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Thresholder, ch 142, Full-Contact, pt 1
🕑 Added 2024-09-21 20:14:04 +0000 UTCWriting continues to be glacially slow. I worry that I've lost a few IQ points somewhere, or that something inside my brain has snapped and broken, which I don't think is a thing that can actually happen.
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The email was massive, but it was low on specifics. Whoever had sent it — apparently one of the Eggys, just from context — had a small window of time to send it in, and had simply dumped all data generated by the ship in the previous two hours. This meant that most of the information contained within the report was functionally useless to Perry, and Marchand had to go sifting through it to find out what had actually happened.
“It was probably meant to be a warning,” said Marchand. “However, aside from the presumed presence of Fenilor —”
“That’s the only thing,” said Perry. “It’s the only consideration. He was there, and now … we have no idea what happened, but they’re out of communication.”
“I doubt that, sir,” said Marchand. “The Farfinder has myriad methods of communicating with us. The email was sent to us through technopathy, and if that method failed once the message was sent, they could open a door for us, and as a tertiary consideration, they do have a radio antenna which would be virtually the only signal across the whole planet, easily identifiable.”
“None of that matters if they’re all dead,” said Perry.
“Do you anticipate that to be the case?” asked Marchand. The AI’s disaffected butler voice was getting on Perry’s nerves. Marchand asked the question as though it was an idle curiosity.
“It’s what we assume until we get word otherwise,” said Perry. “How can we find them if they’re not sending a signal?”
“In theory, if the spaceship is still in orbit, we could calculate its position based on what we know,” said Marchand. “However, any deviation would quickly make that impossible — the smallest change in thrust could radically change their expected position. The search area would quickly become too large to practically search with the tools we have available, assuming that they’re running dark, as they prefer to do.”
“Alright, try it anyway,” said Perry. “Plot a course for where we should expect them to be.”
“Very well, sir,” said Marchand.
Perry continued up through the atmosphere, following another of Marchand’s familiar lines that plotted the optimal course. A lot of Perry’s life was following those lines, which he had mixed feelings about. In theory, if the ship was still following the same path, Perry could match its orbit and then board through the airlock. He’d gone through airlock procedures twice with Hella, but he wouldn’t be able to get in without someone on the inside to help him, which was a security precaution.
But when Perry went where the line showed him to go, there was nothing there, no sign of the ship. Marchand did his scans, and they showed nothing, no shadow across the stars, no whisper of radio signal.
“Shit,” said Perry. He floated in space. There was a countdown timer going, which would tell him when the portal inside of the shelfspace was likely to close. He hadn’t put it on the HUD, but he’d asked Marchand to mark the time, and it had a spot in Perry’s mind. “Any chance we can find it with the naked eye?”
“I think not, sir,” said Marchand.
“Because I know the ISS was visible from the ground,” said Perry.
“I’m afraid I’m not familiar, sir,” said Marchand.
“The International Space Station,” said Perry. “It’s from my Earth.”
“And how large was it, sir?” asked Marchand. “What color?”
“White, and I don’t know,” said Perry. “Look, I trust you, I’m just saying if we see something suspect streaking through the air, then we could find the ship, and … I don’t know. If there’s an active hostage situation, we could resolve it.”
“Unfortunately, it appears that the Farfinder has been hidden from us,” said Marchand. “If they aren’t all dead.”
“Thanks for that,” said Perry.
He grit his teeth. He had lost too many people, whether from murderers or simply by moving between worlds. There had been a home for him on the Farfinder, and even if it was a temporary one, it had felt like it was going to become permanent. They could follow him through worlds, after all. And Kes had been there, along with Mette, with no backups of her lingering around on the surface. Why hadn’t he insisted that just one of her go to mage school, like she’d wanted, safe and out of the way so that some thread of her could continue on if the worst happened? He could feel a swirling of despair just at the thought of it, that she might be gone. He was supposed to have protected her, whether she was a friend or lover or some weird third thing.
