Triumph without cost is like a preacher without sincerity; fake, and probably luring you into a trap.
Missy Moana
The mercenaries fled before them, those few that Obedias still had. Mat grunted, pulling back and trying to shake his head free of adrenaline. Which didn’t work, unsurprisingly. Local Omniscience told him there were no traps, but Obedias couldn't have settled for just the one layer of security, could he?
Not like he knew the man that well. And maybe this really was all he had to offer. Mercenaries fat and lazy from guard duty, outnumbered and cut down. Even trading one on one, and Mat doubted the average guard was more lethal than the average bladeslave, they outnumbered Obedias at least three to one.
Still. Mat stepped closer to the wall, trying to find a hidden path. Maybe there was something, or maybe… no, there. At the edge of his range, buried deep in the wall. Why would anyone—
Speed activated a split-second after realization hit him, and in that enhanced state, he turned, bodily throwing Jason and Reg to the floor with him. Tobi was too far, but he could see Bea moving the second he had, and she seemed far too experienced to hesitate when one of her allies threw themselves down.
It was no time at all, really. Yet it was everything, and once speed ran out, the explosion consumed the hallwall. Fire and force, sound and violence. The walls tore, the ceiling caved, parts of the floor sagged downwards. There was a short roar before that entire sense shut off, and a loud, grating whistling replaced it.
His eardrums burst for what felt like the dozenth time since this whole thing began.
Pain scorched his back, but his phase shield took the brunt of it, and his armor took most of what remained. Mat shook his head like a confused, sluggish bear, not even wishing to contemplate what would have happened if they’d all been standing.
Or if Bea’s initial bandoleer of explosives hadn’t set off parts of it, he realized. No wonder that first blast had been so strong.
Mat pushed up, his newfound strength making that an easy affair. The floor groaned, and he knew that below, the foundation was in shambles. Stressed and stressed again, finally giving up. Reg and Jason were fine, though the latter had a cut running down his neck. Nothing too deep.
He rose fully, taking care where he stepped. Bea had pulled Tobi to the floor, but Mat cursed, abandoning subtlety. A steel rod was embedded into Tobi’s chest, and he was half sinking into a collapsing hole.
Four steps took him over, and he grasped out, jerking the man back moments before he fell into the carnage below. Carnage that was on fire, by the glow. Bea stood, mumbling something he couldn't hear.
Mat reached out, willing his medibots to at least stop any internal bleeding. Nothing happened. His ear popped, and that was that. The well was dry, and Tobi was still unconscious.
“—en I say,” Bea said. She glanced at him, snapping her fingers. “Focus. Pull that out when I say, and keep his head still. Jason, Reg, cover us. They might be coming to confirm their ambush.”
Blood was leaking from her own ears, but Jason at least seemed to still have his hearing. The pair moved carefully over the shattered floor, and Bea pulled a syringe from nowhere. He’d seen those before, in the doctors' offices. Nanobot healing. She jerked her head, and Mat pulled hard on the rod. It slid out with almost no resistance, bringing a flood of red alongside it.
Bea injected the nanobots almost gently, and before his very eyes, Tobi’s body stitched itself back together. It was, frankly, disturbing to look at, especially with local omniscience. Bea threw the empty syringe aside, and Mat breathed a sigh of relief when Tobi stirred.
“Preparation is everything,” Bea said, not seeming to really be addressing him. “If it’s important, bring a backup.”
Mat flinched, taking it for the rebuke that it was. Relying only on his medibots had been stupid, and— and people were coming. Mat rose, turning away from the collapsed portion of the hallway. It seemed retreat was no longer an option, even if they wanted it.
It was just another mercenary team, really. Or it looked like just any other mercenary team. Five strong, with their apparent leader sheathed in what seemed like a skin-tight layer of metal.
A great blast came from behind, but since there were only allies in that direction, Mat ignored it, pushing forward. Jason and Reg hung back, which was probably for the best. Gort. That was it. The leader of Obedias’ forces, which meant this was probably the man’s personal team. Stef had sent out a missive with the man’s description.
Mat expected a lot, so he advanced cautiously, unsurprised to find Bea dogging his shadow. What he hadn’t expected was for all five men to burn their speed mods, and for Gort to raise a perfectly ordinary arm at him while doing so.
