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Matabar. Chapter 116 - "That’ll do…"
🕑 Added 2025-06-26 23:01:01 +0000 UTCKeeping his gaze fixed on the gaping breach, Ardan mumbled uncertainly without turning toward the first mate. “What if we disable the engines? Then-”
“It won’t change a thing,” the first mate cut him off. “The wind is blowing us straight toward the capital, and those bastards destroyed the flap controls. We can’t steer away from it, and… dammit.” He groaned in pain and spat out a mixture of saliva and blood. From the ragged sound of it, his lungs were likely damaged as well. He was already one foot beyond the threshold where the Eternal Angels awaited him and he knew it. “And to even do anything about those machines… we’d need time and manpower… Neither of which we have.”
“Then maybe we could-”
“Cloak,” the first mate interrupted him again, his tone sharp. “As soon as we’re over the city, they’ll… ignite the gas… or slash the hull… or mess with… the exhaust. With the amount of fuel we’re carrying… we’ll wipe out half a dozen city blocks, and when the rest spills over… The fire will spread across an entire district. Imagine how many… civilian casualties…”
Ardan turned back to the first mate. Even though the ancestral paths… the Eternal Angels were nearly grasping the shoulder of this old officer, the man was still staring fearlessly into the night with his single eye. Ardi was convinced that if the first mate had had even an ounce of strength left, he himself would have crawled through that howling breach to try and reach the bridge, whatever the cost.
Ardan sometimes wondered what drove people — humans and Firstborn alike — to such extremes of resolve and self-sacrifice…
“Mr. Budimir knows… the main control points,” the first mate was turning cold, his words coming in fits and starts. “Under the helm… there’s an auxiliary access… for controlling… the pressure… Vent the gas… It’ll be a hard landing, but better than…”
He never finished that sentence. He went still while gazing at the sky. His remaining pupil widened one last time, and from his lips escaped a final, chilly breath. The Angels had reclaimed this shard of Light, returning it to its Maker — or maybe the soldier’s spirit was now traversing the invisible paths of his forefathers, bound for the realm of dreams and spirits.
“Bar the door!” Someone shouted — a rail-thin man hugging his broken left arm to his chest. “Let them think we’re trying to get from here to the engine room.”
The air sailors who were still on their feet jammed the door and began dragging wooden crates over, spilling books, statuettes, wands, various ornaments, and other would-be auction lots onto the floor.
Ardan didn’t even bother looking. Hoping that Trevor Man had stashed the Staff of Demons down in the hold was pure folly.
Leaving the first mate’s body behind, Ardi approached Budimir. The sailor was tying a rope around himself, one end of which was knotted around a metal hook.
“Higher!” He roared, trying to overpower the howling of the wind. The exhaust nozzles were spitting out ever-thickening smoke, and the engines were thundering with growing force. Someone must have increased the supply of liquid fuel and started shoveling more coal into the furnace. “There’s a safety line for emergency servicing! But we’ll have to climb a few meters up the rope to reach it!”
Budimir took a second coil of rope, which was identical to his own — complete with metal hook at one end — and offered it to Ardan. He asked no questions and showed no doubt in the first mate’s last order. Only the flicker of fear in his eyes and his trembling hands betrayed that Budimir was not entirely without emotion.
“When you pull yourself up, stick your rear out a bit and-”
“I know how to climb,” Ardan said as he wound the rope around his chest, then passed it between his legs, hastily creating a makeshift seat. Back on the farm, he’d occasionally had to mend high barn walls.
“That’ll help!” Budimir clapped him on the shoulder and stuck his head out into the open air.
The wind immediately whipped toward him, forcing him to squint. They weren’t moving fast enough for the wind itself to be deadly, but it was strong enough to be a problem. It was the roar of the exhaust nozzles as they spewed black smoke into the sky that truly battered their eardrums.
“There it is!” Budimir grabbed Ardan to steady him. Clutching the edge of the hull with his fingertips, Ardan leaned out to look as well.
A biting slap of cold wind struck him in the face, and his eyes instantly watered. Remembering Ergar’s lessons, Ardi narrowed his eyes until they were almost shut, then opened them wide with a sudden blink. Budimir recoiled — whether in horror or disgust, it was hard to tell.