“Shall I set a new course, sir?” asked Marchand.
“Yes,” said Perry. “For Berus. We’ll go back to the city, help where we can with the destruction that Third Fervor caused on her rampage, hope that being in a place like that makes us visible.”
“To the Farfinder, to Fenilor, or to parties unknown?” asked Marchand.
“Hopefully not parties unknown,” said Perry. He looked down at the world far below them. “You mean Dirk?”
“I mean parties unknown,” said Marchand. “The many Dirks would be one example. The queen would be another, though with Third Fervor gone, I doubt she has much reach.”
“We might not have seen the last of Third Fervor,” said Perry. “It’s entirely possible that she has some clones lingering. If the queen was a clone, then Third Fervor might be too.” Perry didn’t really want to face an army of clones.
A new line was drawn across the HUD, showing the proper path to get to Berus in the smallest possible time. Perry set off, though his thoughts weren’t entirely in order. He didn’t think that clones of Third Fervor were a credible threat, but clones of Fenilor were something he would have to consider, especially if Fenilor had taken the Farfinder.
It wasn’t clear what boons a clone of Fenilor would get. He only had the one power for himself, everything else was magic of this world or equipment he’d stolen off thresholders. But Fenilor had skills of his own, and obviously he had plenty of weapons to hand over to his lesser clones. They might still be a problem, depending on their loadout and how well they could work together.
Too much of the bounty of the world had been the product of Fenilor and his schemes. The secret research cities were at least known to him, even if it didn’t seem like he had his finger in every single pie.
When Perry landed in Berus hours later, there was still no word from the Farfinder. The knot in his stomach was growing, but he wasn’t going to despair until he knew for certain what had happened to them. It was also possible that he would never know, that they would simply disappear and he would get no further answers, which sent a chill down his spine.
The city was in worse shape than he had thought it would be. Most of the damage had been caused by the flooding rather than the indiscriminate violence or the giant woman stomping around and barreling into things. Most of the bodies had been picked up, and the dead had been stacked like cordwood in the city center to await some kind of fire that would be strong enough to light up the sodden corpses. A few buildings had been destroyed by the water or had their foundations weakened enough that they had tilted or fallen, and few windows had survived the torrent. Calamus was on the edge of the island, but they didn’t have anything like tsunamis, and the monsoon season was more of a constant downpour than a wall of water.
Five minutes after Perry had landed, one of the Dirks was there beside him. Perry stuck out from the crowd, but the response time was still impressive.
“They should have listened to you,” said Dirk. “Shame they didn’t.”
“I don’t think it would have mattered,” said Perry.
“You won, I take it?” asked Dirk. He had looked the armor up and down. It was shiny and new, all traces of damage now repaired after hours of flight and nothing else to do with the energy coursing out of the fusion reactor. The vessels had long since been topped up.
“Yes,” said Perry. He’d won, but it had been a distraction, Third Fervor finally getting the martyrdom she seemed drawn towards. It seemed to Perry like living for someone else often meant dying for them.
“But it’s not over?” asked Dirk.
“No,” said Perry. “I’m afraid not. I don’t know what the next move is.” He looked Dirk over. It was impossible to tell which Dirk it was, but Perry assumed it was the same one he’d been dealing with this whole time. “You’ll let me know if you have any contact, right?”
“Sure,” said Dirk. He looked around the city. “Hell of a start to their independence.”
“They’ll be fine,” said Perry. “They’re dependent on the domes, and those are all far away.”
“Far away, and not entirely up and running,” said Dirk. “With all the rebuilding, all the wounded … it’s not going to be a good time. She hit us right in the city center, and too many of the ones she killed were important to the symboulions. She went after leaders. She knew at least some of them. It was only thanks to you that it wasn’t a clean sweep. There were irreplaceable men among the dead.”
