BABYLON BLACK: Riveria Yojimbo Chapter 8

Brink of Ruin

The violence cast a sober pall over the Church District. Though the shopkeepers bravely remained open for business, few people dared walk the streets, even in broad daylight. Most of those who did were residents with nowhere else to go, or pedestrians who clung to the illusory safety of the sidewalks and the street-facing stores. The deeper Yuri traveled into the neighborhood, the fewer people he saw.

Which suited him just fine.

RPD confiscated his carbine. Will’s, too. They claimed they needed to hold on to the weapons for evidence. Not even Joshua Gregory could break that reg. At least they had the courtesy to return everything else. With great reluctance.

Their firepower diminished, Yuri didn’t care to engage in another firefight in the streets of the Church District. Not with just a pistol. On the other hand, RPD—and therefore the New Gods—were aware only of his pistol and his trademark blades. They were also aware of the presence of at least one railgun in the area, which had yet to be accounted for. They still had no idea of the entirety of the team’s arsenal.

That was something he could work with.

The merchants would feel the bite from the loss of business. Should this persist, Yuri knew it would be a problem for everyone—the team included. When the business stopped coming in, so did the paychecks. But in the short term, at least, it made securing the district just a little easier.

The team held the after action review in Nagase’s bar. They discussed the shootings, pieced together the timeline, identified areas of improvement, figured out their next step.

“We still have our railguns,” Will said. “We could run those from here on out.”

“There’s a huge risk of collateral damage,” Yuri replied. “A single missed shot is going to fly into the heart of downtown Riveria. Even a solid hit could blow shrapnel across the length of a room. We need to be triply sure of our backstop before we shoot.”

“Pistols aren’t going to cut it. Not if we’re going to face Elect.”

“We’ll be operating in close quarters. And we have blades.”

“You might be crazy enough to fight with blades, Samurai. I like to keep my killing civilized.”

Everyone chuckled darkly.

“I’ll keep my railgun,” Kayla declared. “We won’t have collateral damage shooting into the ground.”

“Unless the flechette explodes on impact with asphalt and sprays frag everywhere,” Will said.

“Less collateral damage, then. And if the bad guys escalate, we’ll need anti-materiel options.”

“The question being, how they will escalate,” Karim said.

Over coffee and tea, the team worked out contingency scenarios. If the New Gods did this, they would do that. If the Court or the Liberated or both did something else, they would switch to another play. There was no way they could account for everything that could happen, but having options helped them adapt on the fly.

“The church is still closed. RPD has sealed off the scene pending forensics investigation,” Karim said.

Will glanced at the wall clock. “That’s sixteen hours ago. It’s still sealed?”

“Yup,” Kayla confirmed. “Two cops on duty at the scene. No one gets in or out without a badge.”

“They’ve got their jobs to do,” Yuri said.

“It also means we can't use it as a combined collection point anymore,” Will pointed out.

“More importantly, until it’s reconsecrated, we can’t count on it offering any protection against magic. If the New Gods are going to send in their Elect, it’ll be today. Tonight. Tomorrow at the latest.”

“You sure about that?” Kayla asked.

“I sniffed around the church earlier,” Karim said. “The protections are gone.”

“What _does _it feel like?” Will asked.

Karim licked his cracked lips.

“It’s… hard to explain. It’s like a soft, warm blanket covering you. You know it doesn’t mean you harm. But it cuts you off from external influences. Nothing can penetrate it. You can’t reach to anyone through it, and no one can reach you through it. It… shrinks you. Reduces you. Outside, you are intimately connected to your god, able to touch his thoughts even as his thoughts touch you. Inside… you’re just a human.”

Yuri never had that experience. His connection to God remained intact, even when he ventured into the strongholds of Dark Powers. But he could sympathize.

“These protections are delicate. Spilling blood inside a church would desecrate it. Father Joseph would have to perform a rite of consecration, or whatever the Byzantine equivalent is, before it is once again pure, sacred and holy,” Yuri said.

“How long would it take to perform the rite?” Will asked.

“I don’t know,” Yuri admitted. “I’ve never actually participated in one before. But I heard it’s a long, solemn and complex ceremony. And as long as the police keep the church closed, it’s not going to happen.”

“If RPD drags out the investigation, the New Gods would have an extended window to act,” Kayla said.

“Which means we need a fallback option,” Will said.

“Sanger Goodman,” Karim said. “It’s large and sturdy, plus everyone in the neighborhood knows where it is.”

“If the New Gods make their approach by Wakefield Boulevard, the civvies will be right in the line of fire,” Will said.

