relief, and the piercing cry of a newborn babe echoed across the room to a chorus of oohs and ahhs. Mathilda whipped the babe away to a prepared station behind her and worked quickly to do what was necessary while Fang Mei and I mopped Shana’s brow and crooned supporting words.

With practised efficiency, Mathilda completed her tasks and handed a swaddled babe into the waiting arms of Shana in short order. She rocked the tiny little boy with pointed ears in her arms while he gurgled in happiness.

After a few rocks, Shana moved the child closer to me. “Torin, let me introduce you to your son. This is Dash.”

A Framework chime echoed through my body and soul, but I barely noticed it as I looked at the tiny smiling face of my son.

Whatever the chime had been, it was something that could be attended to tomorrow.

The End of Book 4 of Corsairs and Cataclysms.

Epilogue

Freedom’s Journey, Flagship of the Liberation Army Fleet on Earth.

Fallor Greybeard was a seasoned Liberation Army Captain. He had sixteen separate campaigns under his belt. Sixteen worlds successfully purged of taint. He had put a countless number of sinners to the sword, freeing their souls from the burden of their mortal weaknesses and ancestral guilt. And yet, he quaked like the newest of recruits as he knelt in the presence of the Fleet Commander, Marshall Campion.

He'd never had to explain the complete loss of the squad of Holy Warriors when the forces arrayed against them had collapsed so completely. His contemporaries gloried in their successes with minimal casualties, many with none at all.

The report had been delivered to the ultimate authority on this planet with forced calm. If today was the final sunset for Fallor Greybeard, he would not have it said that his courage wavered when faced with the end. If he could only match the emotional storm within to the public façade.

“An Acheronian Corsair, you say?” Marshall Campion said at last giving nothing away.

“Indeed, my Lord,” Greybeard grovelled. “A strong one. An off-worlder methinks. It is the only explanation for how we were overpowered. I had heard reports that a Corsair vessel had been pursued in the Plexus ahead of our arrival. It must be them.”

“Unlikely,” Campion answered, and Greybeard’s heart sank.

He hadn’t believed the excuse himself but had hoped that it might have sounded plausible enough for the Grand Marshall to spare his life.

“That vessel has been confirmed as a Shiptaker scout. That old monster Titus is as brazen as he is depraved. Had the Acheronian you encountered been one of his foul tentacles, there would have been no doubt about the provenance. This is somebody new. Were there any visible signs of his ship?”

“I saw nothing, my Lord. According to the maps, there was a river nearby, perhaps it was harboured there.”

“No,” Campion spoke confidently. “All possible escape routes from the city were being monitored or scanned. They would have been spotted. Moreover, a squadron of my personal elites have investigated the area. They found nothing but rubble at the location. No sign of this Corsair, nor of how he came and went. How curious.”

“If I might,” a new voice interjected.

Greybeard lifted his arm a little and glanced under his armpit from his prostrate position. The speaker was a thin, reedy, aged Celestial. One of the Scripter Corp. Administrative cowards who rarely fought, no wonder they lived to such infirmity.

“Speak, Markus.”

“Thank you, My Lord. I would like to remind you of the consequence quest listed in yesterday’s briefing. For the theft of the plexus gate used to make planetfall. A faction called the Shattered Storm. The early inquiries made by my division indicate it is led by an Acheronian Corsair based in the north of this continent. Mayhap, it was this group, and then they used the stolen gate to flee.”

“Perhaps,” Campion mused from his throne unconvinced. Disposing of or hiding a plexus gate after it had been used for an escape was a complex operation fraught with difficulties. It was possible, for sure, yet very difficult. “Markus, refocus your attention on this conundrum until it is resolved.”

The Celestial bowed deeply. “As you command, my Lord.”

Marshall Campion rose from his throne and took three steps down the dais. “I shall survey the purge and personally bestow final blessings on a collection of sinners.”

Greybeard lowered himself even further, his lips brushed the floor of the throne room. The other assembled Liberation Army officers in attendance bowed at the waist in deference.

Campion's boots clacked loudly on the lacquered flooring of his audience chamber. Greybeard was about to let out a breath of relief. He had been forgiven or perhaps forgotten which might be a better outcome.

However, Marshall Campion halted at the door. “Oh, and Greybeard. A failure of this magnitude cannot be tolerated. Penance must be made. Your left hand and eye should suffice. You may visit the Excoriators if you do not dare to do it yourself.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he answered, his voice cracking at the end.