A wave of something rushed out, too big and sudden to dodge. It was like gravity inverted, up being down and down up. Even his balance mod screamed in protest, and five moleblades hunted for his head in perfect sync.
Local Omniscience cared not an ounce, and Mat burned his own speed.
Two he forcefully pushed aside, his own blade crashing through them with raw power alone. One more he dodged, if only by inches, and another he blocked. The last entered his stomach and for a moment, Mat was certain he was about to die. The woman would twist upwards, and tear right through his heart, armor be damned.
She didn’t. Bea’s own blade took her arm, despite having no speed biomod of her own. Mat threw himself back with his last moment of enhanced agility, local omniscience guiding his hand and letting him take out the blade. His shield dropped to the floor, forgotten.
It hurt, but he wasn’t dead. Speed ran out, and he grit his teeth, adrenaline and danger letting him focus past the pain.
Ten.
Two of their people moved right, intercepting Jason and Reg. Gort himself turned on Bea, which left two for him. Mat slapped one blow aside, dodging a second and forcing him to abort his own attack.
Nine.
Unlike essentially every other opponent he’d ever seen Bea fight, Gort didn’t die in the first few exchanges. Which he barely had any time to gawk at, because his own pair of opponents pushed harder and harder. He gave ground liberally, stepping steadily onto the torn floor.
Eight.
Local Omniscience let him see where to step without looking, and after another moment, his balance mod returned to normal, shaking off whatever the hell Gort had done. Mat flicked his moleblade forward, grimacing at the stab of pain in his stomach. The man parried, allowing the woman her own attack.
Mat leaned out of the way, balanced on one leg over a dark, surprisingly deep hole. He pushed up, parrying a throwing knife by the barest of margins. It skittered away from him, and Mat resisted the urge to track it, eyes wide.
He’d just parried a knife. A thrown knife. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck—
The man slashed, and Mat pulled his arm up to defend. Except that his shoulder jerked strangely, muscles spasming, and the moleblade tore a gash through his armor. Probably would have taken the whole damn limb, if he hadn’t been wearing vambraces.
Five.
He felt a trickle of medibots, the tiniest amount, seal the wound on his stomach shut, preventing blood from leaking out. Good. Mat moved back, stepping through the area with a surety he shouldn't have had. Frankly, the fact those two had to be careful was probably the only reason he was still alive.
The woman stumbled, the floor under her feet buckling inwards, and the split-second loss of footing was like an engraved invitation. Mat leaned forward, abusing his balance to slash his moleblade across her throat. Armor parted, thinned to allow for movement, and he grinned in satisfaction.
Then the wound sealed shut, and Mat hated every single living person in the whole wide galaxy. Because of course they had to have their own internal healing. What fool wouldn't? Well, honestly, most of the mercs. But those were dead now. Yeah.
Two.
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Mat stumbled back, exaggerating the motion in a way he must have practised a thousand times with Reg. The man surged forward, smelling blood. Mat grinned, blocking the woman’s blade and kicking out.
The man slammed backwards, and then Mat’s speed mod came off cooldown. Perfection itself, though saying he’d timed it like that would be generous. Mat activated the perk, and saw in great detail how the woman’s eyes widened behind her helmet.
Then his moleblade, with the full power of his newly enhanced muscles, pierced straight through her skull. Mat slid his blade back, flicking the blood free. Speed ended, and the man was suddenly all alone.
Another explosion distracted him, from behind again. Mat twisted, reacting more than thinking, only to see a hail of concentrated gunfire fly past him. The man, only now twirling to his feet, ran, but his phase shield lasted for about half a second. His flesh lasted much shorter than that.
Stef and twenty more with her stormed inside, moving in a kind of controlled run that seemed so similar yet so alien. Bea, he realized. She did the same, but… smoother, somehow.
Mat turned, shaking off his exhaustion. More droids were coming from side entrances now, and unlike the ones he was familiar with, these were bulkier. War machines, and the things wielded heavy weapons and moleblades of their own.
Behind them, slipping through the chaos, was Obedias.
Mat blinked, then gave chase. For some reason, he’d expected the man to give a proud final stand. The last enemy, stronger and more capable than any of the others. Like a game.
