Beyond The Impossible

Myridian Palace, planet Myridia

It’s been a long day for Noriko Null. She defended the planet against an attack from the Guild at the cost of a heart attack… the most serious she’s had so far.

All she wanted to do was finally go to sleep, but now there’s a member of the Guild right next to her bed. He calls himself the Winter King and from what she’s seen he’s extremely dangerous.

<Is that what I should call you? “Winter King”?>

<I was born King Khios of Boreas, but I am much more now. You may address me as Winter King, Your Majesty or Sire.>

<Sure, whatever. So you’re not here to kill me? The Guild put a bounty on my head.>

<I am above such petty concerns. Peasants have placed a 15 billion Ω bounty on me as well.>

<Mine’s 20 billion Ω> Noriko corrects him, feeling the need to compete even over this.

<My alliance to the Guild is out of convenience. I have watched your Vanguard in action and deemed them honorable enough to be graced with my membership.>

<You do realize that the whole reason I’m on this planet is that the Mist wanted to trick us into believing he was our ally, right? So you understand why I’m a little skeptical about this.>

<The Mist is a cunning strategist, but he has a debt of gratitude towards the Scribe like the rest of the Inner Circle. The Winter King, however, bows to no one.>

<Scarab mentioned the Scribe. Who is he?>

<He’s the leader of the Guild. I do not know his real name, but he believes himself to be the most intelligent being in the Olympian Galaxy.>

Noriko snickers, earning a disapproving look from the King clearly visible despite the helmet.

<I’m sorry, it’s been a long day. You were saying?>

<Don’t underestimate him just because he has yet to kill his first god. He has helped Scarab gain control of her Drylon terraforming device. He increased the Myridian powers of the Mist and unlocked Naiad’s divine heritage. And he helped me reach the full potential of the Winter Armor.>

<Speaking of which…it’s not a Drylon design, right?>

<Impressive. Most people can’t reach that conclusion. How did you know?>

<Well, continuous use of Drylon tech makes people insane; Scarab is a good example. I know that Lampyrians can resist it, but frankly you don’t seem very Lampyrian to me.>

<You are also a user of Drylon technology. When I first heard of you, I dismissed your potential because those who deal with such devices lack honor. But you… you are different.>

<Look, can we please get to the point?> she asks, suppressing another yawn.

<This armor was created by Hephaestus himself, to contain the raging fire inside his body. But even he couldn’t withstand the armor’s infinite coldness. The Scribe helped me retrieve it, but we have different agendas. He wants to rid the galaxy of the tyrannical rule of the Olympian gods and replace it with a new pantheon, under his own rule.>

<And what about you?>

<Isn’t it obvious? I am the only one worthy of such honor.>

<Of course you are. And I should be helping you because…?>

<You are the Slayer of Gods: it is your destiny to bring forth the fall of Olympus. Join me, Noriko Null, and together we shall rule the universe.>

Noriko has heard her fair share of strange things in the last two years, but this has to be a record.

<Are you for real!?>

<My offer is not in jest.>

<I’m not interested in becoming “the Winter Queen”!>

<The Mist’s deception has clouded your mind; I understand. I will give you time to reconsider.>

<There is nothing to reconsider. Now get out of my room!>

For a few moments, the Winter King seems angry. Noriko briefly regrets antagonizing him, but it doesn’t last long: he steps away from the bed, leaving icy footprints behind him.

<Honor dictates that trust must be earned. This is my offering… I expect you to reciprocate, in time.>

The Winter King lifts a hand, and Noriko immediately activates the Null Shield. The force field isn’t necessary though: the armor has unleashed a mass of ice, but it’s not an attack.

Encased inside a bloc of ice, like a mosquito frozen inside ancient amber, is the body of Old Man Vor. The Winter King is nowhere to be found, leaving behind a very tired and confused Noriko.

 

Hours later

It shouldn’t be a surprise that the Myridians were quickly able to stabilize the Old Man’s condition, despite being already busy rebuilding the city. Doing many things at the same time is their specialty. Which explains why, even though Kari Zel retired for the night to get some well-deserved rest, one of her duplicates enters the makeshift laboratory where the Old Man is kept.

Surrounded by several Myridian scientists, she finds two of her Vanguard colleagues: Vesta is touching the block of ice that holds Kari’s old mentor, while Torn is just standing there to watch.

<Don’t you ever sleep?> Kari asks, yawning.

<Sometimes> he shrugs.

<Is he going to be alright?> she asks, receiving an answer from Vesta:

<I’m stabilizing his condition while the scientists figure out how to, well, defrost him I guess.>

<And how exactly are you doing that?>

<I don’t know how, I just do it. It’s a goddess thing.>

<You pass way too much time with Torn…>

<I’m still here> Torn interjects.

<And this time I’m not going to let you get away with your standard one-word answer.>

<Really.>

<Yes, re… you’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?>

<No.>

<Listen, the Old Man could’ve been killed. Gods, all of us could’ve been killed today! And all just to get these stupid coordinates. I think we deserve to know why are they so important.>

<No, you don’t> Torn cuts her short.

