*******
The perimeter of the dueling ring was lined with the dejected faces of defeated soldiers, each anxiously awaiting another chance to meet Arus in combat. They were marked by the scars of battle—a narrow slice here, a minor puncture there—but all were eager to return to the ring, each man hoping to be the first to crack the implant's seemingly impenetrable defenses. To Truce's credit, the device performed remarkably well; no man lasted longer than a few minutes before blood was drawn and the next challenger called. Every soldier in the cavern crowded around the ring, each with at least one or two slices on their cheeks or arms.
To say that Arus had been surprised by his newfound abilities would be a drastic understatement, but he frequently reminded himself that it was the implant's skill rather than his own. He watched his sword whirl in techniques he'd never seen Master Eaisan perform, and his defense never faltered. The exercise had been meant to help Truce see flaws in the implant's design and to seek out holes in Arus' combat abilities. But thus far, no such holes had been revealed. The machine was flawless.
And it had turned Arus into the perfect swordsman.
His weapon returned to its sheath as he stepped away from his opponent, a shifty-eyed Mage named Nevin with a rusted sword and an inflated ego. Truce was inspecting the soldier's forearm where Arus' blade had made contact. Nevin insisted the mark was from his previous attempt against the boy, but Arus knew better. So did Truce. "You're out, Nevin," he said, shaking his head. "To the back of the line with you."
The Mage stormed off in a trail of obscenities laced with an occasional threat directed toward Arus. Most of the others had been gracious about their losses, but Nevin was about as mature as a four-year-old child and perhaps half as smart. Muert stepped into the ring for his third round with Arus, signaling that every challenger in the cavern had been defeated twice. Muert had surprised Arus after their first round, bowing in a show of respect after receiving a narrow slice on his chin. Between battles, the soldier had suggested he and Arus train together, forcing Truce to explain that the implant only responded to his own voice. Muert had almost seemed disappointed at that. He'd been a gracious opponent despite his menacing appearance. It was almost surprising that he was one of the Vermillion Mages.
The enormous sword rested across Muert's shoulders as the two locked eyes. Arus' hand moved to the hilt of his weapon, but a shout from the crowd interrupted. The Mages split apart with quiet murmurs, making way for F'Ledro.
"Boss!" he shouted, rushing to Truce's side. "The prisoners have escaped!"
The murmurs grew to a dull roar at that, with many drawing their weapons and rushing for the exit. Truce glanced briefly at Arus. He had to be considering whether the implant was ready for a real combat situation. Muert nodded respectfully to Arus before following the others.
"How did they get free?" Truce demanded of F'Ledro. "Were you taunting the girl again?"
"No! I swear to it!" F'Ledro insisted. "Damien came for them. I counted nearly fifty of our soldiers fallen at his hands. All patrols from level three up!"
Again, Truce looked at Arus, more intently this time. "And where is he now?"
"I saw them heading for the first level. I sent what remaining soldiers I could find, but it couldn't have been more than twenty men."
"Arus, do a scan of the entire Underworld," Sartan ordered. "Find my prisoners."
Despite Arus' inward objections, the circular display in the upper right corner of his vision shifted to the center and grew, the words "Scan in Progress" glowing across the center. When they disappeared, the circle rounded into a full sphere displaying an assortment of white dots within a series of interconnected tubes. Without fully understanding how, Arus knew that he was looking at a map of the Mages' lair and that the glowing dots represented the people within the network of caves. Somehow, the implant had the ability to locate and track other life forms. Incredible.
A section of the map flashed momentarily before enlarging, showing twenty-six—he knew the number without counting; how, he could not say—dots of white slowly scaling a steep incline. "They're in the entrance tunnel," he heard himself say. "There are twenty-two soldiers in pursuit. Estimated time to escape at their current movement speed: four minutes."
Truce's eyes bulged. "We've no time to lose. Come! If they escape, they'll surely return with an army!"
Olock and F'Ledro fell into step behind Sartan as they followed the other Mages into the corridor. Arus unwillingly followed. I don't want to fight my friends! I've got to stop this somehow. What am I going to do!? Please, Master Eaisan, help me!
