The Ballad of Omega Brown:
Kazar-Kai’s War
by Tom Vaine
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3 |
part 2
“That last fight. Something I said reminded me of it, but I already lost why. It’s just...”
Kitt stroked his face and neck, coaxing him.
“It’s hard to keep things straight these days. I guess I want to know what it’s for, you know? All this work. All these places we go to stop whatever it is that the Dreamer is working on. And there’s something else. All these planets, all these run-ins with her forces and still no sign of Hoonra. It’s hard not knowing what’s happened to her. I knew her for a long time. If you were me, wouldn’t you want that?”
Kitt’s answer was simple. She leaned in, pressing her lips to his, guiding his scarred hand gently down.
“I already have what I want. Don’t you feel the same way, Omega?”
“I do.”
“Then it doesn’t matter. Forget it,” she whispered, and when she kissed him again, he did.
* * *
The vestibule shook as the invaders broke further into the temple. Inside, four Templars of Khet, last of their order, finished their prayers and drew their weapons. Electricity hummed down the length of their pulswords as they checked and rechecked the charges. It wouldn’t be long now. Nothing had stopped the advance of Entropy’s forces. If they must die, they would be fulfilling their posts.
Somewhere outside of their chamber, the last of the temple guards would be making their stand. The hallway leading down to them was heavily fortified, the doorway to this chamber twice reinforced, so the Templars could only measure their enemy’s progress by the distant sounds which managed to seep in. That faint, chaotic buzzing, for example, was the report of energy rifles. The growling vibration which followed must be the deployment of the heavy guns. The blast these machines created was an almost constant reverberation. Then there came a tortured squealing, as of steel dragged across concrete. The guns went silent. The occasional buzz from the energy rifles again, then nothing. It was time.
The reinforced doors squealed as the end of a blade tore through. White hot and glowing, it rent a molten line across the barrier before disappearing and starting again at the top. A few determined strokes turned the vault door to tatters.
The man holding the weapon, when he finally stepped through, was not whom they had expected. Years of training and commitment to dogma had ingrained in them certain expectations. The Templars had at least assumed their enemy would look the part. Instead, the man before them looked like an average spacer, perhaps even one a little down on his luck. He was covered head to toe in a mottle of equipment that had been rigged to work together. Were it not for the blade he held, they might not have believed him at all.
For his part, the spacer ignored them, looking past to peer at the crystalline, pyramidion frame which hung on the wall behind them. Satisfied that it was the object he sought, he turned back towards the hole he’d made. The second his attention shifted, the closest Templar rushed in, silent as a razor, pulsword raised high for a quick kill.
His blow never landed.
The spacer changed almost faster than the eye could follow, his aspect turning from cavalier to predatory in an instant. With one hand he blocked the Templar’s swing before pushing the bigger man back into the room. He followed, his feet light and quick beneath him now, the sword tip cutting figure eights in the air, a livid orange cat’s eye watching for an opening. As the first Templar regained his footing, the spacer stepped among them, measuring, weighing.
He struck. Though his stance remained loose, his arm was precise. He started to lunge, then snapped his blade tip out in a direction he wasn’t looking. The feint caught the unsuspecting Templar just below his gorget. The spacer posed, motionless, regarding the others as their brother collapsed in gurgling agony.
Their composure shattered, two Templars dove forward. They bore down on the swordsman, pulswords and heavy armour churning but if the spacer worried he didn’t show it. He didn’t even give ground. Decades of training were undone in a moment as the man spun into the charge, parrying the blades with more force than his height and weight suggested he could muster.
There was a flash, a concussive wave of heat, and both Templars were blown backwards, the charred body of the first pinning the other as they fell. The spacer followed almost on top of them, two quick strikes ensuring neither would rise again. He regarded his last adversary. “Syril was a consummate warrior, the strongest man I ever knew. He’d never lost a match,” it was a stupid thing to say, and she felt it just after she started. The spacer did not care at all about Syril, but she didn’t know what else to do.
“He was riddled with uncertainty.” His voice had a strange, two-toned quality to it, as if two beings spoke with one mouth. “He showed it in the way he carried his blade. He was defined only by his weakness. Come, join him.” The Templar shifted into a defensive stance.
“No, you will come to me. I am the last Templar of Khet, the last to protect this relic. I make my stand waiting here, before the final altar. It is my place. Honour demands it.”
“The others ran at us in despair.” The swordsman spoke slowly now, observing. “They saw what we did to the first of you, and they knew they could not win. They charged to speed the inevitable.” The spacer paused. It was hard for the Templar to tell because of his helmet, but it seemed, when the spacer spoke again, his voice was changing, almost thinning. “You’re younger than they.” It wasn’t a question.