“They wouldn’t normally target civilians.”

“‘Normally’,” Yuri said.

Karim frowned. “Yes, well… most of the other buildings here are tiny low-rises. If they don’t go to Sanger Goodman, they’ll have to cross the river or the roads to find shelter.”

“Or take cover inside someone else’s home,” Kayla added.

“That too.”

“We’ve got to decentralize operations,” Yuri said. “There’s only four of us. We can’t save everybody all by ourselves. We need to empower the locals to save themselves. And each other.”

“Without a centralized collection point, it’s going to get messy out there,” Will said.

“True. On the other hand, we are the New Gods’ primary targets, aren’t we? They kill us, they can control the area. Instead of storming one location, they’ll have to sweep the entire neighborhood. This will force them to spread out and extend themselves.”

“Which gives us opportunities,” Karim mused.

“Exactly.”

For the rest of the afternoon, the team walked the streets, speaking to the merchants in person. They checked in on everybody’s health and safety, addressed fears and concerns, revealed the new plan. While they had the group chat, it could not replace the human touch.

Even after witnessing the violence of the previous night, the harassment campaigns of previous weeks, most of the shopkeepers and residents were still reluctant. They were still civilians. They had thought hiring the former operators would make the problem go away. Few of them had expected to take their defense into their own hands. Through the merchants’ committee had resolved themselves to resist the New Gods, most of their passion had evaporated in the wake of the shooting, requiring the team to stoke the fires anew.

Some were angry. Others were afraid. A few, a rare few, soberly assessed the situation and acknowledged the coming dangers. The last readily agreed to the STS’ proposal. As for the former two, the team stuck to the message.

The New Gods were coming. They might be here soon, with their soldiers and their Elect. The team could not be everywhere at once—but the New Gods could. It was up to the shopkeepers to resist, to defend their properties and families, and buy the team enough time to respond.

Most of the armed stepped up to the task at hand. Most of the unarmed shied away. Even with railguns readily available in the neighborhood, and a perfusion of gun stores around the city, there were still so many people who refused to touch a weapon, either out of principle or out of fear. The team adapted their approach, reaching out only to those who showed a willingness and ability to contribute to their personal defense—and the defense of others.

The cops at the church remained on duty. Father Joseph took refuge at his home, just a stone’s throw away from the house of worship. Yuri explained the situation to the priest, who promised to do everything he could should the New Gods come again. To the policemen, he said not one word.

The New Gods had eyes and ears everywhere, and the locals would not—could not—trust the RPD.

And since RPD couldn’t be trusted, there was no point sending Karim and Kayla to them. They’d just hold the duo indefinitely, until they could cook up an excuse to hand them over to the New Gods.

Bad enough that the team had to prepare to confront the New Gods. They had to escape and evade the cops too.

The police had swept the roofs of the high-rises around the Church District, especially Sangar Goodman and its neighbors. While the roofs were now empty, Kayla didn’t want to take any more chances. Electronic surveillance was cheap and widely available.

She set up in a room at a boutique hotel a block to the west of the department store. The second-tallest building in the area, it offered a decent view of the boulevards bounding the western and southern ends of the neighborhood.

There were no undercover police in the area. The merchants’ committee reported no attempts by the cops to contact them, the shopkeepers spotted no strangers, and the few vehicles parked along the streets were empty. Karim projected his soul out into the Aether to sweep the static vehicles in a three-block perimeter around the neighborhood, and found no one lying in wait. Police or otherwise.

Yuri had anticipated that. The RPD was reasonably effective at running down minor offenders and suppressing the mortal gangsters of the city. Once the New Gods got involved, every police agency everywhere in Babylon mysteriously went blind and deaf. At least, until the people had the impudence to defend themselves against the excesses of the New Gods.

When the police protected and served the powerful instead of the powerless, there was no police. When the New Gods and their servants were allowed to wreak havoc without consequences, there was no law. When honest citizens were treated like crooks while the princes of the air were elevated to godhood, there was no society.

Nova Babylonia was falling apart at the seams. Anyone with eyes could see it. Fault lines riddled the fabric of the nation, locked up under enormous tension, ready to rupture into the mother of all earthquakes. The Church District conflict was but one of many playing out all over the country, each of them with the potential to set the New Gods tearing at each other’s throats. Again.

Yuri wondered if this was how the ancient Romans had felt as they watched their thousand year empire collapse into ruin.

