Warbound: Book Three of the Grimnoir Chronicles

  Warning buzzers began to sound. They were losing altitude. The demon was attacking the interior of their ship. It was inside the third cell of the port bag. It sensed her and shrieked in frustration. She concentrated hard on its internal fire and made the demon explode. It took even more magic to keep that fire from spreading, but there wasn’t anything she could do about the original damage.

  The suit was clumsy, making it difficult to stand, but she did. She rushed over and took hold of Fuller’s device and helped the other UBF man struggling to aim it. Sullivan needed this to work. She would not let him die in vain.

  BANG! BANG!

  More demons. They were tracking in on the ship, punching holes, and ripping the Traveler from the sky.

  BANG!

  Free City of Shanghai

  Father . . . Please help me. I need your strength. Banish this ghost from my soul. Free my limbs so that they may work. Do not let me die a failure. Help me achieve the dreams of your Dark Ocean.

  Toru opened his eyes. There were black clots in front of his vision, and then he realized that they were merely dirt clods resting on the glass of his helmet’s visor. He was lying on the grass of the parade ground.

  The imposter stood above him, his sword drawn. Apparently the show was over and the time of his execution was at hand. Yet, the imposter was looking to the sky.

  And then there was a terrible crash.

  They were blasted with a rushing wind and then a wall of dust, dirt, and grass.

  Now was his chance.

  Father! Grant me your will!

  And then Toru was filled with light.

  The light scalded him. It burned like the sun. The invading ghost inside his mind screeched, wilted, and died.

  The imposter was silhouetted above him. A shadow in front of a searing second sun. The invader in Saito’s mind was older, stronger, and far more entrenched. It did not shrivel and die before the onslaught, but it hissed and thrashed as it was scorched by the light of truth.

  Thank you, father.

  He could no longer see the imposter through the cascade of dirt. Toru willed the Nishimura armor to move, and this time it did. The tetsubo erupted from the ground and swept through the air in a blur of steel, and he felt it hit the imposter, sweeping him aside like a rowboat before a tsunami.

  The impact sent the imposter flying. Toru forced himself up and out of the hole his body had dug. He took a halting step, awkward to be in control of his muscles again, and then stumbled and went to his knees as a terrible agony ripped through is head. He was barely able to get one hand up to pull open his mempo. Flying grit struck him in the face, but he had to. He leaned forward and retched.

  The vile black liquid he’d been exposed to had been alive. Now that it was dead, his body was forcefully expelling it. Toru coughed and hacked, spitting up chunks of the foul stuff. It tasted like lethal chemicals. It poured out of his nose like snot, fell from his eyes like tears, and dripped from his ears. It burned, but he was glad for the burn, because that meant he was free.

  He spit, wiped his face with the back of one gauntlet hard enough to split his lip, and then closed the mempo back up. He was thankful for the smell of stale cigarettes, because anything was better than the stench of the Pathfinder’s mind-controlling ooze.

  The dust was settling. Iron Guard were rushing onto the parade grounds to intercept him. Most of them were human, but as the second sun flickered over them, several were clearly revealed for what they were, sacks of human skin filled with pulsating corruption. The human Iron Guard recoiled in horror as their brothers’ true nature was laid bare before them.

  The imposter was rising. Dosan Saito was not the Chairman, but the Pathfinder had built him a strong body, and he’d absorbed the magical essence of hundreds of powerful Actives. He was a deadly foe, and he was already rising, channeling the Power of a Shard in order to quickly warp his splintered bones back into place, and the Power of the Healer to knit together his ruined flesh. Toru could see the Pathfinder’s alien presence resting upon Saito. It engulfed him, it rode upon his shoulders, its invisible tentacles stuck into Saito’s ears to whisper its secrets. Other tentacles crisscrossed Saito’s head, embedding themselves into his eye sockets so that he could only see what the Pathfinder wished him to see.

  And then the scalding second sun was pointed elsewhere, the Pathfinder disappeared, and Dosan Saito once again appeared to be the Chairman.

