‘High Rollers: I’ve checked on all my guys. Everyone’s fine. No problems.’

  That was the third to report in. All groups had confirmed their status, except for one. Book Club.

  Vikrum’s Mark flickered, and he tapped on it immediately.

  The UI immediately opened to his Quest, Hero of Humanity, and his eyes immediately moved to the part showing his Loyal.

  The number decreased in chunks before his eyes, two, three, one, two, one, over the space of two seconds.

  Nine of his people had just died, just like that, gone. He snatched the radio, thumbed the transmitter, and spat into it. ‘This is Command! Book Club, your people are dying. Stop everything, get everyone, and find out who is fucking killing you!’

  ‘Understood!’ came the leader of those in the Library, but that wasn’t all that came through from the radio.

  Gunfire crackled from its speakers. Yelling and shouting, all turned into a mishmash of sound. The heavy thump of a high calibre automatic weapon, growing louder and louder.

  The sounds cut off.

  Vikrum snarled, his mind spinning. What to do? Go there right now? He’d been preparing to move on the Upper-Jungle. His scouts had found three large groups, all factions that continuously attacked his Chosen and were increasingly well armed, in positions where they could be pinned and taken care of.

  He had a guess at who was doing this. Only one other was known to strike like lightning from a clear sky, vicious and random. Bastard. Rotors groaned in the sides of his face as his polyceramic teeth ground together.

  But as he prepared to send the orders, Cornwall presented its analysis.

  Even if he went only with himself, as there was none faster, it would still take almost twenty minutes to arrive. The Library was distant. It was likely that if he did not lead the Chosen to the upper-jungle now, that the move he’d prepared on the three groups up there would slip away. Those groups happened to be positioned in a way that made them unusually vulnerable, few places of escape.

  He could split, go himself to the Library, and send the Chosen up top.

  But Cornwall’s next statement told him this was likely pointless.

  If the attackers continue to kill the Book Club so quickly, then by the time you arrive they will be gone. They will be aware of the likelihood of reinforcements.

  Vikrum raised his hand, checked his Mark, and saw that seven more Loyal had died. Another went as he watched. They wouldn’t last much longer.

  Vikrum knew it was the right move to go with his Chosen to the top. That he should simply dismiss the Library and his people there as an inexplicable loss.

  But they were his people, and he wanted vengeance. For them, and for all the others Viper had killed. The man needed to die, and even only a small chance of killing him was enough.

  I’m going, he told Cornwall, Viper dies today.

  There is no certainty it is Viper, Cornwall argued.

  Vikrum shook his head. It is. The AI gave its version of a nod. Issue the orders, get them moving up top.

  ###

  Bullets cracked and spat around Nicolai, twinkling lights, hot with danger. But he had their measure. He knew the positions of the shooters, and he knew that lurking behind the thick stone corner, his cover was good.

  He was in the second room of the Libraries upper-floor, where he’d found the Memory Tomes, crouched to the side of the exit. His vision was lit up with shapes. Threat Analysis had been busy since the start of this fight, and once it had gotten started and he’d been forced to duck into here, it had continued to do all it could to work out their positions.

  A third of them were dead, killed in his first strike. He’d heard the words on the radio, too, as those on the bodies of the nine he’d killed lower down had spoken Vikrum’s words. The moment he’d heard that shout, he’d dashed up the stairs.

  The next moments were a blur in his memory. Pulling with the Grasping Finger. Pegasi ring. Grenades. Gunshots. He’d scythed through them on his way to the additional room, into which he’d retreated as they started firing on him. He’d killed one of the Cultivators, as he’d focused fire on them.

  Maintaining the initiative was of significant importance in combat like this. Making use of it, was even more important. By throwing himself into them before they properly reacted to the warning on the radio, he’d been able to wreak havoc and lay waste.

  The only problem was that there were sixteen of them left, and now he was trapped in this room.

  The battlefield was now split into sections. Amongst the shelves on one side of this upper floor, lurked the Guardian. The Chosen occupied the area in front of the stairwell door. Nicolai held the Memory Tome room. Jo and Beth were down the stairs, working to keep the Chosen—who were attempting to press down and escape—pinned.

  They were doing well, in large part because of Beth’s Symbiote which was very effective in the stairwell. In time the Chosen would push through, but they’d suffer significant losses.

  Nicolai intended to see them dead before that happened, but he’d encountered a problem. The Library Guardian had been focusing on him ever since he’d arrived. It recognised him, and even though these guys had been holding it here and whittling it down for quite some time, it still wanted him dead first.

  He had merged with Threat Analysis and Cyberwarfare at the start of the fight, and together they had come up with a plan. He’d waited for his moment, observing the Chosen and the undead through every method available to him. They were now aware of the invasion Cyberwarfare had enacted on the Local.

  But that wasn’t enough. Nicolai had seized control of the remaining drones, and posted them throughout the upper floor, hidden away. He had eyes everywhere, and with the edge in the Local war, he was free to use grenades with maximum effect.