Ardan assumed that the sight must’ve been unnerving: the thin, cloudy, but visible membrane of his third eyelid had slid over his eye, covering it entirely. That was one of the Matabar’s gifts, made for hunting in the mountains in any kind of weather.
“What now?!” Ardan shouted, trying to be heard over the deafening wind and the roaring nozzles.
“Ah… r-right,” Budimir muttered, regaining his composure as he pulled a leather strap fitted with small glass lenses out of his pocket. He slipped the makeshift goggles over his face and pointed at a steel cable swaying slightly in the wind, which had been fastened to iron rings. Below, directly under that cable, was a narrow steel grate welded to the hull. “Do as I do, Mr. Mage!”
Budimir spun his rope. When the hook at its end started humming like a pesky fly, he flicked his wrist. It struck the ring on the hull and bounced off. Cursing under his breath, he reeled the rope back in and tried to spin it up again, only to be interrupted before he could toss it.
Gunshots echoed from the corridor, and one bullet, piercing the thin metal plating that covered the hold’s entrance, cut clean through the sailor’s throat.
“Stack them up, gentlemen!” Came a shout from one of the other sailors. “Faster! Faster!”
They hunched low, moving crates atop one another. Several more shots rang out from the corridor. Ardi ducked and tried to pull Budimir down with him. But the man, choking on blood and going deathly pale, reeled from side to side. One hand clamped down on his wound, where dark blood pulsed between his fingers. His other hand groped at the empty air. Then he convulsed, once, and toppled into the darkness, disappearing through the breach.
First his torso vanished beyond the hull, then his legs slipped over the edge as well.
“Truly,” Ardan murmured, “things can always get worse…”
Somebody screamed behind him as they left to see the Eternal Angels as well. Then the gunfire subsided — someone with enough wits had likely realized that firing revolvers in midair, two kilometers up, surrounded by highly-flammable gas, was not the brightest idea.
Ardi spared a final glance at the cargo hold, then moved to the gaping opening. Twirling his own rope hook, he cast it in one smooth, sure motion — farm life in Evergale had made his aim decent. The steel hook whirled through the air and lodged itself in the hull’s joint.
He tugged on the rope, checking if the dubious contraption would hold. It felt secure enough, though that did little to ease his concerns. Glancing down at his boots, which at least offered him a bit of extra confidence, Ardi edged out through the breach. With one final breath, he pushed off the deck, letting his full weight hang from the rope.
He slammed painfully into the ship’s cold, steel plating. His legs dangled above the dark void that was only broken up by the sparse lights of the outskirts below.
Where are the Clear Nights when you need them? He thought, noting how the shifting storm clouds — late for the Week of Storms, by the looks of it — were obscuring the faint rays of the sun. Here, practically above the Metropolis, the darkness seemed almost winter-deep.
Ardan first flexed his back, then his arms, heaving himself up. He kept his waist pressed tightly to the hull, legs splayed slightly, always leaving them free to tap the seals in his heels together if need be. With his arms alone, he pulled himself steadily upward.
The wind smacked at his back and ears, and black smoke curled around him, merging with the thunderous skies where the summer tempest was brewing. Far off, he could see the white glare of lightning, and if he truly listened, he might even catch the limp strides of the accompanying thunder, its steps slipping and sloshing in the gathering rain. But Ardi paid it no mind.
All he heard was the creak of his own muscles, hauling him higher and higher, and the dull thud of bone and flesh striking steel whenever the wind tried to fling him sideways like a stray bit of newspaper flung about by a passing car. Still, he kept climbing. He pulled himself up until his hand found the rectangular edge of a narrow steel walkway. Summoning one last surge of strength, he hauled himself onto that “secure” surface and leaned back against the taut fabric. Only a few millimeters of covering, stretched over steel cables, lay between him and tons of gas just waiting to ignite at the slightest…
Ardan couldn’t help glancing at the distant lightning. Half the crew had turned out to be mercenaries, the hold was crammed with fuel, the generator compartment had been assembled incorrectly, and now they were flying straight into a storm that had been forecast since the start of the week?