He didn’t know whether to groan or rejoice. His life had been spared, true, but how long would he last if he was crippled. And what chance would he ever have to redeem his honour in the eyes of the Marshall?

***

Fragshli

“Damn it!” Fragshli lisped and dislodged a rotten tooth from Maurice’s body.

He had been so close to fixing two problems in one fell swoop.

At first, the fragment had been shocked to discover the mind and soul of Torin Carter intruding upon a Framework wavelength that was supposed to be hidden and reserved solely for Ashli’s use. The shock only doubled when realisation dawned that this was the same meddlesome entity who had ruined Ashli’s plans and effectively trapped him in the first place.

Shock had quickly morphed into hope. Carter’s soul was strong and resilient, powerful. More than that, there were five others intricately bound to his. This had been a glorious opportunity.

The body of Maurice could go no farther. Fragshli had made it to the outskirts of Minneapolis. However, the decomposed condition of the body had led to several…misunderstandings with the locals. The ensuing battles had robbed him of the last of his strength. After the latest encounter, he had retreated to an abandoned section of the city and concealed himself in the cellar of a burned-out bar.

But with Carter delving into the wavelength, Fragshli could reach out and influence him. Warp his mind and senses and drag him to the very cusp of death where the bond between the soul and consciousness is weakest. That was when Fragshli could strike, cut the mind’s control and use the connection via the wavelength to jump bodies and haul what was left of tainted energy with him.

The body would have been badly damaged, but Carter’s soul was strong and once Fragshli was the one giving the orders restoration would have been easy enough, especially with five others that could be drained to fuel the process.

It was all for nought. A damnable imp had stuck its unwanted nose into the mix and disrupted the deception. Carter had become aware of the manipulation and withdrew both mind and soul from the wavelength before Fragshli could initiate the transfer. Just a little more damage, that was all he needed. One more hit and Carter’s body would have been his.

His fist slammed on the top of a metal cylinder that had once been filled with beer and the wrist snapped. The blow had not been that strong, but Maurice’s bones had grown brittle. Deceiving Carter had not come without a cost. This body was ready to fail, he had a day, maybe two he remained perfectly still and didn’t exacerbate the decay.

This cellar would be Fragshli’s last resting place. He no longer had the strength to leave.

The sound of wood creaking and snapping as it was moved and torn away came from the top of the cellar stairs. Somebody was trying to get in and Fragshli’s contemplation was swept away with more immediate concerns. He eased himself to the floor and crawled behind the remains of the machinery used to pump the beer up to the bar above.

It took the interloper a little longer than expected to make an entrance for themselves and as they stomped down the steps which bowed and almost broke under its weight Fragshli understood why.

The individual was a giant. The skin was blue-green and a lengthy beard the colour and texture of seaweed hung from his jawline in a tangled mess. The giant’s eyes were feverish and what little clothing he wore was caked in blood and viscera. This creature was a beast of wanton destruction. What a carrier he would have made if only the fragment had the strength to subdue the beast.

The giant had to crouch and lower its head to move around the cellar. It picked up several barrels like they were toys and tossed them around in frustration as it searched the place. Inevitably, the over-sized man found his way to the back of the room and easily tore away the pipework Fragshli had lodged himself behind.

The beast’s eyes alighted on the decaying wreck of Maurice’s body, and he smiled widely showing off large yellowing teeth. “I am Hudson Reed,” the giant introduced itself gruffly with a deep rumbling voice. “The mortal champion of Sholmdir of the Deeps on this planet. My God has told me that together we can right all wrongs and wreak vengeance on those who have erred against us. Was he right?”

Fragshli smiled widely. Salvation was at hand. One of Ashli’s slaves had managed to get a champion on the planet. This was the type of information he could have done with from the very beginning. No matter, he knew of the champion’s existence now and surely someone with a giant’s constitution could accommodate the necessary physiological alterations required to become a host.

“Indeed,” Fragshli mumbled. “Pick me up and carry me out of this place to somewhere safe. This vessel will not last for much longer and we have preparations to make. Tell me about your enemies. Hudson. And I will tell you what can be done to punish them.”

Hudson nodded in apparent satisfaction, lifted the dying elf's body and carried him out of the cellar and into the daylight. He barely noticed the withered hand touching his abdomen under his ribs or the changes the contact wrought inside of him. The influence of Sholmdir over his mind kept him ignorant of what was happening, that he was being sacrificed to the machinations of its Master.