  They corrected that quickly. They threw chaffbangs and the filaments these grenades flung through the air interrupted the Local, making it unuseable for everyone in the area. He still had access to a pair of drones near to the Guardian, due to how the chaffbang filaments were positioned, but all others were unavailable.

  He sent his rapier out and it spun through the air. The Chosen fired on it as it danced, and some bullets were wasted before the leader called out to cease fire. That was enough.

  Nicolai slithered closer to the exit then tossed a concussion grenade. He slipped back as a rain of razor sharp paper came from the Guardian. Moving forward again, he threw more grenades. In fact, he threw all of his grenades, and on each of them he altered the timing by a different amount. The longest was at twenty seconds. The continuous fragmentation and concussion grenade explosions would keep the Chosen busy, force them to take cover or try and throw the grenades away. That was necessary because if he didn’t give them such pressure, they would likely realise that if they threw grenades at him, it would be equally effective. Just as important, it would keep them off his back while he dealt with the Guardian.

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  When the first grenade went off, he lunged out of the exit, knowing their guns were low on ammo. He deflected the few rounds that came his way and used his Soul Sense to bat aside the paper that homed in on his position, dodging those that were launched in simple straight lines.

  He charged towards the Guardian, winding his way through the shelves. He arrived in an instant and saw it become mist, the Guardian predicting his attack. An incorrect prediction that only gave him time to move after his true target. He used the Pegasi ring and Grasping Finger to launch himself to the top of the shelves, where he sighted the orange-glowing book, floating in the air.

  A barrage of gunshots tore it apart.

  The undead was coming for him, flowing through the mist. It knew it had no other choice, that it should have attacked immediately rather than shying away, and now it sought to make up for that mistake.

  He’d known it would come and was ready. Blue lightning crawled over him as he dodged out the way, striking at it with his Soul Sense. He wanted to make it leave its mist form, and he felt he could do so without the lightning.

  He struck at it with Soul Sense, the rapier forming the edge of his attack as it sliced through the mist. The undead’s Soul Sense was dispersed, loose, hard to hit, but as he sliced away he knew it was sustaining damage. He chased after it as it fled. It turned and lunged at him, but he was ready and slid aside, avoiding the charge. He punched his palm out as it passed by and the weight of his Soul caught it in the side.

  The undead’s Soul Sense broke and it reappeared, the mist form fading. Blue lightning slammed into it the moment it appeared, and it fell limp to the ground.

  Nicolai landed beside it and unleashed a screaming hail of rounds from extremely short range, pouring them into its stunned form. He twisted his arms as he fired, the buckshot dispersed up and down its form. Gunsmoke and chunks of bone and flesh and wood spewed upwards and outwards as the 12 gauge punched through it and into the floor.

  The AA-12 clicked empty at the same moment as the undead released a sudden spiritual blast, something that slapped at him and made him pause for just a moment. He had already retreated a few feet backwards in a reflexive jerk before he realised what it was. Not an attack—it had simply been a powerful Aura ripple, released as the undead’s form was destroyed so completely and utterly that its surprised Soul was forced to disperse into the Aura. As the smoke cleared he saw that it was no more than scattered shards of bone and leathery chunks of flesh.

  He approached and lowered himself to grasp something that shimmered within the remnants of its body. An ornate silver circlet. The Imbued item. As he tucked it away he heard the last of the numerous grenades he’d timed and thrown go off.

  He slung the poncho over him once more then flew upwards to the top of the nearest shelf. He crept forwards. The Chosen were now pinned at the stairway, and though their cover of wooden desks had sufficed against the undead’s paper missiles, it would not against shotgun rounds.

  A fresh magazine slotted into the AA-12 and he took aim at one he had an angle on. A squeeze of the trigger sprayed the man’s brains against the wall. Nicolai dropped off the shelf as their return fire came, rapidly relocating to a new position.

  Peering around a shelf he sighted down the AA-12, found another target, and fired. Their shots sprayed at that spot, hitting nothing because once again he immediately moved off to reposition.

  They really didn’t have a lot they could do, now. He was difficult to find back here in his poncho. They’d lost all their drones. Their cover was bad whereas he had many places to hide, plus a shield.

  Still, he’d expected they would keep fighting. Thus he was surprised when he heard the cry.

  ‘We surrender! We give up! We’re dropping our weapons!’

  The single drone he still had control over got into a position where it could see them, and he saw they were doing just that. Nicolai moved forwards, coming into sight of them. They all had their hands up. As he approached, he checked these were all of them by communicating with Jo and Beth and sending the drone into the stairs.

  ‘As in the Corporate Convention, we are now prisoners of war,’ announced the leader of them. ‘I hope you will treat us—‘

  His words were silenced by a shotgun blast that blew his head in half. Nicolai turned the shotgun on the rest of them as they cringed and screamed.

