Victor of Tucson - Book 7: Chapter 11: A Clear Message

Victor couldn’t have timed his Iron Berserk better if he’d tried. He’d just felt the swelling, burning, furious surge of rage-attuned Energy pour into his body when the first explosive shells struck. One hit his chest, another the crown of his head, and two exploded at his feet. His wyrm-scale vest took the impact with aplomb, the intricate layers of Tes’s enchantments helping to disburse the force of the impact and utterly ignoring the conflagration that erupted as the shell smashed apart. Victor was jostled, certainly, but he wasn’t knocked over.

As for the shell that struck him atop his head, he hardly felt that. The Kethian Juggernaut helm was a hundred times more dense than whatever metal casing the humans had fired at him. The explosions nearby shook the ground and threw dirt on him, but all that did was further enrage him. Something itched at his throat, fighting to get out of his lungs, and Victor opened his mouth to let it loose—a roar that echoed off and rattled the stones of the nearby wall. Victor suddenly didn’t know why he was holding back, and with a rather mean-spirited laugh, he summoned his Banner of the Champion and let loose any semblance of control he still held over his aura.

More shells and cannisters hit him, unleashing fire and heat. Sparkling, weaponized Energy of various flavors rippled through him, shocking him, freezing him, burning him, though never enough to really harm him, never enough to do more than momentarily make his flesh a little raw before his hyper-paced healing washed away the discomfort. Part of Victor was amused, yet part of him was angry—who were these gnats to sting him so? Did they not know their place before one such as he?

As the smoke of the bombardment cleared, Victor saw the black metal haft of his axe thrusting up from the ground near his hip, so he snatched it up, ripping it out of the soil where it had lain buried. It was a big axe, true, but nothing he couldn’t easily swing. He looked through the haze of smoke and ash, saw the glowing Energy limning the treads of a tank moving into position, and jogged toward it. Despite his relaxed pace, the vehicles tracking and firing at him struggled to time their shots, and he was only struck a few times before he smashed the huge, slow-moving vehicle with the axe. It was trivial to destroy the thing—one hit, then two, and it was a pile of smoldering scrap.

While he dismantled the tank, he was hit in the back by several more explosive rounds. Something hot and wet splashed onto his neck, burning painfully, and the red haze of fury began to darken his vision. Though he wasn’t in pain for more than a couple of seconds, the impudence of the incessant attacks and the irritation they caused him was beginning to take a toll on his clear thinking. He whirled, scanning the field, noting that four or five of the tanks had clustered together in their attempts to follow and aim at him. Grinning madly, Victor leaped into the air, aiming for the vehicles. None of the machines were able to effectively aim at and shoot him as he soared through the air, and when he smashed into the ground a dozen paces from the tanks, he stomped forward.

Victor stood before the group of Energy-driven war machines, lifted his axe into the air, and roared. His face flushed with his fury and the exertion of his bellow, and as it tapered off, he poured a massive surge of Energy into the pattern for his Wake the Earth spell.

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Silence had fallen over the crowd atop the parapet, and Valla turned to regard the governmental delegation. Darren Whitehorse stood with his hands on the ramparts, his mouth ajar and his eyes wide and fixed upon Victor as he strode over to one of the tanks, shrugging off cannon shots and then, as quickly as a grown man might swat an offending gnat, he pounded the thing into scrap.

When Victor had emerged from the smoke and focused his attention on the tanks, some of the weight of his burdensome aura fell away, and everyone had stood or straightened, much relieved. Now, that relief was replaced with a mixture of fear and awe as the full-sized titan demonstrated his physical power and resilience. Victor was pelted with more missiles fired by the remaining automatons, but they seemed to do little more than irritate him. Valla could see it in the narrowed glare he gave the far line of machines when he whirled away from the one he’d just destroyed. He took two steps and then launched himself into the air, aiming for a cluster of the things.

“How . . .” Darren started to stay, then trailed off, watching Victor’s great bulk soar through the air.