“Tomorrow’s worries,” he reminded himself.
Unwinding the rope and freeing the hook, Ardi clipped it to the safety cable and made his way along the narrow catwalk toward the ship’s bow.
Below him, rolling hills and planted fields stretched out. On its north side, the Metropolis was embraced by endless squares of farmland sown with grains and root vegetables, though it was never enough to feed the capital. Day after day, massive freight trains rumbled in, forming endless lines bringing in supplies.
All that cargo flowed straight into the city, whose lights stretched out below in a myriad of dancing points. Up close, they would seem distinct — each glimmer different in color — but from above, they merged into a sea of brilliant gold, seething and alive among this dark expanse. Vivid rivers of molten light crisscrossed in an intricate pattern, swirling around pockets of dark calm — parks sprawling amongst the glow. Even the skyscrapers, which from the ground appeared towering and unassailable, now resembled slow waves of light, swaying just enough to sparkle amid the grand spectacle below.
“No wonder we can’t see the stars,” Ardan whispered, clipping his hook to another iron ring as he went. He lifted his gaze, but saw nothing beyond the heavy, shifting clouds. They battered one another overhead, striking sparks with their ceaseless combat.
Ardan turned away and quickened his pace. Now able to feel at least some kind of “ground” beneath his feet and keeping a firm grip on the safety line, he was confident enough to nearly break into a run, only pausing to secure his rope every few yards.
He had no fear of being spotted through a porthole — the catwalk ran a good few meters above the passenger compartments. In a matter of minutes, he reached the other side.
It ended, as one might expect, at a small emergency door — just over a meter tall and barely sixty centimeters wide. Curved to fit the outer plating, it blended seamlessly with the rest of the technical compartment. Only a narrow slit marking its edges and a small hole shaped exactly like his rope’s hook hinted at this hidden entrance’s existence.
Clinging to the steel cable with one hand, Ardi had untied his rope with the other and was reaching for the key-hook to fit it into the lock when the dirigible gave a violent shudder.
Ardan pressed himself against the hull and nearly dropped the hook, but managed to catch it at the last second. Heart pounding, he turned toward the stern.
Moments earlier, the nozzles had just been belching black smoke. Now they were spitting out the occasional sparks of flame that were gradually growing into the hungry, predatory tongues of a nascent blaze.
The Spiders, it turned out, hadn’t intended to set fire to the gas the way the first mate had feared they would — or rather, they had, but using more indirect means, to make it look like a structural failure. But why go to such lengths to fake that?
“Tomorrow’s worries,” Ardan reminded himself and, after finally fitting the hook into the opening, he unlatched the door and dove inside.
He misjudged the drop and went sprawling across the corridor, tumbling head over heels until he crashed against the opposite wall, only to find himself staring at two stunned mercenaries. The first had already lifted his saber, but Ardan simply kicked out with both feet, slamming them into the man’s chest. The blow hurled the masked mercenary straight through the open emergency door, sending him off to complete a long, very likely terminal, drop.
His companion was faster and managed to slash at Ardan, who was still on his back. The blade sliced through Ardan’s jacket but couldn’t penetrate its lining; apparently, Dagdag had underestimated his own handiwork.
Ardan drew his knees up, then drove his heels hard into the second mercenary’s kneecaps. With a sickening snap reminiscent of dry branches breaking, they bent at a hideous angle. The mercenary let out a scream that tore through the air, toppling sideways toward Ardi. Unwilling to be pinned, Ardan shoved him after his comrade, out into the open void.
Rising to his feet, Ard brushed himself off and, with some difficulty, shut the door. Once he made sure that no one else was in the corridor, he sprinted to its far end, where he found another door. Once upon a time, it had clearly been locked, but the Spiders had solved that inconvenience by burning through the lock — likely with the same crystals they had used elsewhere.
Ardan flung the door open.
The captain’s bridge, which was encompassed by a glass wall divided by steel support rails, reminded him somewhat of the generator compartment. There were numerous strange gauges with quivering needles, mercury and gas meters, and steel boxes for complex instruments, many of which had toppled over, with chairs and papers scattered everywhere. Off to one side was a writing desk, and near the center of the room — on a small, raised platform situated in front of the glass wall — stood a massive wheel nearly a meter across. Beside that wheel was a lever, warped and mangled, but still displaying, in bright red letters, the setting FULL STEAM AHEAD.
