The Great Insurrection Book 1: Warlord Born

My how the mighty have fallen. One of the most legendary warriors of all time, reduced to accepting help from the enemy.

“Odin” existed during certain times, those when death sprang from the Titan’s hands like water from a fountain. The rest of the time, he was Alistair Kane. After his fall, he was no one. He existed in a world that no one else could see, one of intense pain and nothing else. No knowledge of where or who he was. No knowledge of the past and no hope for the future. There was simply pain.

He didn’t know how long he was in that place, but toward the end, he started to hear voices.

Alistair couldn’t make out what they said. His mind couldn’t piece together what any of it meant. He only knew that it was different from the pain.

Next, he saw a jumble of light, blue and purple, some white. Words, noises, lights.

Until he woke up.

***

He felt the sting of the slap before he knew what was happening.

“Wake up,” a gruff voice commanded. “Wake up.”

Smack. Flesh on flesh, the mark of the slap red across his face.

Alistair blinked, once, twice, and then peered into the world. The lights were bright on his eyes, and he kept them narrowed. People stood on both his left and right, but their faces were blurred by Dimmers. They looked pixelated and dark.

“Who are you?” Alistair said, though his throat was on fire and he didn’t know how clear his words had come out.

The man on the left responded, “Your guardian angels.”

Alistair groaned. No citizen in the Commonwealth would talk about such an ancient concept. He had thought life could get no worse, with Control issuing his death sentence. Now he had somehow been kidnapped by Subversives. How many of them had he killed? How many had he Clipped who were now in cryo? He couldn’t count the number if he had untold lifetimes.

Alistair knew what came next: torture. Perhaps years of it, until he had told them everything he knew about Control and the Commonwealth. Until he had made things up that had never existed and never could, but he would say them anyway just to make the torture stop. Alistair had seen Subversive victims before, or at least what was left of them.

“Kill me,” he whispered.

The man on the left nodded. “Would if I could, Bub, but it’s out of my hands.”

The man on the right waved a needle in front of Alistair’s face. “We need you to wake up, so I’m going to give you a stim. You ever had a stim before?”

Alistair groaned again, turning his head against the pillow. He didn’t know what the man was saying and didn’t care. His legs, his chest—everything was on fire as if someone had doused him in gasoline before tossing a match on him.

“Going to feel like someone put a mechheart in your chest,” the man said as he continued waving the needle in front of Alistair’s face. “You may want to try and attack us, thinking you can get out of here.” He looked at the bottom of the bed Alistair lay on. “Your legs don’t work no more. They’re fragged, and your lungs are only pumping because of this.” He tapped a machine to Alistair’s right, something he hadn’t noticed.

The man on the left spoke up. “So don’t try anything, Bub. If we wanted you dead, you would be, comprende?”

Alistair said nothing, still not understanding what was happening around him. The needle glistened in the light as it rose into the air. The man holding it spoke once more. “We’re hitting your heart with it because we need you wide awake. You won’t feel a thing, though, so don’t worry.”

Alistair barely had time to register what the man was saying before the needle plunged into his chest. If he’d thought he was in pain before, he’d been wrong. Very wrong.

Fire lit across his chest plate as the needle cut through bone, then punctured his heart. The man pressed the button on the side of the syringe, and the stimulant rushed into Alistair. His eyes sprang wide, his mouth opening into a scream that didn’t come out. He realized he had no air in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. He sat up, pain breaking out across his lower body, hands grasping at the air.

The man on the left leaned over and swatted him hard on the back.

His lungs opened, and air rushed into them. Relief washed over Alistair. He fell back in the gurney-like chair. The pain in his chest was still there but fading. His eyes focused on his surroundings, years of training taking over without any effort. A light overhead, the rest of the room dark. A single door to his right. Man on his left wore no armor, but there was some kind of small plasma weapon holstered on his hip.

Alistair tried turning around to see the man behind him.

“Don’t strain yourself, Bub.” The man walked around to the front of the chair, turning off the Dimmer over his head. “I’m not hiding from you, and I don’t care if you see my face. You can’t trade information with anyone on Earth any longer. Go ahead and tell Control you know who I am. It won’t save your life.”

Alistair understood now, the stim working on his brain as well as his body. He said nothing, knowing these people were Subversives. There’d be no help here. He tried sitting up again, but the man on the right slammed him back down. “Nuh-uh, Bub. Right where you are is where you shall stay. Now listen to me, and listen closely. Him and me?” He pointed between him and the other guy. “We’re the only two things that are keeping you alive right now. Personally, I think this is the worst decision I’ve ever seen, but I don’t got much say in it.”

He took a step back and pointed at the door. “Out there is a ship waiting on you. Its only goal is to get you off this planet and out to the furthest reaches of the solar system. As close to safety as you’re going to find, now that your life is forfeit. But, Bub, we don’t force anyone to do anything. I won’t put you on that ship if you don’t want to go, so you have to decide if you want to stay on this rock or go to another. You stay here, you’ll never see my face again. You’ll never see his face again.” He nodded at his partner. “We’ll wheel you out of here, and then you’re on your own. Comprende?”

Alistair was taking every word in, understanding it all after the stim. He glanced at the door, wishing he could get up, but he’d seen his legs, which were mangled and completely unusable.

Luna, he thought. If he left, she was lost to him forever.

The man on the left snapped his fingers in front of Alistair’s face. “Listen up, Bub. Time is short. Like, real short. Your former friends are searching for you. They aren’t gonna stop any more than they stop when they hunt me and mine down. You go to the ship or you…” He looked down at the wreckage of Alistair’s body. “See how far you can run on the things you used to call legs.”

Alistair laid his head back on the chair and closed his eyes. How had he gotten here? How was this his life?

The thought that made up his mind was a simple one: If I stay, I’m dead. No Luna. If I leave, maybe there’s a chance I see her again.

It was the silliest of thoughts, one that ignored a galactic empire, a thousand years of law, and the fact that he was now a broken man. Yet the thought possessed him like a virus, rapidly taking over his mind and decision-making capability. Without opening his eyes, he said, “I’ll go.”

There were a few moments of silence, which caused Alistair to open his eyes. The two men were staring at each other, and Alistair realized that neither of them had thought he would agree. “What is this all about? Why are you helping me?”

The man on the right stepped away from the chair and behind Alistair. When he came back into view, he was holding a gray blanket. “The reason you’re in this mess, Odin of the Titan Legion, is because you saved some of ours. The AllMother knows you did, and it means she owes you a debt. The AllMother pays her debts, no matter the cost. Apparently, even if it means saving a cockroach monster like yourself. Don’t mistake either of us here. We don’t like you. I’d kill you now if I could, but that’s not my decision to make.” He took a step closer and lifted the blanket. “This is what’s going to happen. I’m throwing this over you, and we’re walking out of this building. You’re not to move because you’re a corpse, and we’re transferring you. We’ve got the paperwork in order, so unless you rise from the dead, this shouldn’t be a problem.”

The one on the left, the man not holding the blanket, leaned close to Alistair’s face. “If you do decide to rise, thinking you can somehow save your skin by turning us in, I’m going to slit your throat faster than you and your pretty Whip can possibly imagine.”

At the mention of his Whip, Alistair’s hand automatically moved to his side, where it was always kept. 

“Don’t worry, Titan,” the man whispered. “We’ve got it. The AllMother said to keep it for you. Now lay the fuck down, so I don’t have to look at you anymore.”

Whatever they were doing for Alistair, it wasn’t out of love. Their faces held nothing but hate and disgust; they would murder him if they were allowed. Alistair laid his head back down on the chair, and the man on the right pressed a button, allowing the top portion to recline backward.

They draped the gray blanket over him, then the gurney started to move.

***

Alistair listened with ears that had been trained to detect the slightest danger. He heard every turn of the wheels below him, as well as the footfalls of the men pushing him. He listened for words and other noises, anything that might give him a clue as to where he was. He didn’t have any idea how being a corpse was going to get him on an interstellar flight. Off-world body transfers did happen when all of someone’s relatives had left Earth, but now? During a manhunt?

The man had lied to Alistair about one thing. They hadn’t just given him a stim, at least not the normal kind. His brain was alert, but his body felt numb, so some kind of speedball was in effect. Alistair could only hope they’d gotten the dosage correct.