“How is he not burned? How is his flesh not pierced? Those shells are steel-jacketed!” the young woman beside Darren wailed in dismay. She reached toward her face, touching her nose, then grasped the sides of her head. Valla could practically see her mind racing through scenario after scenario. Then, as Victor roared again, faintly vibrating the rampart stones so bits of loose mortar and gravel bounced about, she cried, “We have to stop it! If we can’t harm him, he’ll just work his way through them, destroying everything!”

“He’s using Energy, though,” Darren said, nodding to confirm his own words. “He’ll run out . . .” He might have intended to say more, but Victor stomped, and the world shook. Darren and most others atop the wall fell to the hard stones as the wall shifted alarmingly. Valla maintained her balance, but she had to work at it. It was a strange sensation having the ground roll beneath your feet; if she hadn’t recently been involved in a battle near an active volcano, she might not have realized what was happening. The damage to the wall was significant—cracks emerged between the stones, parts of the crenellations toppled down to smash onto the ground below, and, with a loud, grinding, ripping sound, the attached, bronze-colored elevator pulled away from the stone, hanging precariously to the wall’s inner surface.

If the wall was damaged, the battlefield where Victor fought was devastated. His spell had pulled great boulders up, surging out of the earth. It had split the ground with wide crevices that spewed hot steam. Half a dozen of the automatons had fallen in or been smashed by the boulders as they toppled, hot and steaming from their traversal through the ground. Through it all, Victor roared, jumping, charging, and smashing into the huge metallic vehicles. He seemed utterly unbothered by the bucking ground, dancing between rends in the soil, rolling stones, and blasting steam geysers.

The wall only shook for a handful of seconds, and as things grew still there on the ramparts, the citizens of First Landing scrabbled to their feet, using the less-than-solid stonework to steady themselves. Wide-eyed and gasping for breath, Darren Whitehorse helped his assistant stand, as yet unaware of the destruction Victor was wreaking out on the field. Valla looked over his head to the crowd of government representatives and saw many of them scurrying for a stairwell, ready to be away from the wall they’d once thought the pinnacle of solidity. She turned the other way and saw Issa taking charge of the civilians, trying to encourage them to vacate the structure as well.

“What the fuck!” Darren gasped as he finally looked over the rampart to see Victor squat, grasp the bottom treads of one of the construct machines, and deadlift it up, flipping it over sideways to tumble into a steaming fissure.

“He’s . . .” the woman started to say, shaking her head and rubbing at her eyes as though she could banish the scene before her. “He’s unstoppable.”

“What about Project Omega?” Darren wailed, looking out at the smoking, ruined field.

The woman took a flat crystal slate from some storage device and began tapping her fingers on it. “Oh, God! It’s not responding! What if it sank? Those fissures! They’re right where it was buried!”

“God dammit! Stop that maniac!” Darren cried, turning to Valla with pleading eyes.

Valla smiled at him and then looked out at the blasted landscape. There were only two or three automatons that seemed to be whole. Victor was currently ripping one to pieces with his hands, his axe left buried in the wreckage of another. While he peeled the turret off his current victim, she said, “I can try. He’s somewhat more reasonable while berserk than he used to be. I can probably calm him as long as he doesn’t channel his volcanic rage.”

“Do it! Do it!” Darren screamed. Valla almost stalled, almost insisted he speak to her with more respect and consideration. She wanted to rub his nose in things, reminding him he’d insisted he wouldn’t need the means to signal surrender. She wasn’t mean-spirited, though, and it looked as though the poor fellow had just had his view of the universe shattered—everything he’d believed upended in a matter of minutes. Rather than salt his wounds, she spread her wings and leaped off the wall, soaring toward the mad titan.

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Victor hoisted the tank’s turret, gripping the barrel like it was a handle, and with a spin and a grunt, launched it into the air, flinging it to the northern edge of the cleared field to bounce and roll away into the plains beyond. He laughed, turning to regard the smoking ripped “parade grounds.” Only a few of the tanks were still functioning, and none were currently shooting at him. He was picking out his next target, getting ready to bound over the fissure-riddled ground, when he felt a presence above him. He reached a hand for Lifedrinker’s haft, jerking his eyes upward, only to see Valla’s glittering turquoise-silver wings reflecting the sun’s light as she descended to land atop a rough boulder, facing him.