“She’s been with the resistance cells here,” said Perry. “But she was attacking whoever she could before I showed up.”
“You showed up instantly,” said Dirk. “You were there by the time she was spearing her second victim.”
“I was ready and waiting, sure,” said Perry.
In truth, he’d seen the aftermath of various attacks through prognostics, which is what he’d meant. Now there was no hope of prognostics coming in, which meant that if someone did act, he wouldn’t hear about it until hours later, if that. News traveled slowly in this world. Without the eye in the sky, it would be weeks before Perry heard anything about an attack on a distant outpost. There had been plenty of time and know-how necessary to create a spy satellite, but they hadn’t planned on the Farfinder being blown up or taken over.
“What do you need from me?” asked Dirk.
“Nothing,” said Perry. “I’m here to help in any way I can. I’m hoping that if there’s another fight, it’s not here, though it would be better for my schedule if it happened soon. No word on the other guy?”
“None,” said Dirk. He was looking at the power armor. It was gleaming in the sunlight, in mint condition.
“And no word from the other island?” asked Perry. “Nothing their queen has said? Nothing from your counterpart there?”
“Not in public,” said Dirk with a low voice. They were a fair way away from anyone else, and being given a wide berth, but they were drawing a lot of stares.
“I was trying to say it in a deniable way,” said Perry.
“There’s been no word, no,” said Dirk. “You people move too fast.”
“We’re moving slow by the standards of my people,” said Perry. “If you ever want to travel the worlds, you’ll need to get faster, strike quickly, and get used to information coming in instantly, in real-time.”
Dirk grimaced. His fingers touched his pocket, where Perry assumed his borrowed phone was. “I’m starting to think I might not be cut out for what's beyond the veil of this world.”
“Yeah,” said Perry. “It can get rough. And it might be a non-issue. I’ll let you know when I know.”
Dirk had questions, obviously he had questions, but he had seen the destruction that the battle had caused, and might even have been there when it happened. It was more clear now than ever that this was all beyond him, a battle between forces that his own men and resources couldn’t really scratch. At least he wasn’t blaming Perry for any of it, which had been a real concern.
There wasn’t all that much for Perry to do. He lifted some heavy beams and helped search for survivors, but for most of the things that needed to be done, he wasn’t much more useful than a normal human. Given another five years, or maybe ten, he might have some proper healing to work with, but it would depend upon his second sphere powers, routing energy from the fusion reactor into useful restorative properties. It seemed possible, but it was a long way off.
Would he still be doing this in five years? In ten? It was difficult to say. He hoped not. If the Farfinder had been obliterated, then his chance of ever returning to Earth 2 seemed to have gone with it. Marchand had some of their information and designs stored, but the Farfinder had technically minded crew members who could build a new engine for hopping worlds, and trying to cobble that together from scratch would be a nightmare. A necessary nightmare, maybe, but what else was there?
And if the Farfinder had been destroyed, then either Fenilor had Mette Prime and Nima, or had killed them both and left. Both were possible, but if Fenilor had gone and the world hadn’t imploded, then Perry was letting his own portal run its timer down. If it ran all the way down, then … he would have another thresholder to fight in another five years or so, wouldn’t he? That was a grim thought. There were worse worlds to be stuck on, surely, and there was still good for him to do here, but it would represent a catastrophic personal loss, even though he’d won against Third Fervor. Winning had never felt so bad.
Perry watched the people go by. They were helping each other, which was something. Mr. Rogers always said that you had to look for the helpers, and here it was true, there were helpers, with temporary kitchens set up so that the people doing search and rescue could have something to eat, and no one so much as suggesting that they should be paid. It was a part of the culture that you don’t get paid for pretty much anything, of course, but still, there was something fundamentally good about people helping each other, even if it didn’t have the bombastic nobility of descending on an enemy with sword in hand.
