Salvo Island

  Aurelian scratched his chin as he paced idly, waiting for communications to be restored. Emergency ultra-high frequency systems had managed to regain contact with the Sky-Carriers and through them the units deployed in their AOR.

  That accounted for less than half of Vanguard forces deployed globally.

  While Kincade managed the crisis, the inquisitor shifted his attention to the causation. He came to the determination that this was not an attack from an outside entity. Every power had conducted cyber attacks against the Vanguard in its first year of founding and probed them constantly. They were never malicious, but more investigative in nature. They were never successful in breaching their network. Therefore, this had to have come from within.

  "Where is the Over-Commander?" He asked Sky-Admiral Kincade, who was briefly interrupted from his close watch over the techs investigating the failure.

  He had to think for a moment. "I'm not sure."

  "He should be here." Aurelian pointed out. "He should have made a bee line for the command tower the moment he noticed a communications outage."

  Kincade nodded. "That is strange. Last I remember, he was headed to the ISR building with a security detachment. Part of the stolen nuke investigation."

  "I'd like to go find him, then. By your leave sir?" Aurelian asked.

  "I suppose there's no point in you staying here with the system buggered as it is. Let me know when you find him." Kincade offered a parting salute, which Aurelian returned.

  On his way out, Aurelian grabbed a cadre of security personnel.

  "Come with me."

  Washington D.C.

  Ensign Perelli's element stacked up on one side of a barricaded door, performing ammunition checks. With the four Rifles, vampire prisoner and their frame was an attachment of four Secret Service agents in full tactical kit. They were there to act as guides and bolster the team, but Perelli instructed them to remain well back and let his men do the bulk of the fighting. If they encountered an actual vampire beyond the doors, their M4s and kevlar weren't going to do them a whole lot of good.

  "Fast and violent. Just like the killhouse drills." Perelli told them and nodded to Tetsu.

  The robot nodded back and with a flashbang clenched in his fist, he punched a whole directly through the wooden doors. There was a loud pop and yelling on the other side.

  "Breach!"

  Tetsu ripped the door off its hinges and the team flooded the room. Through the smoky post-detonation haze, they picked out five targets and quickly put them down with a single fusillade.

  "Got one thrall." Tora called out, examining a dead body. "The bloodsucker's gotta be nearby."

  "Left hallway. All the way down. Right hook at the Tee. Don't stop." Perelli called out.

  The team filed out quickly, not letting their guard down. Muzzles not only swept left to right but up and down, checking for tripwires or the particularly enterprising thrall that might try to hide in the overhead.

  The White House hallway was littered with bodies. All in suits, but some with the red scarf the cultists wore and some with the tied white cloth the loyalists did. There were few unmarked bodies, indicating this coup had had lines clearly drawn before it even happened.

  Occasionally targets presented themselves. Traitors popped out of corners or side rooms in single or two-person ambushes. They were always put down quickly. The pistol-caliber rounds most of them used pinged off of Vanguard composite carapace.

  With brutal efficiency they made it to the T in the hall and made their right turn. Only to come face to face with a grotesque sight.

  "What the fuuuuuck." Milo hissed, lowly.

  At the end of the hall, directly in the path to their objective, was a humanoid form but mutated beyond recognition.

  More than half the skin on its body had turned a jet black and warped shapes formed from the flesh. None of its face remained recognizable. Half was hardened like stone while the other half drooped and melted is if lava had been poured on it. Sections of the skull were exposed, and from those openings horn-like growths protruded. The eye on the fleshy side burned a translucent yellow as hot fire flickered from the optic. The flame did not seem to spread or hurt the creature. Thick black fluid leaked from exposed sections all over the body. Hands ended in long black claws.

  It's movements were jagged and forced, clearly suffering from poor motor control. However, looks could be deceiving and no one approached.

  "What is that?" One of the agents asked with fear creeping into his voice.

  "Demonic entity." Vespera answered, not taking her eyes off the creature, as stunned by the rest at the shambling cursed being before them.

  "Ensign, you need to retreat." She told Perelli.

