Anthem's Fall Read online

  Vengelis tried to make sense of what he had been told. Millions have been killed. There was no logic in the messenger’s words. How could this be true? Municera was home to dozens of Imperial First Class soldiers. Surely they would have risen to defend the city?

  As he neared Municera airspace, the sky before him was brushed with an undulating ocean of clouds that separated the radiant blue of the upper atmosphere from the concealed lands far below. Vengelis lingered in the serenity above the clouds for a moment before plunging toward the ground and directly into the top of a brilliantly white towering cumulus.

  The dazzling sunlight instantly dissipated into obscure gray shadow as Vengelis descended through the mist. Water from the cloud’s precipitation beaded on his armor and face, gathering and rolling off him in plump drops. Briefly he was blind within the veil. Then, through the bits of parting cloud below, he caught fleeting glimpses of the land beneath.

  “W-what?” Vengelis murmured aloud in disbelief.

  The distinct smell of pungent sulfur and smoke filled his nose as he attempted to see through the shifting cloud. A faint heat emanated from the land far below. The obfuscating clouds that engulfed him transitioned in color to a dense and unnatural gray-brown. Through the cloud curtain, jet-black streaks and cindery red flames flashed from the lands below. The sight aroused in Vengelis a sensation of descending from a shining heaven into a surreal hell.

  Vengelis penetrated the bottom of the cloud cover head first, and at once he beheld Municera. The sight shook Vengelis, and he lost focus, falling momentarily into the noxious air, but he quickly steadied himself. He rotated from horizon to horizon in horror. The city—if it could still be called as such—was completely devastated. Blocks and avenues were unrecognizably scorched, raging fires burning in every direction. Flames leapt from collapsed buildings and severed gas lines, vehicles sat overturned and charred, ruined skyscrapers and street corners were pulsing with heat like glowing embers. Acrid smoke and ash hung thick and blocked the daylight. The only illumination came from smoldering fires far below. It was as though a nightmarish underworld had risen in the city’s stead.

  “How?” Vengelis mouthed in disbelief.

  He floated alone far above the city, taking shallow breaths, attempting to rationalize what he was seeing. He had lived in Municera during his early teenage years, and in a sense considered the city a home. All of the landmarks of the great Municera were barely identifiable in the carnage. The Grand Arena, a triumphant marvel of his empire’s engineering, was torn down to its skeletal frame; bits of the stadium seating and tall walls reached out of a sweltering bed of sheer dark flames.

  After what felt like a very long time, Master Tolland descended silently alongside Vengelis and placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

  “We have no time to contemplate this, Vengelis. We must make for the capital.” Master Tolland paused, clearly also shaken. The fires from far below reflected in his troubled eyes. “A battle may still be underway in Sejeroreich. If there is, they’ll need you desperately.”

  “Yes,” Vengelis said numbly, his arms shaking with fury and shock.

  “Your people need you with a clear head, Vengelis. Rage will dull your senses. You must keep your composure, now more than ever before!”

  Without another word, a deafening boom echoed across the hellscape as Vengelis burst toward the south once more. Master Tolland hurried after him, but Vengelis pulled away within moments. Vengelis seethed as he accelerated southward across the skies. He knew he was the greatest warrior of Anthem—the purest of Sejero blood and the strongest of mind. All knew Vengelis Epsilon was the most powerful warrior of the modern age, perhaps the most powerful warrior of any age. The supreme sentinel of Anthem had been in the middle of nowhere training and arguing philosophies as a holocaust tore into his world. He had not been there when his people needed him most, and that truth was poison.

  Vengelis clung to the hope that it was not too late.

  Without even a glance downward, Vengelis soared over the rising carnage of the ruined Twin Cities. What if he was too late? What if there was nothing left to protect?

  As he moved south Vengelis could see the imposing towers of Sejeroreich rise on the horizon. Above them, the sun loomed at high noon, and the sky was clear save for several pillars of black smoke that hung over the capital. From his distance Sejeroreich looked to be nearly in the same condition as the other burning cities he had bypassed. But in Sejeroreich many towers still stood, a testament to the hardened defenses of the city. He passed over columns of spires, the sound of screams and wails mixing with the indiscernible destruction. Many skyscrapers were gone, vanished into piles of rubble in the streets.