The gurney came to a stop. Alistair’s breathing was as slow as he could make it. This was something Titans trained for, and he was the best at it, with virtually complete control over his bodily functions. All the same, corpses didn’t breathe, and if anyone looked at the wrong moment, there wouldn’t be a whole lot he could do.

The man who’d called him “Bub” spoke first. “Off-world, Mars.”

“Approval orders?” The voice was stern, no-nonsense, and Control wouldn’t have it any other way. Interstellar travel was constantly used by Subversives, and they often used interdimensional travel. They all had to start here in the third dimension. Thus, Control made sure only the most detailed-oriented Commonwealth servants were placed in positions to monitor it.

“Here,” the man who’d held the syringe said. Alistair knew he was handing over a DataTrack. It would have all the necessary approvals and orders to get them through—or it wouldn’t, and all hell would break loose.

Seconds passed, and Alistair could feel the drugs’ effects starting to wane. He wasn’t worried about brain fog or anything of that nature, but rather, the pain in his legs. He remembered, or at least thought he did, them saying something about his lungs, that they weren’t working anymore either. He didn’t know about that, but he knew they had to quickly get him somewhere with solitude.

Even his mastery of his body wasn’t going to be able to shove this kind of pain away.

He tried to think of his wife, to focus on her face, on her laugh. He tried to think of the way she smiled when she was teasing him, the little curvature of her lip as it pulled up. The way her eyes sparkled when she knew her wit was quicker, and he wouldn’t be able to tease back fast enough to matter.

“Is there a problem?”

The question pulled Alistair from his thoughts. He thought Bub had asked it, but he wasn’t sure.

“Problem?” the immigration agent responded, his voice sounding like he wasn’t used to being challenged, but he was up to it all the same.

“Yeah, Bub, problem. I come and go through Immigration at least three times a year, sometimes more if I’m not going interplanetary. I’ve never seen anyone take this long over a simple body transfer, and from what I hear on the holosphere, there’s a war zone downtown. So yeah, is there a problem? I need to get this body on ice before it starts smelling.”

The pain was growing, and Alistair’s need for oxygen was increasing.

“If there’s a problem,” the immigration agent said, “it sounds like it’s your problem. You’ll wait until I’m ready to let you go.”

Alistair’s ability to think was fading, his body’s need for morphoids and oxygen surpassing anything else.

“Let me see the body.” The immigration agent stood up.

One of the men sighed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Alistair’s heart rate didn’t increase, nor did his breathing, but he didn’t know how he was going to fake looking dead. Pallor, skin suppleness, and a dozen other things separated a dead body from a live person, none of which Alistair could manipulate.

Someone grabbed the corner of the blanket, and lifted. Alistair knew his naked body was visible to all. He kept his eyes closed, his breath held inside his chest, hoping against all odds that somehow he wouldn’t be recognized. That somehow his damned face wasn’t plastered on every holowall in the city.

One of Alistair’s men asked, “He look dead enough for ya?”

“Cover ‘im up,” the immigration agent instructed. “You’re cleared.”

The blanket flipped back over Alistair’s body and the gurney started moving again. The shot they gave him must have done something to his outer body as well as his inner, but he couldn’t consider that right now. Alistair waited for a few minutes, then whispered, “Need stim.”

“What you need,” someone answered from above, “is to not say another word. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

Alistair’s hand bore down on the metal beneath him to keep from screaming as the wreckage of his legs demanded to be heard.

More long minutes passed, then Alistair felt cold air wash over his body. The gurney stopped moving, the blanket was removed, and before he knew what was happening, someone new was stabbing a needle in his arm. Alistair gritted his teeth for a second and felt the soothing morphoid flood his system.

He looked up at a new man, who had a thick beard. “Thank you.”

The beard looked at the two men who had wheeled him here. “The AllMother has lost her damned mind.”

Alistair tried to keep his eyes open, but he couldn’t. Really, that wasn’t so bad because unconsciousness had become preferable to sleep.

_____

These men definitely have a point, if Odin had indeed killed as many of their comrades as he says, then why are they helping him at all. The AllMother must have something very interesting planned. The Great Insurrection Book 1: Warlord Born is available for pre-order now, and will be loaded to all devices on February 16, 2021. I know it’s difficult to wait, but keep an eye out because another snippet is coming your way.

Opus X Book 12: Crucible of Truth

As we catch up with our heroes, there is a sense of familiarity and comfort. The sense of uncertainty and danger ahead is tangible in this second snippet.

May 10, 2231, Neo Southern California Metroplex, Private Hangar of the Argo

Erik hadn’t been so excited since he was a kid getting gifts for Christmas and New Year’s. 

Much like those holidays, he could take extra joy in watching someone put together his gift for him.

Bright sparks dropped from the top of the Argo, spewing from a small construction drone’s torch. The torch ran along the massive laser cannon now nestled on top. 

Lanara sat on a crate beneath the ship, smart goggles covering her face, her hands jabbing invisible displays to control the drone. Another pair of drones moved along the stern of the ship, their manipulator arms jammed into a bundle of cables invisible from the ground. Their controllers, Wei and Janessa, were tucked inside the Argo.

Tactics and bravery counted for a lot in a fight. A good weapon often counted for more.

Jia stood beside Erik, eyeing the weapon. “It’s funny.”

Erik looked her way. “Laser cannons are funny? You’ve got a weird sense of humor. Not that I didn’t already know that.”

“It’s not the laser cannon. It’s what it represents.” She gestured at the weapon. “We met as police officers. We didn’t do a lot of undercover work, and we were bound by a lot of rules and regs.”

“Okay.” Erik nodded slowly. He was not sure where Jia was going with this, but that didn’t dampen his feelings about the huge new toy the engineers were building. She’d not expressed any dislike of the new weapon, and that was all he cared about.

“We were straightforward on the force,” Jia continued with a soft smile. “But sometimes we couldn’t do what we needed to without jumping through too many hoops. That led to us risk our lives in situations that shouldn’t ever have arisen.”

“True enough.” He eyed the weapon and looked at her again before jerking a thumb in the direction of the ship. “What does that have to do with the laser cannon being funny?”

“I’m getting there. The point is, after that, we became ID contractors.” A wan smile took over Jia’s face. “And though it often ended with something big and explosive, we had to spend a lot of time sneaking around, much more than we did as cops. We were supposed to have fewer restrictions, but it’s annoying to have to chase people but hide who you are. Fake names, disguises.”

“Nicer toys,” Erik countered. “This ship, the advanced-model exos.” He scratched his chin. “Much bigger explosions.”

Jia chuckled. “Not everything is about the best toys all the time, but…” She stared long and hard at the cannon. “That weapon means something important. It means we’re officially done being sneaky. It screams, ‘We’re here to kill you.’”

“Yeah, no way to hide that thing.” Erik laughed. “And no reason to. The government’s at war with the Core. I don’t care if they’ve lost some of their guys from the civil war. I have a feeling the biggest fights haven’t come yet.”

“Right now, all we’re doing is sitting around this hangar.” Jia shrugged. “I wonder what we’ll do after all this is over.”

“Hmmmm. We could become pirate hunters.” Erik grinned, imagining himself in a ridiculous wide naval hat that hadn’t been popular for three centuries. “With the ability to jump around, we could wipe all of the pirates everywhere within a few weeks, especially with this baby.”

Emma’s lack of commentary didn’t surprise Erik. 

She’d made it clear she was using their recent downtime to work on the programming and modifications necessary for her child to come into being. Erik didn’t know a lot about systems programming to begin with, let alone AI, but considering the entire government research apparatus couldn’t copy her, the problem was obviously pretty damned hard to solve. 

He couldn’t blame her for wanting to step things up. No one knew what might happen with the government after the Core was officially destroyed.

“Take out a deep conspiracy and then take out all pirates?” Jia asked. Her too-serious look made Erik want to laugh about his half-joking suggestion.

Loud footsteps echoing from the Argo’s back ramp stopped Erik from clarifying. Anne stormed out of the ship with a deep scowl on her face. Erik and Jia exchanged looks and waited for the agent to close on them.

“What’s wrong?” Jia asked softly.

“Paris is under martial law.”

Erik shrugged. “So is Neo SoCal.”

“There have been clashes.” Anne clenched her teeth. “There was a rationing order because of disruptions to some shipments into the metroplex. The primary shipping companies in the area are barely operating because of arrests related to the Core and damage from raids. People started protesting, and some terrorists decided to take advantage of that.” She threw up her hands. “It’s chaos.”

