Page 35 of Crown Prince's Mate

“Four? In one attack? That is beyond even his abilities,” says Gallien, his voice laced with tension.

“The War-God was on the battlelines himself. I’m sending over data from the surviving Mark-10s.”

I lean in. “What do you mean, on the battlelines? You mean he was at the head of one single assault?” My voice is cold, trying to pry out the keys to understanding this impossibility. Lukas is shaken to the core, and I have never seen him rattled.

“Each line, Prince Doman. He was at the head of the same army. The same fleet. The shifted in, he destroyed the factories, and before we could mount a defense, he was gone, in an instant, to the next.

I focus on Lukas, intense, seeing the whites of his too-wide eyes, the strain in his body. “Send over the data,” I command, and my smart-watch blinks as I receive the transmissions. I will see it from the eyes of the Cyborgs themselves.

Titus leans in, and his aura flares up with worry and pain. “Calien and Tiber. Your battle-brothers.”

Lukas’ slate-gray eyes flash with grief. “Cut down by the War-God’s Shadows. His wolves… they ripped them up so bad they couldn’t get to the cryo-bays. Their bloodlines are…” He cannot speak any longer, and tears form in his eyes. We look away. It is a great humiliation for an Aurelian to show such emotion, and we would not fill him with more shame.

Calien and Tiber. I remember them from Academy, when they were but children. I fought at their side, and they were under my command, strong soldiers who never balked.

Now they are gone, the permanent death. From the dawn of our species, they were able to pull themselves into the cryo-bays before they left this mortal coil, recreating themselves, their stories an unbroken line.

“You are relieved of command, Captain Lukas. Marcellin’s triad will be promoted.”

Lukas’ eyes flash, the grief replaced by rage. “No! Don’t you fucking take this from me. I deserve revenge,” he snarls.

“You will return to Colossus. You will bury your dead.” He would be blinded by vengeance, and he can no longer command with the impartiality necessary.

He stares at me, his eyes filled with hatred. I let it sink into me. I push down my grief. Calien and Tiber were friends to me, but my loss is nothing to Lukas’, who had them ripped from his mind. He will live the rest of his days alone and empty.

“Very well, Prince Doman.” He spits out the words like a curse and ends the call.

“This is impossible. A single shift of his armies drains him. Obsidian does not have the power to strike four locations in succession.” Titus snarls it out, not wanting to believe it, but Lukas has never been wrong before.

Gallien shakes his head. “We had incomplete information. Impossibilities are simply things we do not fully understand. The Mark-10 data will give us the clear picture.” His aura is taut and cold, fraught with tension.

I run my fingers over the cold marble of my armrest.

It doesn’t make sense. Obsidian has never risked himself on the battle-lines. He has ruled from his palace on Obsidious or in his flagship. He guided his warships through the perils of the Rift from an untouchable distance, striking us endlessly.

The data transmission finished, I wave my smart-watch, opening the feed from one of the Cyborgs on Cobolt-3, the first strike point.

Our factories, pumping out the Cyborgs that are turning back the war, were placed on the reaches of the Aurelian Empire, close to the battle-lines. Unlike Obsidian’s force, Orb-Shifting holds great risk for us. We placed the factories nearer to the battle-lines, so that we could have a steady flow of the soldiers pressing onward.

It would have been safer to build them in the innermost sanctum of the Aurelian Empire, but the delays getting them to the frontlines were too great.

There was talk of Orb-Shifting the Cyborgs from the factories to the lines. We can’t risk the ships. Every day, we lose Reavers, to Obsidian’s forces and to the chaos of the Rift.

Spreading out the factories was our strategy to limit losses. Obsidian can shift his forces through the Rift, but each time comes at a cost. He has never been able to move multiple warships before, and each time, he must rest. Striking four planets in swift succession is unheard of.

I have to hope Lukas’ mind was corrupted by grief, because his report should have been impossible.

There is no way the War-God could have been on all four planets.

The data feeds out from my smart-watch, and I look through the eyes of one of the Mark-10 Cyborgs on Cobolt-3.

I am viewing the scene as if I am standing in a watch-post ringing the factory. The skies are blank except for our Reavers slowly patrolling, when out of nothingness, the black fleet appears. Ships painted jet-black, gleaming with the twin half circles of my sworn enemy’s sigil. Orb-Beams lance out, destroying our Reavers, and I sound the alarm.

The bay doors of the warships open, and jet-black Reavers stream out, missiles flooding from their batteries, Orb-Beams lancing, and explosions ring out against the shields of the factory. The Reavers descend, their doors open, and Fanatics jump out, Orb-Blades in their hands, the brands on their chests.

Obsidian himself leaps from a Reaver.

He is the only Aurelian in the universe who can rival me.

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