Nova Babylonia would burn. He knew it. Everyone knew it. The New Gods had to know it too. Yet they still persisted in prosecuting their shadow wars against each other, every shot and every spell dragging the world every closer to the brink of ruin. In the shadow of the New Gods, what could he and his team do?

Too little.

He was a man. Arrayed against him were the combined forces of eldritch powers that sought the ruin of souls. He couldn’t hope to stand out against them forever. The only reason he and his team were still alive was because they were far more preoccupied with killing each other than the team.

Nonetheless, all things were, and still are, in the hands of God. All he had to do was to place himself in the best position to carry out the will of God.

It was all he could do.

As the sun dipped towards the horizon, the team manned their stations. Kayla at the south, Karim along the waterfront, Will to the west, Yuri to the east. With what was coming for them, they needed all hands on deck.

They dispensed with most of their low-viz gear. When the bad guys already knew you were in the area, there was no point trying to hide. They would do everything in their power to keep from freaking the mundanes, but in the end, the need for firepower and protection dictated their equipment.

Yuri donned a low profile plate carrier under his jacket. Completely slick, it was bereft of any magazine, tool or gear pouches that would add unnecessary bulk. To make up for that, he ran his battle belt heavy, with all the pouches he could fit on it while still retaining comfort and concealability. He wore his o-tanto under his left armpit, securing it in place with loops of paracord. His assault pack held the rest of his gear.

This time, he carried his gun case. And the war machine ensconced within.

He kept his vibes soft, unassuming, non-threatening. He comported himself like a musician, a busker, someone with a reason to carry what appeared to be a large instrument case wherever he went.

Most people didn’t pay attention to what they saw. They keyed on body language, posture, fashion. They would pick up things that appeared out of place. But they wouldn’t notice the fine details. Yuri simply gave them data points that pointed at everything he was not, and allowed them to make their own conclusions.

The ones who would notice were the ones who would recognize him, at which point staying low-pro would be pointless.

The eastern end of the Church District had a lot going for it. With its proximity to the Helix Bridge and the subway station, it saw huge amounts of foot traffic every night. Eateries, shops, offices, and entertainment arcades were clustered along the main roads. Even the shootings hadn’t dampened their spirits much.

Teenagers and college kids emerged from the subway, seeking places to go and things to go. White collars sneaked away from their workplaces, or pulled into the parking lots. Tourists and sightseers, eager to beat the evening rush hour, filtered into the district. Walking along the sidewalk, Yuri studied them all, the people and the stores alike, and saw nothing more sinister than ordinary commerce.

Yuri could almost allow himself to believe that things were returning to normal.

Almost.

“All call signs, all call signs, Deadeye. I have eyes on four black armored gravcars approaching the neighborhood from the south. They are flying in formation. Altitude one-fifty meters.”

Yuri looked up.

Down the street, two black shapes cut through the air, caressing the parapets of high-rises across the street. Boxy and bulky, they were never meant to fly. Only the arcane sciences of the New Gods, manifested through their gravity mirrors, kept them airborne. Amidst the background bustle of the city, the high pitched humming of the mirrors was almost inaudible.

“I have two gravcars incoming from the east,” Yuri reported.

“Lycan here. Two gravcars flying down the Helix Bridge, two more at Shinbashi Bridge.”

“Boomer to all. Two gravcars heading down the overpass, approaching from the west.”

These were just the gravcars the team could see, Yuri knew. If the New Gods were going to go big, they’d send enough gravcars to cover every entrance.

“Fall back to the alleys,” Yuri ordered. “Do not confront them on the sidewalks. Break. Deadeye, stay low and continue observation.”

Yuri spun on his heel and entered the nearest alley.

It was the most unnatural thing he had ever done since arriving in Riveria. He always faced his enemies head on. He never gave them his back, at least not without suppressing fire.

This was not a retreat. Merely a tactical redeployment. The alleys were too narrow for the gravcars. Their occupants would have to enter the Church District on foot. There, he and his team would hold all the cards.

As he walked, he dictated an emergency message to the neighborhood chat.

“Stand to, stand to, stand to. New Gods are coming to invade the neighborhood in gravcars. Grab your guns and prepare to defend yourselves.”

Twenty steps later, a door in front of him burst open.

Out stepped a petite grandmother, her hair completely white, clutching the world’s largest and shiniest revolver in her tiny hands.

It was the mama-san of the spa, Yuri remembered. The one who had stood up to the Liberated and the Court.

“Mr. Yamamoto!” she croaked. “What’s going on?”

“The New Gods are invading,” Yuri replied.

