314: Borrowed Wings

The Highspawn came to a stop, gazing over at Xyrrith with that same faintly sneering air as always. The fact of his presence spoke volumes.

‘You don’t look glad to see me, nephew! I anticipated a warmer welcome than this,’ Vorath rippled.

‘You are not meant to be here. You said you would stay back there,’ replied Xyrrith, tense. ‘You have come for this Artifact,’ he added, feeling he might as well state it. Vorath gave no answer. ‘What did you do to Drekhul?’

Amused ripples. ‘Why do you think I did anything to him?’

‘He wouldn’t have let you leave.’

‘Do you really believe that?’

Xyrrith considered, and realised that perhaps Drekhul had done just that. No point in a fight you couldn’t win. Except that the Queen would learn about this, and her rage at a lost Tier 3 Artifact would be just as lethal as the White Spear Vorath now bore.

‘I do,’ he said at length. Drekhul would have put up enough resistance that he’d have some wounds to show her, even if killing Vorath was impossible.

‘As you wish. Give me the Blade.’

Xyrrith really didn’t want to say the next words. But the thought—the likely fact—that there would be a spiderling here somewhere, watching, pushed them out.

‘I will not,’ he proclaimed, with as much confidence as he could muster, imagining his mother watching this moment later. ‘It is the property of Hive Sablethorn and Queen Vexira, by right.’

‘I thought you wiser than this. Here in the sky there is no Queen Vexira. There is only you, and me,’ said Vorath. ‘And right now I think that my right is much larger than yours.’ The White Spear burst from his palm in a brilliant gout of light, his wings Soul-parts flared as he launched himself forward, the spear growing. Killing Intent burst out of him in a terrible wave, and Xyrrith knew the Highspawn intended to see him dead within the next minute.

Xyrrith’s wings buzzed reflexively, launching him backwards. ‘Help me!’ he screamed, channelling Oma to his Crystalline Field Symbiote set, the first of them starting to appear around him.

Vorath closed the space in an instant. The Highspawn, aware that it took a moment for the crystals to become active, was going right for the kill. And with his Symbiotes he moved faster than Xyrrith could.

The Hornet dropped backwards, eyes fixed on that blazing white spear-tip. Desperate, he hunted through the options available to him, found one that might work.

He hurled the Tier 3 Artifact as hard as he could, sent it sailing straight at Vorath. Simultaneously he formed crystals directly in front of him—though they wouldn’t be primed—he just wanted something, anything, between him and the Highspawn’s spear.

He was anticipating it tearing through his shield then his body any moment, but to his delight he saw Vorath flinch away as the spinning weapon, emitting its own murderous pulses, came fast toward him.

The weapon arced through the air and plummeted to the ground.

The space between them had grown, and now Xyrrith had surrounded himself with crystals. The Highspawn looked furiously at him, then at the Blade. The weapon wasn’t active and Vorath had been at no threat, and now the Highspawn snarled with rage as he realised the bluff.

Vorath hurled the spear at Xyrrith then turned and dove after the Blade.

Xyrrith’s smugness evaporated as that lance of white shot at him. He veered out the way and it hissed past, a miss. Xyrrith stared after it a moment then turned to watch Vorath disappear into the jungle, then glared at the Tier 1’s. Two of them had the appearance of looking as though they’d been coming toward him, but none had actually provided any help.

‘You two, take the human the rest of the way,’ he snapped at the ones holding the creature. ‘And you two,’ he added to the other pair, ‘with me.’ The others rippled their assent, one of those he’d directed to stay with him tossing the bag containing the human’s items to the pair escorting it back. Then his chosen assistants came to float beside him, buzzing their readiness.

‘I expect you to stick close, and to defend me,’ he hissed at them.

‘We will,’ replied one, emanating determination. Xyrrith sneered. They’d stick close, but they wouldn’t be jumping in front of a killing blow. No Hornet would.