The Templar flustered a little. “My age is irrelevant. I am a Templar of Khet, the very last, and I’ll not—”
“It’s your ideals, I mean. You still care about this, still believe in it. You’re not like the last two.” Now his voice had shrunk until it seemed to be just a person behind that mask and not a monster at all. He lowered his weapon.
“No, I’m not,” she shot back through gritted teeth. “I’m better.”
“Oh come on, of all people, I know a boast when I hear one. You’re the last because you still really carry the faith.”
“That’s not true. Th-they believed,” the Last Templar of Khet, confused by this new tactic, felt herself floundering, “of course they did. They were two of the best—”
“You looked up to them.” Again, not a question.
“Well, I mean, of course I did, I—”
“But you don’t need them. You never did.” The Spacer stepped forward, weapon still lowered. His voice had taken on an almost pleading, apologetic quality. “You’ve always been stronger than they. Smarter. Faster. You followed them because they offered you a way to something new, but staying with them has only dragged you down. Hoonra, I—”
“What’s Hoon Rha? the Templar asked. Then: “We’ve spoken long enough.”
The Templar raised her weapon, but the spacer no longer seemed to be listening. His head sat askew on his shoulders, as though he was looking at something far away. He started to shake a little and cried out, doubling over, his free hand clutching the back of the other. That fist was locked, the sword quivering in his grip. The paroxysm lasted only a second, but when it passed, the Templar once more faced the monster that had ripped its way into the vestibule. Again, The Last Templar of Khet offered a defensive stance.
This time the monster obliged.
* * *
By the time Tair’Khan had pushed his way into the vestibule, the artifact had already been taken away, a blank space now where the cap had once been. Everyone else had come and gone, but the Avatar remained. He was standing now as he had been through the entire extraction process, looking down at the corpse of a Templar. Tair’Khan could hear the Avatar’s heavy breathing even from beneath his helmet. He seemed to sway a little on his feet. Had the others simply left him like this? The Warlord approached cautiously.
“Avatar, this complex is vast, bigger even than our initial reports suspected, but we have found the final vaults, deep below us. There will be a few more pockets of resistance, but the last artifact is within reach.” He waited for an answer, “Avatar?”
“Who was this?” The unholy harmony of the Avatar’s voice had broken, the two tones now impressing, now guttering, like two people shouting out the same sentence from different rooms.
Tair’Khan stifled his reaction. No wonder the others had left the Avatar alone; he sounded broken and, Tair’Khan thought, weak.
“A Templar, Avatar. The other Warlords said you made short work of them.”
The Avatar looked back down. Again, that faint swaying, but now Tair’Khan saw something else. The Avatar’s sword hand quivered, the cat’s eye in the weapon’s pommel half-lidded. It seemed that the Avatar’s grip was relaxing, muscle by muscle, the sword shaking free. As he watched, the blade slid, just slightly, in his grip.
Tair’Khan reached out almost without thinking. His claw drew within an inch of Kazar-Kai before the Avatar’s other hand landed an open slap across his face. Despite the man’s relative size Tair’Khan crumpled, his head ringing. When he finally managed to roll to his side, he found Kazar-Kai’s tip pressed against the pit of his throat. The demon-god’s cat’s eye blazed in its crossguard. Any second now, Tair’Khan knew, that cold and hungry blade would slice neatly in, parting the skin and hair like creased paper. He wondered if he’d even properly feel it.
The moment stretched.
Without a word, the Avatar backed away, Kazar-Kai still trained on Tair’Khan. The Warlord watched as the Avatar sidestepped to the vestibule’s entrance and slipped from the room.
Tair’Khan remained where he was, contemplating the doorway, a portal through which his guaranteed death had, inexplicably, decided to exit.
But, of course it wasn’t inexplicable. The answer was obvious.
The Avatar had promised death, then hesitated.
It was time.
* * *
Kitt found Omega in his own quarters. When she entered, he was examining the progress of the machine in orbit, his back to her. The scaffolds had come together around the newly acquired artifacts. The whole thing was beginning to reassemble a sort of dish with an antenna.
“Avatar?”
“Not right now, no. Do you need to speak with him about something?” There was an edge in Omega’s tone that stopped her.
“Oh, sorry, Omega, I just... I guess I’m not used to you finding your way in here alone.”
“Not used to me finding my way to my own room?” He sounded like he’d say more, but didn’t. Then, quietly, “It’s true, I’m hardly ever on my own any more. Between the Warlords, you, old Kazar,”
Kitt could see the sword and his belt lying on his bed, its cat’s eye closed, sleeping.
“I honestly can’t remember the last time I had a true moment alone. We’re almost done with this thing, aren’t we?” He motioned to the hologram on the wall.
“I wouldn’t know.”