  The explosion had dug a crater in the field. Something moved, lifting itself from the center of the hole. A gleaming white skull appeared, followed by a steel body.

  Very nice, Heavy.

  “Destroy them!” Dosan Saito ordered with the Chairman’s voice. “Destroy them!”

  But the world had plunged into chaos. Thousands of Imperium citizens were trying to escape the grounds. Some of the Iron Guard rushed toward Sullivan or Toru, while others hesitated, confused. A few had witnessed the truth from the second sun, and they turned against the infiltrators. Brother against brother, as Iron Guards attacked the corrupted. Other Iron Guards who had not seen the truth were baffled by their brothers’ seeming treachery.

  A brave Iron Guard tried to strike down an infiltrator wearing the uniform of the Chairman’s personal bodyguard, but was tackled by some of his brothers. “Did you not see! It is as we’ve been taught!” He fought off those holding him and lurched toward the infiltrator. The false Iron Guard turned and stabbed the human in the stomach with his katana. Undeterred, he crawled up the blade, grabbed the infiltrator by the face, and ripped the mask away. “Behold!” He spit blood as the infiltrator tore the sword free. The sword flashed, and the courageous Iron Guard’s head rolled away.

  The infiltrator’s true nature was revealed. The torn skin lay across his uniform like a scarf. It had a face beneath a face, bare muscle pulsing red and black under a translucent shell.

  The Iron Guard had been taught about such beings since they were inducted into the academy as children. Their worst fears had just been realized.

  There were gasps and shouts from the assembled Iron Guard as they pushed their way through the crowd. Bodies were hurled aside as the infiltrator tried to hide its corruption, lifting the torn skin like a mask. The infiltrator was struck by crackling lightning, burst into flames, and was then ripped in half by an Iron Guard who had forced himself to grow claws of bone. Flaming black corruption sprayed across the grass.

  “The Grimnoir are in league with the Pathfinder!”

  “Alert the high command!”

  “Protect the Chairman! Slay the Enemy! Slay the Grimnoir!”

  Toru lifted the tetsubo and strode toward Saito. The imposter’s guise had slipped. “There is no Pathfinder here! They seek to trick you!” Saito was panicking, realizing that the Grimnoir had twisted his own words against him to reveal his lies. The real Chairman would never panic, and that offended Toru even more. Saito was focused on using his magic to heal himself, so he wasn’t even broadcasting his voice so that all could hear. “It is a Grimnoir trick!”

  Sullivan had done well. Word would spread, faster than the imposter could stop it. All that remained was to destroy the imposter before he could rein in the righteous mission of Dark Ocean.

  Jake Sullivan crawled out of the crater he’d dug with his face. When the lightning had come streaking his way, he’d called on all the gravity and density he could to get the hell out of the way. He’d fallen through a train car once, even survived being stomped on by a demon god, and that hadn’t been anything compared to this. The amount of earth he’d moved with just his body was rather awe-inspiring. That was one damn fine spell on his back.

  The goal had been to alert the Iron Guard, and as he poked his head over the side, he’d seen Fuller’s device do its job, revealing the monsters inside. Between that and his words, the Iron Guard had immediately started hacking each other to pieces, so mission accomplished. They knew the Pathfinder was on Earth, and once that hunt started, those merciless bastards wouldn’t let up until they??
?d exterminated ever single infiltrator.

  Only problem was, now they thought he was the Pathfinder.

  If he’d flat out said that the Chairman was the bad guy, nobody would have believed him. He needed to give them something plausible to latch onto, and a man’s preconceived notions were a powerful thing.

  Toru was gunning for Saito, but much as he’d like to help, a whole mess of Iron Guard were heading for Sullivan. He called on his Power, and gravity bent outward in a wave. The amount used was unexpected, and a wall of pure force crashed out across the lawn, flattening Iron Guard and Imperium citizens. The sudden shift in gravity caused the recently constructed stand’s supports to buckle and snap. The seats came crashing down. Those who had still been inside were tossed aside or crushed beneath.

