Page 86 of Godslayer
It goes on?
No—it goes… wrong?
Let’s get on?
The voices churn together, thick and distorted, twisting through my brain as I try to sort it out.
Eck goes on?
Ep-go-zon?
Suddenly, the sound sharpens, syllables snapping into place. And even up here, as some sort of specter—some kind of ghost—I can feel it.
Fear. Crawling through my belly. Making my heart thump. Chest constricting. Because they’re sayingEpsilon.
That’s what they’re chanting. “Epsilon!Epsilon!Epsilon!”
Which is a very bad thing for me indeed.
Because Epsilon isn’t just a city or a factory on the train line.
He’s a god.
A god who doesn’t even exist in the world I come from. Epsilon City is a godless place, just like Tau City. But unlike Tau City, the god wasn’t killed hundreds of years ago.
He went missing just two decades back.
The whole city shut down. Spark gone. I mean, it’s back now, but if you live in a god’s city, that god provides for you. And if one day he goes missing, he’s no longer doin’ that.
Everyone blamed the Alphas. All the Median cities—self-righteous bunch of fucks they are—were so sure the Alpha’s did something to the god Epsilon, they nearly started a war over it. This coming from people who saw themselves as above it all. They were properly angry, they were.
I was way too young to give a fuck about some missin’ god. All I was thinking about was my approaching augmentation day and my new life in the Sweep Army.
But I sure as hell give a fuck right now. Because whatever this place is—it’shis. And not only am I his prisoner, but he’s got my Clara.
As I’m thinking this, I feel the pull of my body below. A calling to me, like a god summoning his servants. And that’s exactly what it feels like when suddenly, I am sucked back into my battered and bleeding body. Writhing in pain as the augments cheer, “Epsilon!Epsilon!Epsilon!”
Someone kicks me in the ribs, and from the way it doubles me over, this isn’t the first time. My data display enters Health Critical mode, flashin’ on the back of my eyelids, and it’s confirmin’ what I thought. The list is longer than I’d like. Two broken ribs, partially dislocated wrist along with rope burns and lacerations, cracked collarbone, split lip from the initial punch, and lack of blood circulation in my hands from being tied to the rail.
It hurts to breathe, my left arm is shaking uncontrollably, and my head feels like someone took an ax to it.
But the really concerning thing on the data display is the little box on the bottom left. It’s flashin’ red and the words inside the box say—COMBAT MODE: ACTIVATED—in all caps. Above that is a list of what’s goin’ through my blood right now. Epinephrine, norepinephrine, dopamine, cortisol, and good old testosterone. All of them in levels only seen in extreme fight situations.
Which explains my shaking arm.
Another boot comes at me, trying to turn those broken ribs into three. But even though my eyes are still closed, I see it. And this fucker shouldknowI see it. Because he might as well be me, that’s how fuckin’ augmented he is. I can smell the nanotech comin’ off him like sweat.
But he doesn’t and obviously, now that I’m back in my body, he’s not gettin’ a second chance to kick the fuck out of my ribs. I grab his foot, eyes flyin’ open, and twist my body, taking him with me. In mid-air, I watch his face. Surprise.
How did he not know I was waking up?
I decide I don’t care when his whole body spins and his face slams in to the ground—which I just now realize is made of stone—and this cracks his front teeth, blood comes gushing out.
And for the smallest of moments, the crowd stops. Shocked.
But it’s so brief, it barely happens.
Then the roaring starts—and for a moment I feel the wave of bodies tryin’ to get at me. Held back by…