He and the other two dove toward the jungle, following after Vorath’s ripples. Around him, hundreds of crystals moved. He was ready, now. And he was pretty sure he was taking exactly the right amount of action.

The ideal, in Xyrrith’s eyes, would be that he cause trouble, and put some pressure on Vorath, hold him here just a bit. Then none could say he hadn’t at least tried. Plus, with the human being sent back he’d have at least one point solidly in his favour, regardless of how this went. The Queen was constantly telling them to find more with the correct City access, and now he didn’t need to worry about the human getting killed.

His Symbiotes took time to work. But he was using them continually and more crystals appeared every moment. The more crystals there were, the safer he was and the more options he held. Vorath had defeated that by coming straight for him before he could form enough, but since the Highspawn had left him, he was now in a position to cause some trouble.

He’d do what he could, then when things got dangerous he’d flee. If he managed well enough, perhaps even took a heroic—but minor—injury, he could even end up on his mother’s good books by the end of this mess.

###

Nicolai could hardly believe it. He’d thought he’d waited too long, when he first saw the fingerless Hornet arrive.

But now it transpired that patience truly was the greatest weapon. He couldn’t have hoped for a better opportunity.

He was suspended by rope wrapped around his chest and shoulders, held between the same two Hornets. The pair were rippling continuously to one another, casting glances back at the great cloud of crystals swirling over the jungle. He could tell they were very happy to be getting away. One of them had the bag containing his weapons, slung over a shoulder.

The pair were so excited about what was going on back there, that they seemed to have entirely forgotten about him. It had been two minutes since he was last stung, and his Soul was beginning a slow recovery. They’d forgotten their protocol, their discipline. Understandable. Many would, in a situation like this. It would cost them nonetheless.

Threat Analysis tracked the distances, and told him now was the time. He was far away enough that action now was unlikely to be detected by the ones back there. Good timing, because the Hornets had remembered they ought to sting him, and one was extending his Soul Sense tendril.

Nicolai’s attack was fast, efficient, and entirely without mercy, the movements planned and considered over quite some time.

His arms shot up, grasped the rope, and pulled on it powerfully. His body shot upwards, while the surprised Hornets, who had the rope looped around their wrists, were suddenly dragged toward one another.

The end result was that for a singular moment, he was floating in space, weightless, between the pair.

His bionic moved in a slice to one side, the laser flaring to life. He caught the eyes and face of the Hornet on that side. These bugs didn’t have eyes full of liquid like a human, so those eyes didn’t burst, but he was able to burn out a line of the compounds and set its head on fire.

Meanwhile, his other hand had seized a hold of the rightmost Hornet by its shoulder, and he twisted his body while wrenching it toward him and him toward it. His legs sprung apart just before they crashed into one another, then scissored closed—one leg wrapping around its waist, all the way so his ankle reached his other leg, which he bent so as to hold that ankle tightly between his knee. The leg lock would keep him tightly bound to the Hornet.

All this occurred in an instant, as the other one went spinning through the air, letting out a thin wail and beating at its flaming head.

The one he’d attached himself to was still staring at him in shock when he elbowed it as hard as he could in the face.

That was all that was necessary to break its Burst Shield, which popped and released a wave of protective force. Would’ve knocked him away from the Hornet, if he weren’t wrapped so very tight. However, this did do the job of interrupting the Hornet’s flight, and the world spun around them as they veered, pinwheeling toward the ground. The Hornet flailed its arms, panicked, and let the bag containing his things go. He barely managed to snatch it out the air before it could fall away and spread his equipment over the jungle.

The Hornet was recovering then, and he felt the activation of Symbiotes, saw the shimmer of its backup Shield forming. But he’d swung his bionic arm around now, and he held it, palm-out, against the Hornet’s arm.

The handcannon blasted, a .50 cal armour penetrating round fired point blank, and the Hornet’s backup Skin Shield shattered—though, admirably, it entirely deflected the shot. He hadn’t been sure if it would, thus aiming for the arm.