  Sullivan made himself weigh nothing, and he launched himself out of the crater in a spray of rocks. Reaching over his shoulder, he found the BAR and ripped it from the straps. He returned to his normal weight as he hit the ground. The bullpup came up spitting .30-06 rounds.

  There were Iron Guards everywhere, they all thought he was the devil incarnate, and they were doing their level best to kill him. Bullets struck his armor. Burning heat and freezing cold washed over him, but Browning’s runes kept them from reaching his skin. The insulation kept the electricity from burrowing through his skin. The BAR came sweeping around, and he pumped bullet after methodical bullet into charging soldiers.

  He had to reach Saito. Sullivan could die here, and probably would, but he needed to take that son of a bitch down first.

  A Spiker nailed him with extra gravities. Sullivan laughed, gathered it up, and flung it right back tenfold. That Spiker exploded into a pink mist. A Shard came up on the side, magically hardened claws spread wide, and remarkably enough, they managed to shear through a chunk of armor. Sullivan swiveled, jammed the muzzle of the BAR against the Shard’s ribs and blew him away.

  A big rifle bullet hit him in the forehead. It didn’t penetrate the steel plate, but it rocked Sullivan’s head back so hard his neck popped. He kept moving, changing magazines, pulling a new one from his chest while he scanned for where that came from. The sniper fired again, and had to be shooting an elephant gun because it hit so damned hard. One of Sullivan’s legs went out from under him and he fell on his chest and slid, but he’d seen the flash and the smoke from the top of the palace. He worked the BAR back and forth, shredding those windows and whoever was behind them.

  Before he could get up, there was a Brute on his back. Sullivan slammed a steel elbow into teeth, but the Brute wouldn’t shake loose. He hardened his body for the impact, and the Brute kidney-punched rock. Even then, the Brute managed to dent the suit. Sullivan made himself weigh four thousand pounds and then simply rolled over, smashing the Brute flat beneath.

  He tore gravity apart and flung it out, throwing the attacking Iron Guard off and buying himself some time. He was breathing hard. Every magical scar on his body was burning hot. Even his augmented Power couldn’t keep up with this kind of draw. Come on! Sullivan returned to his normal weight and struggled back up. Regular soldiers were rushing in, trying to put their bodies between him and Saito.

  There was a flash of light and a ring of steel on steel. Sparks flew from his chest and he was stumbling back. An Iron Guard had seemingly come out of nowhere and cleaved him in the chest with a sword. That ain’t gonna pierce this—oh hell . . . And then Sullivan realized he felt far heavier. The swordsman hadn’t been trying to pierce the armor, he’d been trying to disrupt the runes carved on it.

  He must have seen a vulnerability. The Swordsman blocked the rising BAR, stepped inside, carefully aiming his sword point at Sullivan’s eye, and then his skull opened up in a spray of red.

  Faye was standing there, holding a dripping Iron Guard sword. She’d just clumsily hacked the swordsman’s face like she was chopping wood. The swordsman started to sit up, so Faye casually leaned over, jabbed her blade between his ribs, and twisted. “Hey, Mr. Sullivan. Are you ready for me yet?”

  “Don’t let the Chairman get away,” he shouted. “Nothing else matters!”

  She nodded once and then disappeared.

  Sullivan looked around, realized Saito was retreating for the mansion with Toru right behind him, what seemed like half the Japanese army was heading Sullivan’s way, and he was standing in the middle of a field with absolutely no cover. He turned and ran for it.

  Chapter 22

  Do you wish me to give them my word? It is said that a warrior does not make promises, for everything we speak is a promise. If a warrior says he will do something, then it will be done. If a warrior speaks, it is a vow. I have already said why I am here. We will fulfill the duty of the Dark Ocean. Tell your men the entirety of the Imperium would not stand in the way of fulfilling the final command of Okubo Tokugawa. The Imperium will come to understand the coming danger or they will perish. I will make them understand the truth of this.

