Hovering just behind them, Zane’s racing pinnace, a sleek, needle-thin craft of matte carbon, settled into the regolith.
The location for their planned meet-up with Sulfiqar was on a ridge of hillocks overlookingTheMortuusvlei, a dry clay pan surrounded by moonlit dunes.
Zane disembarked, adjusting his oxygen mask over his nose as the twin suns of Alphetraz were setting, casting a magical reddish glow over the terra-formed cliffs.
‘Would you believe there’s an entire Paladian city and lake under those distant peaks?’ Zane murmured.
‘You jest,’ Idan drawled.
‘What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well,’ the aqua-eyed Rider intoned, staring at the stunning view. ‘That’s a quote from -.’
‘The Little Prince,’ Molan finished for him. ‘One of Rina’s favorite books.’
‘Riveting. Now let’s stop waxing lyrical and get to work, brothers,’ Idan rasped.
They moved with the synchronized economy of warriors readying themselves for an apocalyptic battle.
The trio hauled heavy, obsidian-lined crates packed with Molan’s private armory from theXáashìi’scargo hold.
‘Careful, these are not mere firearms, but relics forged in the heart of dying stars.’
They set them down on the regolith, and Molan opened the trunks.
Inside one nestled theSun Eaterand theCaelum-Sunderer, a sentient blade that hummed with ambient vibration; the sword lived for the fray, capable of parrying strikes and seeking jugulars of its own volition.
Molan lifted a lethal spear from another container, running his hands over it with admiration.
‘The Staff of Mortis is a conceptual eraser. Once the trigger mechanism is ignited, the weapon discharges a pulse that bypasses all divine boons and immortality hexes, striking the target dead regardless of their cosmic status,’ he rasped.
Finally, they anchored theIris-Cleaver, amassive, two-handed axe, into the dust.
‘When swung, the blade generates a prismatic arc of kinetic energy. It’s rumored to have decapitated mountain peaks across two planets during the First Schism Wars of Sartixia,’ Mo growled.
‘Brother, I’m scared of you,’ Zane muttered, eyeing the armaments with an arched brow and a look of disbelief. ‘You’re freakin’ infatuated with incarnate munitions of war.’
Molan blinked in faux innocence. ‘Me?Nada. I’m just a potterer, an amateur tinkerer, a layman dabbler.’
‘An obsessive hobbyist, no doubt. Takes one to know one, you should see my collection of ancient Earth jazz records,’ Zane rasped. ‘Now, shall we move on to summoning your father?’
Idan and Molan exchanged glances.
‘Have at it,’ Idan murmured, ‘we’re good to go.’
Zane sauntered to the center of the make-shift camp, staring up into the stark, colorless horizon.
He closed his eyes, his aura expanding until the air around him rippled with the distortion of a psionic mirage.
When he opened his eyes again, a crackling aqua and amethyst radiance shot out from them and into the atmosphere high above them, as he broadcast a psionic transmission over every frequency of the astral band.
Sulfiqar! King of the Seven Heavens! The Majestic Storm Divinity, Sovereign Ruler of the Divine Immortal. The celestial being who once commanded the greatest Empyrean empire and dictated the tides of war and peace across Sacra.
Zane’s extrasensory vox boomed on, a psychic shockwave that rippled through space, a thunderous resonance in the minds of any god-tier entity listening.
Your sons have joined forces. They wait for you on the bone-white sands of Eden II. Their blades are drawn, and their spirits are bound as one to your cause. Come down and claim their final oath to you.
Silence fell as Zane turned to the brothers, the azure blaze fading from his eyes.
‘The bait is set with a narcissist-coded lure. You two ready?’
