Chapter Seventy-Five: Uka Brek

  Galactic Quadrant: Darna Quadrant

  Ruling Government: Talum Merchant Federation

  Solar System: D-447

  Planet: Ora

  Location: Tarvashal, upper residential district, Private Shuttle Bay

  The blade of light in Dallus’s grasp dances in the air, time’s crawl allows me to process its direction. I cannot reach her, I cannot stop this blade. Times cadence stops completely as a presence pries its way into my perception. It is not the horned woman this time, it is Krotha. Her words find their way into my mind as she prances amongst the carnage around me, holding her arms in the air, a gleeful smile upon her twisted face. She moves towards me now, looking intently at me, her crimson eyes swimming with malice.

  The first mortal of this age to break a Netheric Boundary and keep their sanity. I begin to understand the interest that the false gods have in you.

  Boundary? Like Luna mentioned before, yet she did not explain. Krotha paces around me, as though thinking pensively. I do not have time for her games. My eyes take in everything I can, taking advantage of the pause. She tilts her head to the side, her eyes becoming brighter still as a grin deepens on her cruel lips.

  I wonder, whose Spark do you carry… A Netheric God perhaps, but which… No, it is too shrouded, if it were a Netheric God I could peer beyond.

  What is this Spark she speaks of? No, I need to focus. Looking at the weapon in Dallus’s hand, I realize that I may not be able to stop the blade of light, but I can try to deflect it. There is a metal rod in the center of the blade of light. If I can hit that then maybe there is a chance. Krotha walks in front of my gaze, leaning down curiously with her head tilted to the side, her eyes burning a deep red.

  Could it be… is it perhaps one of the Old Gods?

  Her lips curl into the most sinister of smiles, she leans into my ear, and though her mouth does not move, I hear her in my mind.

  Let me show you how to harness that power. Let me guide you, we can discover whose Spark you carry together. You need only call my name.

  Call her name. Why does she need me to say it? Is it like when I called Amara? Could I not also call her instead? Must it be the demon who I rely on? No, I do not need her. Her smile bleeds into my focus. Time lurches forward suddenly, my focus barely remembering my task. My leg kicks with all of its might one of the discarded rifles from the ground towards the blade of light. A whip lined with Netherium snaps across my back as I do. Pain comes before momentum as I roll from it, the flesh that is torn, I can already feel the ichor wrapping it and trying to pull it closed with the Netheric Maka’s pulse.

  The blade of light cuts through the rifle and turns the contents of it into dust, as though existence itself is being ripped asunder by its hum. Netherium dust swells in the air. The pieces of the rifle that are not cut strike the rod in the center of the blade of light, just enough to push it to the side. It peels through the metal grates without resistance. Spraying metal all around, coating the air in the glinting of its hue mixed with the crimson of Netherium.

  Dallus leaps backward, clawing at his throat, coughing violently. He tries to close the visor on his helmet, but it does not move, the lights on it flickering in the Netherium saturated air.

  A Netherium-edged sword cuts into my leg, I barely manage to dive from it. Fennec’s clothes now hanging in tatters across my flesh. Wrath’s lullaby still plays its tune as my body rolls to avoid the mace that crashes against the grate, but the lullaby is muted, less fervent than before. I am distracted, Krotha has pulled my focus.

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  Another blade of light erupts, and my eyes widen as I see it is in Luna’s hand. Why did she not use it before now? Her blade slashes towards Dallus, the melody is fluid, yet there is no intent to kill. I feel the wind whipping before the crack of a boot kicking my back, sending me flying forward. The ichor fusing my ribs back together. There is a sickening feeling rising deep within. The nausea coming with it. Pressing it back, I turn and grab up one of the discarded rifles, pointing it at the warriors in the thick armor. Nothing happens. Vek.

  The warriors come at me now as three, working in unison. The fourth still trying to stand after Luna kicked them in the head, their armor dented from it. Strange buzzing noises and arcs of energy splinter the air as Luna fights with Dallus, her wounded state giving him an advantage. My fist strikes against the metal helmet of one of the warriors, I feel the bones in my wrist break from the force of it. It didn’t even leave a dent. Sekat. Am I really this helpless against them? Why is their armor so strong, and heavy yet so fast and nimble? My head spins to avoid the mace as it crashes into my shadow. The grate we fight upon denting from the weight of the blow. My eyes dance over to Luna, she is somehow losing, one of her eyes is fully crimson, the other more than half.