He sneaked a look over his shoulder. The gravcars were out of sight.

“Those sons of bitches! Where are they?!” she asked.

As if on cue, a gunman in tac gear stepped into the mouth of the alley, his weapon held low.

Yuri swiveled smoothly on his heels, his hands blurring. His jacket parted. His M99 pistol swung through a tight arc, stopping just a few degrees shy of the horizontal.

“FREEZE!” Yuri roared.

The gunman recoiled.

“Yeah! You heard him!” the mama-san shouted, gesturing the humongous gun at him.

Cursing, the soldier retreated behind cover.

“It’s Yamamoto! He’s here!” someone shouted.

“So much for freezing,” Yuri muttered.

“And stay out!” the mama-san yelled.

“Ma’am, I’m going to find their boss. I need you to make sure they don’t enter the alley. Can you do that for me?” Yuri asked.

She grinned. “No problem!”

Yuri didn’t want to know what would happen to her if she touched off a round. Looking at the size of the gun, she was in grave danger of breaking her tiny wrists. Assuming she could even muster the strength to press the trigger. But all that mattered was that the Pantheon believed that she would shoot.

Faces pressed up against windows. Residents stepped out of their houses. A couple of them toted railguns. Yuri directed them to cover the alley, then raced down the alley and delivered his report.

“Contact. Subject with armor and long gun stepped into the alley. He retreated when I drew down on him. Sounds like there could be more subjects beside him.”

“Samurai, Deadeye. There’s a gravcar parked at every entrance along the south. Four shooters per gravcar.”

Assuming there was one gravcar for every entrance, four shooters per car, that made for… Sixty-four shooters. At least. There could be up to twice or even thrice that number. That was a lot of soldiers to commit to an op. The kid gloves were off. There was no way his team could take them all out.

But maybe they didn’t have to.

“Deadeye, Boomer. Have any of the subjects broken through?”

“Ah… I don’t see any. They’re crowding around the entrances, but they’re not entering our AO.”

The locals were holding them off. Good.

Dozens of messages spammed the group chat. There was way too much info to monitor, way too little time. Amidst the chaos, Nagase sent Yuri a direct message.

_I’ve called 911. Cops say they’re on the way. _

That was a minor relief. Whether RPD would show up before the Pantheon left was something else.

Yuri turned a corner. A storekeeper stepped out of his sushi store, a shotgun in his hands. He waved at Yuri, and Yuri waved back.

Yuri dumped his bags on the ground. Dropping to a knee, he unzipped his gun case and extracted his assault railgun. Though it was the size of a carbine, it was still too long for such close quarters, and the underslung grenade launcher was useless here. But better a long gun than no gun at all.

He slung the weapon around his neck, unzipped another compartment, and removed a grenade bandoleer. He slung the bandoleer around his neck too, then opened his backpack and removed his chest rig. He’d configured it for his railgun, the pouches carrying three spare magazines. He clipped the rig to his plate carrier. Donned his pack.

Straightened.

And now, he was ready for war.

His eyeshields buzzed. Bob Hobart was calling him directly. That was unusual. Usually the committee spoke to the team only through Nagase.

“Mr. Yamamoto?” Hobart asked, his voice trembling with fear.

“Yes. Go,” Yuri replied.

“The leader of the Pantheon is at the front entrance of Sanger Goodman. He says he wants to see you.”

“You have security with you?”

“Yes, but… they’re unarmed.”

“I told you everyone had to arm up. Including the guards.”

“Yes, but it’s corporate policy. No employees may carry firearms on store premises.”

Yuri sighed. “What about customers? Are they armed too?”

“A few.”

“Get them to hold down the store. I’ll be at the back entrance in ten.”

Yuri updated the team on the move. The moment he finished, Kayla cut in.

“Need me to back you up?” she asked.

“Just keep an eye on things. But if things go down, shoot the most important-looking threat first,” Yuri said.

“Roger that.”

Eight minutes later, Yuri arrived at the employee entrance. A blue-uniformed security guard, his hands empty, his belt unburdened, hustled him through the storage and retail spaces, taking him to the front of the store.

A lone hero stood by the sliding doors, a man-mountain with a surly expression etched into his face, blading off his body to hide his pistol behind his rear leg. Other employees and shoppers took cover behind shelves and tables, even though the furniture was too thin to stop a bullet. Here and there, Yuri spotted small pistols grasped in unsure hands, trained in the general vicinity of the entrance.

It wasn’t too long ago when people would have fled. Or would have turned those guns on him. How times had changed.