  The sounds of war raged, and bedlam had taken hold of the city, but Sejeroreich was not completely lost.

  Through the smoke he saw the Epsilon Palace still standing in the high ground of the city’s center. The Royal Tower was leaning dangerously to one side, and looked as though it may collapse any moment. It was horrible to behold; Vengelis thought of the sacred heirlooms that lay within. He could not imagine them lost. Vengelis turned to look in his wake; Master Tolland was too far behind to be visible, and Lord General Hoff and Darien were probably just passing Municera. Vengelis descended through the darkening sky and flew directly into the leaning Royal Tower, shattering through the stained-glass windows outside the War Hall.

  A group of middle ranked soldiers standing guard in the hallway fell back in surprise as Vengelis crashed through the hundredth-story windows.

  “Where is my family?” Vengelis asked at once.

  They all breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the son of the emperor. One of the guards with a callow face gave him a trembling salute. “L-Lord Vengelis! The Imperial First Class has fallen!”

  “Steady yourself.” Vengelis regarded the man’s fear with distaste. “Where is my family?”

  “We’re not certain, my lord. The communication lines have been down for hours. The final transmission we heard was that the Epsilon family had been moved to the bunker underneath the palace barracks. Your father joined the battle alongside the Royal Guard and the Imperial First Class. We’ve received no word on their status. The machines . . . people are calling them Felixes . . . they are indestructible, my lord.”

  “Indestructible?” Vengelis said.

  “Y-Yes. People are saying it is the second coming of the . . . of the apocalypse, my lord.”

  Vengelis lunged forward and struck the guard in his chest. The man launched backward into the opposite window and crashed through the decorated pane, falling with a scream into the daylight outside the tower. Vengelis turned to the rest of the guards, each of them looking meek and scared.

  “Get to the front! You are Imperial soldiers. Is your Sejero blood so diluted that you have no strength or will left?”

  Vengelis glared as they bowed and sprinted to the nearby stairs. He lifted off from the polished floor and flew out the shattered window. Rising high over the city, Vengelis examined the devastation occurring in the palace and surrounding blocks. Where were these machines? He had been expecting to see massive steel juggernauts or eclipsing ships overhead. All he could see were Primus—his people—running in every direction. He descended into the open air and landed outside the palace barracks. A regiment of imposing Imperial First Class guards stood at the tall gates.

  The moment Vengelis landed, all of the guards snapped to attention and saluted, thundering in deep unison, “Hail, Emperor Vengelis Epsilon!”

  Vengelis hesitated for a moment in his approach to the gate, which cranked open to greet him. A pit formed in his stomach as he distractedly returned a salute. They had addressed him as emperor, not prince. He shook the notion from his mind as the barracks chief officer hurried out of the gate to greet him. Grime and dirt covered the older man’s face and sullied his armor. Despair bled from him like an open wound, but he saluted Vengelis robustly.

  “Where is my family?” Vengelis said, falling
into step with the officer. His voice sounded hollow in his own ears.

  “My lord, your sister and mother are in the bunker far below. They are safe for the time being. Though safe has quickly become a relative term. We need to evacuate the Royal families from the planet as soon as possible. Your father has fallen.”

  The exhausted officer placed a hand on Vengelis’s shoulder and directed him toward the bunker. The man was not wearing the armor of a general, or even an upper ranked Imperial First Class soldier. Vengelis did not need to ask to realize the entire power hierarchy had already fallen—the superiors of this middle ranked soldier were dead. The officer was talking hurriedly, providing an overview of the morning’s events and Sejeroreich’s remaining defenses. Vengelis stopped suddenly, and the man came to a halt before him.

  “My father has fallen?”

  The downtrodden officer dropped his gaze to his own boots. “Yes, my lord. Emperor Faris died defending the palace early this morning during the beginning of the attack. He fought with the full might of the Royal Guard. They . . . they all died. I heard from a soldier near the battle that Emperor Faris died an honorable death. A Felix claimed his life.”