It looked like the airship had been pushing its engines hard for nearly an hour. It was no wonder that they were failing under such strain. The designers had likely never meant for “Full Steam Ahead” to last so long.
Trying not to dwell on all these “coincidences” — which now numbered well over a dozen — Ardan raced toward the wheel’s console. Shoving aside a mess of papers, he crouched by the hatch beneath it.
“Ahgrat!” He swore under his breath.
Of course it was locked. He hooked a finger under the latch’s handle and pulled, but only the hinges groaned. The metal wouldn’t give, and the muscles in his arms burned.
Letting go, Ard laced his fingers together, raised them overhead, and slammed down on the steel plate. It dented a bit, but the hinges still held firm. He struck it again, then again and again. Though the metal continued to buckle under the repeated impacts, the hinges refused to snap. Blood welled from his knuckles, and his bones throbbed, but the stubborn thing held on.
“Step aside, Mr. Egobar.”
Ardan froze and turned slowly. Behind him stood none other than Duke Abrailaal’s son — Esvaialaal. He was holding a long, slender sword with no crossguard, the kind northern elves often used. In his free hand, he held one half of his staff, which had turned out to be a really ornate scabbard, apparently. The other half served as the sword’s hilt.
Breathing heavily, his hair disheveled, his once-sleek attire now torn and stained in places with shimmering green — and in other spots red — blood, he looked nothing like the dainty, effeminate noble Ardan had met before.
Ardan reached for his dagger.
“Easy, Corporal,” Esvaialaal said unexpectedly. In one swift motion, he slid his sword back into its hidden scabbard, then slipped a hand into his inner pocket and pulled out a plain slip of paper. A flick of his wrist transformed that drab paper into an identification badge.
Ardan recognized it at once. It was just like the one he’d left behind in building number 23 on Markov Canal.
A badge of the Second Chancery.
“A forgery,” Ardan growled, springing upright, weapon in hand.
“Corporal, collect yourself,” the elf said without moving. “You should have been briefed that a Dagger would be aboard.”
Ardan’s heart skipped a beat.
“What… How do you…?”
Esvaialaal’s eyes widened. “Who?” He asked shakily. “Who told you they were the Dagger? Under what circumstan-”
He choked on the words, staggering. Two large, dark-green stains bloomed across his chest. He extended a hand toward Ard, and in his native tongue, he managed a hoarse whisper:
“Duty and honor… For the glory of the Empire… Trust no one…”
And a moment later, his head was severed and went rolling across the floor.
From the shadows stepped none other than Alla Tantov — whole and unscathed — licking the edges of her curved blades, looking for all the world like a vampire reveling in blood.
“You won’t be learning anything, traitor,” she snarled, casually kicking the severed head aside.
Ardan stood there, unable to grasp what was happening, his gaze fixed on the elf’s lifeless body. It dawned on him why Esvaialaal had helped him in the infirmary — why he hadn’t told anyone the truth about the man calling himself “Kerid Barov.” But how had an elf — and not just any elf, but the son of Abrailaal himself — ended up in the Second Chancery? Why had he spoken two mottos: the Dark Lord’s and the Empire’s?
No. It was all madness. Not now.
Alla Tantov…
She knew. She knew everything, except for one small detail Ardi himself had overlooked. A tiny slip that had gone unnoticed:
“Are mages even able to use spells in the sky?”
“Senior Magister Paarlax theorized that it’s not about the planet itself, but about the Ley field’s concentration…”
“And your department kept this to yourselves?”
Their department… Captain Milar Pnev’s department hadn’t reported anything to anyone for nearly half a year, aside from strictly-classified updates. They couldn’t possibly have “kept something to themselves,” because they’d kept absolutely everything classified.
“I can see that you’re surprised, Mr. Egobar,” Alla hissed with a predatory grin, eyes glinting with madness as she slunk around Ardan, her hips swaying like a hunting cat’s. “Then allow me to surprise you further and-”
Ard lifted his gaze and drew a second blade.