  —Toru Tokugawa, May 1933

  Free City of Shanghai

  Ian Wright was incoherent with pain. His leg had been destroyed by the Iron Guard. Everything below his knee was flopping uselessly at an odd angle, a bone was sticking through the skin, and there was blood everywhere. He couldn’t even put his hands on it to stop the bleeding because they were shackled, and those same chains were being used by the others to drag the lot of them back toward the tunnel and the torture chambers beneath the mansion. It wasn’t a safe place, but it sure as hell had to be a safer place than out in the open.

  He was in so much agony that he had a hard time wrapping his brain around what was going on. It was like the Iron Guard were throwing a civil war. He’d never imagined Iron Guard slaughtering each other before, but then he realized what was happening.

  Some of the Iron Guard weren’t Iron Guard at all. They weren’t even human . . . Everything Sullivan had said was true. Absolutely true. These were soldiers of the Pathfinder, and now they were eating people. He’d been a fool to doubt, and now it was too late.

  “They’re consuming magic!” Doctor Wells shouted from the far end of the chain. “Now that they’ve been found out, they will go on the offensive. They must consume as much Power as possible so they can summon their master!” And there were five powerful Actives here chained together, wounded and nearly defenseless. “Summon a demon. Hurry!”

  That was a good idea, but they’d been marked with some sort of spell to keep them from using their Powers. Ian reached for his forehead and started scrubbing hard. It had been put on with some sort of thick demon grease, so he’d probably have to rub all his skin off to cancel it out . . .

  An Iron Guard was coming their way. His skin had been burned off, and beneath it was a mass of bulging purple muscles. He looked hungry.

  Ian started scratching wildly at the mark.

  Suddenly the skinless man turned grey like a fade, sank into the ground, flailing, and disappeared. A moment later, another grey figure crawled out of the grass and became solid. Heinrich Koenig gasped for breath as he rushed over. “Hello, my friends. Busy day, no?”

  “You’re a master of fucking understatement!”

  Heinrich grabbed Ian, and suddenly he felt insubstantial. When he reformed, his shackles were lying on the ground. Heinrich repeated that with the next knight in line. “You must flee while they are paying attention to Sullivan. Carry those who cannot walk. Cross the south wall. Zhao is by the river waiting for you in a patrol boat.”

  An Imperium soldier rushed them, long rifle and bayonet aimed at Heinrich’s back, but he was knocked aside at the last instant by Wells. The alienist was still shackled, but he threw the chains over the soldier’s head and twisted until his neck snapped. Wells didn’t have access to his magic, either, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. “Just like a Rockville prison riot,” he explained after Heinrich freed him.

  “Herr Doctor, get these men out. Schnell! Hurry!” Once the last of the knights had lost their shackles, Heinrich turned toward the mansion.


  “What’re you doing?”

  Heinrich bent over, picked up the dropped Arisaka rifle, and kept walking. “Making a difference, I hope.” He worked the bolt action. “Go!”

  * * *

  The Chairman, or the guy that looked exactly like the Chairman but really wasn’t, tried to escape by Traveling.

  Faye didn’t find that very sportsmanlike at all.

  The real Chairman could Travel too, but what Faye had learned was that there was Traveling, and then there was really Traveling. Any Active could pick a nice safe spot in clear view and hop on over there, but it took an artistic touch and a whole lot of practice to do better than that. The Chairman could do darned near everything, but he wasn’t a specialist like Faye, and he’d paid for that sloppiness with his hands.

  This Chairman wasn’t even nearly as clever as the old one. Sure, he had buckets of Power and a horrible little monster helping him, but he’d never really worked for it, he’d never had to struggle and figure it out on his own. It had been given to him by the invisible octopus riding on his shoulders with its tentacles stuck in his eyes and ears. Faye simply could not abide that.

  That critter was the Pathfinder everybody had been talking about, but they couldn’t see what it really was. They had been expecting a giant, indestructible beast because that was what it had grown into last time. This thing was just a tiny little part of a great big whole spread all over the place. There was what was in our world, but the great big dangerous rest of it was still in another world, right next to this one, where it couldn’t help. The little part had to figure out how to open the door to let it in, and it had been letting humans do all the hard work for it, gathering up all the magical folks into one easy bucket to dump into its mouth hole.