  Vengelis could barely register the words. His father was gone. The chaos of the capital suddenly became faded, dreamlike. The frenzied world fell out of focus, and Vengelis felt overwhelmed. For the first time in two thousand years, the Epsilon dynasty was in mortal jeopardy. Vengelis steadied his breathing and attempted to regain his composure. He turned and looked out over the gardens of the palace courtyard. It seemed as though the entire Imperial First Class lay wounded or dead, medics frantically moving the few survivors into the barracks.

  What miniscule fraction of the Imperial Army remained for him to lead? Vengelis felt fear strip away his confidence. Icy panic slowly seeped into his mind, but he quickly replaced it with resolve.

  “Take me to my family,” Vengelis said with a steady authority.

  “At once, my lord. Follow me.”

  The officer turned and led Vengelis at a brisk pace through the bowels of the palace barracks, their footfalls echoing off the deserted stone hallways and the armor of the stoic guards standing sentry along the way. They entered an elevator and wordlessly descended dozens of floors far into the underground bunker of the palace. Vengelis tried to grasp confidence. So be it if the entire Imperial Army and the Royal Guard fell. His power alone was on a magnitude beyond these men. A hundred lesser warriors standing by his side would not increase his odds. It made no difference that the Imperial First Class had fallen, for even when the entirety of the ranks stood together, the final defense of Anthem inexorably came down to him alone: the last Epsilon.

  The elevator doors slid open, and a sterile and militarily outfitted bunker came into view. A cavernous room, the bunker was filled to capacity with parents and children of the Royal families and various high-ranking officials. The faces ranged the gamut of his people, the shrill cry of infants rising alongside the pained moans of wounded soldiers. Vengelis was repulsed by the sight. It was as though he was looking at a refugee camp, and yet these were the strongest of his race—these were living deities bleeding out on the floor like wounded animals.

  The moment Vengelis stepped from the elevator into the teeming room, a hush descended. All eyes fell on the young Epsilon. Vengelis could feel the gazes searing into him, their eyes piercing him with pleas for protection. He alone was their last tenuous hope of salvation. Everyone knew it.

  “Hail, Emperor Vengelis Epsilon!” a number of wounded Imperial First Class warriors shouted from one corner. Their voices rose and fell, a quiet trepidation taking hold of the bunker immediately after their determined salutes.

  “Where is my family?” Vengelis asked the officer impatiently, his gaze surveying the grim surrounds. The man raised a hand to the rear of the room and nodded Vengelis forward. His mother was standing in solitude against a corner, her head resting against the wall. Beside her, Vengelis’s little sister Eve was sitting on the floor, her hands around her knees. Surrounding them were the last hulking members of the Royal Guard. He thought his mother and sister looked fragile and out of place, like revered statues tucked away in sudden shame. They hurried to him and collided into his armored chest, embracing him tightly.

  “Vengelis, your father has fallen.” His mother was sobbing, her hands wrapped tightly around something. Vengelis looked down numbly and saw she was holding the Blood Ring. He had never seen it off of his father’s hand. His father would have died before he gave up the ring, and so it had been.

  “Eve . . .” Vengelis said, wrapping an arm around the slender, elegant shoulder of his younger sister. Though her formal name was Evengeline, she had gone by Eve for as long as he could remember.

  “I’m so glad you’re safe,” Eve spoke into his chest. “Our fear was that you had been lost too. The attack hit Sejeroreich in the early hours this morning. People are calling them Felixes, some sort of Primus machines. We don’t know anything for certain. The whole Imperial First Class is scattered and broken. Father fought with the Royal Guard, but they all fell.”

  Vengelis could not bring himself to speak, for no words seemed appropriate. Not one hour previous, he had been training on Mount Karlsbad without a care in the world. How was any of this possible? They must be mistaken. No power could destroy the entire assembled Royal Guard. His head felt empty, his mind incapable of forming thoughts.

  “A transport is being prepared to take us from Anthem,” Eve said. “We are going to escape until this attack dies down, until we know more about these machines.”

  “Escape?” he found his voice and looked down upon their anguished faces.