“Lisa,” he whispered.
Alla Tantov laughed. Or rather, she had been Alla — but a heartbeat later, the figure before him was Elisabeth Aris herself, the professional driver, assistant to the detective Peter Oglanov, and one of the ones pulling the Spiders’ strings.
Ardan was sure of it now. She — this thing — was part of the iceberg hidden beneath all the chaos he and Milar had unearthed. Someone was pulling the strings from behind the scenes.
“You know, Ardi,” she cooed in a voice he’d nearly forgotten — light and playful. “I was never entirely sure my mutation would be able to fool not only a First-Rank Captain, but also an Alcade hunter. Luckily for me, women excel at pretending.”
She tossed her thick mane of hair in a flirtatious gesture.
After the explosion back then, several apartments had burned nearly to the ground, leaving behind only a charred skeleton that was assumed to be the remains of Lisa Aris. And now it was clear that skeleton hadn’t belonged to her at all. That was the real reason the Homeless Fae had exposed herself — to mask the presence of someone else in that house.
Dammit all…
So this was how people felt when they ended up on the wrong side of a Fae’s or Skusty’s art of deception. Lisa-Alla had let Ardi believe exactly what he’d wanted to believe, never once telling an outright lie — for if she had, whether on land or in midair, he would’ve heard and sensed it.
Damn it…
“The Aean’rahne don’t see you as a threat, half-blood,” she went on, circling him with a feverish gleam in her eye. She moved like she fancied herself a predator, but Ardan, who had grown up among predators, saw her more as a madwoman than a huntress. “They wouldn’t heed my warnings about what happened at the house in Baliero, or how easily you pulled me out of that nightmare — I do thank you for that…”
She stretched out her arms, blades in either hand, and dipped into a deep, graceful bow. Some might have seen that as an opening to attack, but Ardan remembered all too well how fast Alla had been on the train. Even if the symbol Ergar had once carved into his chest could suddenly work here (and it couldn’t in the thin Ley field), he doubted it would grant him enough speed to match a mutant.
After all, that was precisely why creatures like her had been made — to battle the Firstborn and the monsters spawned by the Aean’Hane.
But something she had said gnawed at him…
Aean’rahne, in the Fae language, meant “those who’ve heard the first songs,” or simply “Elders” — those of higher standing.
“Who do you serve?” Ardan asked, never taking his eyes off the madwoman pacing around him in circles.
A feral spark danced in her gaze, a hunger for violence. She reminded him of those Ley-Wolves maddened by power and venom.
“You wouldn’t understand, half-blood,” she crowed, laughing like a raven circling a battlefield in search of carrion. “You understand nothing… And yet, I think the Aean’rahne are mistaken. I believe that they’ve underestimated you, half-blood. I still remember that nightmare. I remember flesh-eating worms with infants’ faces devouring me alive.”
For an instant, Lisa’s eyes changed back to her Alla form, and a flicker of genuine terror crossed her features. She shuddered, her hand hovering near the leg that Tess had treated half a year ago.
“I also remember how easily you yanked me free of it… I saw it, half-blood — the nightmare that had become my reality just froze over, turned to frost and ice, and I felt something I hadn’t felt since I first encountered the ocean: this was something vast and beyond my comprehension.” Alla went still, slightly bending her knees. She held one blade forward and pressed the other against her chest. “The Aean’rahne didn’t believe me. They think I just imagined it — that you’re just a Speaker, and decades will pass before you learn any Names. That you won’t have time… But I saw something else back then. And so I watched you whenever I could. Even on the train… No one-Star mage could have shielded us from that explosion, yet your ward held. I’ve killed mages, half-blood. Plenty of them. But I’ve never seen anything like what you did.”
Ardan reversed his grip on his daggers, letting his claws and fangs emerge. The sharp tang of bloodlust filled the air, a scent he knew well — one that made his heart hammer, the world growing thin around him until all that remained was a single deadly purpose.
“They ordered me not to harm you, half-blood,” she said, still circling, “to help you, if possible. I don’t know what the Aean’rahne have planned for you, but I’ve spent enough time on the edge to sense a threat…”
Alla narrowed her eyes.