He was surprised by the children coming out to help, but he supposed that he shouldn’t have been so far as he knew, child labor wasn’t in all that heavy use, not when compared to the Natrix, but there were still boys of ten running about, bringing materials to shut up shops, hauling blankets and pillows to places unknown, bringing bandages and carrying packs. No one was telling them to stay out of the way, but then, they didn’t need to be told. This was the next generation, the ones that would grow up within the culture if it was allowed to take hold. Maybe they believed in pitching in already.
While Perry waited for his help to be requested — some job that required speed, flight, or brute strength — he watched the people. They were coming off a revolution, and there had been violence in its wake. This, at least, was violence from without, and maybe that was helpful to them in some way, a force to react against. That was the theory, anyway.
An older man, hunched and with his hood up, crossed the road, nearly getting run over by one of the small boys, who it turned out were only mostly out of the way.
The shoulder-mounted gun rose from its housing and shot the old man before Perry even realized it was happening. It was the standard pattern that Marchand had decided on for guaranteed lethality, two to the chest and two to the head, but the old man fell to the ground only for a moment before getting back to his feet. He had a long sword in his hand, clear as glass, which hadn’t been there a moment ago, and the cloak fell away from him.
It was Fenilor. Whatever trick of the lighting or posture or prosthetics had Perry fooled had not fooled Marchand. He had been shot four times and was completely unharmed. The armor he wore looked to be simple red-stained leather, but there was no trace of damage on it.
Fenilor spent half a second looking at Perry, then leapt to the side, touching one of the men who was helping to board up a house, his work interrupted at the sound of the gunshots. The man’s chest exploded in a rush of blood, and Fenilor was on to the next as the panic belatedly started, a simple touch causing him to die.
Perry raced forward, sword drawn, and slashed at Fenilor, who brought his glass sword up in an unhurried block. He was moving faster than he’d been the last time they’d fought, but that had been above the water, not the best place for Fenilor. There would be more armors and more weapons on land, those that could be used without sinking down into the waves.
Perry brought his sword down with hammer blows, seeing some weakness he couldn’t describe, a distractibility that shouldn’t rightly have been there. The people around them had cottoned on to what was happening and were fleeing now. They had no context for what was happening, but they were at the site of a previous inexplicable battle, and ready to run.
To Perry’s surprise, Fenilor parried another of the hammer blows and then retreated, turning his back and sprinting away. Perry ran after, after with the power armor cracking cobblestones with every exaggerated step, but he wasn’t in time to stop Fenilor from killing two more, these a man and woman who’d been running much slower than him. The wounds erupted from their heads like they’d been shot, and Perry’s mind lit up with an answer: wound transference.
“Don’t shoot,” Perry commanded, before second guessing himself. “He can pass on the wounds to others.”
It wouldn’t have made sense for Fenilor to kill these people, they were his people, and Fenilor was no sadist, at least not that Perry had seen. But he’d done it here, now, four wounds delivered by touch, two to the chest and two to the head. He’d done it fast, too, which implied a time limit of some kind.
Would that power work through Perry’s armor? Would a wound get transferred over to him, a gunshot wound exploding his head in spite of all his defenses?
Perry stood with his sword held in front of him, two-handed. The spear was in the shelf space, and he wasn’t going to open that for any reason at all, given that the portal was still in there, and would be for another three-quarters of a day.
“I had wondered whether you would see through my disguise,” said Fenilor. “You’re a powerhouse. Too many abilities, too many ways for you to drive a crack through a wedge.”
“The ship,” said Perry. “You were there. What happened to them?”
“All dead,” said Fenilor, shaking his head. “This will be settled here and now. But you understand it would be unsporting for you to have help to call in, don’t you?”
Perry lunged forward, lifting briefly into the air. Their swords clashed hard enough that Fenilor was briefly driven to his knees, but he slipped out from under the follow-up attack.
“Shoot him March,” said Perry.
The gun popped up and fired three shots this time, though one of them was deflected by the sword, which fractured into pieces and then reformed itself, some complicated magic that had done nothing more than eat a bullet.