Erik nodded. “No big surprise. It’s been happening elsewhere in the Solar System. Lots of trouble on Mars, but I’ve heard Venus and the moon are doing okay. Everyone wants to be trendy and join Neo SoCal.”

“It’s not the same thing. Yes, they declared martial law here, but other than the incident against the Prime Minister, it’s been fairly orderly.” Anne pinched the bridge of her nose. “Now it feels like things are spiraling out of control all over Earth.”

“Seoul was having trouble yesterday, and New York.” Jia sighed. “If it’s not service and supply disruptions, it’s antisocial behavior from people thinking the government is about to collapse. People are panicking and lashing out. They’re scared, but once they understand it’s not the end of the UTC, they’ll calm down. It’s not even been two weeks since the Prime Minister’s speech.”

Anne glared at the floor as if she could burn a hole through it with sheer will. “We stopped the assassination attempt and a lot of their other terrorist plans, but it feels like they’re winning. A lot more people are going to die by the time this is over.”

“We expected this,” Jia offered quietly. “The Core is intertwined with the UTC economy. Earth is going to feel it worse than a lot of places because half of humanity is here, with the accompanying demand for resources.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Ironically, the frontier colonies might suffer the least in all of this.”

Erik furrowed his brow, thinking that over. “Yes and no. They might not need a huge-ass megacorporation to ship them enough crap to keep ten billion people from losing it, but a lot of them don’t have the industrial infrastructure for everything they need that breaks. Trouble’s gonna continue to trickle in for a while, and it might continue even if we finish off the Core right away. There is a lot of critical dome equipment that’s only manufactured on Earth or the older colonies.”

Jia grimaced. “I liked it better when you were excited about your new toy.”

A tiny shrug was what she received in return. “Humanity finally got what it was gearing up for.”

Anne looked confused. “Humanity was gearing up for mass chaos?”

“Yes.” Erik nodded. “Galactic war. It just turns out it’s more a civil war than a war against the space raptors.”

“This isn’t a civil war,” Anne snapped. “This is us smoking out a terrorist conspiracy that is hiding behind innocent people.”

Erik sighed. “The quicker we finish off whatever’s left of the Core, the fewer people die. In the meantime, it’s not going to be fun for a lot of people, but there’s nothing we can do about it but wait for orders.”

Anne glared back a moment, then two before softening her look. “I keep wondering if there’s more we could have done before this happened.”

Erik was surprised Anne was the one talking like that. She’d always come off as the ultimate professional, but that might have meant she believed she had more control over the situation.

Alina’s death had struck her hard, probably the hardest among the four of them.

Anne had known the agent for a lot longer than most of the others on the team. Years of being a soldier had taught Erik how to handle loss. When he lost a friend in battle, he did what he always did: committed their face to memory and swore to himself it wouldn’t be in vain. The pain was there but manageable.

“As long as we’re not dead, we can move forward,” Erik announced. “A lot of good men and women are going to have to deal with a lot of crap over the next few months. However, we are the ones with a jump drive. That means we can do more than most.”

Jia nodded. “The Core, or whatever’s left of it, thought they could cripple the UTC by assassinating the Prime Minister, but that failed. They aren’t gods. They’re just people who threw away their morality and restraint. We don’t have to waste time trying to convince them. We just need to find them and take them out.”

“You’re both right.” Anne took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, then blew out a lungful of frustration. “The war isn’t over yet, and it won’t be until we’ve destroyed every last person in the Core.” 

She spun on her heel and stomped back toward the Argo. 

There was more confidence on her face, but Erik wasn’t sure how long a woman that tightly wound could last without a mission. Kant had been quieter than usual and kept more to himself, but he was taking the social disruption in stride.

Jia watched Anne walk away with a concerned look. “We said all that, but it’s easier said than done.”

“Not really,” Erik replied. “There has to be something else coming soon.”

“How will we know what it is?”

Erik shrugged. “We’ll leave that up to the ID to figure out. They can point us at them. Sitting around waiting for a battle feels…nostalgic to me.” A stray thought popped into his head. “It slipped my mind in all this, but what about your friend’s wedding? Neo SoCal might not be as bad off as Paris or Seoul, but I wouldn’t want to have a big ceremony in a month.”

Jia shook her head. “Chinara already rescheduled.” She looked wistful. “She’s waiting two more years. I hope we’ll have this all figured out by then, one way or another.”

“Yeah, assuming the Core doesn’t manage to blow up Earth, two years should be good.”

“Blow up the Earth?” Jia blanched. 

“Joking. Joking.” Erik chuckled. “If the Core could pull that off, they would have tried already.”

“You think they would?” Jia stared at him in horror. “I know they’re monsters, but killing half of all humanity?”

“I don’t know what to expect anymore.” Erik pointed at the roof. “We still don’t know what they were planning with that Hunter ship. At this point, I wouldn’t put anything past them, but it doesn’t matter. We’re going to stop them, then no one will ever have to worry about them again. Shit will get rough for a while like it always does, and people will recover like they always do. Maybe this time when they rebuild half the economy, they can make sure it’s not controlled by a bunch of psychotic freaks who like to put brains in tanks and mix alien and human DNA.”

Jia’s expression brightened. “This is going to make me sound totally self-centered, but I just thought of an upside to all of this.”

“Upside?” 

“Yes.” She nodded. “Not to the Core, but to Chinara rescheduling the wedding. No wedding right away means no bachelorette party, and that means I don’t have to plan it.”

Erik laughed at her bright smile. “You’re not that worried about taking on a dangerous conspiracy, but you’re worried about a party?”

She raised her head, attitude straight from her mom evident in the pose. “We all have our strengths and weaknesses.”

__________

I just love the conversations between Erik and Jia. I can’t wait to read the rest of the book. If you are as excited as me, then head on over a pre-order Opus X Book 12: Crucible of Truth. The full book will be available everywhere on February 5th. In the meantime keep a lookout for another snippet coming soon.

Opus X Book 12: Crucible of Truth

Danger around every corner, new mysteries unfolding. What is Julia planning?

1 – May 10, 2231, Wolf 359, Remus, New Rome

Yan ducked into the alley, guns cracking loudly. Bullets ripped into the corner of the commercial storage facility right behind him.

At least, that was what it was, according to the sign he’d noticed while sprinting down the narrow space between the two buildings. 

The narrow alley was wide enough for a couple of men, but there was no way his pursuers could get their hovertruck through. The decisions he made in the coming moments might help determine the fate of the UTC.

He wouldn’t die there. No, it wasn’t that he wouldn’t, he thought. He couldn’t die there. 

Fear for his life didn’t enter into his concern, only fear of failing his Immortal Empress. 

He would not lose his life under the false holographic blue sky of a colonial dome before finishing the tasks appointed him.

He was an elite, a top agent, and one the empress had personally selected for this role.

A role he cherished and a role he would complete. Dying or being captured by the government was not acceptable. 

They weren’t alike. He was better, stronger, and faster. Yan carried the blessings of his empress, and he’d show the government dogs what that meant.

He leapt at a wall and pushed off on contact toward the opposite wall, then repeated the movement. Barely a challenge. 

The empress’ scientists and doctors had done their work well, granting him abilities far beyond those of humans at only the cost of his lifespan. There was a beautiful symmetry in the contrast between his fleeting life and her eternal life, she who would advance the human race beyond the petty limitations of his forebears. Eventually, a historian would document his sacrifice for his people, and at that time would the value of his efforts be known.

Yan had given up any expectations for recognition during this lifetime.

The men chasing him were custodians of stasis and weakness. They protected a corrupt order riddled with political cancer. Fools, all of them, serving false ideals. 

A gray hovertruck whirred to a stop at the front of the alley. Yan was already halfway toward the roof. Mere misfortune allowed the Intelligence Directorate agents to detect him.

Detect, not defeat.

The agents called themselves ghosts and took advantage of the fear of the masses to enhance their reputation and resulting effectiveness to extract information. Their advanced technology and the resources of the government convinced some they did have supernatural powers like their namesakes.

He grunted as he pushed off the wall once more. Ghosts in name only. 

They were men and women, nothing more. 

He would go so far as to add they were cowards who lacked commitment to the cause. That was why they would fail. 

There was no pity in his heart for government dogs.