“And you are a threat.”
She struck first, sliding along the floor in a gray blur. Ardan didn’t have time to do more than sense the change in the air with his skin — let alone slash a dagger toward her — before the mutant’s blade drove straight into his stomach. The blow was so powerful it folded him in half, wrenching his feet off the deck and lifting him into the air.
Ard felt every bit of his breath being crushed from his lungs at once, and with it came the metallic taste of blood rising to the back of his throat. Perhaps the suit had kept the cold steel from tearing into his flesh, but his internal organs found no relief in that.
Alla, sensing that her steel had not drunk deeply enough, spun on her heel and lashed out with a kick. Ardan had never seen anyone fight like this before. Alla whirled like a top, and her shin crashed into the side of the young man’s ribs. They creaked, barely holding out, as Ardan’s body flew back, limp as a ragdoll. He rolled across the floor, wheezing, and only at the last second did he manage to jerk aside from the knee that slammed down where his head had just been.
“Is that all you can manage, mountain hunter?” Alla hissed, pulling back her shockingly-unscathed knee. Visible through her torn pant leg, it was only slightly reddened (and veined with blackened capillaries), which was in stark contrast to the steel plate that was now dented inward.
Ard felt the world sharpen around him, felt his hands morph into claws in the theater of his mind, felt his clothes become a cumbersome second skin. But the mountain beast knew nothing of fighting mutants. The mountain beast knew nothing about hunting paths etched inside flying machines. And perhaps no such paths even existed…
No, this hunt did not belong to the Matabar tribesman within him.
It belonged to him.
Ardan Egobar.
No one else.
He smothered the beast’s whispers as it scratched at the edges of his consciousness and threw a quick glance toward the hatch covering the emergency gas release mechanism. Alla’s attention was drawn away for just an instant — long enough for Ardan to seize a vial from his bandolier. He flung it to the floor at his feet, and with a hiss, a gray, acrid cloud burst out, instantly flooding the bridge.
“Ack…” Alla choked, coughing violently, blades splayed out in both hands. “Pathetic tricks, half-blood.”
Ardan, feeling his extra eyelids sliding over his eyes once more, circled her carefully. His chest burned, his throat was raw and prickly, and his hands trembled from a growing weakness.
“Do you think you’re the only one who can hear another’s heartbeat and smell their fear?” Alla turned toward him, tracking him even through the smoke. She clearly knew where he was standing, but she did not rush to attack; she needed time to adapt to the clinging miasma. “I’ve sent dozens of your kind to the Eternal Angels and-”
“As my partner would say,” Ardan said quietly, drawing out his lighter, “you talk too much.”
Only then did Alla hurl herself at him, which was precisely what Ardan had wanted. Crossing his arms before him, he waited until the last possible moment, then sprang aside, tossing the lighter to the floor — directly where he’d just stood, at the junction of the glass wall and the deck.
She might have heard his heart, might have caught his scent, but she hadn’t been able to see him clearly. The explosion took her by surprise.
Shards flew, tearing at Ardan’s battered suit, spilling his blood and rending his flesh. The glass wall cracked and, unable to withstand the sudden shift in pressure, broke apart into a thousand fragments. The blast wave and the violent vacuum snatched Alla in their wake, dragging the mutant out through the breach and into the shimmering lights of the Metropolis sky.
Clinging to the steel brace that divided one section of glass from the next, Ardan groaned as sharp glass shards stabbed into his palms and fingers, but he held fast. When the rush of air finally subsided and the pressure equalized, he hauled himself back inside. Spitting out blood, he made his way over to the elf’s body. The explosion had flung it near the entrance, but thankfully, the corpse’s grip had never loosened and the elf’s staff had remained clutched between its pallid fingers.
Long ago, elven blades were counted among the finest because they were forged with Ertalain ore. Ardan knew that much from his grandfather’s tales.
Feeling along the staff for a small, movable catch, he pressed it and drew out the long, slender sword from its hidden sheath. Sword in hand, limping, and shielding his face from the wind, he approached the hatch and hacked at its hinges with a series of crude chops. He looked more like a woodsman with an axe rather than a duelist with a blade.