She shouted over the sounds of popping, crackling explosions as a dozen of the tanks burned, their ordinance losing its integrity in the flames, “They cry mercy, Victor!”

“Oh?” He grinned as his voice boomed out. “Shall I grant it?”

“Forget the automatons; you’ve wrecked this field and greatly damaged their wall. I think some mercy is in order.” Valla smiled, and he could see the pride in her eyes. “Darren didn’t say as much, but I’m fairly certain that when you moved the earth, it ruined their surprise. They had something buried, lying in wait, and you . . . sent it to the depths.”

“Hah!” Victor grinned, brushing his hands together, sending black soot and dirt falling in a shower to the ground. “I’m done smashing things, I guess. It’s good I didn’t cast Volcanic Fury.” Victor turned toward the gate. “I’ll meet you inside. Tell ‘em to open the gate, or should I jump the wall as one last lesson?”

“No, no. Perhaps you should cool your rage as you go. The people on the wall took a tumble when you did this.” She gestured to the ripped ground and mountainous boulders. “They don’t deserve to be further terrified.”

“Ah, shit.” Victor felt his rage seeping away as guilt took hold. He wouldn’t mind seeing Darren and some of the other politicians taken down a notch or two, but he hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone. “Are they okay?”

“I’m sure they are. It was just a bit of a scare.” She spread her wings and waved. “See you soon.” Then she launched herself back into the air. Victor sighed and lumbered over to the giant axe, touching it to send it into his storage ring.

He touched Lifedrinker’s haft. “Well, chica, hope I didn’t overdo things too much.” As he walked toward the gate, he worked to pull his rage out of his pathways, sending it into his Core. He cut the connection to his banner and then to Iron Berserk, and by the time he was standing before the gate, waiting as it slowly ratcheted up into the wall, he was back to his usual size, having recast Alter Self. He stood there, rubbing some soot off his knuckles, waiting patiently as the opening gate revealed him. Issa, Alec, and Valla were the only ones in the tunnel, and they all looked somewhat relieved to see him back down to human proportions.

“What a show!” Alec crowed, pumping his fist. Issa smiled beside him, but she didn’t speak right away.

“Was that all right? Sorry about all the damage. That was the first time I used that spell, and I think I dumped too much Energy into it.”

Issa nodded. “It was an effective lesson—a clear message. Thank you, Victor. As the crews work to salvage the constructs and repair the field, it will be a good reminder of how ill-equipped we are to face a truly powerful Energy user.” She turned and started back through the long tunnel, and everyone fell in around her. As they walked, she continued, “The citizens were alarmed at first, but I hope you heard the cheers as you pummeled those machines. Your incredible show of power inspired many people. There’s quite a crowd waiting near the inner gate to greet you. Would you mind fielding some questions from them?”

Victor shrugged. “As long as it gets me closer to collecting our pay and heading back home, that’s fine.”

“Aren’t you exhausted?” Alec looked over his shoulder, eyeing Victor incredulously.

“From that? Nah, I’ve had sparring matches more tiring. I mean, to be honest, it was mostly just kind of fun.”

Valla jostled him. “Don’t be so dismissive, Victor! They worked hard on those machines.”

“Well, Issa and I didn’t,” Alec laughed, “but, yeah, maybe don’t rub it in so hard when you see the others. Not that the P&Ds hung around.”

“Darren looked like his heels were on fire as he retreated!” Issa laughed.

“On the one hand,” Alec said, winking at Victor, “you cost the colony a lot of money; we’ve sunk much of our budget into building those tanks. On the other, you saved us from growing complacent, believing they could protect us.”

Issa sighed, nodding along with him. “Or worse, if Darren and his cronies gained power, trying to use them to intimidate the older powers in this world.”

“Such as the Ridonne?” Valla asked.

“Exactly.” Issa smiled at Valla. “This was a costly but valuable lesson.”

“Well, the Ridonne aren’t a match for Victor—at least not the ones we’ve met, but they would rather easily trounce machines like that. Don’t you think?” Valla looked up at him, catching his eye, and Victor shrugged.