They were in the middle of one of the city’s wider streets, wide enough for carriages and carts to get through, but the alarm was being raised elsewhere in the city, and the only people in sight were far down the way. Perry was ready to run after Fenilor, but Fenilor sprang forward, glass sword moving deftly.
Perry’s head was swimming with what Fenilor had said. Was it true that the Farfinder was gone? A dozen people, all dead, almost everyone in the world that Perry actually had some connection to? Mette, Perry’s only remaining link back to the Natrix?
Anger was racing through him, and while it lent more power to his strikes, it was also making him sloppy. It wasn’t until he was overextended that he realized what Fenilor’s plan was, and Fenilor reached out with long fingers to touch him. Perry backed away, arching his back, and the fingers missed him by inches. Perry’s hand was clenched tightly around the grip of his sword. He’d started to sweat.
They fought more after that, but Perry was more wary this time. If a bullet wound could be transferred over, it was instant death, and if there was a clock ticking down, then all Perry needed to do was wait Fenilor out and stop him from transferring anything over to anyone. Would Fenilor’s head simply explode after enough time had passed? There was no helmet to the armor, just Fenilor’s finely flowing hair, but the shots to the face had been absorbed.
Fenilor mistimed a swing, and Perry’s sword came down on Fenilor’s shoulder, but the blade didn’t strike flesh, and it felt like whacking a club against a pillow. Perry had some faint hope that the armor wouldn’t be effective against his sword, whether through magic or some property of the metal, but it did less than nothing.
Perhaps Fenilor had been worried that his armor wouldn’t protect him, because as soon as that strike landed, he dropped all pretense of defense, cast his glass sword to the side, and went at Perry with both hands held forward. Perry dodged to the side, using the full power of the armor and a bit of extra energy flushed through his meridians, then rose into the air with the sword, out of reach.
Fenilor stood for a moment and looked up at Perry. He had a mild frown on his face.
“Clock is ticking,” said Perry. “What’ll it be?”
He had hoped that Fenilor would make a run for it, which would reveal a hidden weakness, but instead Fenilor’s hand went to the side, and a whole armory of armors was briefly shown in ghostly form before a silver armor with curling whorls of bright blue on it appeared on his body.
“The next person to wear that armor will die,” said Fenilor. This new armor had a helmet, and his voice was slightly muffled. “Perhaps it will make a good trap at a later date.” He held his hand out to the side, and the ghostly arms flickered into existence for only a moment before he ended with a sickle in his hand. The curve seemed impractical, which caused a small spike of fear to go through Perry. A weapon that was odd had to have some kind of magic to it, something strong to justify using it.
“I worry this will come to nothing,” said Fenilor, who hadn’t moved or made to attack. The new armor and new weapon meant that the fight had shifted to another phase. “And even if I defeat you, the door won’t open for me, will it?”
“No,” said Perry. “We weren’t meant to fight each other.”
“Did a door open when you killed Third Fervor?” asked Fenilor.
“Yes,” said Perry. “Far to the north.”
“Haven’t you learned not to lie to me?” asked Fenilor. “A truth following a lie doesn’t disguise it.”
Perry hesitated. He could drop at any time and resume the fight. He wasn’t all that far up, ten feet at the most. Hell, Fenilor could probably jump that distance. Anything that Perry said might give Fenilor more information, like saying that Fenilor would never find the portal — if that flagged as false, then it would point him in the right direction.
“They’re really gone?” asked Perry. “The Farfinder?” He was trying to keep his cool, and the wolf in him was making that difficult. The moon wasn’t even out, but he could feel the anger flowing through his veins.
“Yes,” said Fenilor. Perry felt a twisting in his gut. If Fenilor was lying, he was a good liar, but the Farfinder was resilient, with extradimensional spaces that would be safe from outside attack, and there was still a chance. The thought spun in his mind, snagging on something. It was denial, plainly. He didn’t want it to be true that they were all dead. “It’s a pity, but they put up too much of a fight. When we conclude here, I’ll have wrapped up everything there was to do on this world, then go on to the next, to spread the culture.”