An ID agent jumped out of the car, a pistol in hand. He swept it back and forth before lifting his head and shouting a curse, but it was too late. He got off one shot before Yan was out of range. 

“You had your chance,” he murmured. A few small pieces of a badly attached pipe dropped as he continued up the walls and landed on the flat roof of the storage building.

Drones aimlessly circled in the air, relying on their preprogrammed flight paths. Yan didn’t try to avoid them. His jamming made them useless. All he needed to do was keep moving.

The ghosts’ movements made it obvious they’d never had direct camera or drone line-of-sight on him. Which, he had to admit, puzzled him. Given their clumsiness, how had they spotted him?

Yan smiled thinly as he charged to the opposite edge of the roof. His leap cleared the distance easily. He headed for the next roof, his anxiety lessening. Yan would not fail his empress, but that changed nothing.

He couldn’t risk contacting the Beidou until he finished cleaning up his mess. 

It wouldn’t take long.

* * *

Yan stood in the darkened apartment near the door, his fingers tight around the handle of a knife. The late arrival of his would-be assassins surprised him. He’d assumed the ghosts would retreat immediately to their safehouse. 

When they’d spotted him, he wasn’t anywhere near it, and there was no reason to assume he’d compromised the location. Instead, they’d spent far too long trying to track him in the city. He waited with a small glint of amusement at the idea they would die in the one place they believed secure.

Standing in the darkness of the quiet apartment, the only sound the mild hum of the environmental control system, transformed Yan’s assassination preparation into a near-meditative experience. 

The apartment lay inside a tall building and was located near the center. That insulated it from the noise of street-level traffic or the occasional flitters allowed above buildings in the tight airspace of the domed colonial city.

The location annoyed him. 

The arrogant ghosts had picked a poor location. He could understand their choice, but it was flawed. 

The large strike team would have to travel through more than one hall to arrive, and the lack of windows to the outside combined with apartments beyond provided a natural sniper defense. Those advantages were canceled by the lack of an easy escape route.

Yan’s frustration with the quality of his targets built. 

The ID had always been a minor consideration in the plans of the Core. While the government agency’s efforts against other members of the Core had facilitated the acceleration of the empress’ plans, the current fevered timetable had never been her intent.

At least, not when he joined.

Harassment of the other Core members was one thing, but the damage to her operations was unforgivable. In the last few years, the ID had changed from a manageable threat to a potentially lethal one.

Yan’s teeth ached as he subconsciously ground his annoyance between them. The Last Soldier and the Warrior Princess were the problems. A small number of highly skilled people could execute missions with far greater success and influence than their organization could account for. 

Morale. Momentum. Mayhem. He understood those tactics all too well. They were the ID’s reflection of Yan, Tralian, and Celeste. 

Empress Julia had alternately attacked the pair and used them for her own ends. He wouldn’t dare question her vision, but it was obvious Blackwell and Lin had become catalysts for the efforts against her. All efforts should have been expended to crush them before they’d gained the protection of the ID.

The apartment door slid open, and a man stomped in with a frown. He was one of the ghosts who’d been chasing Yan. The idiot didn’t bother to sweep the apartment. He all but begged for death.

“What’s up with the lights?” the ghost asked. He tapped his PNIU.

Yan sprang away from the wall and planted his knife in the agent’s throat before the man could turn his head. After Yan pulled the man’s gun out of his shoulder holster, a quick shove sent the wounded agent gurgling into the hallway, his hand to his throat. 

The ghost’s partner jumped back and reached for his gun but hesitated since his partner was in the line of fire. That brief indecision cost him his life. Yan shot him twice in the head before shoving the gun against the knifed agent’s forehead and pulling the trigger. 

A short silence extended as two bodies thudded to the floor.

No screams. No alarms. Useful to know. 

He hadn’t been sure what would happen but hoped the ghosts had taken measures to ensure they could kill someone near their place without it bringing in the police for an investigation.

Yan tossed the gun to the floor. 

“So disappointed.” He sighed.

He didn’t fear the ID would ever know who killed their agents. They wouldn’t be able to trace anything to him, other than whatever brief pictures the agents had sent in during the chase. 

Those didn’t matter. As far as the UTC’s databases were concerned, Yan didn’t exist.

He bent down, yanked the knife out of the agent’s throat, and wiped it off on the dead man’s shirt before checking his own jacket. A couple of spots might be noticeable, but he’d done well, considering the close-range kill. 

He secured the blade in a hidden leg sheath, then jogged down the hallway. 

Now he was satisfied with his outing’s success. The ID might suspect something was happening in New Rome or on Remus, but the death of two of their agents would set back any investigation. 

They could obsess over it all they wanted. If anything, that would be more useful to Empress Julia’s plans. 

This city and world were unimportant as anything more than a distraction.

Yan emerged from the building through a side exit, and a parking lot filled with hovertrucks and miniflitters greeted him. Instinct and recent experience led him to immediately sweep the area, and that saved his life. Suited men stood on both sides of the building, aiming their guns in his direction. They opened fire.

Yan rolled forward and took cover behind a hovertruck. A bullet nailed him in the back, but the fiery pain dulled after a couple of seconds with the help of a nerve override. The enemies continued shredding nearby vehicles with their uncoordinated fire. 

Something was off; the ambush was too sloppy. If the ID had known he was in the apartment, they wouldn’t have sacrificed two agents and waited until he was back outside, which gave him more places to hide. The bold open attack risked drawing attention, even if they’d done something to keep the local police away. 

Yan kept low as he made his way to another vehicle for cover.

“Did we get him?” one of the men called.

“Close in and make sure,” another man shouted in response. “Be careful. This guy probably already iced a couple of ghosts.”

Heavy footsteps sounded from both sides. The entire group was closing in on him. Yan drew his gun, shame surfacing. 

I am reduced to using a tool such as this.

He stowed his feelings. The coming weeks would mean sacrifices for his empress. His strength was her gift to him, but he could never lose sight of the reason for it. The best honor was success.

As Yan had lived for the Immortal Empress, he would die for her, and he would kill for her again and again until he breathed his last.

Even without using drones or bots to verify his death, there were many ways they could have finished him off without risking themselves. They obviously didn’t care about making noise, so there was no reason not to use explosives.

He waited and listened, his breathing shallow, the bullet wound in his back now a minor ache. The footsteps grew closer and closer—more amateurish techniques. They could have gotten a man close enough for visual inspection without giving up the positions of everyone in their group.

Yan popped up from behind a truck and opened fire. Despite the pain being under control, his movements were stiff. 

That wound might cost him.

He fired three quick shots, none wasted. His targets all fell backward, new holes in their faces. 

“Shit!” one of the men on the other side shouted.

They opened fire again, but it was too late. Yan dashed forward, darting back and forth as he took three more shots. Headshots killed two of the men instantly. The third fell to one knee, still alive despite the painful graze on the side of his head. 

The man stumbled away, grimacing in pain, with blood blinding one eye. Two more rounds into his head finished the job. Six men now lay in pools of their own blood in the parking lot, dead or close to death. 

They’d gotten one good hit on him.

Yan stayed low, listening and checking the nearby roofs for suspicious glints that might suggest a sniper. After twenty seconds of no follow-up, he nodded in satisfaction and stood. He pulled out a med patch and applied it to his wound.

No matter the advances, applying a patch to the back was never simple. Shame the bullet didn’t penetrate his side; much easier to reach.

He walked over to the corpses and pulled off their PNIUs. There was no way these men were ID agents, but the empress’ operations couldn’t continue on the planet without identifying all enemies. 

Jamming would keep the devices from being traced until he got what he needed from them. For the moment, he needed to figure out the men’s identities.

* * *

Yan bowed his head. Empress Julia lazed in a high-backed chair, wearing a loose blue dress, and she had a faint look of boredom on her face. He’d already told her he wouldn’t report to her until he had the full details of what had occurred.

“Speak,” she ordered.

Yan lifted his head. “My Empress, the second set of assassins were syndicate-affiliated.”

She raised a delicate dark eyebrow. “Syndicate? How far operational security must have fallen if common thugs were able to ambush one of my top agents.”

Yan didn’t avert his eyes despite the shame flowing through him. She was right to highlight his failure. Killing them all after being ambushed was barely a victory. He should have never been wounded.

