Infiltration (29 page)

Laser light lanced through me a moment later. Grain Brain had pulled a laser gun from somewhere and was blasting for all he was worth.

“Stop!” screamed Diabolist Mage. “You’ll hit the receptacle!”

Fortunately, Rune and I were still phased so we hadn’t been injured, but it was worthwhile to note that Rune still held some value for these guys. Grain Brain eased up on the trigger, at which point the Diabolist seemed to breathe a little easier.

I was still trying to figure out what to do next when Gorgon Son leaped through me again, this time from behind. In my phased form, threats can practically be ignored, and I had dismissed him to a certain extent as I tried to figure out what to do. It was a very poor decision on my part.

As he leaped through my insubstantial body, Gorgon Son turned around so that when he landed he was facing me. Looking me in the eye, actually. And just like before, his eyes began to glow, his hair became a live, wriggling mass, and I suddenly found that I couldn’t move.

For a few seconds, it was a repeat of the scene at the overpass, with Gorgon Son swinging at me and being unable to connect with anything while I strained to move.

“It’s him — that kid from the other night,” Gorgon said after a few moments of futile action with his mace, making an impressive deduction. “I have him, but I can’t touch him.”

While he had been swinging at me, the White Wyrm and Diabolist Mage had walked over, and now stood just to the rear of Gorgon Son.

“It appears that we have a Mexican standoff,” the White Wyrm said.

“Maybe not,” the Diabolist countered as his eyes started glowing again. “I believe my magic can circumvent his power. Give me a few moments, and I can make him solid again.”

“And then?” Gorgon Son asked.

“Obliterate him,” the Diabolist responded.

The White Wyrm chuckled, seemingly satisfied with what he’d heard from his comrades. He looked at me and cocked his head slightly to the side, as if contemplating something.

“Viewing your time here as a probationary period,” he said after a few seconds, “I’ve come to the conclusion that you don’t fit in with our corporate culture, and must therefore retract my offer of permanent employment. Best of luck in your future endeavors.”

He turned and walked back towards Grain Brain as Gorgon Son started swinging at me again.

Based on what he’d done with reality, I didn’t doubt that Diabolist Mage could probably make me substantial again. In fact, the mace that Gorgon Son was using was glowing with the same purple light as the Diabolist’s eyes.

“Enjoy your last few moments of life,” the Diabolist said. “With my enhanced abilities, I’ll make the maces even more powerful than when we tested them on Alpha Prime. Thanks for being our guinea pig.”

The Diabolist was as good as his word; I was starting to feel something from the mace as Gorgon Son continued trying to strike me. Like the beam of light before, it had started off gently, along the lines of being tickled with a feather — but was beginning to feel a bit firmer. In just a few minutes, the mace would start to connect with flesh and bone.

Mentally, I scrambled, trying to gain some kind of edge. A chill went through me as I remembered what Mouse and BT had said. I couldn’t move physically, but I was still phased, so maybe my other powers still worked. If I could use them to break Gorgon Son’s concentration…

I reached out telekinetically and poked him in the eyes. Hard. Gorgon Son screeched in pain, hands going to his face, and I felt myself free of his control.

I became solid, then stepped forward and walloped Gorgon Son on the forehead with Imo’s mace. He staggered backwards, disoriented, stumbling into Diabolist Mage. Being jostled seemed to break the Diabolist’s concentration, because the glow left his eyes, leaving me to assume that whatever magic he was employing to affect my phasing power had been halted.

Off to the side, Grain Brain opened up with the laser gun again (although now that I looked closely, it seemed more like a laser rifle). I phased, thankful that the shots passed harmlessly through me.

“Stop!” Diabolist Mage yelled, shoving Gorgon Son away from him. “Stop shooting!”

Either Grain Brain didn’t hear the Diabolist, didn’t react fast enough, or simply didn’t care, because the shots kept coming. Overtly furious at being ignored, Diabolist Mage fired a purple spark from his staff at the wee-headed scientist. It struck Grain Brain in the thigh, blasting his leg off, and he dropped to the ground, wailing in unimaginable pain and clutching the stump where his leg had been. The White Wyrm, who had been standing next to Grain Brain, was blown to the ground, dazed.

