Anthem's Fall (11 page)

“What the
hell
was that? How did that man do that to Von Krass? No one could defeat him in one hit,” General Portid roared. “It’s not possible!”

“First and foremost it must be made clear to you all that the Felix One in that video was no man,” Councillor Harken called over the other voices. “Second, the video alone proves it is possible, General Portid. The implications of what you all have just seen are staggering. If that Felix could kill Von Krass with such ease, it is logical that it also could have the power to inflict the carnage we have witnessed in Municera and the Twin Cities.”

“Good lord . . .” General Barlow muttered.

“We don’t have the luxury of time to sit and discuss the plausibility of what we have seen. We believe these . . . ” Emperor Faris turned to Councillor Harken. “ . . . machines?”

Councillor Harken thought it over, obviously unsure himself. “Felixes. For simplicity’s sake, yes, I suppose we can refer to them as machines.”

“Very well,” Emperor Faris said. “These Felix
machines
are directly related to our assault. Although the video feed ended where you saw, the last security transmissions from the laboratory indicate the other three Felixes had all begun their activation sequences before we lost contact with Municera. It’s possible this . . . Felix One . . . initiated them himself, but equally likely that the activation sequences had already begun by the time they hit the alarms. Either way, it must be assumed the other three Felixes malfunctioned in the same manner as Felix One, and are every bit as powerful.”

“Why has this attack been allowed to go on so long if we know what our enemy is?” General Portid asked.

“Because,” Councillor Harken said, his voice growing heated, “it would be a terrible mistake to act rashly against an entity so powerful. In order to defeat them, we had hoped we could first understand them. If we mobilize the Imperial First Class and fly straight to the Twin Cities like an unorganized horde, it’s possible the
entire
Imperial Army could be overrun. Look what happened to Von Krass when he blindly engaged the individual Felix. They are powerful on a scale that we do not yet fully understand. We can’t risk underestimating them.”

An ominous silence permeated the War Hall as a pale, cheerless dawn passed through the windows and cast the faces of the councillors in pallid gray light. If the Felixes did indeed harbor inborn strength rivaling that of the Royal families, Councillor Harken’s words were accurate.

After a long moment, General Portid rose and turned to his second-in-command, who stood at attention behind his chair. “My regiment moves out immediately. Send word to our ranks. They should prepare for battle. This is open war.”

“You will hold that command until this Council has decided upon a course of action!” Emperor Faris thundered.

“My lord.” General Portid lowered his eyes and bowed. Although older in age, the Epsilon Emperor’s physical prowess still commanded subservience. He was a god among gods. “Of course, we will follow whatever path you deem appropriate. Forgive my outburst.”

“Forgiven.” Emperor Faris turned to Councillor Harken. “What do we know about these Felixes? If indeed we know anything?”

“We can say with certainty that they are as powerful as even the most powerful Primus, as evidenced in the assault upon that poor assistant and Von Krass. The Felixes are as complex as a living system; they are no archaic machines. They are every bit as intricate as living beings.”

The implications of Harken’s statement were frightening. An enemy that could manhandle Von Krass as though he were no threat at all, and there were four of them. The reality of their situation, the gravity, began to seep in.

Councillor Harken sighed nervously. “We have to act now, and act
appropriately
.”

“I agree.” Emperor Faris summoned one of the members of his Royal Guard to his side. “Have we received any update from the Twin Cities?”

The huge man bowed deeply, his voice baritone. “None, sir. We’ve received no contact for the past few hours.”

“What
is
this madness?” Emperor Faris muttered.

“One thing remains unclear to me. I don’t understand the Felix aggression. What reason would the machines have to be so very violent? Why would their first action be to murder and destroy?” General Portid asked.

Councillor Harken shook his head. “That’s what we are most confused about. We . . . we don’t know.”

“If a chance to somehow reason with them arises, we will certainly take it. But in the meantime we must focus on our own defense. It’s time for action,” Emperor Faris said in a falsely confident tone. Fear was emerging on the faces around him, and he could not allow that to transform into panic—fear among the leadership would trickle down through the ranks.

“I for one have been longing for a good fight for years now,” General Portid said with a dry smile.