Of course the man wouldn't. What good would it do? Even if Mat died, then what? Everyone would surrender? Staying was a death sentence, and someone as careful as Obedias would have an escape plan.
So as Stef and her army crashed against the war droids, and even his own team was intercepted, Mat jumped. His legs flexed with strength, his balance biomod guided his movement, and while the hallway wasn’t tall, he sailed over the droids. One of them reached up, but for once, his luck held. The steel fingers missed by less than half an inch.
Over and towards Obedias he sailed, landing hard. The man slipped through a door that hadn’t been there moments ago.
It closed just as quickly, but Mat rammed himself against the thing, wishing he still had his shield. The metal wall panel wasn’t fast enough, blasting back open before it could seal shut. Mat slipped through, ignoring what could very well be numerous hairline fractures.
Just because he could overpower steel didn’t mean his body could handle it, not even with armor.
Obedias fled through the tunnel, light on his feet despite his size. Whatever was at the end, Mat didn’t want the man to reach it. A ship, perhaps, or escape pods. Some method of transport. So Mat chased, and felt… anger.
Anger for being enslaved. Anger for being made to kill, even though he probably would have ended up doing that anyway, thanks to Nova. There was anger for Pabol, dead for profit. For Darion, dead because he wanted to be free.
So much anger. Mat breathed it in, letting it sharpen his mind. Sharpen his actions. Yon’s face drifted into view, and their thousand hours of practice and training. Lesson after lesson after lesson. How to fall, how to roll, how to punch and kick and wield the blade. Mat fell backwards into the ideal of the bladeslave, as he had done time and time again in the arena.
Like a switch being flipped, Obedias went from prey to predator. The massive man turned on a dime, pushing off against the wall to twist around. Mat ducked under the first swing, pushing aside the following punch.
His leg kicked out, ramming into Obedias’ knee and only earning him a grunt. The man’s balance flowed backwards, but creating distance was a poor choice. Mat sliced up, one of the few power attacks the small hallway could accommodate.
Obedias clearly agreed, dropping his blade in exchange for a long knife. With that he parried the blade, and the rasp of metal on metal reverberated through the tunnel.
For one, then two long seconds Mat pushed, only to find the man’s strength equal to his own. Obedias didn’t look surprised, but his stance grew wary. His shoulder tensed, and his brow tightened into a frown.
Neither activated speed, and Mat wouldn't be baited again like that. He finally pulled back, taking a step to create distance. Obedias didn’t hunt after him, and now that he was outside of local omniscience, Mat couldn't see his expression.
“You will not be bought,” Obedias stated. “You will not stall for time. Come then, bladeslave. Show me what I have forged you into.”
He answered by stepping closer, and the knife keened towards his stomach. It was a good blow. A well-executed, fast attack which in these small confines would be nearly impossible to dodge. Mat slapped it aside, redirecting all that strength to narrowly miss him instead. His blade stabbed forth, and Obedias activated his speed mod.
Mat threw himself back, dodging a lightning fast slice by less than an inch. So that’s how it was. Expensive upgrades, expensive training, but little experience. What had Bea said? Skill mattered more than any biomod.
He let instinct guide him, and slashed out, aiming not where the man was, but would be.
Obedias could have tanked the blow. But he didn’t, and though four slices ran across Mat’s armor, one of which opened a deep cut on his neck, Obedias aborted his attack to defend. Mat activated his own biomod moments later, opening the man from belly to neck. Obedias kicked away, looking down at his chest in actual surprise.
It was one thing to spar in the ring, quite another to fight for your life. Mat knew that. Oh, he knew that ever so well. Yet Obedias had money, and so the cut running down his chest—a cut that should have gone deeper, if not for a metal-like sheet—closed up before his eyes. Mat was already rushing forward, but his speed ran out before he could close the distance again.
Obedias kicked, clearly aiming to destabilize and confuse. Mat stepped over the blow, raking his blade across the man’s arm. Obedias smoothly tucked it aside, and Mat’s blow sailed past, ramming into its intended target with the strength of an avalanche.
That expensive, moleblade resistant armor offered little actual resistance, though his weapon almost whined in protest. Mat didn’t care, slicing through armor and then flesh. More of that not-metal stopped him from taking the limb, and he abandoned the blow rather than overextending.
