The Bleeding Stars: Volume 1 of The Delti Sequence Read online

  T. X. Call

  The Bleeding Stars

  Copyright © 2021 by T. X. Call

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  T. X. Call asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  First edition

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  Contents

  Prologue: Vanquished

  Chapter 1: The Warrior

  Chapter 2: Apprentice

  Chapter 3: The Slave

  Chapter 4: The Caves

  Chapter 5: Stars

  Chapter 6: Invasion

  Chapter 7: The Fall of Luvis

  Chapter 8: Alliances

  Chapter 9: The Overlord

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue: Vanquished

  Faith over fear.

  -The Rift Code, Line 1, estimated to be written ca. 7,000 B.W. (Before War)

  Yaenke had been right. Oh, heaven knew he hated it, but he’d been right. The Assembly had scoffed. The Emperor had dismissed him. Outright war was impossible, they said. The Shadi were a myth, they said. Well, now they were here, and death with them.

  Above him, battle raged as the enemy fleet bore down on its ragtag Confederacy opponent. One would think the militia of an empire that had stood for five millennia would be colossally powerful. Alas, that was not so. Instead, plasma ripped through the hulls of the few Confederacy ships like Surgeblades through flesh, shredding the cruisers to pieces. Flames and hot metal fell from the sky, a glowing rain that covered the streets in angry orange. Smoke billowed everywhere, blocking the fallen from view, though Yaenke could still see silhouettes collapsing out in the chaos. Inside the inner shield of the city, he could not hear their screams, but he felt them nonetheless.

  He and the Emperor’s Guard stood on a landing platform near the center of the city, just inside the protective bubble of energy that sheltered the Imperial Palace from attack. It was the last remaining of Mage City’s three major shields: first the planetary shield, then the city shield had all fallen, allowing the Shadi to launch their devastating attack. Ships and carriers sat dormant all about the pad, unmanned, their pilots killed in the early hours of the assault. Yaenke did not dare use them to escape. The Shadi had created a powerful defensive formation about the exit wormhole, presumably to prevent any survivors from escaping. Already he’d lost dozens of squadrons attempting to penetrate it. They’d have to find some other way out, hide in an obscure area of the system until the Shadi relaxed their security. That could take months, years even, but the heavens knew it would have to work.

  Yaenke glanced toward the Emperor. A small, pathetically insignificant figure compared to their chaotic surroundings, he was sheathed in a protective circle of his finest men, hunched over, head in his hands. Coward. Even now he’d been proven wrong about the Shadi, he still wouldn’t do a thing about it. Still, Yaenke had to protect him. In times like these, incompetent leadership was still better than none.

  “Sir, we’re detecting a group of Shadi breaking off from the main fleet,” a soldier beside Yaenke reported, holoscreen in hand. His eyes were apprehensive. Before today, most of Yaenke’s men hadn’t seen combat. Yaenke himself hadn’t fought in years. He’d have to hope their training was on point.

  “Where?” he asked.

  The soldier pointed north. Yaenke nodded, pulling a scanner from his belt and following the man’s finger. Sure enough, three enemy carriers were swinging around the unprotected south side of the shield, heading directly for the landing pad. Yaenke froze.

  Could they know the Emperor was here? When they’d fled the palace, Yaenke had sent a plethora of fake transmissions to cover up their escape. However, he knew better than to underestimate his opponent — particularly when they were kicking your vret the way the Shadi were now.

  “Prepare yourselves,” he ordered, drawing his Surgeblade from his belt, igniting it. A long, elegant chrome weapon with a jewel embedded in its hilt, it glowed with faint blue light, infused with Ever, the magical fuel the jewel produced. Yaenke was careful to touch the blade with only his gloved hands. Though he’d need the blades extra Ever, he couldn’t afford the distraction touching a direct sword could offer. “They’re headed for us,” he continued. “Defend the Emperor at all costs.” The palace shield, though it could protect them from the energy blasts of the main cruisers, wouldn’t stop the Shadi cruiser from entering.