“You’ll break time and space,” said Perry.
“You’re not lying, or you don’t think you are, but there’s nuance,” said Fenilor. He cocked his head to the side. Perry hoped that was indecision, but with the armor on, it was difficult to tell.
“The best bet is that you drop everything you have,” said Perry. He was gritting his teeth. He didn’t want to talk, he wanted to fight. “Divest yourself of all the weapons, everything you’ve taken from fallen thresholders. That might work to prevent calamity.”
“In the next world, I will have to fight,” said Fenilor. “That’s the nature of being a thresholder. You have your concerns, and I suppose you gain nothing from having me strip myself of every weapon and armor in my possession after our battle is concluded, but I think I’ll take my chances.”
“With this entire world?” asked Perry.
“It’s one world among many,” said Fenilor. “I have perfected the culture as much as I can here, but it must be rebuilt and grow stronger in the process. If this world is to end, it would be a tragedy, but what is one world against infinitude? And I know that this world does not have the tools to span the multiverse. Some other place would make for a better start.”
“Asshole,” said Perry. “March, fire some test shots, see what the armor is made of.”
Two shots rang out, and the blue lines on the armor glowed, but the bullets did no damage.
“A shame,” said Fenilor. “You are the most traveled thresholder I’ve ever met, and while I have most of your secrets, I hunger for more, if I could have them. But I suppose it’s not to be.”
Perry took that as his cue to restart the fight. He dropped down to the ground, where he’d have some actual leverage, and went in with his sword. He had no idea what the sickle did, but Fenilor used its power right away. The curved blade detached from the handle with a glowing tether between the two, and with a quick swing it was behind Perry, showing on the picture-in-picture. Perry dodged to the side when it came reeling in, and Fenilor began to swing the strange weapon over his head, like a cowboy trying to rope a steer.
It was easy for Perry to come in for an attack, since the swinging sickle offered no defense and Perry was willing to take a chance that it wasn’t just an instant kill if it hit him. When his sword struck the armor, it left a deep gouge in the metal, which was surprising given how little damage the bullets had done, but when Perry pulled the sword away it took an enormous amount of effort, like the sword was being pulled in.
Fenilor threw the sickle out again, trying to hit Perry, then trying to snag him as the weapon came back, but whatever this strategy was supposed to be, it didn’t seem to be working. When Fenilor was getting the sickle spinning again, Perry went in, this time aiming for the head and moving with his full power, committing fully to a singular strike.
The sword cleaved into the helmet, stopping after an inch. It stuck there, though Perry yanked at it, and Fenilor reached out with an armored hand to grip the sword, his sickle momentarily forgotten. Fenilor’s hand seemed to stick to the sword, like his armor was made of taffy rather than metal, and Perry felt a surge of unfamiliar energy where he was holding the sword, tugging at something more than his grip.
Perry moved forward and grabbed at Fenilor’s other wrist, which was holding the sickle. They were quickly locked together, and it must have been the armor doing something, because it instantly felt to Perry like he’d never be able to let go, not using the smaller servos in the armor’s fingers. He committed more to the grapple though, placing his foot against Fenilor’s knee, making sure that even if they were locked together he would be able to use his superior strength to break something.
They tumbled to the ground, and this time Perry felt the tugging across his whole body, like Fenilor was trying to rip the armor into his inventory. He let the energy of the second sphere flow through him, cracking the Wolf Vessel for its stored power, and whatever was trying to pull him somewhere, he managed to resist it. Fenilor grunted beneath his helmet, now close enough that they could hear each other's breathing, and Perry tried to maneuver himself better. Where their armors touched, they stuck together, maybe not as with taffy, but like big magnets were sticking them together. Perry still had his grip on his sword, which had cut into Fenilor’s helmet. A trail of blood was running down it, which meant that it was more than just damage to the armor.