<Actually, I believe we do> Vesta intervenes.

<Well, finally someone else agrees with me on this thing> Kari rejoices, crossing her arms and looking at Torn in an inquisitive manner. Vesta tries a different approach:

<Torn, I understand if you have obligations towards your people. I followed my family’s wishes for thousands of years during my exile, until you guys made me realize I could make my own choices.>

<You have it wrong. These coordinates lead to the Dragon Tomb> he reveals.

<The what?> Kari asks.

<This will require many words> Torn warns them.

 

Somewhere else in the Palace

Max Black a.k.a. Quantum doesn’t know if he likes this planet. The weird orbit around six stars makes it nearly impossible to understand what time it is, the gravity is close enough to Earth’s to be comfortable but different enough to be noticeable, and the near total absence of privacy is annoying.

Still, it’s nice to visit a place where things are as simple as they get…for the most part.

He’s had maybe two hours of sleep when someone knocks at the door. He doesn’t think much of it when he gets out of bed, but it soon hits him: this is Myridia. Nobody knocks here, they barge in.

He transforms his body into radio waves and gets to the other side of the door, finding a man he’s never seen before. He changes again into X-rays and checks him for weapons. The man is carrying several kinds of equipment, nothing shaped like a weapon… but this is an alien planet where someone tried to kill him more than once, so a little paranoia can be helpful.

<Who’s there?> he asks, after returning inside.

<A friend with a message from Lysia.>

Of course Max remembers that name: the Lampyrian agent of the Mortal Liberation Front who’s helped the Vanguard before. He decides to take the risk and opens the door.

<No tricks. I can shoot lasers> he greets him.

<I know> the man dismisses him, creating two duplicates to guard the entrance and closing the door behind him. Max is used to see Kari do that, but watching other people do it is still a bit weird.

<So where’s Lysia?> Max asks, going straight to the point.

<She has an assignment on another planet. I’m currently the only agent of the Front on Myridia.>

<Nice job helping us during the fight with the Guild, then.>

<We don’t have the resources to compete with them on a full-out assault. However, now that thanks to you we know that the Mist is a member of the Inner Circle and that they blackmailed President Sil, we might be able to limit their influence in this sector.>

<So you owe us one, right? This is like the third time.>

<My superiors are fully aware of the debt that the Front, let alone the galaxy, has with the Vanguard.>

<You woke me up to tell me my team is awesome?>

<We wish to repay you> the man explains, handing to Max a small device the size of a cellphone.

<Gee, thanks, this is just what we needed> Max comments sarcastically.

<It’s a direct line. We have one significant advantage over the Vanguard: we know what is happening in the galaxy. This will help both our organizations to share information.>

<And you’re not asking for anything in return?>

<Exclusively on a voluntary basis. Unless Null wants to give us the specifications of the God Eraser.>

<I don’t think that’s gonna happen anytime soon.>

<Then the knowledge that we can ask Null for assistance is enough for us.>

<Uh-uh. And why exactly are you giving this gizmo to me and not to her?>

<Security in the Palace leaves a lot to be desired, but anyone approaching Null’s chambers is bound to attract scrutiny. It’s best if the local authorities don’t know that I work for the Front.>

 

The Dark Pyramid

This space station doesn’t exist. Even the most advanced sensors would never be able to see this scientific marvel: it doesn’t reflect any light, emit any kind of radiation, and is the closest thing to complete invisibility. In a galaxy where gods are real, the Dark Pyramid is considered a legend.

Despite the technology that protects its secrets, the pyramid’s interior is intentionally simple: endless corridors of black marble, lit by the torches on the walls.

The sound of bronze boots echoes in the halls. By contrast, the robots that are accompanying the woman are completely silent.  When they reach the secure room of the space station, they leave.

Less than a dozen people have ever seen it, which is a pity: the room is an architectural masterpiece, dominated by black pillars and elaborate waterways running through the floor.

There is a man in the center, sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading a book. He’s bald, bare-chested, and surrounded by dozens of holographic screens showing what happened on Myridia.

The woman stands behind him; she would tower over him even if he would stand up.

<Scribe. We need to talk> Athena says.

The man closes the book; the images on the screens disappear to show an eye inside an inverted triangle. The Guild’s symbol.

<Shall I complain once more about your over-reliance on personal interaction? We both have devices capable of instantaneous communication over interstellar distances.>

<You are in no position to lecture me, Scribe. I demand an explanation about your failure.>

<I admit that I had not anticipated that one of Null’s associates would blow the Mist’s cover, or that they would survive the Scarab’s wrath. But as I recall, you also did not expect her to kill Demeter.>

<It was an unexpected turn of events, yes, but I have adjusted my plans accordingly.>

<And so have I, Athena. Null will still follow the coordinates and find the Dragon Tomb. She has no other choice: I have carefully crafted a mystery that she will not be able to resist. After all…>

The Scribe turns to look at Athena, and his silver eyes shine brightly.

<Nobody knows how a Nexus thinks better than me.>