Then Obedias rushed closer, and Mat scrambled back. No one had tried to get too close since local omniscience had been earned. Even Yon had been hesitant to train him, though the man had done so all the same.
Obedias must know of his skill, so Mat hesitated for a second too long. The knife tore through armor and sliced deeply into his side, and the best he could do was buy a second of time. His fist flew out, impacting Obedias’ side with a loud, echoing thud.
Five.
The man wheezed instead of following through, and Mat flowed to the side, dropping his moleblade to the floor. Both of his arms wrapped around the knife-wielding appendage, and his foot hooked forward. With a shoulder shove, Obedias unbalanced, and suddenly their combined weight rested on but a single point.
The man’s shoulder tore out of its socket, loud and messy and painful. Obedias screamed, the scream of someone not wholly used to pain, and Mat caught the knife falling from numb fingers. Local omniscience guided his blow, and the blade slid past where armor was already damaged.
Angled properly, they fell, and Mat’s full weight, his full strength, landed on the knife. It pierced past the not-metal, and then into Obedias’ heart.
He twisted the blade, and Obedias gasped, an almost surprised sound. Mat smiled grimly, double-checking to make sure it would actually kill the man. Aorta cut apart, both pulmonary and coronary arteries severed; death, even with medibots.
Mat nodded, then startled. He’d checked the man for hidden surprises, sure, but there hadn’t been time for more. No time to take a proper look at his body, not once he’d confirmed there was only the not-metal techplant.
Two hearts. The man had two hearts. Obedias moved, and though Mat could see it all, he acted a hair too slowly.
Massive, meaty hands wrapped around his throat, and Mat found himself hoisted up, the crushing, raw strength of the man able to squash his windpipe in a moment. He was slammed against the tunnel wall as Obedias surged to his feet, a snarl on his normally placid face.
One.
Obedias squeezed, and Mat rammed his arm up, blades left where they fell. The man’s grip barely bulged, and Mat reached out, desperate to do something. Speed came off cooldown a moment later, and he rammed it in near panic, slowing reality.
No weapons, nothing to get past his armor nor the not-metal, and in no position for leverage. Even the stab wound was already healing, so Mat’s hands surged up to the man’s helmet. Obedias was almost too far away, but not entirely. With fingers that worked far too quick, and local omniscience to tell him how, he plucked it free, and saw the man’s face outside of his perk.
Obedias’ eyes were still in the process of widening, and then for the second time, Mat rammed his fingers into someone’s cornea.
The man screamed, blind panic forcing him to let go. Mat fell, inhaling deeply as time returned to normal. Obedias stumbled back, and Mat forced himself up, feeling on the verge of death himself. One step kept the man in range. One more let him pick up the fallen knife, and the third saw that same knife slashed upwards into the man’s skull.
Through his lower jaw, up and past the mouth, then into the brain. The bone had been hardened, somehow, and the weapon didn’t pierce, so Mat hooked his leg behind the man’s feet again. Obedias fell, and Mat used that leverage to twist himself after the man.
The momentum and his own strength saw the knife push up, and Obedias simply… stopped. His muscles went slack, his expression turned bland, and his limbs fell down like a puppet without string.
Mat collapsed to the side, feeling Nova greedily absorb the energy. Not enough for his next level, not yet, but closer. Ever closer.
He laughed, spit out a mouthful of blood, and smiled a red smile.
Freedom.
Afterword
And that’s the end of the first arc. Book one will have two, so it’s halfway. Now for the bad news; the story failed to reach Rising Stars. Now, you won’t really care, but unfortunately, reality does. And the reality is that I can’t afford to dedicate that much time to a story that, most likely, won’t do very well.
I’m not going to abandon it, but unless we somehow get on rising stars by tomorrow morning, updates will slow to once-weekly. Which is very slow, I’m aware. Either way, thank you for all the love, even if the story didn’t quite perform as hoped. (Not to sound blackmailery, but favorites, followers, reviews/rating and comments boost the chance of getting onto said Rising Stars.)
The schedule from now on will—most likely—be a chapter every Friday.
Nevermind all that sadness. We got onto Rising Stars, and so the story will continues unchanged. Onward!
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