Master George had emptied the last of the Realitants’ arsenal to arm Sato’s army for one last battle.
Paul held his Shurric steady, its butt end pressed against his chest, handle gripped firmly, his finger ready at the trigger. He had Ragers and Slicers in both of his pockets and another Shurric strapped across his back in case the first one ran out of juice. He was ready for battle as they marched toward the wall of the Void. Streams of mist jumped out and swirled back, and plumes erupted from the surface then were sucked in again; the entire storm boiled and fumed. All while lightning danced and crackled within and without.
Somehow he and Sofia had been jostled and pushed about by the much taller members of the Fifth until they found themselves along the back line. It seemed like chance, but Paul had a sneaking suspicion that the Fifths were trying to protect them, since they were young and small compared to the rest of the army. That made Paul mad—even though he couldn’t help the small part of him that was relieved. His scared side. His terrified side. He was ashamed of the feeling and swore that when they got into the heat of battle, he’d do whatever it took to prove he wasn’t a scaredy-cat chicken.
Sofia was next to him, stepping stride for stride, gripping her own weapon, staring straight ahead. She seemed too focused, or maybe even too lost in thought. Paul had the sudden urge to grab her hand and run away from the danger. Shame filled him again. What was wrong with him? He was a Realitant, for crying out loud.
“Hey!”
The sharp bark of a man’s voice came from behind him, loud enough to be heard clearly over the rumbling sounds of thunder. Paul stumbled to a stop and turned around, even though the rest of the army kept marching. Even Sofia. A man stood about twenty feet away, dressed in shiny clothes and black boots. He was stocky and had a balding head and a red, angry face. He looked like the kind of guy you’d see in a parking lot and turn around to walk in the opposite direction. Had no one else heard him shout?
“Sofia!” Paul yelled, turning back to look at her. She stopped and saw him, then the stranger who’d appeared, her eyes widening at the sight. At least I’m not crazy, Paul thought. “Make sure someone tells Sato!”
As she grabbed at the soldier closest to her, Paul faced the visitor again, who still stood in the same spot. “Who are you?”
The man walked up to him, an arrogant smirk on his face. “I’m from the Fourth Reality. Name’s Benson. Who are you?”
“Uh . . . Paul. What . . . why are you here?” Something weird was going on, and Paul hoped Sato would send some people back quickly to help him out.
The stranger smiled, though it was full of anything but kindness. “I work for a very important man, kid. His name is Reginald Chu. Ever heard of him?”
Paul swallowed, the weirdness of the situation turning to fear. He took a step back and pointed his Shurric at the man. “Don’t move.”
Benson laughed. “No need to shoot, son. Just letting you know that my boss—he doesn’t like me to call him that, which is a shame, don’t ya think?—well, my boss said that if I don’t hear from him, I’m supposed to come in here and start attacking anything and everything I see. You understand?”
“You?” Paul asked, his finger itching at the trigger. “By yourself?”
“Yeah, me and what army, right?” Benson laughed again, but then his face suddenly creased into an angry, angry look. “Guess what, little man? I haven’t heard from the boss. Which is very bad for you.”
The man snapped his fingers like a magician, and machines started appearing behind him, dozens and dozens of machines and other contraptions, filling the fields.
Paul took a step backward in shock, then another as he scanned the area with his eyes, dazed. But he stopped when he recognized some of the objects lining up behind Benson. A nightmare from what seemed like another lifetime.
Metaspides.
Chapter 66
Two Different Enemies
Sato’s thoughts churned as he marched toward the Void, wind ripping at his clothes and hair.
It had taken all of his willpower not to charge after Mistress Jane when he saw her standing near Tick earlier. His anger toward her had been building for many years, and this time, something inside of him snapped as if he suddenly knew this was his last chance to seek revenge for the death of his parents. When all this was over, surely one of them—either him or Jane—would be dead. And if it was her, he wanted it to be at his hands. He had dreamed of it for years.