  The Ensign didn't answer. He leveled his rifle at the abomination and shot it, the AP round burrowing through its shoulder. Black blood splattered over the walls beyond. Where it did, flames flickered to life as the liquid had a volatile reaction to being exposed to oxygen.

  He shot it again, this time an HE cartridge that impacted the right armpit. The arm was blown off by the explosion, but remained attached by a thin strand of blackened flesh. The black ichor congealed around the limb before it hit the floor. The black mass squirmed and in seconds the arm was reconnected right back into its socket; as if nothing had happened to it.

  "Fire at will."

  An entire firing squad opened up at the demonic entity. Five HR-15s spewed .30-06 rounds of various armor-piercing or high-explosives mixes alongside the four SS 5.56 M4s. In seconds the ground at their feet was coated in spent casings. The fusillade lasted five seconds of continuous firing.

  The flame went out in the oily creatures eye. Half of its face was blown off and its body had been fully riddled. The rapid expenditure of firepower overwhelmed its ability to pull itself together and the ravaged corpse fell to the ground and ceased moving. The flames around it withered and died with it.

  The team approached cautiously, not taking their sights off of it.

  "Where'd it come from?" Milo asked the obvious question.

  Vespera answered him. "That was a demonic possession of a thrall. Highly unorthodox. The only way that happens is if you're dealing with a particularly cruel vampire or said vampire lost control."

  The Rifle shuddered to imagine what kind of vampire a creature like Vespera might consider "particularly cruel".

  Perelli ordered everyone forward. "Look sharp. Destination ahead. Let nothing else get in our way."

  Their boots stomped forward towards the media room. Milo lingered and produced a thermite grenade, intending to burn the corpse, but was quickly stopped by Tora.

  "Idiot. You will burn the building down."

  The door to the media room was barricaded shut, held in place by hastily stacked furniture. Steel sleeves, meant to jam the hydraulic door closers in an active shooter scenario, locked the frame in place.

  "Two stacks. Either side," the Ensign ordered. "Tetsu, probe it. Make sure there aren't any civilians on the other side."

  The frame approached, deploying an optical probe. As soon as he neared the door, it exploded outward. The blast ripped down the corridor, knocking everyone off their feet. Tetsu was thrown backward, swallowed by the bloom of a fireball.

  Wood splinters and steel shrapnel tore down the hallway in a cyclone of deadly debris. Everyone was hurled back against walls or into each other as the blast wave surged down the passage. Kurt was slammed into an alcove.

  His head spun, his muscles screamed as he struggled to rise. When he finally got upright, he could barely see five feet ahead. Smoke and dust filled the air. He flicked on his infrared. A severed arm lay in front of him. He reached out to grab it. It was Tetsu’s.

  “Tetsu, status?” he called out.

  Only static crackled over the comms. Down the hall, the frame's body lay half-buried in rubble. The several-hundred-pound machine had been flung the entire length of the corridor, landing on its back behind the formation. Its limbs were twisted at angles not within designer's specifications, and deep gouges marred its chassis.

  “Tetsu!” Kurt shouted, rising to help the downed machine as if it were a fellow soldier. But Tora grabbed him, forcefully pulling him back.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “It’s a machine!” the samurai barked. “He fulfilled his purpose. Eyes forward.”

  Kurt clenched his teeth. Tora was right, but that didn’t make it any easier. He turned his attention back to the doorway.

  Perelli recovered quickly. He was surprised most by the fact that he wasn’t surprised. This day had been into a brutal slog. He was getting beat to hell. A few more dents and a little more dust now clung to his armor, tinting it a foggy gray. As the dust cleared, a new horror emerged between them and the media room.

  Vespera stood at the center of the passage, glaring at the figure ahead. She was far less affected by the blast than the Rifles.

  A demon blocked their path. That was the only word for the nightmare now facing them. It resembled the creature they had encountered earlier but this one still retained remnants of a human form. Half of its body remained pale and fleshy, while the other half was wrapped in sleek black carapace. Unlike the lesser entity, this one bore a smooth, almost elegant, matte finish.