  His men snapped into action, baring their spears and other weapons. Yaenke counted five more Surgeblades among them. A lot, but likely not enough, not against this force. Unless… they could hijack the enemy cruisers. Yes, that could work.

  Though his scanner was off now, the Shadi ships were close enough Yaenke could see them with his naked eye. Twisting above the pad, they began their descent, briefly deactivating their systems to pass through the shield unharmed. Yaenke frowned. How could they know? He’d covered their tracks as well as he knew how. Sighing, he snapped into a ready stance, Surgeblade pointed up and slightly forward, legs braced to spring at his opponent. He pushed his worries away; now was not a time for speculation.

  “Do we fire, Commander?” a guard asked, aiming his glowing, Ever-infused hand toward the carriers. Yaenke shook his head. “Leave the cruisers intact. We’ll need them to escape. Focus your energy on killing what’s inside.”

  His men obeyed, watching, tense, eyes following the three Shadi cruisers as they dropped gracefully onto the landing pad, surrounding Yaenke’s little formation in an even circle. So they did, absolutely, for sure, know. How? Wait… thos! Yaenke wasn’t ready for that.

  The carriers remained ominously silent for a good minute, heat billowing from their dying engines, headlights slowly blinking out. Yaenke twitched, trying not to let his mind wander. They didn’t have a memory burner. They couldn’t.

  Pneumatics hissed. Yaenke’s men turned as one of the cruisers’ doors slid open, the interior of the ship shrouded by smoke.

  “Attack!” Yaenke yelled.

  His men fired, using both blasters and Ever to send bolts of plasma, flame, and lightning ripping into the smoke. However, there were no screams in reply, just the shriek of metal ripping. Yaenke’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake.

  “Hold!”

  It was too late. The other two carriers slid open, and Shadi soldiers poured from them, figures cloaked in red and black armor, visors darkened to shield their eyes from view. Catching most of Yaenke’s men off guard, they unleashed their own volley of attacks. Plasma slammed into the Confederacy soldiers, dropping more than half of them in a single burst of energy. Yaenke froze, dazed, fighting memories, and summoned a blue shield with his Ever. Several more of his men dropped, but they quickly regained their wits, forming a defensive star formation around the Emperor.

  The Shadi fell back briefly, regained their own formation, then rushed forward, drawing melee weapons, and slammed into the remaining guards— including Yaenke. Assaulted by two armored soldiers, his shroud fell within seconds, and he desperately swung his Surgeblade, parrying their attacks, falling backward, hardly able to think th
rough the sheer shock of seeing — and feeling — dozens of his own men dying. Their echoes clouded his vision, distracting him from his opponents. A blade cut through his arm. He screamed.

  “No!”

  He ducked around another strike, closed his eyes, and Reached for his Surgeblade, mentally drawing the Ever from its reservoir of power, infusing it into his body. Then, fist glowing, he slammed it into the ground, expending it to send the two Shadi flying backward. Instantly, his mind cleared, though he could still feel pain where his arm had been slashed. Tucking his hand to his chest, he turned toward the rest of the fight.

  If half of his men had died in the initial volley, they were now down to an eighth of their original number. There were only a dozen left, desperately parrying the attacks of the seemingly innumerable Shadi soldiers. Somehow, the Emperor was still alive, hunched over, still sobbing, though his ceremonial robes were now tattered beyond repair. All of the other Surgeblade wielders had fallen.

  Yaenke breathed, the shaky breath of a man trying to calm himself in the face of Torment. There was only one thing he could do now. Closing his eyes, he Reached, not for the Surgeblade this time, but for the memories dancing all around him.

  They came more naturally than he expected, a flood of emotions and images. Old and young. Male and female. Shadi and Confederacy. In an instant, he relived them all.

  A Shadi slave, one who had never even seen the green of a tree’s leaves, died to a sword through the neck.