“What local syndicate trash was after you and why?” Julia asked. “If they were seeking your life, that means they’re seeking mine. No one can be permitted to attempt that.”

“Their attempt was not made at the behest of a syndicate,” Yan explained.

“That’s odd.” Julia frowned for a moment, thinking it through. “Are you saying the ID hired syndicate killers?”

“No, my Empress.” Yan shook his head. “They work as syndicate assassins, but from what we know, they are allowed the freedom to take private assignments, provided they give a fee to their superiors.”

“I see. And who hired them?”

“That’s difficult to know for certain,” Yan replied. “We did find one reference to ‘Old Man Barbu’ and a rough description of him, but no images. Judging from some of the location data, they were watching the apartment building even before our arrival in the city.”

“They used the ghosts as bait to kill you?” Julia laughed. “How deliciously entertaining.” Her smile faded. “Old Man Barbu. Marius Barbu. That name keeps returning to haunt me. How does that piece of underworld trash know so much about me? About the Core?”

“My Empress.” Yan bowed his head. “This Barbu might have served one of the others in the Core. That’s the most likely explanation.”

“Maybe.” Julia looked thoughtful. “But we have evidence that he was helping the ID fight the Core as well. I have suspicions about the Chang’e incident, among others. His name has surfaced too many times.”

“I’ll find him, and then I will kill him,” Yan spoke as if Barbu were a fly he needed to corner.

Julia waved a hand dismissively. “It’s unfortunate he has greater knowledge than one like him should have, but it doesn’t matter. Even if he is a leftover servant of Sophia’s or one of the others, I’m the only one left alive. Knowing part of my plans or resources will be insufficient, especially with the current chaos.” She sighed. “I would have liked to spend a couple more days in preparation, but the same could be said about this entire plan. We will move things forward. The outcome will not be adjusted because some underworld cockroach hires riffraff. Soon, he won’t matter. None of them will.”

“And the backup plan?” Yan asked. 

Julia folded her hands. “Consider it less a backup plan than the final part of the current plan. It’s irrelevant at this point. Even if I sent a recall signal, they wouldn’t get it before carrying out their orders.” She stood, an excited gleam in her eyes. “No matter. Let the galaxy burn from both ends. Let the UTC become a phoenix, with me at the center of the fire.”

_____

Man, it is so hard to not root for Yan, even though he is working for Julia. More will be revealed though so keep checking back for more snippets of Opus X Book 12: Crucible of Truth. Pre-order today and get ready because on February 5th it will be loaded to your device.

The Great Insurrection Book 1: Warlord Born

These are not your average Gods.

The Written History of the Great Insurrection

My name isn’t important. It has been and will continue to be spoken, but it truly doesn’t matter much to this history. I follow, and there is no shame in that for me or any of the legions that do the same.

The only important thing about me is who I follow.

I stand next to a man who some call a devil, a demon. Others remember him as “Odin” or “Alistair Kane.” Some whisper “Prometheus” when they speak about him, saying he is a god who brings fire to humanity, while others only talk about how the Greek myth was doomed, as this man is.

Perhaps it’s all true, or perhaps none of it is. That isn’t why I write this, to decide one way or another.

I don’t know how this story ends. Neither does he. I only know that he won’t quit, which means I will go to whichever destiny he races toward as well. Victory or failure, I will follow him.

Whatever name history records, however it records his deeds, I will live or die with him.

He is my friend, the greatest I’ve ever had. Perhaps he isn’t the greatest of us all, but he is the one who leads, and while this isn’t his story, it is he who will bring it home.

Welcome to the Great Insurrection.

Chapter 1

“The Titans are the best of us. Pure of heart. Pure of body. They and they alone protect the Commonwealth from humanity’s worst instincts.” –Aurelius de Finita, First Imperial Ascendant

Alistair Kane stood in the back of the elevator, his MechPulse primed to maximum power. Ares stood at his right, shoulder to shoulder, and two rookies in front of them. Alistair didn’t know their names, and he didn’t like that. Ares hadn’t mentioned the two newcomers since the operation began, then saying only, “These are who Control sent.”

He didn’t know the last time he’d performed an operation without knowing the details of every man or woman within his purview, but it certainly hadn’t occurred during his time as Primus.

They know, he thought as the elevator moved up another floor. They know, and this is the end.

Alistair’s MechSuit covered his entire body, practically a metal exoskeleton that turned even the slightest of his movements into a powerful force that could break concrete. It allowed four men to ride to the five hundredth floor of a skyscraper without fearing that they’d soon be fighting upwards of one hundred combatants.

Alistair’s left hand held the MechPulse while his right dropped and lightly touched his Whip. It was attached to his MechSuit, one of his oldest friends. He shouldn’t need the weapon for this operation, but no Titan would enter an operation without it.

They know, his mind whispered again. Control knows.

But that would mean Ares knows, and there isn’t any way they’d send him. He wouldn’t hurt you, not in this life or the next.

Alistair didn’t turn his head to look at his protégé, just kept staring forward. They had about one hundred more floors to climb. By now, the Subversives would know something was wrong. The building had been completely shut down, their windows were no longer working, and attempts to fly vehicles to the top floor were being denied.

Most likely the Subversives could see the elevator rising, at least digitally. Those on the top floor were probably preparing for the arrival of the Titans; Alistair always wondered what that felt like, knowing fate had decided your time to die was here, and you could do nothing about it. For Alistair and his Titans, there were less dangerous ways to go about putting these Subversives down. They could have simply used the MechSuits’ jets to fly to the correct level, but that didn’t fit the purpose.

Control—indeed, the Commonwealth as a whole—wanted the Subversives to understand they had no hope. Once they were found, the entire building they occupied quit obeying their commands and would only obey Control’s. Thus, the elevator’s slow creep upward. Moving toward fate.

The MechSuits were climate-controlled. Alistair kept his at a crisp sixty-five degrees regardless of his body temperature, yet he felt a drop of sweat run down his brow. You’re scared, he thought. And not of the Subversives. You’re scared they know, and if they do, then fate has come for you, hasn’t it?

“Activate HUDs,” Ares commanded from Alistair’s right. He meant the Heads Up Displays that formed outside the MechSuit’s helmet, overlaying augmented reality onto whatever the Titan looked at. “Odin, you ready?”

Odin was Alistair’s callsign, and “Ares” was what the man next to him answered to.

“Locked in,” Alistair responded as the elevator rolled to a smooth stop. “Control,” he said into the comm that linked back to the digital bay, “open doors.”

Overhead, there was a soft ding and the doors opened, splitting down the middle. The two Titans in front moved out, their MechPulses sweeping the area. Alistair and Ares stepped out next, Alistair’s pulse at eye level, his fears from before gone. He had turned into his callsign, the name by which he was known as from one side of the world to the other, from Earth to the very farthest reaches of the Commonwealth, the ice-planet Pluto. Alistair Kane was Odin, the modern-day God of War and Justice.

The HUD overlaying his vision showed heat traces where the Subversives were scattering, running behind doors and down hallways, doing anything to stay away from the Titans. From fate.

Alistair glanced to his right, noting that Ares was too close to him. At the same moment, he saw the elevator door had closed behind him. Both of those things were against protocol. Alistair didn’t know if Ares realized he’d noticed, so he turned his pulse toward a door showing a Subversive’s traces.

“There’s no need,” Ares said from behind. His voice was masked now; in case anything was being recorded, it would be impossible to tell who’d been inside the suit. “There’s no one here, Odin. Just us.”

Alistair didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to. The room made sense now. His HUD couldn’t see through this type of construction material, meaning he couldn’t actually see the Subversives, only their traces—and those had been placed here before the Titans began their trip up in the elevator.

The other two Titans came back from their false chase. They’d only been awaiting Ares’ signal.

Alistair lowered his pulse so the barrel faced the ground.

One of the strangers spoke. “Careful, Odin. Don’t think about grabbing that Whip.”

Ares’ voice was like iron. “You’re not here to talk, so don’t do it again.”

Alistair knew why the stranger had spoken. He was scared. He knew of Odin, and he knew how much death Odin could cause if he unleashed the Whip that was two inches from his fingers. Alistair dropped his head to the right so that he could half-see his partner. “You’re going to kill me?”

“Is that supposed to strike a chord with me?” his partner asked. “I’m not going to kill you, Odin. You killed yourself when you listened to the Subversives.”