  Vespera’s eyes narrowed. “Svetlana.”

  The vampire looked drastically different from when Vespera had last seen her. Only one side of her face remained intact. The eye on that side glowed with a translucent blue fire that didn’t burn her. Black ichor oozed from deep wounds across her entire body. Her hands ended in jagged claws, and black fluid dripped from her fangs like venom. Where the ichor pooled, faces formed that laughed maniacally and without an ounce of humor. They were short lived and vanished like ghosts after a few seconds.

  “Traitor,” Svetlana said, her gaze locking onto Vespera. Her voice was rough echoed heavily, as though multiple beings were speaking at once through a bag of gravel.

  She stepped forward. She reached out a claw and dragged it along the wall, blue flames burst from the contact point and unnatural black ichor bled down the surface. In the pooling fluid, new faces formed and smiled. They laughed before vanishing, only to be replaced by more.

  A long, forked tongue flicked from behind her sharpened teeth; tasting the air like a serpent.

  “You have thrown in with the slaves,” Svetlana hissed. “I always knew you were weak.”

  Vespera stepped back with every advance Svetlana made. She tried to maintain her composure, but a horrified expression fought its way across her face.

  “What is this?” Perelli asked, his grip tightening on his HR-15. A sliver of uncertainty bled into his voice.

  “She’s bonded with a cascade,” Vespera answered.

  “Like you tried to do in L.A.?”

  “No. I would have been able to control it. She has been possessed by a demon. Her will is no longer her own. We need to leave. Now,” she said urgently, turning to retreat—only for Tora to hold her fast.

  Perelli nearly chuckled despite himself. He doubted the self-important vampire could have ever controlled a demon.

  “Kurt,” he called out.

  “Up,” the Rifle replied, already anticipating the order.

  He sprinted forward with a fully extended anti-tank launcher. Dropping to one knee, he aimed the tube squarely at the half-demon.

  “Clear backblast!”

  With a sharp pop, the missile launched and streaked down the hallway toward the target. Only for the exact same thing that happened in L.A. to occur again.

  The creature raised her clawed hand, and the missile halted midair. It fought to keep moving forward, but its rocket motor sputtered out, leaving the dud round suspended uselessly in the air. Svetlana pointed and the missile rotated, flipping to aim back at them.

  “Get down!” Perelli shouted.

  The projectile rocketed back toward them with the same speed it had been fired with.

  In a single motion, Perelli dropped his rifle and drew his blade. The holy sword came to life, its glowing edge extending into full length. He slashed upward. The glowing blade sliced the missile cleanly in two.

  The warhead split, and the explosive package failed to explode as the detonator was destroyed. The two halves fell harmlessly on either side of the hall.

  The Rifle almost dropped the sword, his fingers going numb. A wave of relief and adrenaline crashed over him and mixed. He couldn't believe he survived such a move. A foolish and realistically hopeless move that he shouldn't have been able to pull off. But here he was, standing, alive.

  Confidently, he dropped the point of the sword low and let it arc in a full circle around his hand before bringing it back up, leveled directly at the advancing horror.

  Svetlana growled, "Why have you come?" She spoke as if addressing the blade itself.

  "Oblivion comes." Answered Perelli.

  The distorted creature smiled crookedly and advanced; claws raking the walls, leaving trails of smoldering blue fire. "Angel's fire is no match for me." The demon said.

  Vespera weighed her options. She could run or she could stay. Both invited death for her.

  She held out her chains to Perelli. "Release me." She urged him.

  He didn't take his eyes off his adversary. "Not happening."

  Svetlana lunged.

  She moved fluidly, like a blur of black liquid and pale flesh. She bypassed Perelli and his sword met empty air. She slammed into Kurt before he could fire. He hit the wall again, this time causing him to up cough blood into his helmet, and crumpled. Milo fired twice, then had to throw himself backward as claws shredded through the space where his chest had been a moment before. The bullets did nothing to stop the onslaught.