  A guard screamed as his spine was struck by plasma, leaving him bleeding and paralyzed on the floor.

  A woman nearby fled, trying not to think of the baby she’d left behind, knowing there was no use in going back, for the cries would give her away.

  Memories. Terrible, horrible memories.

  It was all he could take not to collapse, but stand he did. Eyes flashing open, he Burned the memories. In his head, the reliving had taken hours. Here, it had only taken a moment. Now, though, he pulsed with blue Ever, ten times what he had gathered from the Surgeblade.

  Despite the fallen, he found himself grinning.

  Leaping into the air, he unleashed a hail of pure fire on the Shadi below. They yelped, some pulling personal shield generators from their hips, but Yaenke burned more Ever, and the blue shields collapsed. Power pulsed in a ring around the remaining guards, ripping apart the ground, melting the concrete. Within moments, the Shadi were all unconscious, fleeing, or dead. Yaenke exhaled, descending back to the ground. His glow had mostly faded, and exhaustion was quickly setting in.

  Oh, he’d forgotten how thrilling that was.

  His soldiers stared in awe, some dropping their weapons. The Emperor lifted his head, eyes bulging, seemingly more terrified of Yaenke than he was of the Shadi that had nearly assassinated him.

  “God of Okron,” one man whispered. “You’re a memory burner?”

  Yaenke nodded. “No time to explain. We need to get out of here. Load into the nearest ship. If things get ugly…” He trailed off as something caught his eye — a motion on his left. He whipped toward it, furrowing his eyebrows.

  A lone woman stood in the smoke, eyes closed. Dressed in tight, thin cloth robes, she appeared unarmed, though said robes clearly bore the Bladed Wheel, symbol of the Shadi. She smiled softly, then her eyes flashed open.

  They burned red.

  “Commander Yaenke. How nice to finally meet you.”

  Yaenke tightened his grip on his Surgeblade. His men raised their hands to fire, but he motioned for them to hold.

  “Who are you?”

  The woman cocked her head. “One would think you would already know. I am, after all, your future leader.”

  Yaenke’s eyes narrowed. “Jadis Larsh,” he whispered.

  She nodded, smiling. “There you go.” Then, snarling, she raised her hand and snapped her fingers. Red flared, and dozens of bolts of Void flew from it, a corrupt energy that flew into the chests of Yaenke’s men, as well as the Emperor’s. They collapsed in unison as flames crackled, vaporizing their minds before they could so much as flinch.

  “No!” Yaenke screamed, and, ignoring his training, ignoring any rational logic, he ran toward Larsh, pulling his Surgeblade backward to decapitate her. Her grin widened, and she allowed him to approach, then twisted away with unnatural speed, throwing Yaenke off balance. Snatching his arm, she grabbed the Surgeblade, yanking it away from his grip with a clever turn of the handle. Then, before he could react, she kicked him, blue flaring between them as he went flying into the carriers with a thud.

  Still glowing red, Larsh chuckled softly, looking down at the Surgeblade, hand grazing the blue Surgejewel embedded into the hilt. It pulsed with with azure energy, though that energy faded for a moment as her skin touched it.

  “Excellent,” she muttered. “A fine weapon. Just needs one last touch.” Her expression hardened, and she pulsed, pushing red light into the Surge. Its blue glow faded, replaced by the bright crimson of Void. Larsh’s own glow faded, and her expression seemed to fall a bit.

  “You Voidling!” Yaenke cursed. Groaning, he raised his hand, throwing all the Ever he could spare into a single blast of lightning toward Larsh. She laughed lightly, flicking her finger, and blue flashed, blocking the lightning. Then, snapped her fingers, she sent her own blast of light into Yaenke’s chest. He screamed as electricity ripped through his body, burning his flesh, zapping its way through his heart. He fell face-first to the ground, muscles locked, though, perhaps through the grace of God, perhaps through the small touch of Ever still infused in his skin, he remained alive.