Yuri moved tactically but confidently, minimizing his exposure to the door and windows, keeping his weapon from flagging the people around him. People stared and muttered as he passed, eyes fixated on his railgun-grenade launcher combo. A skittish employee recoiled from his presence, loosing a half-hearted shriek.

He ignored her, and moved up to the guy at the doors.

“Coming up behind you,” Yuri said.

The civilian nodded, still facing the outside world. “Need backup?”

“Sure, but get behind hard cover.”

The civilian planted himself next to the door. Yuri strode right up to the entrance. The doors slid open.

Klaxons screamed in his mind. This was stupid. This was suicide. He was framed in the fatal funnel. He had to take cover now.

For the first time in who knew how long, he ignored his instincts. The rules for close quarters battle were not the same rules for talking to the New Gods.

Two gravcars were parked by the sidewalk. A team of four soldiers hung around each vehicle, carbines and submachine guns held low. On both sides of the street, more cars and more soldiers waited by the entrances to the Church District. The troops carried themselves like the masters of their domain, their guns granting them absolute sovereignty over all in sight, ready to deliver death unto anyone who offended them. Though they weren’t actively posing a threat, their weapons and their cocksure body language signaled a readiness to inflict massive violence in the blink of an eye.

In front of Yuri, in between the cars, stood their representative.

He was a prince surrounded by his knights. He carried no arms or armor; he needed none. His uniform was a simple blue tunic and a pair of matching trousers, his symbol of office an orange and gold shawl draped across his shoulders. He stood with his spine erect, hands clasped behind his back, peering down his aristocratic nose at Yuri.

“Yuri Yamamoto,” he said.

“And you must be a Speaker of the Pantheon,” Yuri said.

The Speaker’s eyes twinkled. “Correct.”

No other faction in the nation had such an eclectic dress sense. Yuri, with his knowledge of the Old World faiths the New Gods had stolen from, preferred a different word: _blasphemous. _

“Why are your men here?” Yuri asked.

“We have heard of the disturbances in the neighborhood, caused by the rivalry between the Court of Shadows and the Liberated. We have sent a force to keep the peace.”

Yuri frowned. “You mean occupy the neighborhood.”

A smug smile cracked the Speaker’s facade.

“Nothing so sinister, I assure you. We are merely exercising our responsibilities as a signatory of the Babylon Accords.”

“You’re not welcome here.”

“Come, now there’s no need for such hostility.”

“The people of the Church District are quite capable of defending themselves without your help.”

“Oh? You speak for them?”

“I speak for the merchants’ committee, and they speak for the people.”

“I would be glad to speak to the committee. We would be able to work out a beneficial arrangement—”

“You show up here in force without notice and say you want ‘work out’ a ‘beneficial arrangement’? No one is going to buy that.”

“We truly have the best of intentions for the neighborhood.”

“By laying claim to the district, right? Tell me, did the werewolf hitters work for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play games with me. I’m referring to the ones who shot up Riverfront and killed the—”

The Speaker’s face twisted into an ugly sneer. “You dare accuse us of terrorism?”

Yuri laughed. “Terrorism is the least of what I’ve seen the New Gods do. You and I both know what the Pantheon is capable of, so how about we cut to the chase and talk about the werewolves? Especially the ones who targeted the Liberated?”

“Everyone knows the Court of Shadows is filled with werewolves. Why aren’t you questioning them?”

Yuri shook his head.

“They’re not werewolves. They’re werewolf-vampire hybrids. They have wings. The hitters didn’t. And the Court knows better than to try to transform inside a house of God.”

The Speaker crossed his arms. “These werewolves, whoever they are, don’t work for us.”

Great thing about the Pantheon, its structure allowed its Speakers to dissemble and deceive without blinking an eye. ‘Us’ could be the entirety of the Pantheon, or simply the god the Speaker represented. The Speaker didn’t have to lie nakedly, but neither did he have to correct a misinterpretation.

“Who is ‘us’?” Yuri pressed.

The Speaker blinked. “The Pantheon, of course.”

“Really. So why do you care about this place?”

“As I said, we are exercising our responsibilities—”

“When the Court and the Liberated go to war, the Pantheon benefits. Funny how that works out.”

“I don’t deny that we have an advantage, but you are paranoid about us.”

Yuri grinned.

“It’s not paranoia when they’re out to get you.”

“I don’t deny that you’ve had… difficulties in the past with the New Gods, but we can put that behind us. We’re both here to protect the district.”

Yuri shook his head. “The people don’t want your protection. Leave.”