  Tora interposed himself with a furious shout, swinging his curved blade. It scraped along Svetlana’s arm with a screech but didn’t pierce. She swatted him aside, and he skidded across the floor on his stomach.

  Vespera stepped in. Still chained, she moved with practiced precision. Her shoulder struck Svetlana’s center of gravity just enough to shift her momentum. Mere contact with the entity caused her skin to blister with acid-like burns where it contacted. She recoiled in pain. Perelli saw the opportunity and lunged in, the holy blade singing through the air in defense of his team.

  It met an unnatural resistance before even striking flesh or armor. Something invisible stopped the blade. He could feel it humming along the edge. A cold power like deep ocean pressure. Still, he forced it forward, managing to slice a shallow gash across Svetlana’s side. the damage was entirely cosmetic.

  Black ichor hissed out. It didn’t slow her. She struck Perelli with the back of her hand. He slammed hard into the far wall and was immediately stunned. Milo tried to drag him away, leveling his HR-15 and firing wildly, but Svetlana was on them in a heartbeat. The usually cocky Rifle was struck with fear, too much to even belt off a sarcastic one-liner.

  Then the rubble shifted upwards.

  Tetsu rose from the collapse.

  The frame was ruined. A third of his sensor pod was gone, revealing flickering circuit boards beneath. Coolant sprayed from a breach in his torso and amber hydraulic fluid flowed from ruptured lines like blood. But he moved forward with mechanical resolve.

  Svetlana raised a long clawed hand like a mythical Sword of Damocles, ready to come down on the helpless soldiers. But she was stopped short. A metal hand gripped her shoulder tightly.

  "I am Iron. I kill!" came the voice from behind her, broken and low.

  He detonated his capacitor banks, delivering a high amp current directly into the demon.

  The resulting blast was all he had left. Blue-white light filled the corridor. Lightning arced off of her. Svetlana reeled, screeching, clawing at the air as the pulse disrupted her corrupted senses.

  Tetsu didn’t follow up. He collapsed to his knees and fell forward, systems crashing.

  He looked sideways at Kurt. "Ride or die..." His voice faded into silence.

  Smoke rolled through the hallway, mixing with coolant mist and the acrid stench of ichor. Perelli groaned, recovering. Milo helped him up.

  The demon was stunned into inaction, allowing everyone to recover and put distance between them and it. It twitched from the lingering current.

  "How do we kill this thing?" Tora asked.

  The demon twisted its head toward him menacingly. "Can't kill what was never alive."

  Vespera cried out. "Why? Why did you do this to yourself?"

  "As if you ever cared, traitor!" The demon answered.

  It was true, Vespera never cared. Svetlana was a rival, a rung to be stepped on, nothing more. But the horrifying abomination that she stared at now was beyond barbaric. Even for her.

  "You're right I don't. But you did. The Svetlana I knew would never sacrifice everything like this. She was smarter than this. She knows the power of interfacing with hell. She would have known to channel through a series of mortals, like I did, to manage risk."

  Then something clicked.

  Vespera realized, "Persephone did this to you."

  "I did this! I am more powerful that any vampire on this miserable plain of existence!"

  "No, Persephone wanted you expended. Like a resource. Like she did to me. She needed our skills, she needed us to do something self destructive that would have benefitted her!"

  Vespera's mind ran rampant as pieces fell into place. Then realization...

  "I was the tool to organize a resistance against her that would allow her to usurp the Council of Equals and take power for herself. That was why she wanted me as her executor." Her eyes flicked up to the demon. "And you... Svetlana what did you do?!"

  Salvo Island

  Inquisitor Aurelian strode into the lobby of ISR Headquarters, flanked by a team of heavily armed security personnel. His boots clicked sharply against the immaculate marble floor. He immediately knew something was wrong.

  A single Kilo-class frame manned the front desk.

  "Where is your handler?" Aurelian asked the bot.

  "Lieutenant Neferet is out sick today with food poisoning," the frame answered in a monotone.

  Aurelian waited several seconds, expecting it to mention the second missing security guard. When it didn’t, he prompted it sternly.

  "And the other?"