“I think so. I mean, I doubt the couple I’ve fought were the strongest in the Empire. Borrius thinks there are dozens of them, too, so yeah, better not to pick fights with those pendejos. You folks aren’t ready yet.” Victor stretched his neck from side to side, wringing a series of pops out of it. “You know, it sucks, but the System didn’t think I deserved any Energy for killing those tanks. I was kind of hoping I’d make some progress toward leveling.”

“Uh . . .” Alec didn’t seem to have an appropriate response.

“Do you cultivate for Energy and levels, Victor?” Issa asked as they stepped out of the tunnel into the sunlight. Victor turned to look at the wall, noting a lot of commotion off to his right. There, he saw the damage he’d done: Large spiderwebs of cracks ran through the stone of the massive wall, and the big, cleverly designed elevator was hanging at an angle, the metal tracks it ran on having separated from the stone near the top.

“Shit,” he said, putting Issa’s question to the side. “You’re sure no one got hurt?”

“We’re sure. Everyone is fine.” Issa smiled at him, maybe glad to see he was concerned and chagrined.

They started walking again, and Victor saw the throng waiting by the next gateway. He felt a little excited at the idea of fielding questions to an enthusiastic crowd; it ought to be a lot different from the town hall, especially now that these folks had an idea of what he was capable of. “Um,” he said, turning back to Issa, “I mostly level from killing my enemies. Luckily that’s usually a monster or an undead asshole. I can cultivate, but I’m really undisciplined.” He grinned at Valla, reaching to grasp her hand in his. “Isn’t that right?”

“He’s very disciplined about some things, but I will agree that his cultivation habits could stand some improving; he’s found a workaround for leveling his Core, so he doesn’t have quite the incentive that we mere mortals do.”

“Workaround?” Issa raised an eyebrow.

“Mortal? Is . . .” Alec visibly gulped, “Are you not a mortal?”

Victor laughed and slapped the much smaller man on the shoulder. “She’s being cute, Alec. Relax. As for my workaround, Lady Issa, that’s a trade secret.” He squeezed Valla’s hand to indicate he wasn’t joking around. He might like these two people, and he didn’t mind sharing some knowledge, but he’d seen the lengths one asshole would go to try to steal his ability to gain power from eating the hearts of his foes. Who could say what a diabolical human mind might come up with if they knew such a thing was possible?

When they approached the crowd of citizens, Victor could see the guards or police or peacekeepers—he had no idea what they called their uniformed officers—had managed to get them all to stand behind ropes tied to stanchions on either side of the road, leaving the area directly before the inner gate clear for Victor and his escort to stand. Still, hundreds or maybe thousands of people lined the road, and an equally large crowd had gathered atop the inner wall. He could see Borrius, Darro, and Nia standing close to the gate on this side of the ropes and was a little relieved to see his traveling companions were still being treated well despite the destruction he’d wrought out on the field.

The crowd’s excitement was palpable; many of them shouted his name or greetings, and quite a few burst into applause at their approach. Victor loved an adoring crowd, so he raised his arms and hammed it up while Issa moved forward a few steps, clearly waiting for the people to grow quiet before speaking. With a crowd like that, though, it was hard to get everyone’s attention, and she didn’t try for perfection, beginning to shout as soon as she thought she could make her voice clear over the noise. “Citizens of First Landing! I hope many of you could witness Victor Sandoval’s demonstration on the parade grounds. He’s graciously agreed to pause here today to answer a few of your questions!”

Victor grinned as more applause burst out, his glory-attuned Energy seeping into his pathways. He had half a mind to summon Guapo and put on a real show but decided to try to play it a little cool. He held up a hand, staring around at the thronging people, making eye contact with many. The noise began to die down, and when it was almost quiet, he said, in a loud, commanding voice, “Raise your hands. If I point at you, ask your question.” Immediately, a hundred hands shot into the air, and Victor laughed, looking the people over. When his eyes fell on a young man who reminded him of himself before he’d gained a thousand pounds of muscle, he pointed at him.

The fellow cleared his throat, then, in a high voice with a slight Spanish accent, asked, “Why aren’t you gigantic all the time? Is it just a spell?”

Victor decided a little hyperbole was in order. “Other way around, cabrón! I use a spell to make myself small. You ever tried sitting in a chair when you weigh ten thousand pounds?”