"Sir," Olock began as they rounded a corner, "I thought you intended for Arus to fight their army. Why not let them bring the Keroko Militia? We could finish them all!"
"I don't like to fight in my own territory," Truce said. "Besides, it's not the Keroko Militia I'm worried about. If Damien returns here with the Aeden Alliance, not only will they bomb the Underworld, but I fear they'd overpower Arus. He may be ready to take on the locals of this wretched planet, but I don't know how comfortable I am pitting him against an intergalactic military power like the Alliance. Not yet, anyway."
Intergalactic military? Wretched planet? They're . . . aliens?! No wonder they have such power! They aren't even human! What in blazes have I gotten myself into?!
The group raced through tunnel after endless tunnel, winding around curves and cutting through caves and dens of varying size while Arus worked over the situation in his mind. The implant had to have some kind of weakness to be exploited. Nothing was perfect, least of all something manmade. The mechanism's hold only seemed to reach as far as his motor functions; his consciousness remained intact and uncontrolled. Perhaps there was some way to use that to his advantage. Personal will could be a very powerful thing—Anton proved that—but the implant had thus far ignored Arus' resistance. What could he possibly do to disrupt the bloody thing's hold? Little was known of machines in Keroko beyond the fact that they'd been forbidden. Who besides Truce would be able to reverse the mechanism's instructions?
A chill ran through him as a different thought emerged. What if my condition isn't reversible?
The group fell silent as they entered one of the larger dens where bloody and charred remains of countless Mages lay scattered across the floor. A skilled magic user had obviously bested them, though it frightened Arus to think that such a man was helping his friends escape. Truce muttered something unintelligible and moved on. It almost sounded like a prayer.
The implant's sensor grid flashed briefly, noting that three of the four escapees had made it to the surface. The last was holding back a bit near the top of a sharp incline that led back to the desert. Truce drew his blade as they entered an intersection of tangled forks, shouting praises to his people. The men rushed toward battle with a lust for blood; a stark contrast to Arus' own feelings. Still, his body moved with the swiftness of an assassin preparing to strike, sword in hand, boots barely touching the dirt between steps. Flashes of light and deafening explosions boomed on the other side of one of the doorways ahead. I hope they're all right.
"Make way!" he heard himself shout. A divide formed amidst the crowd, giving room enough for Arus to cut through. He'd barely reached the base of the rocky slope when his sensor grid flashed in conjunction with a repeating beep from the implant. The display enlarged to highlight the final escapee, still near the top of the incline. Scrolling text read, "Hazardous Energy Buildup Detected." He stared momentarily at the army of Mages scaling the hill before shouting, "Fall back! Warriors ret—"
A brilliant explosion of blue and red detonated overhead, blowing a portion of the ceiling apart with a deafening blast. Arus dashed back the way he'd come, flanked by Mages on either side. They fled through the door one by one as debris fell, crushing countless men beneath an avalanche of dirt and rock. On the other side, men continued to flee along connecting paths while other
s tended the wounded. When the last stone had finally settled, desperate cries for help could be heard from beneath the rubble.
Arus found Sartan and Olock near two of the injured soldiers and rushed to his new Master's side like a faithful lapdog. F'Ledro was not far from them. Relief was evident in Truce's face when he looked up. "Arus, scan the rubble for survivors. I need to know how many are trapped in there."
The implant performed a quick sweep of the tunnel, showing a total of forty-seven life signs within. Many of them were faint. The final prisoner had also escaped, it seemed. The report didn't do much for Truce's spirits; he immediately started barking out orders to the surviving Mages. "I want as many of the medical staff members as we can find brought up here immediately! Trest, Bredaan, gather what tools you can from the labs and get them up here. Those of you who are injured should get to the infirmary and see that your wounds are treated. The rest will help Arus clear away debris. We have to recover as many survivors as we can! Move, people!"