I peeked into the box to check on Rune. He seemed no worse than before, the diagrams on his face moving almost with purposeful intent.

I teleported in front of Gorgon Son, who was still rubbing his eyes in effort to soothe the pain. I gave him an uppercut on the chin with Imo’s mace. He went over backwards, hit the floor, and didn’t move.

The Diabolist turned towards me, and I flung the mace at him. He batted it aside with his staff, but I used the distraction to teleport, popping up next to him. I grabbed the staff, intending to yank it away from him, and then found myself screaming as it felt like someone had smeared napalm on my hands.

I let go of the staff and staggered back a step, staring at my hands in agony. It looked like I’d had an accident while trying to juggle an electrified chain saw that was also on fire. My hands were raw and blistered — even charred in some places. I tried moving my fingers and almost collapsed from the pain.

The Diabolist laughed. “You overreach, my friend. My staff has the power of the Kroten Yoso Va! It rejects your tainted touch.”

He pointed the staff at me, but before he could do anything, I teleported to a corner of the room, invisible. Being a speedster, I had a high metabolism, and I knew my hands would heal quickly, but not fast enough to deal with the threats in this room.

I concentrated for a moment, taking conscious control of my body — specifically, the nervous system. Over the next few seconds, I clamped down on the nerve endings in my hands, shutting off the impulses sending out the sensation of pain. The relief was almost immediate, and I found that I could once again move my hands without feeling like I was going to start blubbering.

Glancing around, the scene was still much as I’d left it. Diabolist Mage was desperately scanning the room in an effort to find me, head jerking around every few seconds in helter-skelter fashion. The White Wyrm was slowly getting to his feet, while Gorgon Son was still unconscious.

I teleported over by Grain Brain, picking up the laser rifle he had dropped when he lost his leg. The scientist had stopped screaming, but was making a weird mewling sound, apparently in shock. I ignored him and teleported behind the White Wyrm and stuck the barrel of the rifle in his back.

The White Wyrm, apparently no stranger to having the muzzle of a gun against his spine, slowly raised his hands in the air. I let out a heads-up whistle, causing the Diabolist to look in my direction.

“Release Rune and drop the staff,” I said, keeping my prisoner between us, “or the big man gets it.”

The Diabolist laughed. “Go ahead. It’ll save me the trouble of doing it later.”

“Honor among thieves,” I said in a low voice, to which the White Wyrm merely replied, “Indeed.”

Diabolist Mage pointed his staff at us and fired.

The White Wyrm dived aside and I phased and then teleported, this time popping up near the box holding Rune. Now that I thought about it, being next to Rune’s box was probably the safest place to be, since the Diabolist didn’t seem willing to risk harming him. And why should he? Rune was the goose laying the golden eggs.

Still, as long as the Diabolist was holding that staff, it seemed that nothing could touch him. That staff was the key… A little shudder went through me as a possible plan formed.

Diabolist Mage was looking around wildly again, now trying to keep an eye on the White Wyrm as well as look for me. I phased his staff, and it literally slipped through his fingers. The Diabolist’s hands flailed madly trying to catch it, like a drunk trying to grab a falling bottle of wine before it smashes on the sidewalk.

Before it hit the floor, I teleported the staff; the Diabolist screamed in frustration as it vanished. The staff appeared next to me in solid form as I held it up telekinetically — no way was I touching it again, even with numbed nerve endings.

The Diabolist looked in my direction, teeth bared, and I felt a murderous fury build in him that I would dare take his staff from him. He growled, a low animal sound, and then charged at me, eyes glowing. He’d taken maybe three steps when a powerful shoulder rammed into him, knocking him off his feet. It was the White Wyrm.

Apparently the Diabolist’s plan to eventually off him did not sit well with his former boss. The White Wyrm stepped over to where the Diabolist was still lying on the floor. He picked the magician up with one hand, holding him aloft, and then viciously slapped him with the other. (It was almost an encore performance of what had happened to Case.)