Finally, Omega turned. Kitt’s first thought was that he’d been crying, his face puffy and graceless. She didn’t notice the look he gave her until a moment later. Clearly, Omega saw something he wasn’t sure he liked.
“I think that you do. I think that I share a lot of what I know with you, and you don’t share all that much back.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You look different today, Kitt.”
“Nothing’s changed.”
“No,” Omega gave a shaky grin and sniffled, “that’s not true. Something is different. I took Kazar off today. Can’t actually remember the last time I’d done that on my own. Just took off the belt and left him there. My scar’s been burning ever since.” Omega’s voice had begun to rise as he spoke, his scarred hand rising with it, as if in testimony, “It’s been burning all morning. Funny thing is, that’s not the only time. Once I started thinking about it, it seemed like my hand hurt every time I saw or remembered something Kazar-Kai didn’t like. Why do you suppose that is, Kitt? For someone who doesn’t know anything, I also can’t help but notice it always hurts a little less around you.”
“That’s because I’m here to help,” Kitt tried to rush in, but Omega moved, putting the projector and table between them. He was pressed back against the wall.
“Okay,” she said, “okay. Let’s talk. We actually do talk pretty often, though you generally don’t remember, and I am actually here to help.” She moved across the sitting area to the corner of the bed on the room’s other side. The doorway was now empty. Omega understood her message, but stayed by the wall.
“You’re right, we are almost finished.” Kitt nodded over to the holo on the wall. “You’ve actually secured the last artifact; we’ve had the third one all along. It’s impossible to replicate the parts any longer. The infrastructure just doesn’t exist, or the science. Gathering up the pieces like this really is the fastest way.”
“To do what?”
“To let the others back in, Omega,” Kitt tilted her head, her tone implying that the answer should be obvious, “to bring Kazar-Kai’s brothers back from the other side.”
Omega nodded, his expression grim. “To forge weapons for the other Warlords.”
Kitt laughed at this. “No. No other god-blades, Omega. I wasn’t kidding when I said that the infrastructure is gone. Lord Kazar-Kai is the last of its kind. Believe it or not, but you really did manage to luck your way into bearing the last mark that could match with him.”
“Then what do the other warlords want with Kazar’s brothers?”
“I couldn’t say. Some of them are truly faithful, you know, if a bit blind, but most are just looking for profit. I don’t think that any of them have really thought through what this thing will do. They can’t see past the power you wield.”
Unconsciously, Omega moved away from the wall. It was working, as Kitt knew it would, as it had done in the past. She just needed him a bit closer.
“If you think so little of them, why serve them against me?” There it was, and just a little faster than usual this time around. Kitt could see the vacant look returning to Omega’s eyes as he drew nearer the bed.
“I don’t serve them.”
“No, you don’t,” Omega looked confused now, like he was trying to remember something more, “you told me already. You serve—”
“Kazar-Kai.” Kitt finished for him and rose. Omega twitched a little at her motion, and she kept her distance. “Warlords come and go. Some of us though, some of us have been serving Kazar-Kai and the Lord’s of Entropy for time out of mind. To his most faithful servants, to me, your coming was like a forgotten promise, finally remembered.” Her voice was smooth, her hips rocking just so as she spoke. “Lord Kazar-Kai gave me my life. He needs me. And now he needs you too. I owe everything to him; as Avatar, that’s your due as well.”
She stepped forward confidently now, her arm slipping across his shoulder, around his waist. Omega tried to look at her, but after a moment his eyes wandered the room, unfocused.
“He needs the mark?” Omega forced the words around a thick tongue.
Kitt rewarded him with a look of actual surprise. “Well done, Avatar. We’ve had this conversation half a dozen times now, but that’s the first time you’ve locked everything into place. That’s right, Lord Kazar-Kai needs the mark. It’s how you two mesh together, if you like. You do his work and he grants you extraordinary privilege. All you have to do is go along for the ride.”
She leaned up close to Omega’s face, burying him in her hair and her body’s natural perfume, her lips close. “These last few missions have been hard on our Master and he’s become more dormant than usual. That’s why you’re having all these awful, confusing thoughts. It’s happened before. Don’t worry. Soon he’ll be rested, and you can go back to forgetting.”
Omega pulled back a little at this, bewildered. “Am I a prisoner here?”
“If you are, does that mean you can’t enjoy it?” She drew him in again, kissing his mouth to silence.
Omega felt overwhelmed. The woman before him was soft and willing, driving every other thought from his mind, but there was something else. Another face. Another woman who appeared every time he tried to picture the one holding him. A Templar, whom he’d killed in cold blood for the audacity of believing in something more than herself.
Her, and one other dedicated to her sense of honour, whom he’d left behind. Abandoned, he saw now, likely when she’d needed him most.
Copyright © 2023 by Tom Vaine