The lid sprang free, revealing a valve and several gauges, and as this happened, Ardan jumped back. Only the instincts hammered into him by Ergar’s tails and etched upon his hide by the fangs and claws of the Alcade hunters saved him from the blades.
The first knife buried itself several centimeters deep in the valve, while the second cut Ardan’s right thigh. Judging by the steel’s sheen, it possessed the same properties as the elf’s blade — possibly even more refined.
Ardan looked up and saw… Alla. Her hair had been scorched away, black smoke was pouring from her mouth, and her right arm was no more than a bloodied stump. She stood where the bridge’s deck ended, a severed steel cable at her side. The blast had evidently destroyed part of the “cigar’s” framework, and if the explosion had been any stronger, the capital beneath would’ve been engulfed in a blazing sphere of liquid fire.
The mutant stood there, breathing raggedly, her furious glare fixed on Ardan.
“You’ve lost, half-blood,” Alla said with undisguised malice, black blood trickling from the corners of her mouth.
Ardan’s thoughts raced. They’d already passed over the factory districts. The skyscrapers of the New City loomed ahead, their spires now only a few hundred meters beneath the airship’s keel.
He sighed and looked straight ahead.
“Let’s see about that,” he muttered, then clicked his heels together.
Alla’s eyes went wide in shock. Small wonder — two enormous, spectral white wings flaring out from Ardan’s heels, alive with blue flames, was an uncanny sight.
He pushed off from the deck and, for a heartbeat, felt as he had in his childhood, when Kaishas had let him ride on his back. Two strong, mighty wings bore him along invisible roads in the sky — roads that were intangible, yet somehow so solid they could hold anything at all. The wind, rather than slamming into his face and pinning him down, blew in from behind him, propelling him forward.
Alla leaped to try and stop him, but the mutant was thrown aside, this time hurled into the night for good.
“Aaaah!” The mad killer howled as she tumbled away into the mingled glow of light and darkness far below.
And Ardan, whose wings obeyed his every whim, was already darting along the airship’s vast length, going higher and higher. Twelve seconds proved more than enough to cut through the river of shimmering light that poured up from the city toward the storm-filled clouds. The wind tangled in his hair and blood fell from him in thick droplets until he reached the very top of the airship.
Still gripping the elven sword, still running along those sky-bound paths as they unfurled beneath his winged feet, he angled the blade down. The elven steel, driven by the force of his flight, cleaved through the sturdy fabric with ease. It rang out with a bright, chiming trill and erupted in a flurry of sparks as it sliced through the steel cables that threatened to rip themselves from his grip. But he held on.
Gas burst free behind him like a roaring mountain geyser, dispersing into the night sky. A ten-meter gash opened in the airship’s skin just as the wings at Ardan’s heels faded away.
He crash-landed onto the airship’s outer hull. Rolling, he lost his hold on the elven sword, which vanished into the darkness. Desperately, he grabbed for the cables, but his blood-slick fingers kept slipping off them.
The vast drop yawned beneath him, the shimmering lights of the Financial District — towers of stone in an endless forest — growing closer by the second. Ardan screamed in pain as the cables and hull tore at his suit and flayed his skin. Somehow, despite the agony, he forced out his claws and rammed his hand into the tough material.
Gritting his teeth and leaving bloody streaks behind, he finally managed to stop his fall and catch his staff as it slipped free from the crossed bandoliers that had miraculously clung to his body this entire time.
Panting, Ardan dangled there, clinging to a wounded iron giant plunging ever closer to the city. The gleam of the New City’s lights loomed, and he realized the terrible truth: the situation had hardly improved. They were indeed descending instead of freefalling, but the thrusters were already blazing like a dragon’s breath. In under a minute, the airship would explode, and with it…
Ard shut his eyes and exhaled.
He had to act.
He had to do something…
“The flaps,” he whispered, staring at the long, narrow, movable steel wings attached to the airship by the same steel cables.
He turned his head and spotted the dark slash of the Niewa cutting across the capital’s sparkling visage.
This was his last chance.