Alistair’s eyes found the new Titans. Were they really Titans, or just people wearing SUITs to help finish the job? Control probably didn’t think Odin was capable of what he’d done in the past, so they believed Ares could take him out by himself. Those two were most likely here to reinforce for Odin that he had no chance of survival.

The newcomers stood twelve feet from him. A pulse hit from here would evaporate a human, but Alistair would survive inside the MechSuit. It would be damaged, without a doubt, but he’d live.

“What do you think the Subversives told me, Ares?” he asked, his body as still as a sphinx’s.

His partner laughed, the sound distorted and evil. “I don’t have to think. I know exactly what was said because I watched it. Did you really think that blocker would work? Or that we didn’t know you let them go?” He shook his head. “I will say it was a nice acting job, Odin, making it look like three Subversives could take you and your Whip down.”

“You’re sure of that?” Alistair said. “You’re willing to bet my life on the fact that I let them go? That I was acting?”

Ares didn’t lower his weapon an inch. “Our Institutes are based on your skill sets. Your style of fighting and tactics. Where do you think I learned how to be a Titan? Simple Subversives can’t put you down. If they could, they’d have killed you.”

Alistair’s eyes were still on the newcomers, though his helmet kept them from knowing. “Did you listen to what they said? Did you do any checking?”

Ares shook his head. “No. I tracked them down and killed them yesterday. Any doubt I might have had about your complicity in their escape died with them.”

“What now?” Alistair asked. “What are your orders?”

Another laugh from the person Alistair considered his second-closest friend. A cruel laugh. One without mercy, without even a semblance of love. “You know what happens. You’ve done it to others who gave up the Code. There’s no need to rehash it here, is there?”

“I suppose not,” Alistair whispered. He had done it to others for the exact reason they would now do it to him: because he had given up the Code. They would kill him here and either have a fake public execution or most likely say the great Odin had been slain by the AllMother’s Subversives. Put it on her head to stir up more hatred. “And my wife?”

“I’ll make sure she’s taken care of. She won’t know of your betrayal.” It was the first sign of any humanity from Ares. “No more questions. Die like a Titan. I expect nothing less, despite your fall.”

Alistair checked his breath and his heart rate. His HUD displayed them both: seventy-seven beats per minute, respiration normal. Even now, his body wouldn’t panic. It was part of what made the two newcomers fear him. In situations when the body should break, his remained calm. “Do Titans die, Ares? Or do we fall?”

“In your case,” his friend answered, “both.”

Alistair didn’t think. His suit could handle one pulse shot, but not three at once. He dropped to a knee, let his pulse fall to the ground, and put his right hand on the Whip. A shot passed overhead, and the wall on his left disintegrated. The two newcomers were pumping their pulses for a reload, but it was too late for them. Perhaps they knew it, perhaps they didn’t.

It was all the same to Odin.

He grabbed the Whip’s hilt, and the genetic codes traveled to it as he pulled it free. No other hand, no other person could operate it, and as it read its master, the weapon flowed from the hilt. Red light flooded into three whip-like strands. It would be a beautiful thing to watch under other circumstances, but Odin had no time just now.

He lunged forward as Ares’ pulse disintegrated the wall he’d been standing in front of. The newcomers tried to raise their weapons, but he slashed his Whip at them, and the red lasers sliced through the first man, cutting him in two. Odin spun around his remains to reach the second Titan. Ares’ blast struck the second man head-on, damaging his suit.

Odin raised his Whip, and it responded to him without hesitation. The three individual strands coiled around one another as they wrapped three times around the newcomer’s neck. The suit sizzled and started melting, but Odin didn’t allow the strand to tighten further.

Ares fired again, the MechPulse shattering the second newcomer’s suit’s knee joints. His suit wouldn’t function any longer, at least as far as walking went. “STOP!” the stranger. He’d probably pissed himself.

Odin stayed directly behind his hostage. Showing even an inch of his suit would put him at risk. Ares wielded the pulse like a surgeon. “You going to kill him to get to me?”

The MechSuit was too large to shrug in, so Ares raised a hand in an equivalent gesture. “That’s up to you. You’re not surviving this, and however many people need to die to make that happen is on you.” Ares nodded at the body that lay in two pieces on the floor.

Odin whispered to the man in front of him, “I’m going to step back. If you don’t move with me, your head is going to come right off your body. Nod if you understand.”

The newcomer nodded, causing the Whip to melt a bit more of his metal suit. Odin took a step back, and the soldier followed. His knees didn’t bend, but his hip joints allowed him to shuffle awkwardly.

Ares laughed. “Where do you think you’re going? You going to fly out the window? Try to get home to your wife and protect your house? You know there is no hiding from the Commonwealth. You think your wife hasn’t already been detained? Do you think she’s at your house, Odin?” He shook his head. “All the pieces were in play long before you got into that elevator. Give it up. There is no valor in stupidity. Die like the Titan you were, the one you’ll be remembered as.”

Odin took another step. His HUD showed him the distance to the window behind him. This leap wouldn’t be easy, and regardless of what the newcomer had done, he didn’t deserve to die right now. Odin didn’t want to kill him, which added another layer of complexity to the maneuver. He hadn’t thought about what came next, not truly—there hadn’t been time. All he knew was he wanted to get to Luna, and from there, they could decide what to do. He wasn’t going to listen to anything else Ares had to say.

Odin gripped the Whip tighter. “If Luna isn’t at home, Ares, it’s you I’m coming for next.”

His left foot pushed off the ground while his right launched into the newcomer’s back. The Whip unfurled from the man’s neck, and Odin threw himself toward the window. He turned in the air, commanding the three strands of his Whip to uncoil. They began circling in a saw-like fashion. Odin heard and then felt the pulse shot from behind, part hitting the hostage and the other part slamming into him.

The Whip touched the window, and the three strands cut a circular hole just before Odin’s helmet slammed into it. He felt another blast from the pulse and his left boot’s shield went down. His HUD showed it as red, but he wasn’t inside the building any longer. Odin started his fall from the five hundredth floor, and he could see the entire world below him. The edges of his right boot blasted fire as the jet activated.

He knew going up would be impossible with only one jet, so he let himself fall. The force of the blast sent him swerving to the left and launched him at an extra thirty kilometers per hour. Odin tilted his head back to the window and saw Ares look out. He wasn’t aiming the pulse since he realized one of Odin’s feet had been damaged.

He could simply let the Titan fall to his death.

Odin’s HUD showed time until impact, and there wasn’t any way he could slow down before he splattered all over the ground below. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Ares had him in his line of fire, obviously having decided not to risk any more mishaps.

Odin twisted his foot to the left and gripped his Whip. It connected instantaneously with him, and he had it spin its strands once more. The blast missed him by inches, though its wake threw him off-course. The Whip tried to adjust but wasn’t quick enough, carving only a short way into the wall before Alistair’s suit smashed through it.

He slid on his back as concrete, metal, and brick scattered before him. People screamed since the floor hadn’t been emptied before the Titans’ arrival. He laid on the ground staring at the ceiling for a few moments, and his Whip retracted into its handle, waiting for his next command.

He pulled up his current location on the HUD. He’d dropped three hundred floors, and by now, Control would know where he was. There wasn’t any way out of this, but he had to get to Luna.

He rose to his feet as people rushed toward the doors and elevators. None were working, at least not in their favor. He scanned the crowd quickly, his HUD identifying everyone and showing no threats. Odin looked over his shoulder to see the hole in the wall, wind flinging loose papers around.

That was the only way out—two hundred floors down with a damaged MechSuit.

Think, he told himself. Could he carve his way out of here? The Whip was strong, but multiple uses to cut steel would wear it out, possibly even break it, and that could not be risked. He knew reinforcements were coming. The elevators were moving, and he could hear quadcopters in the distance. Control hadn’t thought it would take this much to kill him, but they were prepared all the same.

He knew how they were following him: the MechSuit. They’d be able to find him as long as he wore it, but could he survive without it?

There wasn’t any real choice.

“Fold off,” he said into the helmet, and the suit collapsed into itself. Helmet went to neck, neck to shoulder, and so on until it had all compacted except for his damaged left boot. He used the Whip delicately and cut himself loose, then he stood up in standard armor, flexible black fabric that wouldn’t hold up to a tenth of a pulse blast.

To his right, he saw a man cowering behind his desk. He hadn’t run. Odin turned to him. “Give me your clothes. Now.”