It was grabbing at him, then, snarling, about to attack with Symbiotes as they spiralled down.

But it froze when is bionic arm’s wrist blade slid free, and he held the sharp point right between its eyes, pressing into its chitin. The Modules had been doing their best to work out these creatures’ language. They were only about 12% of the way there, but that was enough for him to have worked out how to say roughly what he needed.

‘Do not move or I kill you,’ he rippled, then, ‘Fly!’

The Hornet was frozen for a moment, and he felt its confusion, then the fear. It’s wings burst into buzzing, spirit-parts rippling, and their descent through the air slowed. He could feel it straining to stop their fall, felt the drag of gravity all through his body as the G-force from their abrupt slowing pulled on him. The Hornet was rippling at him furiously, desperately. He just kept rippling back, ‘Fly, fly!’

The Hornet managed impressively well. These things had a lot of lift, the biological wings coupled with their spiritual mirrors. Alas, it transpired that one Hornet was still not quite strong enough to lift his weight and its own. The ground was coming up fast. He tossed the bag away then threw his body sideways, shifting his weight and the Hornet’s. They pirouetted through the air.

It stared at him through glassy black eyes after he’d turned it around. It was now below him, and he felt its confusion, then its terror.

That was the second to last thing that went through its mind. The next, as they smashed into the jungle floor and its body was given the unfortunate task of being his crumple zone, was the ground.

Even with the Hornet to soak most of the force, it felt like a giant had punched him, a huge fist smashing his whole body at once. It knocked the breath from his body and the sense from his head, vision going black, sensations jumbling.

He came to a few seconds later, everything hurting. He breathed in experimentally, felt the sudden stabbing of broken ribs. Tried to rise and for a moment he wasn’t able to control his limbs, just flailed internally in confusion before he remembered he needed to use the odd, distant system of the spine jack to move.

Then his arms twisted, got beneath him and the ground, and he peeled himself away, rising in a press-up position.

He was coated in a pale white goo. The Hornet’s body was a flattened, crumpled thing beneath him, and the goo had exploded out through the gaps in its armour. The pouring rain ran over him in rivulets, washing him clean and carrying the Hornet’s blood into the soil.

Rising, he peered around, spotted the bag caught in the branches of a large tree, not far above him, thrashing in the wind.

The skinsuit had done a lot to protect him, cradling his body and ensuring nothing bent in a way it shouldn’t, but forced to control himself through the spine jack and with broken ribs digging into his chest, he didn’t much fancy trying to climb a tree. His Soul and Symbiotes were still unusable, so no Pegasi rings or Grasping Finger either.

He opted to use the bionic arm’s laser, burning at the branch the bag was caught on until it was severed and tumbled down. He staggered over, fell to his knees beside it and dragged it open. His first priority was fishing out a spare Rejuvenation Orb from his harness. His visor snapped open and he sucked on it until it was half empty, took a further deep breath to help push his ribs into position, gritted his teeth at the painful flexing of his broken bones this caused and the maddening itchiness of them knitting back together. Various other more minor injuries were noticed by their absence as they, too, healed.

That done he stripped the original spent Rejuvenation Orb, used during the earlier fight, from inside the little spot he’d had custom-made for it within his helmet, and replaced it with a full one. The half-empty went back into the harness, then he started properly digging through the bag.

A few moments later he felt more comfortable than he had since his capture, covered by the reassuring weight of weapons and ammo. Rewrapped by chains plus his tactical harness and belt with its grenades, ammo, knives, pistol, backup Rejuvenation Orbs and packs of Oma crystals.

His assault rifle’s strap was attached to the harness, the weapon itself cradled in his hands, and his shimmer poncho—somewhat tattered, now, it’d taken some hits when the Hornets first ambushed him—hung around him, flapping in the wind.

He was back in action.