Holding his breath to keep from choking on the stinging gas, Ardan clawed his way upward. Below, above the roar of the engines and the crackling of flames, sirens wailed. People were likely shouting as they witnessed the slow, dreadful arc of this once-celebrated craft now burning through the sky.
Where could they flee?
What could they do?
Ardan felt all that panic flood upwards, felt the city’s heart pounding nearly as hard as his own.
Finally, he reached the top and sprinted for the airship’s tail. The steel cables descended toward the flaps, which were attached to an axle that jutted from a metal shaft.
He circled the axle and turned to face the bow of the ship. Biting off a button from his shirt collar, he swallowed it, then lifted his staff and clamped it between his teeth.
Setting the half-melted soles of his shoes against the steel cables, he threw his full weight against the axle.
For a moment, it was as though someone had doused him in boiling water. His heart thundered so wildly he could no longer distinguish each beat — it was just one continuous roar, like the engine’s own.
His claws extended, and his fangs bit deep enough into his staff to send splinters into his mouth.
With liquid fire raging through both his muscles and tendons, Ardan began to push, forcing out a low, inhuman sound. He tried to recall his playful childhood tussles with Guta, ignoring the cracking of his joints and the shrieking protest of his sinews. Nothing budged at first, but he would not relent. Veins stood out like ropes on his bulging arms, his staff groaned against his clenched teeth, and he kept shoving.
At last, above the roar of the thrusters, the metallic groan of gears beginning to turn could be heard, and the flaps started to move. They were slow, but still enough to change the course of the plummeting airship. It was almost like a lumbering ox being dragged back into its pen.
Not enough… The thought in his head throbbed insistently, each pulse shaking his skull with the threat of splitting it in half. This still isn’t enough.
He couldn’t possibly swing the ship all the way over to the Niewa before impact. Even his half-blood strength — briefly amplified by alchemy — wouldn’t be able to shift the enormous axle alone.
Through the red haze distorting his vision, Ardan glimpsed the Treasury’s skyscraper to his right. It was among the tallest in the city.
That’ll do…
He ducked under the axle, planting his right shoulder against it, then he gripped it with both hands, pulled up his legs, and tried to straighten. His cry, muffled by the staff keeping his teeth from cracking under the strain, became a low, tortured moan. Blood seeped from the torn flesh and muscles across his arms and back, but Ardan pressed on.
Even as the airship crashed into the building’s upper floors with a roar that could’ve rivaled a mountain storm tearing the sky to pieces and unleashing a savage tempest against shaking cliffs, Ardan held the axle, forcing the flaps to stay open.
Stone fragments the size of a man’s head blasted from the shattered wall and rained down on the hull, but Ardan remained in place.
Flames leaped from the thrusters toward the skyscraper, and black smoke billowed in a choking curtain over everything.
Ardan couldn’t see what was happening; he could only keep his ruined, broken shoulder under that unfeeling column of steel. He felt the gears grinding, threatening to pulverize his bones. But what was mere metal to a student of Guta, in whose veins the dying embers of alchemy still smoldered?
And when those embers finally flickered out, when he expended those last few drops of strength, Ardan went limp. He disappeared into the smoke, or perhaps into the darkness of unconsciousness.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Dear friends!
Thank you so much for your support and attention! I know that you’re ALREADY supporting me and the Matabar project through Patreon, and I’m incredibly grateful for that!!
But if you happen to feel a strong desire to support the project EVEN MORE — the first part of Matabar will be released on November 4th on Amazon , in both text and audio formats, thanks to the amazing publisher Aethon Books.
Every pre-order truly matters, and if you have the desire and opportunity to place one, I’d be deeply grateful!
Thank you so much for being here!
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FF5B7KSQ
Comments
Diarmuid McGinnity
I think they’ll find out fairly soon
tristan howard
Kinda crazy how hardly anyone in Ardi's personal life knows what he gets up to in. Dude stays busyyy
tristan howard
Can't wait for the next one. Aftermath finna be crazy
SirWins
Damnn Wth I did not expect that Lisa reveal. And is the plane stuck inside the building or did it go through the building?
tristan howard
Damnn that was intense
Ethan Norton
Honestly this fucking book is so good. Listening to “holding out for a hero” during this chapter made it even better