By the time Hudson had finished the sorry tale of his family’s misfortunes, that Fragshli did not listen to, all had been completed. Maurice’s body went limp and to Hudson’s shock disintegrated in his arms.

“What?” he said in surprise as the remains of the body slipped through his fingers.

But he didn’t have long before a spike of pain behind his eyes brought the massive man to his knees, his hands cradling the skull that felt like it was splitting. He roared with pain and rage, utterly confused as to what had just happened. And then almost as quickly as it happened the screaming and the pain ceased.

Fragshli stood and flexed his new powerful arms. “This is more like it,” he rumbled. “Finally, a vessel worthy of being a host.”

The soul of Hudson roared in rage and consternation but Fragshli isolated and suppressed it quickly. He’d learned his lesson after playing with Maurice. Mortals were a distraction, better to seal them off and use them as the batteries they were. He clapped his hands together and set off at a pace-eating run. It was time to gather that tainted energy.

***

Unseen by Fragshli’s new eyes, a few motes of what remained of Maurice’s body had lingered. Each piece had become intrinsically bonded with wisps of the man’s shattered soul.

Individually, none of them possessed the intelligence to do anything other than float in the air without sensation or intention. But filled with hate and a thirst for revenge. Left to their own devices they would have eventually settled on the earth and been buried. Maybe some would have been inhaled by an unlucky person or beast who would have become infected by the dark emotions the motes contained. Driven to fulfil dark fantasies of vengeance.

Fortunately for those potential victims, this was not to be.

When one God or Goddess imposes their will on a shrouded planet, it opens the door for others to slither in and do the same.

Within the shattered remnants of Maurice’s broken soul, there was an affinity that attracted such an entity. With the tiniest of nudges, purpose and direction were given.

The motes separated and flew on the wind. They had work to do.

***

Raven

Raven’s bare feet alighted on the wooden decking of the hotel balcony of her father’s room in Boulder. She pulled back the glass sliding door and interrupted the meeting Richard Reynolds was having with his lawyer-cum-assistant, Higgins. He had a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other. His cheeks were flushed, a sign that he was more than a little merry which did not surprise her.

It had taken a few hours for her to fly back to Colorado after the battle for Dallas had concluded. Her father had taken to drinking earlier and earlier in the day now that Regina was no longer around to curtail his desires.

RR was startled by the sudden opening of the glass door and a little of his drink was spilled over the sides. He dropped the cigar and reached towards a side table where a handgun rested. Before his fingers wrapped around the revolver, he saw who it was that had come in and settled back down. “Raven, honey, where have you been? You’ve been gone for days without a word. We were beginning to worry.”

The words were what she wanted to hear from the father she was so desperate to believe in, but for the first time, she couldn’t shake how hollow and formulaic they sounded coming from him. As if he was saying what she wanted to hear, playing the politician.

That was when RR's eyes fixated on the unsheathed sword she held. Higgins spotted it too and rose from his chair and backed up a few steps to put himself completely out of the short distance between father and daughter.

“Raven…”

“I’ve been in Dallas,” she cut RR off, her words ragged because she was on the verge of tears. Remembrance of the horrors witnessed and the painful revelations of who was responsible. “The city is a charnel house. There has been a slaughter of unparalleled evil committed there. Committed by a group of people we, no you, let through that gate for money.”

“Raven, honey, we needed those funds to protect the community here. This sounds like a terrible tragedy. Give me some time to reach out to my contacts in the Lone Star Nation. Maybe there is something we can do to help. Who would have thought they would have such a laissez-faire attitude to the defence of their people.”

Raven analysed the words of her father. As had always been the case before, her powers offered nothing in return. No ping or hint that any deception had taken place. Nothing to suggest he hadn’t told her the truth. And yet, she had just flown over Boulder. The defences of the city were unchanged and most of the few people in the area remained outside of them. The only place truly protected was this ski hotel. It had been three weeks since her father had got the money. If any of what he said was true, surely there would be some visible sign.

RR got up from the couch, opened his arms for a hug and took a step forward, but had to stop when Raven’s sword was raised in the gap.

“Raven, what is the meaning of this?” he snapped.

Raven shook her head and took a deep breath. She would have the truth, one way or another. “Glastos…” she stuttered in turmoil. “After I caught him, Glastos told me he warned you about them. About the Liberation Army. Warned you of what they would do. That he told you not to let them through under any circumstances, but you took their money and did it anyway. Is this true?”