  Larsh stalked toward him, twisting the corrupted Surgeblade in her hand. She stepped onto his back as he tried to rise, then pressed the tip of the blade against his neck.

  “What do you want?” Yaenke gasped, vision blurring.

  Her voice lowered. “Power is the only truth. I merely enforce it.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  She shrugged. “It’s a fact.” She loosened her grip, allowing Yaenke to roll over onto his back, locking eyes with him. Yaenke stared her down, though he shivered at the penetrating analysis in her gaze. He did not attempt to fight. He probably should. But with that Surgeblade hanging over his neck, he didn’t stand a chance of survival.

  In the end, he realized, he was still a coward. He averted his eyes.

  “The One Chosen will stop you,” he gasped. “If I was right about the Shadi, surely I was right about that.”

  “The One Chosen failed every time before,” Larsh sighed. “This will be no different.”

  “Whoever it is, they’ll prove you wrong. The prophecy says so.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Destiny is subjective.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  She merely snorted. “You’re a memory burner,” she said, almost to herself. “Untrained, of course, but… I can’t afford to throw away such an asset. You seem breakable enough. Yes, you will make an excellent servant after conditioning.”

  “You won’t break me,” Yaenke hissed.

  Larsh’s smile seemed to fall a bit. “They all say that, Yaenke. Part of me wishes one of them could prove themselves right. Reality is, you’re just a dish, a vessel to hold a bit of Ever. And no matter how solid you make a dish, ceramic shatters the moment a hammer hits it.” She leaned in close, her breath against Yaenke’s ear. “I’m the hammer.”

  She waved her hand. And though he fought it, Yaenke quickly felt himself fade into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 1: The Warrior

  A child will one day be born, one chosen by the Everrealm to restore peace. You shall know them by the scar on their ankle, the rune of faith over fear. I cannot foresee their fate, but they will have the power to defeat the Shadi and expel the Void from Delti.

  I can see no further. But this much I have seen. Believe it or not, it is true.

  -The first Prophet of Meridian, ca. 6,500 B.W.

  JACK MCKAY

  The Emperor is dead. Mage City has fallen.

/>   You can see my fleet. You can see what is coming. Fight it and die if you will. Surrender and live if you will not. Either way, you will soon be mine.

  The message had been brief, but it still echoed in all our minds. They’d broadcasted it to the Greater Confederacy, but all of us knew what this was really about. The Confederacy was already leaderless, with little military. No, the Shadi were talking to us, Artensia, the resistance. It was an ultimatum, one that, frankly, had been a long time coming, though we all wished it wouldn’t have come now.

  We had to fight, though! People were dying. If that weren’t reason enough, once the Confederacy fell, we were next.

  Unfortunately, my father didn’t see it that way. Which is why, being the stubborn person I was, I was riding an elevator headed for his quarters, so I could storm in and give him a piece of my mind.

  I twiddled my fingers as the pneumatic doors closed, the whir of motors the only noise in a silent cabin as we ascended. Several soldiers stood behind me, staves in hand. I flinched every time one of them moved. I wasn’t doing anything illegal, though knowing my dad’s attitude, he’d probably find a way to make it so. Looking down, I checked my white shirt for stains. My clothes always had some sort of grease stain on them, and my father didn’t appreciate such things. “Professionalism”, and all that. Stupid, we were the searing military, but my opinion was always secondary to his.

  The elevator doors slid open, and I exited into a bright, well-decorated lobby. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I saw the floral arrangements and paintings. We were at war, and you worry about these kinds of things, dad? Really?

  My father’s office was down the right hall, literally on the very top corner of the cube that was the Artensian Military Compound. A really stupid place to put it, frankly, because it was the easiest thing for a bomber to hit. I arrived at the polished wooden door. There wasn’t a window, so I pressed my ear to it, listening to ensure I wasn’t interrupting him. No one was there. I sighed. On a day like this, he should be swamped with people. Instead, he didn’t seem to care. Well, that was what I was here for. Closing my eyes and shoving down my anxiety, I knocked.