The grappled favored Perry. He was the stronger of the two of them, at least with Fenilor wearing this armor. It was difficult to get proper leverage when they were locked together, but eventually Perry managed to spread his arms wide, pulling Fenilor’s arm away from his body in the process and putting tension on Fenilor’s knee with Perry’s foot. The tug came again, but whatever Fenilor was trying, Perry had quickly worked up a defense against it.
Would grappling stop Fenilor from changing armor? Perry hoped so. The sickle had been abandoned, dropped with Perry gripping the wrist of the hand that once held it. A new weapon appeared, this one short and brilliant, and Fenilor spun it around in his hand. It went through Perry’s armor like nothing, scoring down into Perry’s wrist with a quick, sharp, agonizing slice, but Fenilor couldn’t maneuver his hand for more than that. The blade had turned from silver to black where it had touched the armor, and a second strike bounced off a different part of the gauntlet, suddenly ineffective.
Perry yanked at Fenilor, which brought forth a cry of pain. He hadn’t been sure what part of Fenilor and his armor would give first, but it was his arm, which was not dislocated if not worse. It had popped from its socket all at once, and Fenilor’s armor was groaning.
Fenilor switched weapons again, and this one looked more like a cattle prod than anything else, but he was able to swing it around one-handed and jab Perry with it. The jolt wasn’t one of electricity, but instead, searing pain, like a bee sting across his entire body, and he tried to pull away, but they were stuck together, and in the struggle, got more stuck together, removing any leverage.
Fenilor changed weapons a third time, this time holding a pen knife, and vanished. The armor remained, stuck tight to Perry, much lighter now that there wasn’t a person inside of it. Perry got to his feet with the pieces still on him, and tried his best to rip them off.
Fenilor came in from the side, wearing a different armor, holding a different weapon. With the armor stuck to him, Perry’s movements were hampered, as though he was dancing with a clumsy partner and trying to fight at the same time. Fenilor’s sword was a long rapier, and he moved deftly, making sure that he wouldn’t be snared by his own abandoned armor. He got a good hit in, one that went through the metal plate and into Perry’s stomach, and Perry took to the air at once, trying his best to tear the stuck on bits of armor from him as he rose.
Fenilor switched weapons and followed. His motion was jerky, a sequence of falling and rising, as though he was changing the direction of movement without any way to gain speed but having gravity pull him down. Soon he had built up velocity though, and he was faster than Perry could move with the sword. Perry didn’t know which of them an aerial battle favored, but with the armor stuck to him, Perry didn’t like his odds.
Fenilor came dropping in from above like a hawk trying to catch a fish from the river, and Perry felt a blossom of pain as the rapier scored another hit on him. It had gone straight through the armor, and there were now warnings in the corner of the HUD, systems that had been compromised in the strike.
Perry finally wrenched a piece of the stuck-on armor free, and with all his might and a weak blast of moonlight, hurled it into the distance. He was working another piece free when Fenilor came in for a second time, and Perry turned, trying to put the sticky armor between himself and Fenilor. Fenilor came low this time though, and the rapier slashed across Perry’s calf, slicing through muscle.
Retreat was always an option. The shelf space was there. But if that was opened, even for a moment, Fenilor might get in and simply leave.
Perry worked at the sticky armor on him, trying to rip more pieces of it free and send them down to the city below, while at the same time readying himself for another jousting run by Fenilor. The rapier that Fenilor was using was cutting through metal easily, but leaving relatively shallow wounds on Perry’s body, though Perry didn’t know how many he could endure.
When one more piece of the armor was ripped free, the whole thing seemed to lose its magic, and the extra set of armor that Perry had been stuck to dropped away.
Fenilor came diving in, pointing his entire body at Perry, sword held forward like the tip of a spear.