Like any consummate political animal, Reynolds quickly understood he’d been found out and was in trouble. He dropped the angry father routine and shifted to a conciliatory negotiator. Raven had caught up with the mercenary as planned, but it appeared the little bastard had managed to spill a few secrets before she executed him.

“You can’t believe a word out of a dying man’s mouth. They will say anything to try and save their skin. Apportion blame to anyone other than themselves. You told me yourself how seeped in sin he was. How deserving of judgment. Perhaps I should have listened to you sooner and had him executed before he could spread this poisonous deceit. I knew nothing of the nature of those who came through the gate and the only thing Glastos talked about was his cut.”

Raven wanted to believe her father. She wanted it more than anything, but finally had to admit to herself that where Richard Reynolds was concerned the truth detection of the Justicar class did not work. The absence of condemnation had not been confirmation of the truth.

“Is this true?” She asked, not of her father but the permanently petrified pencil pusher he never made a deal without.

Higgins.

Her ability might not work on her father, but it certainly worked on him.

“Umm…uhhh,” Higgins stuttered and took a few more steps back, glancing to either side as if searching for an escape route and fiddling with the collar of his shirt nervously.

“Answer me!” Raven screamed.

“Don’t you dare say a word!” RR roared in response. “Raven, you must listen to me. I am your father, and you will show me some respect. It is an unacceptable for you to barge in here and treat my staff with such an aggressive display.”

Higgins eyes swivelled between both Reynolds. Richard raging from his position by the couch, the powerful Raven standing their sword held aloft. He feared both, for very different reasons and that was when he figured out that didn’t matter. He was sick and tired of where following RR had taken him.

“I miss my old life,” he whispered. “I miss Parker, and hard as it might be to believe, I miss Detroit. I’m sorry, Richard. I just want to go home. Raven, it’s not tr…”

Higgins confession was interrupted by the crack of gunfire indoors. A bullet slammed home in the centre of his forehead and sent him stumbling backwards. Two more shots followed up the first and hit him the chest and caused Higgins to drop to the ground.

Raven, whose attention had been on the lawyer, swung around to face her father. He stood there with the revolver, wisps of smoke discharging from the muzzle.

“I will not abide a traitor,” Reynolds sneered. “Better to deal with them decisively. Now, Raven, come sit with me and I will explain everyth…”

Just as Higgins confession was cut off mid-word, Richard Reynolds attempt to exert control had similarly been curtailed. This time by the blade of his daughter’s sword penetrating his chest and piercing the heart.

Raven gasped with shock and horror at what she had just done but did nothing else. No attempt to undo wat had been done. Her father’s execution of Higgins had been the last straw. The only possible reason was that he was about to confirm her father's guilt.

Her father’s eyes widened with pure disbelief as he stared at the deadly blade that had been run smoothly through his chest. He choked out a few attempts at speaking, took a couple of steps back and then collapsed on the edge of the couch. The tip of the sword jabbed into the back cushion and the jarring sensation meant he toppled forward and fell on to the ground. His mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Hu…hu…help me,” he begged from the floor.

Raven knelt next to him; her hand wrapped back around the hilt. If she removed the sword, she could stabilise the wound and save his life. With extreme willpower, she hardened her heart. Images of the dead children in Dallas drove the resolve. “I can do that, Daddy, but I need something from you first. You can’t be forgiven for what you’ve done, but you can be spared if you show contrition. Tell me the truth. Confess.”

“I…I…I didn’t…didn’t do it. N…Not my fault.”

A liar to the very end.

Raven closed her eyes, tears pouring down her cheeks at what had to be done and twisted the hilt before pulling it free. She stood back up and watched as blood pooled on the floor and the light died from her father’s eyes. The loot nimbus flickered into life and confirmed his death.

The sound of wet coughing drew Raven’s attention away from her grief. Despite his relatively low level and lack of armour, Higgins had survived the gunshots. She crossed the room quickly and lay a hand on his chest to stabilise the man. The bullet to his head had gouged a deep furrow through his scalp but it hadn’t penetrated the skull which saved his life.

“Tell them what I’ve done,” she told the man as he gazed up at her blinking in surprise and a bit of mild terror. “Go back to my mother, she’ll take you back. She is good that way.”

With that, Raven left Higgins, picked up her father’s body and stepped out back onto the balcony before taking flight.