The man froze for a second, not understanding. Odin raised the Whip and lashed with all three strands, blackening the floor beneath him. “Your clothes!”

Odin didn’t want to hurt these people. He didn’t want to even scare them, but fear was his most potent weapon right now if he wanted to find his wife. Ares would have said anything upstairs to keep him from fighting back, but Odin didn’t believe one word of it at that moment. 

The cowering man stripped quickly, knowing from the armor and Whip who stood in front of him, or if not who, then what—a Titan.

Odin wished he had his HUD, but that was in his discarded MechSuit. The man had stripped to his skivvies, and Odin quickly dressed in the discarded clothes. Modern day business attire. It would give him only seconds, but that was all he would need.

He looked at the people huddling against walls, in corners, and under desks. “I’m not going to hurt any of you. Men are coming right now, and they will if you get in their way. Do not get in their way. When they get here, they’re going to ask where I am. Don’t answer.” Odin knew that if any of these people lied to the Titans when they arrived, there’d be severe punishment. “All you need to do is look out the hole in the wall. Nothing else.”

These people were fearful, but they also understood that Titans were on the side of justice. They most likely thought the men hunting him were Subversives, so they would listen to what he told them. It would only be later that they’d realize they’d been duped, but he wouldn’t care at that point. Odin pocketed his Whip, now silenced, and shoved the undressed man beneath his desk. He followed, leaving the damaged boot where he’d once been.

Seconds ticked by. Odin could smell the man’s urine. He placed his hand on the stranger’s shoulder, at the same time keeping his eyes on the still-closed elevators. “You’re safe. Nothing’s going to happen to you. Just stay right here.”

The man sniffled and nodded, his relief palpable. Odin moved his hand back to his pocket, gripping the silent Whip. This was taking them too long. They should have already been here.

The whine of the quadcopter grew louder outside. Odin thought he heard a second as well.

They won’t let me leave, he thought.

The elevators opened. Odin recognized the first three Titans: Thor, Freya, and Mars. Ares walked out last, his red MechSuit the color of blood—the only one of its kind.

“Where is he?” Ares asked the cowering room full of people. He didn’t need to specify who he was talking about, given the massive hole in the wall and the wind rushing through it.

Odin watched as everyone slowly turned as he’d instructed. Ares nodded. “Go,” he told the other three Titans.

Damn it, Odin thought. He didn’t want Ares behind him under any circumstances. He watched as the Titans moved across the room, their boots thumping heavily on the floor. Odin quietly pulled the Whip from his pocket, the hilt glowing red as it activated.

The man next to Odin stared at it with a slack jaw. Whips were known throughout society but rarely seen. Usually, if you saw one and weren’t a Titan, death was imminent.

The Titans went past the desk and peered out the hole.

“I don’t see—” one started to say. Odin moved before they finished.

He leapt from behind the desk, the Whip’s three strands falling out of the handle. They crackled with energy, which gave away his location, but the Titans were too slow. Thor moved first, turning his head over his shoulder, his own Whip spilling out. Odin brought his down across the Titan’s right arm, cutting it off in three different sections, the final one above the elbow. Blood spilled on the floor as screams ripped from the man.

Mars was in the middle, and he formed his Whip into a solid sword. It slashed across Odin’s, trying to pin it to the ground.

Odin’s Whip wrapped around Mars’ sword and he yanked. The Titan was pulled forward, but Odin couldn’t attack him with his body–he’d break his hand or foot on the suit. 

Freya swung from his left, aiming for his midsection. He ducked, and the Whip sizzled over his head. Mars had jumped back quickly to avoid Freya’s Whip. He now grabbed Odin by the throat with his left hand and thrust him into the air as he stepped in Thor’s blood.

Ares remained at the elevator. “That’s enough, Odin. There’s nowhere to go.”

________

What a combination of characters! It is always fun to speculate about what would happen when the most powerful figures in mythology get their hands on some of the technology of the future, and here we have it in The Great Insurrection: Warlord Born. This book is available for pre-order now and will be available for all readers on February 16th. In the meantime keep an eye out for the next snippet of this legendary tale.

Academy of Necessary Magic: Shifter in The Swamp

So far Johnny Walker has taught her everything she knows. Starting school with that advantage should be no problem… right?

I’m never gonna be able to sleep like this.

Amanda Coulier lay in her twin-sized bed in room 228C and stared at the plain white ceiling panels above her. In the low light of her dorm room, they looked more gray than white, studded with rows of tiny black holes. Now, her racing mind was forming shapes in them. 

A crossbow. 

A hunting knife. 

A flat-bottom airboat that disappeared as soon as she made it out. 

A coonhound.

That last one made her snort.

Makes it seem like I wanna be back at that cabin with them. Guess that’s all I know about actual combat—hunting with a bounty hunter. 

The twelve-year-old shifter drew a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh before a slow, eager smile spread across her face. Tomorrow, I get to learn more. In an actual class. 

The only thing she knew about the upcoming combat training class was that it started bright and early the next morning. The teachers wouldn’t say anything more than that, and Amanda didn’t think they’d answer her even if she’d bombarded them with all her burning questions.

It has to be about actual fighting, right? And weapons. What the heck else could it be? This is a dang bounty hunter school.

That was what Amanda liked to call it in her mind although the teachers preferred to refer to this place as The Academy of Necessary Magic. Sometimes the Academy. They called stuff around here all kinds of weird names as if they were trying to pretend this place wasn’t exactly what it was. Amanda knew, though. She also knew the guy who’d started the school in the first place, with two other bounty hunters who were apparently top-level like Johnny Walker. 

She was Johnny’s ward, after all. Practically his kid.

Rolling over on her side, she glanced at the digital alarm clock resting on the built-in desk across the room. 

After midnight? She puffed out a sigh and flipped onto her back again before rubbing her hands down both cheeks. Jeeze, I would’ve gone out for a run if I’d known I’d be lying in bed like this for two whole—

A door quietly opened and shut. 

Amanda sat up and blinked in the darkness. On the second and third floors of the girl’s dorm building—and yeah, Johnny had called these the barracks once or twice—all the other girls were asleep in their beds. Lights Out was at 10:00 p.m., and most of the students at the Academy had figured out how strictly the teachers enforced that rule. For the most part. 

Still, none of the other girls were shifters like Amanda. None of the boys were, either. So Amanda was the only student in the building who could hear that door open and shut in the middle of the night. Against the rules. When everyone was supposed to be asleep or at least still in their rooms. 

She bolted out of bed and walked swiftly and silently on her bare feet to the door. Footsteps echoed up the enclosed staircase at the front of the building—a little louder than the sound of the dorm’s front door but still muffled through at least three walls and two stories. 

Not only one pair, either. With wide eyes, Amanda turned her head and rested her ear against the door of her room. Two people coming up the stairs. Who the heck would try to sneak into the dorms? 

Then the muffled timbre of a female voice reached her ears. She rolled her eyes. Great. Principal Glasket. Must be super important if it got her out of her sleep mask. 

Smirking, the girl set both hands on the door to steady herself and pressed her ear a little closer. 

The squeak of the door to the staircase at the front of the building came through loud and clear. Oddly enough, there were plenty of creaking doors and squeaky hinges and handles or windows that stuck. It always made Amanda chuckle because the Academy’s campus was only six weeks old, built brand-new from the bottom up. 

I bet Johnny told the builders to do that on purpose, just to be funny.

The staircase door thumped against the third-floor hallway’s wall, followed quickly by the click of Principal Glasket’s two-inch pumps on the tile floor. “Here we are. Third floor.”

Amanda frowned. Nobody gives a tour at midnight. We don’t even have tours.

A heavy sigh joined Principal Glasket’s steady breathing. “Don’t you guys have elevators here or something?” 

Glasket let out an attempt at an empathetic hum. “No, those were left out of the building plans, I’m afraid.” 

“You could, like, make a magical elevator or something instead.” 

“And give every student at this school open access to an elevation charm from the very start? I don’t think so.” 

“These stairs are brutal.”

Glasket’s unamused chuckle filled the hallway. “If I can walk up and down a few flights of stairs without getting winded, Miss Flannerty, I’m sure you and your much younger body will quickly grow used to it. Come on. Your room’s down the hall.” 

Despite the odd topic of conversation, Amanda’s smile grew even wider.