  Unarmed people realising they were about to be executed almost always reacted the same. He’d once imagined that in those final moments, it would be inevitable that most people would try something. A pointless charge at the shooter. An attempt to flee for the nearest cover. But it was always the same. They just put their hands around their heads and cringed as the gunshots moved down the line.

  Once it was done he reloaded and began picking through the corpses. A short time later he saw Jo and Beth emerge warily from the stairwell, guns ready.

  ‘Don’t worry, they’re all dead,’ he communicated.

  The girls didn’t look as reassured as he’d expected.

  Beth licked her lips and swallowed, eyes on the dead. ‘We heard. Weren’t they, uh, surrendering? Should you have killed them?’

  ‘They’re Chosen and we don’t have the facilities to keep prisoners,’ he explained.

  Jo was shaking her head, appearing disappointed. ‘Is that all you feel?’

  What had he felt? Nicolai considered. His Mask was feeling a lot, that was for sure, but he didn’t have much interest in experiencing those feelings and was keeping it at a distance.

  As to himself…

  ‘I felt the recoil,’ he told her, in a rare moment of honesty. ‘Let’s go. Our objective is complete and the Chosen will send reinforcements.’ He’d already checked for loot, and had seized some decent guns and a few Oma crystals, but it transpired he’d been slightly too free with his grenades—the Cultivator’s corpses were smears and chunks of gore, with no sign of their Symbiotes.

  Regardless, he had the Guardian’s Imbued, which promised to be of great use once he reached Tier 2, and he’d dealt a blow to the Chosen. A good day’s work.

  As he moved, the Radios crackled. Curious, he leaned down to a corpse and tugged the a Radio free from a bloodstained tactical vest.

  ###

  The radio had been silent for some time. Vikrum had seen his Loyal counter continue to tick down, though more slower now. Whatever fight was occurring was going less quickly. But as he watched the number ticked down by another few, and Cornwall informed him that the losses matched up with the number who had been part of the Book Club.

  Even so, he spoke over the radio. ‘Book Club?’ asked Vikrum. ‘Book Club?’

  He heard a faint click. Frowning, he put his ear to the radio. He could hear breathing. The dim, dark feeling growing within him told him that this was not the breathing of the field leader he’d put in charge of those in the Library.

  ‘Viper,’ he snarled.

  ‘Vikrum,’ spoke a voice from the radio. Where Vikrum had snarled Viper’s name, the man spoke his own in an odd tone. A kind of savouring. Like he was happy that at long last, they were speaking.

  Vikrum wasn’t far now, only five minutes away. If he could get the man talking, maybe he’d stay for longer. He just needed a little time, and he’d put an end to Viper for good.

  ‘You know, Viper, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you,’ he began. His tone, aided by Cornwall, was conversational. His movements had changed slightly; he was still running but at a very slightly slower speed, so as to necessitate soundless movement. He didn’t want Viper to hear the clatter of his sprint. The words he spoke were designed to draw someone in, make them want to listen, make them want to respond. He let the pause stretch. ‘This is what I’ve been wanting to say: in this place, there are—‘

  A derisive laugh burbled from the radio. With a click the transmission switched off.

  Vikrum let out a snarl of rage, and his footsteps sped to maximum speed. He felt an urge to dash the radio on the ground but Cornwall stayed his hand.

  An army of drones moved with him, the only things other than Gilvine capable of keeping up with his speed. They spread wide through the castle around him. He had powerful transmitters capable of controlling them over a wide range, and with Cornwall he could use hundreds with ease.

  ###

  Nicolai left a line of drones between him as the Library, a method to extend his reach through them, as he and the girls moved off. Through the last in line he saw a wave of drones arrive. With them, came a person, a Cyborg.

  Vikrum.

  He had that drone and the next two in line destroy themselves as Vikrum’s cyberwarfare capabilities lunged at them, breaking the end of the chain as the other drones flew back to join him. He knew that Vikrum’s drones would be spreading out as the man chased after him, but he wasn’t concerned. He was distant, the castle was a maze, and he knew how to hide his tracks. Vikrum wouldn’t be catching him.

  Nicolai considered what he’d seen. Vikrum had come alone. He was a Level 3 Cyborg, but even so… that was an interesting decision. Some might even call it unwise.

  Vikrum was definitely not a happy Cyborg. Nicolai felt that the gloating chuckle he’d fed through the radio had been a nice touch. He suspected it’d struck a nerve.

  In truth, he didn’t feel any sense of gloating over killing Vikrum’s people. Now the moment was passed, he felt little more than the satisfaction of a job well done. But he was well aware of how emotion could cloud one’s vision and lead them astray. The laugh, therefore, was a form of psychological warfare. An attack aimed at destabilising—in some small way—Vikrum’s mental state.

  Things like that mattered, in his view. Ultimately, everything mattered. That was how you won. Lots of little acts, alongside a few big ones, all adding up over time.