  "Chief Morrison developed a nosebleed and was relieved to his quarters," it answered.

  Aurelian frowned. That wasn’t right. There should be at least one human guard on watch at all times, never a frame all alone. Someone else should have replaced the guard.

  There was a strange smell in the air. Aurelian’s acute senses picked it apart. There was a hint of gunpowder, overpowered by the chlorine sting of bleach. In all the times he had visited ISR HQ, it had never smelled like anything.

  Several tense seconds passed between him and the frame.

  He drew his sidearm on the frame at the exact moment it drew on him. The Roman was faster. His weapon delivered a high-caliber caseless round directly into the base of the frame’s neck. The sensor pod was severed cleanly, the large bolt popping it off in a shower of sparks. He delivered a second round to the waist joint, and the bot collapsed.

  Aurelian regarded the sidearm with newfound respect. He had been initially unsure of the new caseless .50-caliber, semi-guided tech-fest of a pistol that was being rolled out to replace the decidedly inadequate 9mm models, but he was starting to like it.

  “Little bastard,” the squad leader muttered, his team keeping their muzzles trained on the fallen Kilo. “I never trusted these things.”

  “I don’t think this was isolated,” Aurelian sighed, the weight of the situation settling in.

  “Send a message to Central: ‘Suspect Kilo-class frames compromised. Strongly recommend removing all Kilo-class frames from the order of battle pending further investigation. Send reinforcements to ISR HQ. Building compromised.’ Go.”

  ISR HQ. Top Floor.

  Tycho was fading, his blood loss growing critical. The MPs had done what they could by keeping pressure on the wound and dressing it, but he needed a trauma medic. Alas, he hadn’t accepted his fate yet.

  He gripped his loaded pistol with all the strength he had left. This was a poor place to die. As he felt his life begin to fade its last, he intended to dive out from cover and charge the traitorous Kilos. They would surely kill him in seconds, but maybe he could buy time for the MPs to get some shots in and save themselves.

  As his consciousness began to slip, he stood up, swaying slightly. He was ready to make the ultimate sacrifice.

  “Sir? What are you doing?” one of them asked.

  “I’m gonna distract them. Make good use of it, troopers,” he told them.

  The Rifles were shocked by his words, knowing what he was about to do but unable to stop him.

  The Over-Commander verified a round in the chamber and aligned the sights with his eye. He took in a final, momentous breath.

  The elevator dinged.

  He froze.

  The doors opened, and a storm spilled out. Armed tactical security personnel surged forward, guns blazing. The Kilos guarding the control room door were caught off guard. They fell quickly, riddled with bullets. The troopers laid it on thick, ensuring they were completely destroyed.

  As they secured the hallway, an Inquisitor followed them out. Tycho immediately met his gaze. He let go of the breath he had been holding.

  “Apologies for my timing,” the Inquisitor said. “I’m sure that would have been a brilliant last stand for the history books.”

  “I am in no mood for humor,” Tycho said darkly.

  “Humor?” Aurelian cocked his head. His words had been completely serious.

  Tycho’s strength rallied. “Get those doors open. I’ll shoot Sierra myself.”

  “You need a medic,” Aurelian told him.

  “I’ve still got a couple liters left. Just help me walk,” Tycho demanded.

  Aurelian nodded to a guard, who took Tycho by his good arm and propped him up.

  They joined the Rifles, who were stacked up and preparing to breach the control room. They didn’t have breaching charges, but a soldier with a plasma cutter ignited his flame and prepared to slice the door open. Just as he did, the door slid open.

  A disheveled Penny Sierra greeted them. Her pantsuit was marred and wrinkled with sweat. She had bruises on her arms and a pistol held loosely in hand. They all leveled their weapons at her.

  “About fucking time,” she said bitterly, flicking a cigarette butt to the ground. She didn’t bother extinguishing it, letting the embers glow one last time before starving out on the metal floor. Ignoring the many guns pointed at her, she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Come in.”

  Aurelian and Tycho shared a confused look. Apprehensively, they lowered their weapons.