  “Vengelis, you two are the lone surviving Epsilons,” his mother said. She placed a hand on his arm, her many rings and ornately jeweled bracelets brushing against his skin. “You both have to flee. There is no choice in the matter. If you were to fall, it would be to the ruin of the Primus race. The Epsilon line has never been broken. It cannot be risked.”

  Vengelis pulled back from her grasp and inclined his head with an adamant conviction. “I stay.”

  Eve shook her head, her pretty chin quivering with grief and fear. “You can’t, Vengelis. I know it’s hard for you to flee, but you must. You are emperor now. You have to do what is right for your people, not yourself. You are the last Epsilon—”

  “I need no reminding of my heritage. You are right. I am the last surviving Epsilon. I will not leave Anthem. I will defend it to my death, as my fathers before me.”

  “But there can be no victory!” Eve said. “The Felixes have decimated all of our defenses. The entire Imperial First Class was scattered. And Father . . .”

  “These . . . Felix machines . . . have not yet bested me,” Vengelis said in a cold fury. “I will not run while Sejeroreich and all of Anthem is laid to waste. I will not run and hide while an execution is carried out upon people who look to me for deliverance.” His voice had inadvertently risen to a shout, and he realized every soul in the bunker was listening.

  “We are facing obliteration. You will serve no use to your people dead, son,” his mother whispered.

  “There will be no more people if I don’t put a stop to this madness.” Vengelis raised an infuriated hand with finality and turned to Eve. “I will face the machines. They may have defeated lesser warriors, but they will find a challenge in me. That much I promise. When I engage them, you must make your escape as quickly as you can. You and I equally share the Epsilon bloodline.”

  Eve shook her head. “Don’t do this.”

  “One of us must escape, and it cannot be me. It cannot be me. I couldn’t live with the knowledge that I fled while so many others fought and died. If the last Epsilon were to flee when Anthem needs him most, then the strength of the Sejero is already lost.”

  “I don’t want you to die, Vengelis.”

  Vengelis stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I won’t. When I make my stand, all of you must esca
pe. Do you understand?”

  Eve wiped a trailing tear from her face and embraced her brother. This was not the first time she had said goodbye to him before he risked his life. He could see the growing faith in her eyes, the sudden hope in the face of his strength. She was looking up at her fearless and invincible older brother. Eve had never seen him lose. No one had ever seen Vengelis Epsilon defeated. She sighed deeply and nodded. “I understand.”

  Vengelis looked to his mother, but she merely shook her head in futile desperation. She was incapacitated with grief. Without another word Vengelis turned to leave them, but Eve reached out and took him by the wrist. She had taken the Blood Ring from their mother’s grasp. Slowly, and with a grave earnestness, she placed the gigantic family heirloom on his left hand. The Blood Ring and Vengelis’s hand looked as though they had been crafted as one.

  “The Blood Ring belongs to our emperor, long may he live,” Eve said. She rose up to her toes and kissed Vengelis on the cheek, then turned to the frightened crowd and shouted as loud as she could across the subdued quiet of the bunker, “Hail, Vengelis Epsilon! Our champion rises to the call of war!”

  For the slightest moment, her shout was met with dead silence. Then, at once, applause and cheering erupted from the huddled groups of families and wounded soldiers. It was surely fate. The greatest Epsilon in recent memory was crowned emperor at the very moment when his world needed him most. It was the making of a new Sejero legend. This was the prodigy who had challenged the most brutal warrior in the world to a fight to the death on his fourteenth birthday. This was the only living warrior who had never tasted defeat. Vengelis, the pride of his race, the greatest Sejero warrior in the world, a living god, was joining their fight.

  Not hesitating for a moment, Vengelis pushed through the roars of encouragement toward the elevator. The Blood Ring pulsated a fiery red, and all in the room recognized that Vengelis Epsilon had been destined for this day. When he was a teenager, many had thought him arrogant and brash. Now a man grown, the valor of the old Sejero heroes stood reincarnated before their very eyes. This was no dawn upon a day of reckoning; to a lesser race perhaps, but the Primus wielded the power of the Sejero.