  Suddenly I feel my ribs shatter, unrelenting force pressing me away from where my feet stand. My eyes bulge open as blood flies from my lips. The mace has found purchase in my side. Heat rips with the sundered flesh, and I feel the Netherium leaking into me from the spikes of the mace.

  “Kalon!” Luna yells, but her voice is muffled.

  Pride falls as I struggle to my knees, my breath ragged and wheezing, blood gushing into my lungs faster than the ichor can fix it. The warrior holds me in place with the spikes. He is stronger than me in his armor. The whip lashes and strikes around my throat, pulling my head back and up toward the skies.

  “Amara…” I say.

  The clouds above crack with thunder, lightning swelling in it.

  “Amara!” I yell until the whip tightens on my throat, unable to speak now.

  A bolt of lightning tears from the sky toward me. Before it reaches me, time slows to a crawl. A figure appears again walking from the corner of my perception. Hope falls from me as I see her wicked face. It is Krotha, not Amara. She flicks her wrist through the lightning the color of it changing from blue to red as it arcs in a different direction.

  Such a pitiful blessing she tried to give you, she is not foolish enough to show herself in my presence again. Finally, she has learned her place.

  Time’s cadence resumes. The metal-encased warriors grab my head and arms. The one with a sword readying to strike my heart now. Time slows once more as Krotha leans into my ear again.

  You will die now, an insignificant death, unworthy of mention. Unless you call my name. I am the only one who can help you. Give in to me. Partake of my blessing. Become my blade.

  Become her blade? I have been someone’s blade many times. Why do I hesitate now? Is it pride? What pride would see its master fall because of it? A malicious pride? My teeth grind as the blade ebbs closer to my chest.

  Luna tries to close the gap on them, but Dallus stops her advance, his blade aims to kill, while hers only to maim. Her eyes are frantic. So much so that she gets a large cut on her arm. The light from her Maka igniting her runes blooms past the Netheric glow. Through my eyes, I see the beauty of the magic in her moves. Something is rising in the chorus of her blade’s song. The will to survive. The will to kill. Albeit too little too late.

  Krotha is right. If I do not call her, I will die.

  “Krotha,” I whisper as the blade cuts into my flesh.

  Time dilates, coming to a halt. Krotha standing over me now, her eyes burning like two hateful suns of misery.

  Yes. This is the way.

  Her face ripples with a smile of gleeful intent. It sickens me, yet I have no other choice. She has seen to that. Krotha raises her hands upward.

  My words become law, bending the cosmos. Hear now the prayer of the forsaken queen. The abyss becomes my muse, and the darkness is the paint upon the unsacred tapestry of damnation… I give rise to meaning in its ichor, give rise to purpose and form.

  Her hands spin through the air, the Maka bending to her will. Carving upon my flesh runes of her own making. They burn deep and do not leave my flesh as they did before. The deepest hues of crimson. Tracing along my spine, winding down my arms and legs. Power surges in me as she reshapes me.

  Arise minion, and feel the abyss fill your soul. Let it smother the light, and help you forge a path in the darkest of dark, become my Nether blade.

  A pulse of energy, unlike anything I have felt before slams through the air unapologetically smashing the Maka and sending it into torrents all around us.

  Arise champion of the abyss. Call forth the blade that rends existence itself.

  Time returns to its regular flow, an explosion of energy from my body sends the four metal warriors flying backward. The electric lights flicker off, swathing the entire landing pad in darkness. The only light now is the red moons’ glow and the sinister red hue pulsing beneath the surface of my skin. I feel the Netheric Maka pulling to me, spinning in the air like when Luna did Mana tracing. It wants to find me, I do not need to pull it.

  From Luna’s hip, another light begins to flow, no one moves as we all take in the sight of it. Burning itself through the fabric that held it tightly to her. It is the cursed edict. The black box.

  “A Cursed Edict… impossible,” Dallus says, stumbling backward, his eyes reeking with fear.

  Patterns upon the surface swim in light, a deep and dark crimson. It hangs in the air for a moment, I feel Krotha’s arm beneath mine, raising my hand toward it. Her touch feels so real, even though I know it is not.

  Uka Brek – Call it forth

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