“Fire,” said Perry.
The shoulder-gun rose and fired the very moment the order was from Perry’s lips, as though Marchand had been primed for the command. Three shots hit Fenilor, and while they didn’t penetrate, it made his aim go off. They crashed into each other and fell through the air, tumbling above the city that loomed below them. Perry reached up and grabbed Fenilor’s wrist, to prevent the rapier or any other weapon from slicing through him, and they grappled again, falling this time, though Perry could have stopped it at any time with the sword, and Fenilor could presumably have done the same.
They crashed down into a building with the chirp of an altitude warning the only way that Perry knew it was about to happen. Perry had managed to twist them around, and Fenilor snapped a wooden beam with his back as they went down. Perry was on his feet first and brought his sword down on Fenilor, chopping against his head, hoping to knock him unconscious even if the metal was able to hold. The metal dented, and there were other dents already from the bullets, points that had to have rattled him, but Fenilor flipped up like a man not wearing plate armor and held his rapier in front of him. He was staggered but still in fighting condition.
The room they’d fallen into was filled with ceramics. It was a place where bowls and plates were made, and they had already mostly ruined it by coming in through the ceiling.
Perry took stock of his wounds. There were too many of them, and he was favoring his right leg. His healing was slow and energy intensive. There was always the option of a transformation, but that limited his options even if it increased his offensive power, and Fenilor had too many tricks, too deep a well of possibilities.
There was a good chance that Perry was going to lose. He needed more than he had, some way to stop Fenilor from switching tactics, because one of them was going to kill him, and he had no doubt that once he was on the back foot, there were more weapons that would come out to get at his weakened defenses. Already his leg was going to be a problem, if he didn’t transform to fix it.
Fenilor was breathing hard. The sword was a good one, even if it didn’t seem to gouge deep into flesh, only metal. The armor was useful for flying, a way to chase after someone, even if it didn’t offer as much protection as the others. But Fenilor had other weapons, other armors, enough that he could hot swap for the occasion. That was what Perry was worried about, some new piece of kit he hadn’t seen before, some trick that Fenilor would pull out.
Fenilor placed his free hand to his chest, making a symbol there.
It was twenty seconds before the first of the tall constructs appeared next to Perry, hulking and huge, clearly seeing him as an enemy.
Comments
Marc
@iridium248 - Not only that, but Kes _can_ still unlock Second Sphere - sure it’s supposed to take years without the cheat flower, but that’s for people who don’t have the benefit of years of experience with Second Sphere control and refinement. As with all WalesWorks, honestly wish Thresholder weren’t expected to end soon since keeping Kes around (or on a divergent path for a few worlds) offers so many narative possibilities down the road.
Vinohr
Well for one we know Fenilor is lying about the Farfinder, he didn't manage to kill them all. Some amount of backup may still be possible.
iridium248
Well, if Perry dies, Kestrel can take over from him fairly smoothly, Second Sphere aside.
patreonizing
Ah, the Chekhov Golems finally make an appearance! Now the _____ bingo card is down to one space, Power-Boosting Masks. (forgot the name of this world) Unlike prior boss battles, this time I'm genuinely unsure how Perry gets through it...there shouldn't be any surprise allies showing up, Fenilor has seen almost all his powers, has terrain advantage, and doesn't care to negotiate anymore. (It's honestly surprising that all enemy Thresholders so far have been willing to truce'n'talk, even scumbags like Jeff...Perry's bad at Persuasion, but backstabbing during peace negotiations is kind of a stock move for him at this point.) Kinda weird that Fenilor's Gate of Babylon lets him add items against the will of their current users...like it's tailor-made for a murderhobo. Wonder how many times that alone felled opposing Thresholders. Excited to see how this ends. Wishing a swift recovery, or at least reversion to mean.
Moosh7
Hope you keep hanging in there. I'm enjoying the story and looking forward to how it all shakes out!