“Just let me talk to the committee and—”

“No. Leave.”

The Speaker smiled. His eyes widened, becoming islands of darkness floating in lakes of white. A soft, golden glow illuminated his face with an inner light. His voice adopted a slow, smooth cadence; his pitch dropped into a low baritone; his words became softer and surer and more subtle.

“All I want to do is to talk to the committee. We can talk about how we can protect the people and the neighborhood. You can let us in to do that.”

He sounded so reasonable, so reassuring, saying yes felt like the most natural thing to do, the only logical response. But beneath his words, Yuri detected an undercurrent of corruption, rotting and decaying the minds of all who heard them. Even his iron will was starting to crumble.

But in the face of such occult power, there was a Power greater yet. He who set the universe into motion, he who laid down the laws that governed all creation, he who heals all wounds and grants the strength to stand fast, if you but call upon him. And his name was—

“Yahweh.”

The Speaker flinched. The soldiers twitched. Every gunman turned towards Yuri, guns held tight, ready to unload on him.

Yuri smiled.

Exhaled.

In that breath, he brought his awareness to his hara, his center of gravity. Deep in that region of his anatomy, he found the part of him that was eternally still and silent, forever connected to the Way, the Truth and the Light. From that place, he spoke.

“We do not negotiate with false gods who come bearing weapons and witchcraft. You are not welcome here. In the name of Yahweh, the Alpha and the Omega, the Lawgiver and the Judge, I declare the Church District protected against all evils. Leave now and never come back.”

The Speaker snarled. His face blackened, the gilded mask shattered, the inner light extinguishing to reveal what lay beneath. His voice became harsh and cutting, the voice of the thing that gripped his soul.

“You will not deny the Pantheon. Your god is a weak, mewling insect who could not keep us from claiming your world. Resist us and you be crushed underfoot by powers beyond your comprehension.”

“If he is as weak as you say, why do you fear the name of Yahweh?”

The Speaker roared. An inky darkness swam within his eyes, blotting out his sclerae. Dark veins crisscrossed his cheeks and webbed across his hands. The soldiers shrieked alongside the Speaker, their weapons rising to the compressed low ready, an eyeblink away from erupting.

But their fingers were off the triggers.

“We are the rulers of the earth!” the Speaker proclaimed. “We have reigned for centuries, and in all that time, your god has not shown his face!”

Yuri raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t rule the earth. You merely occupy small patches of it. You and the rest of the New Gods have been fighting each other for centuries to gobble up more tiny patches of dirt. Why should God show himself when you’re doing his work for him?”

A thousand voices shrieked through the Speaker’s mouth, the voices of the Pantheon clamoring as one. The diabolical cacophony thundered through the district. The sonic shock wave assaulted Yuri from every direction. Though his ear protection kicked in, he felt the raw power of the Pantheon hammering his heart.

Yuri stood firm.

The screaming faded into a tense silence. The soldiers tensed, their muscles bunched into hardened cords, every one of them a living bomb on a short fuse. The Speaker’s face smoothened over, becoming unnaturally flat and expressionless.

“We could destroy you in an instant,” the Speaker whispered.

“Then I shall stand before God with a clean soul.”

The Speaker growled, half in anger, half in disbelief. Yuri stood where he was, neither confrontational nor cowardly, but merely occupying this place in space-time, as constant as gravity.

“You are not afraid of death?” the Speaker asked.

The way of the samurai was death. By setting their hearts right, his ancestors lived as though they were already dead, and thus gained freedom in the Way. He would not dishonor his ancestors, and he most certainly would not dishonor God.

Truly, he had nothing to be afraid of.

“All men die. But I know what awaits me after death. As for you and your men… if you wish to discover what lies in the undiscovered country, I hope you’ve brought body bags for everyone.”

The Speaker shook his head.

“Enough of this nonsense. You will regret your defiance.”

He spun on his heel, marched to a gravcar and barked an order. The soldiers obeyed instantly, pulling back to their vehicles.

Yuri stole a glimpse to his sides. On either side of the street, the other soldiers retreated as well.

The humming of gravity mirrors filled his ears. In perfect synchrony, the gravcars took to the skies. They dispersed in every direction, disappearing among the skyscrapers of Riveria.

When the last of them was gone, Yuri exhaled.

“All call signs, Samurai. The Pantheon has retreated.”

“Confirmed,” Karim added. “I don’t see any more of them in Aethersight.”

“Good work,” Kayla said.

“Think they’ll be back?” Will asked.

“Count on it,” Yuri replied.

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