While the others scattered in either direction, Arus returned to the mountain of dirt that had poured through the door. His vision shifted, and the red cross of a targeting scope appeared in the center. Several additional gauges glowed near the bottom, showing laser intensity, angle, and width. Laser? What's a laser? The gauges filled with a maroon color just before a brilliant beam of red light burst from his mechanical eye and exploded into the dirt, incinerating the debris and clearing an arm's width swath through the doorway. What in the name of the Maker was that? A rapid succession of blasts created a path large enough for him to step into the archway. A wall of boulders and soil blocked the opposite side.
"That's it, Arus," Truce's voice came from behind. "Hurry! And be careful not to hurt anyone in there!"
A strangled grunt came from the rubble. A soldier's muffled call for help. More followed, some more distant than others, each echoing the first as they clung to life. They're suffocating in there . . . Those that haven't been crushed already.
So what? They're Vermillion Mages, remember? They killed your father. They've converted you into an emotionless slave. They've killed countless Asterians! They should all—
NO! Father did not teach me to be some sort of blind vigilante! Master Eaisan would never stand back and allow the helpless to suffer. These men have many crimes to answer for, but they do not, do not, DO NOT deserve to be left for dead!
Though he knew the metallic hand was moving on its own, he was almost happy to see it crash into the boulders. His ears rang with each violent crack as he pounded away at the rocks. The nearest survivor was too close for him to consider using the laser again—he wasn't sure how he knew that—but the inhuman strength of his artificial limb was more than up to the task. Chucks of stone shattered away with each strike, and Arus' other hand clawed at the soil caked between them. Crumbled bits of land accumulated at his feet as he tunneled through the debris, and his arms hurt—the mechanical arm actually hurt—from the constant exertion. Red smears streaked across the dirt as his now bloody fingers continued digging and scraping. Though it startled him, his body barely reacted when a massive fist burst from the rubble, causing a slight avalanche of new soil and rocks. Arus grabbed hold of the soldier's wrist and tugged with seemingly endless might. Truce and Olock were at his side, fists locked around their fellow Mage's, struggling to pull him free. When Muert's bloody face emerged from the soil, relief swept over Arus. He was injured, but the massive soldier was smiling at his comrades. With one final grunt, they yanked him free.
"There are many more inside," Muert said, pushing to his knees. A jagged gash split his scalp, and his pants were matted to his legs in several areas where blood soaked through. His grin was deceiving; there was a vacant look about his eyes.
"We are aware." Truce put a hand on Muert's shoulder to keep him from rising. "Stay down. Medical attention is on the way."
"Is anything broken?" Olock asked as he eyed Muert's bloody cuts and bruises.
The implant initiated a scan of the soldier, overlaying his body with a projected display of his massive skeletal structure. After a few moments, the image of Muert's right leg enlarged, highlighting a partial fracture. "Fracture," Arus heard himself say. "Right tibia."
"You there!" Sartan shouted to one of the nearby Mages. "Get a splint on the double! Move!"
Muert's fist wrapped around Arus' arm. "You have given me another chance to see my wife." His gruff voice was about as soft as the sands of the Mayahol. "My little girl is eight years old. I thought I'd never get to see her again. Kyrosen or not, you are noble, young warrior."
Compassion began to well up despite Arus' emotionless stare. The day Dayne Sheeth returned from the Vermillion War had brought both great joy and terrible despair. Though his father had survived the battle, he died shortly after his return. Arus wished he could tell Muert to cherish his time with his family because life-altering events could happen in the blink of an eye.
Sartan and Olock helped Muert to the side of the tunnel as the medics arrived with a variety of supplies. The implant's laser systems reactivated, and Arus returned to the pile of rubble. Life signs were disappearing from the sensor readout at an alarming rate. Judging by the time it took to free Muert, he'd be able to save less than a quarter before it was too late. Still, he would continue until every body was unearthed. Even though Truce controlled the implant, and thus, controlled Arus, there was little doubt that it was the right thing to do. It was a slight comfort to be able to see his body doing what he wanted in some form, but he knew it wouldn't last. Truce would have him carrying out despicable orders in no time, and Arus had no idea what he would do then. If I ever get control of myself, I swear I'll never seek vengeance again.