“You would eliminate
me
???!!! A dragon-born???!!!” the White Wyrm screamed, and then slammed the Diabolist face-first into the ground, hard enough to crack the stone floor. His sense of outrage was so great that he practically forgot about me…for a moment.

Breathing hard (and perhaps not having fully sated his aggressive tendencies), he looked around until he spied me. His eyes sparkled as he noticed the staff floating beside me, and he began walking in my direction.

“This is the problem with the criminal mindset,” the White Wyrm said, seemingly talking to himself. “From petty crooks to mafia dons to supervillains, none of these worms seems to know their place.”

“So it would seem…
worm
,” said the Diabolist, rising to his feet and enunciating the last word so clearly that there was no mistaking his meaning.

The White Wyrm stopped, and then turned about. He and the Diabolist said nothing, and I felt black hate — vile and unfiltered — pouring off each of them with regards to the other. Then, without preamble, they charged each other, screaming.

When they closed, the White Wyrm wrapped his hands around the Diabolist’s throat, squeezing mightily. At the same time, he pulled Diabolist Mage close until they were face-to-face. The White Wyrm’s mouth opened wide, far wider than should have been possible — almost as if it had unhinged. Then he bellowed.

It was a sound no human being should be able to make, a monstrous roar that shook the walls around us. At the same time, the dragon tattoo on the White Wyrm’s chest took on an eerie red glow, as if it were alive.

The Diabolist looked as though he couldn’t breathe, as he desperately tried to loosen the White Wyrm’s grip on his throat. His eyes were about to pop out of his skull, and his mouth was open as he desperately tried to get air into his lungs. Abruptly, his hands began to shine with a purple light, and he slowly began pulling his opponent’s hands away from his throat. As he did so, smoke curled up from where he touched the White Wyrm’s hands, and the air began to fill with the smell of burning flesh.

The White Wyrm screamed, and I knew that he was feeling the same burning sensation I had earlier. He headbutted the Diabolist, making him lose his grip and stagger backwards. The White Wyrm leaped at him.

As I watched, it seemed to me that their clash bore all the hallmarks of a battle to the death, and I wasn’t sure who I wanted to win. If the White Wyrm proved victorious, I had no idea what the fading effects of the Diabolist’s magic would be (assuming it did actually fade); we might be stranded — outside space and time — forever. If Diabolist Mage won, I’d be dealing with a half-mad magician with the power to warp reality.

Neither outcome was particularly appealing, and I found myself wishing that Rune would wake up so I’d have more options. Looking into the box, he appeared to be in the same state as before. The symbols covering him, however, seemed quite agitated — mixing, swirling, and looping in odd ways, as if they were trying to—

A blast of heat like the inside of a furnace wrenched my attention away from Rune and back towards the battle. Amazingly, the White Wyrm was now breathing fire, like his namesake, smothering Diabolist Mage in searing flames.

Oddly enough, the Diabolist — surrounded by a purple glow — was not harmed by the conflagration. He pointed a finger, and the White Wyrm was suddenly lifted off the ground. Diabolist Mage wagged the finger from side to side, which resulted in his adversary being repeatedly smashed into first one wall and then the other with bone-crushing force. After a few moments he stopped, and a beaten, bloodied White Wyrm dropped bonelessly to the ground.

Breathing heavily, Diabolist Mage turned towards me, the last man standing.

Chapter 38

Diabolist Mage drew back his hand, like a pitcher getting ready to throw, then launched a fireball at me. I teleported to a corner of the room, taking the staff along for the ride after making both it and me invisible. Furious, the Diabolist threw a few more fireballs randomly around the room, obviously hoping to get lucky. He never even got close.

Setting the staff down, I dashed towards the Diabolist at super speed and kicked his legs out from under him. He landed on his back with a whump that knocked the breath from him. He got slowly to his feet, and as soon as he managed to stand up straight, I did the same thing to him again.