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Emperor Faris said, embracing his general’s courage with admiration. Portid was a true Sejero soldier. “We must mo—”

A sudden earsplitting eruption emanated outside the palace in the sprawling city of Sejeroreich. The stone floor of the War Hall heaved violently as the palace lurched, and all of the councillors looked up with startled expressions. Sejeroreich was the capital city, the most well fortified place in Anthem. If the Epsilon Palace were to fall, what chance would the empire have at survival? What chance would the Primus have?

A deep alarm began to drone, echoing off the walls and the high ceiling, and a series of thunderous booms resonated from just beyond the palace. The walls shuddered and weighty decorations fell to the floor. Panicked shouts were heard in the corridors surrounding War Hall.

Councillor Harken’s face turned pale. “The Felixes.”

“Is the army assembled?” Emperor Faris called over the clamor to General Portid.

“The entire Imperial First Class is assembled and ready to fight,” there was not a trace of fear in General Portid’s worn features. “Permission to lead them, my lord?”

“Go!” Emperor Faris ordered as a dozen mammoth Royal Guards stormed into the hall to protect him.

“My lord,” Councillor Harken shouted over the rising calamity and raised a forearm against falling debris from the lofty ceiling. “You
must
call for the Prince! There is too much at stake here to risk the absence of Vengelis!”

“Yes!” General Barlow called. “Prince Vengelis must be summoned at once.”

Emperor Faris’s mouth moved to speak, but no words came. He rubbed his aged hands together. The calluses of his palms were dry and worn from long years of use. A poignant expression claimed his features, as he suddenly realized his time had passed. His men were looking to another to protect them. He nodded in heart-rending agreement and turned to a member of the Royal Guard. “Send word to my son. Inform Prince Vengelis to return to Sejeroreich immediately. His people need him.”

The soldier nodded solemnly and sprinted out of the hall as a closer rumble rattled the ceiling far above. Emperor Faris considered the faces of the War Council. Aside from the stoic members of his Royal Guard, every one looked shaken. The alarms continued to roar as a massive quake shook from beneath the emperor’s feet. He craned his head and looked up to the faces of his ancestors. They stared down with their aloof stone gaze, as they had for two thousand years. For two millennia the children of those stone faces had known no fear. Yet now fear rose, unfamiliar and sickly, in the back of the emperor’s throat.

“If you aren’t a warrior, leave the palace at once! Sejeroreich is to be evacuated,” Emperor Faris Epsilon shouted, pulling his gaze from his great forefathers. “If you are a warrior, follow me!”

I
n the highest latitudinal reaches of Anthem, not far from the northernmost pole, Prince Vengelis Epsilon stood up to his knees in the snow of Mount Karlsbad. A cold wind was blowing the dusty snow into his dark hair and darker eyes. Vengelis Epsilon was short for a Primus, standing a shade over six feet. Like his father and most children of the Royal bloodlines, Vengelis lacked the unnaturally tall and bulky stature of many Imperial First Class soldiers. His frame was more honed and well proportioned than ungainly.

Heir to the Epsilon throne, Vengelis was undeniably the strongest of his people. From the oldest man to the youngest child, every citizen of the Epsilon empire knew what their prince lacked in size, he made up for in his pure Sejero bloodline and his legendary intensity.

Far from the hubs of Primus society and crowded streets of Sejeroreich, Mount Karlsbad stood in a vastly secluded region of Anthem’s northern ice world. Rising out of the endless snows and frigid plains, Mount Karlsbad was the lone frozen citadel in the empty North. The absolute desolation and unobstructed environment proved ideal for training, a harsh and stalwart land suitable for the few mad enough to train there.

It was on the precipitous slopes of Mount Karlsbad that the enigmatic Master Borneo Tolland resided. Vengelis Epsilon had trained with Master Tolland for many years in his teens. Yet still, Vengelis would return to train with his former teacher. In a way Mount Karlsbad was Vengelis’s home. He preferred spending time here with Master Tolland, thousands of miles away from the nearest societal distraction.