Her room? Didn’t know this place was taking new students the second official week of classes. Cool.

The two sets of footsteps grew louder as Principal Glasket and this new girl, whoever she was, moved down the hall toward Amanda’s room. Glasket’s sharp clip with her pumps, and the girl’s slow, hesitant shuffle. Probably due to a suitcase or whatever kind of luggage she’d brought with her to her temporary home for the next four and a half months. 

Or she’s slow…

“All right. Here we are.” Glasket stopped across the hall two rooms down from Amanda’s and drummed her fingers on the door. “233C. This is you.” 

“Great.” There was no enthusiasm whatsoever in the one-word statement. 

The hallway fell silent, then Glasket smacked her lips. “Well, I gave you the key at the station, so now would be the time to use it. I imagine you could use a good rest after your…ordeal today.”

“You don’t have a key?” the girl asked. 

“Of course not. This is a magic school, Miss Flannerty. Not prison. Every key on this campus is charmed to work only when the owner is in possession of it. So no swapping or trading or stealing of keys.” 

“You can’t break into my room?” 

“I don’t have a key to it. However, any of the faculty here could most certainly force entry if there was a good enough reason. I hope you don’t plan on giving us a reason to break down the door of your bedroom.” 

“Depends on your definition,” the girl muttered. 

Principal Glasket cleared her throat. “What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

Amanda had heard it. She leaned slightly away from the door and frowned. Whoever she is, it doesn’t sound like she wants to be here. Who wouldn’t want to be here?

The rustling of a hand through a nylon jacket pocket filled the hall, then a key scraped against the lock of the dorm room, and the handle turned. 

“There.” Glasket didn’t sound any more amused now that they both knew the new student’s key worked. “Now, let me see. Bathrooms are at the end of this hall. The first floor is a common area, open for use until Lights Out at ten o’clock. Personal items tend to grow legs and walk off if they’re left in common areas, so if that’s a concern of yours, I recommend keeping all your belongings in your room. Other students are welcome to gather in the common area of either dorm, but the second and third floors of each are not co-ed, so no sneaking boys up into your room and vice versa.” 

The new girl snorted. “Yeah, ’cause that’s something I’d want.”

“Meals in the outdoor refectory three times a day, as long as the weather permits. The kitchens are off-limits at all hours. So is the faculty building and the west wing of the main building. Classes start at seven-thirty in the morning. You’ll get your textbooks and whatever required materials in your classes tomorrow. There’s no uniform or official dress code, but we expect all our students to dress appropriately for the weather and their various classes. I gave you your schedule, didn’t I?” 

“Yep.” 

“Good.” Glasket let out a heavy sigh. “Any questions for me now before we turn in?”

“Yeah, just one.” There was a long pause, then the thump of the new girl slinging a duffel bag or a backpack off her shoulder and through the doorway into her new room. “You guys have a three-strike policy too?” 

“I’m sorry?” 

Amanda stepped away from her bedroom door and wrinkled her nose. Going right for the worst-case scenario, huh?

“You know, like detention or being expelled or whatever.” 

The principal cleared her throat. “I’d like to think you’re coming into this with a little more optimism and would actively try to stay away from racking up any strikes at all, no matter what our policy is.” 

“I’m only trying to figure it out.” The new girl must have leaned up against the wall beside her room; the swish of nylon and the soft thump of weight rose all too clearly through Amanda’s door. 

“Figure what out, Miss Flannerty?” Now Glasket sounded like she’d rather be anywhere else but right here introducing a new student to the Academy. 

Like, snuggled up in her bed. I thought she went to sleep at nine or something.

“Well…” The hint of amusement in the new girl’s voice was all too clear, and Amanda forced herself not to open the door to see whether the girl smirked as she imagined. “I mean, I hit my limit at the last place, so I got shipped off and sent here. So if anyone strikes out here, do they get shipped off to, like, a workcamp or something? Or is this the last stop?”

“By last stop, you’re referring to…”

“Like, Juvie without the classes or something. I don’t know. I guess that’s pretty much what this place is anyway, right?” 

“Miss Flannerty—”

“Or did you guys build a brand-new prison for underage magicals somewhere in this dump too?” 

Amanda’s eyes widened, and she stifled a surprised laugh.

Holy crap. She’s really pushing it. 

When the hallway fell tensely silent one more time, she leaned toward the door again and listened intently. 

Principal Glasket sighed, and the click of one footstep followed. “I realize this is a big change for you. I do. Plus, the circumstances of you coming to this school were less than ideal.” 

“That’s not an answer.” 

“I’m not going to answer that question, Miss Flannerty, because it doesn’t warrant one. If you do the work, focus on your classes and on learning what you’re here to learn instead of looking for shortcuts—”

“Oh, that’s what they’re calling it, huh?”

“—then you’ll do fine,” Glasket continued, ignoring the sarcastic interruption. “We wouldn’t have accepted you into this school if we didn’t believe you have the potential to be more than what you’ve shown so far. There’s no point in trying to prove us wrong.” 

The girl scoffed but didn’t have any new comeback for that. 

“I’m going to go to bed now,” the principal added. “You should do the same. Get as much sleep as you can before wake-up at five forty-five—”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” 

“Other students are sleeping on this floor, Miss Flannerty. Please keep your voice down.” 

“What kind of insane person wakes up before six in the morning? Ever?” 

Two quick clicking footsteps, then Principal Glasket lowered her voice into a warning sternness. “Let me make this clear to you right now. This is a school for magicals like you who are here to learn and hone their talents in a variety of magical disciplines, whatever they happen to be. Just like the other schools around this world—”

“Not just like the other schools.” 

“Whatever you might have heard, Miss Flannerty, I suggest you put your preconceived judgments of this place aside and focus on learning.” 

“Or what?” 

Another long pause followed.

When Principal Glasket spoke again, Amanda could practically see the witch’s tight grimace of a smile as clearly as she heard it in the woman’s voice. “You spent a year at the School of Necessary Magic. You’re used to their rules and regulations, their teaching methods, and the way they discipline their students. Maybe you’re even a little too familiar with that last one. Believe me when I say we run things differently here at the Academy. If you’re already intent on pushing the envelope here too, go right ahead. In my opinion, that’s taking what seems like the easy way out to learn the same lessons the hard way. Still, if you have to answer your questions through personal experience, then that’s your prerogative. Good night.” 

Glasket headed back down the hallway toward the closed staircase without waiting for a reply, her pumps clicking harshly across the tile floor. The squeaky door opened, then closed again, and the principal’s echoing footsteps faded down to the dorm’s first floor.

Whoa.

Blinking quickly, Amanda stepped away from her door and huffed a quiet, disbelieving chuckle.

Here I thought Glasket finished showing her angry side after the first month at this place.

Out in the hall, the new girl sighed in disgust, walked into her room, and shut the door. Not quite a slam, but not exactly quiet, either. 

Amanda waited and listened, but everything was quiet again. 

Someone from the School of Necessary Magic got sent here? Before the second week of school? Jeeze. She must’ve screwed up pretty badly. 

Turning slowly to face her bed, she chewed on the inside of her bottom lip. It was after midnight. She was used to waking up early. Even before everything that had happened that spring, before meeting Johnny and going to stay with him and the hounds, she’d regularly woken up before six because that was what her parents did. 

A hard lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed. 

Waking up early for a hunt in the swamp is a heck of a lot better than waking up early just to read the paper. 

The girl glanced at her alarm clock again—12:24 a.m.

Definitely time to sleep.

With a determined nod, she approached the side of her bed and sat. 

The second her backside touched the mattress and she looked up at the door, the energy that had kept her up this late thinking about combat training in the morning flared through her again. Only now, she’d be wide awake even longer thinking about this new student across the hall who’d gotten kicked out of magic school.

Amanda closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and counted to ten, her fingers absently drumming on her thighs. 

Time to chill out and go to sleep. Relax. Chill…

Her eyes flew open, and she popped up off the bed to her feet. 

Screw it. If I’m gonna be awake, might as well see who the heck this new girl is.

________________

Nothing like a magic school drop out to get your mind off of combat training. I don’t know about you but I am excited to see what new adventures are in store for Amanda since we saw her last in the Dwarf Bounty Hunter series. You don’t have to wait long though because Academy of Necessary Magic: Shifter in the Swamp is available for download on January 24th, 2021.