“Focus,” Vengelis whispered into the biting wind, his eyes slowly searching the striking blue sky and the snow desert and winding glaciers far below. There were three out there, but he could not see them. Vengelis had no doubt they were waiting to pounce upon him in unison. Two of the most extraordinary soldiers in Sejeroreich had come north with him to act as his sparring partners. Though strong and stern Imperial First Class soldiers, they would prove little more than practice dummies against Vengelis’s skill. His only real concern was Master Tolland, who would certainly wait for Vengelis to make a mistake before he revealed himself.

Vengelis knew they would try to attack from different directions.

A heavy gust off the mountainside churned a snowdrift and blinded him in swirling white. Vengelis closed his eyes at once, freeing himself from the shackles of sight, as Master Tolland had taught him. Vision would be no help to him in this precarious position amid the blinding snow. He would have to feel their approach now.

Vengelis rolled his shoulders and flexed his arms, veins and cords of muscle rising to the surface of his skin. As he centered his mind, the air around him became palpable. The screaming of the polar winds died in his ears. He focused on ridding his lungs of frigid air and his bare fingers of gnawing subzero cold. Vengelis slipped into readiness, no longer relying on any one sense. He concentrated on the approach of his attackers. Like a coiled snake, Vengelis Epsilon stood at perfect attention—ready to lash out in an instant.

A faint ripple moved through the now placid world surrounding him. It was Alegant Hoff lumbering toward him from six o’clock, directly behind. Alegant Hoff was the Lord General of the Imperial First Class, third in command only to the Epsilons themselves, Faris and Vengelis respectively. Lord General Hoff was strong, very strong, but his strength came with a critical loss of quickness and discretion. He was underestimating the powers of his prince; Vengelis could sense it in the recklessness of his heavy footfalls.

Vengelis then felt Krell Darien coming in, head on. If Lord General Hoff was charging at him with a reckless speed, the pace of this young Royal Guard was outright foolish. Darien was a promising member of the Royal Guard, one of the youngest soldiers in history to reach the Royal Guard’s renowned ranks. Vengelis had personally selected Darien to join his training after seeing him devastate several of his peers in duels.

Hoff and Darien were two of the most powerful soldiers in the Imperial First Class. Both of their behemoth masses shook the world around Vengelis. He tilted his head into the blustering wind, eyes still closed. Where was Master Tolland?

The monstrous mass of Darien bounded over the ridge just in front of Vengelis, his heavy legs shaking the frozen ground. It was an obvious decoy. Vengelis maintained his focused state, channeling all his concentration on locating the third sparring partner, Master Tolland.

Wait on the attack; let your opponent commit to the first move and then counter. Perfection in execution will always trump brute strength and impulsiveness
. Vengelis could practically hear the sagacious voice of Master Tolland in the wind.

Then, like the sharp release of a taut bowstring, his muscles surged into action. With blazing reflexes Vengelis reeled around on the spot. Lord General Hoff’s enormous knuckles were mere inches from Vengelis’s unscarred and unworn face. Vengelis dodged the thirty-pound fist with searing speed, protecting his still straight and unbroken nose, a testament to his quickness.

Vengelis grabbed the huge thrusting forearm and spun, shooting his hips into the giant’s belly and throwing him directly into Darien, who was now mere feet away. The two giants collided with a deafening crack that echoed across the snow-swept plains below like a roll of thunder. Hoff and Darien were momentarily dazed from the impact.

Vengelis smirked in their direction, his eyes still closed.

The two Imperial First Class soldiers each shook their heads to purge discombobulating black stars from their vision, and exploded toward the young leader in unison. Vengelis weaved easily between their full-force attacks, still focusing his attention on detecting Master Tolland’s approach. He was toying with Hoff and Darien; their movements were so slow he barely had to concentrate to avoid them.

“Enough of this,” Vengelis muttered. He flexed his knees and exploded into the sky with a loud boom as his body ripped a hole through the supersonic barrier. The two lumbering behemoths followed skyward in his wake. And so they took to flight. The three figures soared across the broad sky like great falcons, the very air around their shoulders tearing apart from their speed.

In a split second Vengelis suddenly reversed directions and launched himself directly at Hoff. Before the Lord General could raise one of his hefty arms to block the blow, Vengelis buried a fist into Hoff’s enormous barrel chest with vicious force. The blow audibly deflated the wind out of the general, and left him gasping for breath as he plummeted helplessly to the snowdrifts far below.