"The moments that define our existence often sneak up on us. Many do not recognize destiny when it walks up and spits on their boots. Of course, sometimes it slaps you in the face like a dueling gauntlet. Good luck ignoring that." – Lord Victor Rolfe, Political Wit and Social Radical
A swaying sense of motion crept into Jack's consciousness, and he groaned. His ears popped and his head throbbed. He stirred unwillingly, feeling the rough texture of wooden planks beneath his cheek.
"Look who's awake," a thin voice muttered. Jack opened his eyes to murky darkness. "I should've known you'd survive. Invincible and all. I wonder if it will kill you when they stretch our necks? Or will you just flop forever on the end of the rope?"
Jack moved his arms and legs experimentally, wincing at their soreness, and sat up. He found a wall next to him with a fumbling hand and leaned against it, resting his aching head as he surveyed the gloom with his eyes. Faint light filtered into the darkness, dimly illuminating the surroundings.
He was in some sort of cell, made of wood and metal, but he distinctly felt a sensation of movement. Shadowy figures crouched in the murk. He could see their eyes gleaming in the weak light that entered through some sort of grate in the ceiling.
"Where are we?" Jack ventured. His voice was raw and weak, and the dry tissue of his throat grated irritably upon his speech.
"We are in a lovely cabin aboard the Imperial Navy's HMS Titanfall," the voice answered. The words were said in jest, but the joke sounded strange coming off a bitter tongue. He knew the voice. It was almost back to its normal pitch.
"Goldilocks?" Jack croaked.
"One and the same," Goldi stated grimly, and Jack recognized the muted sheen of his long, yellow hair. "As a lad, I always wanted to sail aboard one of the Imperial Navy's airships. Now that I'm here, I find that a man-o'-war isn't quite up to my imagination."
Jack grunted. "I hear you." His thoughts were coalescing slowly into memory, and he struggled to make sense of them. "There was a raid..."
"Yes."
"Dasher!" Jack remembered suddenly. "He was hit, bleeding–"
"He's here, Booker," Goldilocks answered. His voice carried assurance, but it was also filled with doubt. "Whether he's alive much longer..." Goldi's shadowy form shrugged. "I'm betting he won't survive long enough to be executed."
"Executed?"
"Where do you think they're taking us? Paradise?" Goldilocks chuckled without humor. "Well, you'd be right. We're bound for the Celestial Realm, Jack, but I doubt we'll be finding much once we get there besides a traitor's trial, a conviction of treason, and the gallows rope."
His head spun, but the stupidity of unconsciousness was fading, and everything started to fall into place. "Trafficking Celestial Steel isn't going to land us anywhere else," Jack agreed. He ran a tentative hand across his scalp, but stopped when he felt a bloody lump. "Where's Dasher?"
"In the other cell with Switch and a few of the others," Goldilocks jerked his head indicatively. "Don't worry. They're keeping him as comfortable as possible." He glanced away for a moment, and then ducked his eyes. "We're the lucky ones, Jack. You know that?"
"By 'lucky' you mean 'alive'?"
"Uh huh. Most of the boys were slaughtered at the safehouse. But those Primals said we were going to be made examples." Goldilocks laughed nervously. Jack thought he might be holding back some tears. "At least we get a few more days, though, eh?"
"Fist and the others might be the lucky ones."
Goldi fell silent at this, and Jack was left with a sense of guilt. These were their final days, and he was making them as unbearable as possible.
"We'll see the Celestial Realm before we die," Jack muttered. "How many people get to say that?"
Goldilocks brightened considerably, and Jack realized the lad's sanity was hanging by a thread. He left it at that, not trusting himself to say more. He never was one for cheering others.
Goldilocks will get to see the Celestial Realm, but he won't see his eighteenth birthday.
***
The journey to the Celestial Realm lasted several days. It made Jack queasy to think about how high over Victorian and the rest of the Grounded Realm they were by now. But queasy was a constant state in the brig.
Their jailors rarely fed them, though Jack couldn't care less. He could keep nothing down anyway. At least the privy buckets were emptied, infrequent as it might be. The Emperors' Imperial Marines were a closed-mouthed lot, and brutal, even by gang standards. Coppers considered themselves opponents of the gangs, more or less. These Marines of the Imperial Navy did not. They perceived prisoners as far beneath their notice, and the fact that they were tasked with guard duty clearly ruffled their pride. Of course, Jack had no doubt that much of the hate was a result of the gang's treason. They were as good as convicted already. Why else would street filth be shipped to the home of gods?
Jack fingered his head wound pensively, wincing at its tenderness. The swelling had gone down, but he was still dubious that he could fit his bowler on his head, wherever the derby had gone. He didn't miss the hat. It was nothing more than a grotesque trophy, and he'd never wanted it anyway. It stood for something else in his mind, though. It was Harv, Morgan, even Fist – anything he'd ever lost.
Steamblown Primals. Jack gritted his teeth angrily. The world was unforgiving, and he knew better than to shift blame. But by his reckoning, the existence of the Primals was what brought about misfortune. We live under their thumb, and they take to rule as if it is their natural right. Perhaps it is, but I don't have to stand for it.
Jack laughed to himself quietly. What are you going to do, Dull Jack? What remains of your pathetic existence is about to be finished. Your life belongs to the Primals' whims as much as any other. Maybe more.
He was Jack Booker, plaything of the gods, even if they didn't realize it. His whole life had been one futile struggle to protect both others and himself. And he had failed spectacularly.
Jack punched the wooden planks in a surge of unrestrained savagery, ripping open new wounds on his knuckles. He hardly even noticed. Bloody invincible. You didn't save Harv or Morgan or Fist or Dasher. In the end, you can't even save the one person you're known for never failing.
Abruptly, loud calls filtered from the above decks, and the pounding of feet echoed on the planks. Jack peered up through the grate and caught a glimpse of canvas sails spreading beneath the rapidly deflating balloon that kept them aloft. A deep, vibrating hum reverberated through the boards beneath his feet as the steam engines in the aft boiler chugged to life.
We're preparing to land, he realized.
The descent was almost unnoticeable in the bowels of the Titanfall but for the painful popping in his ears. The others stirred around him, realizing they had reached their destination. He frowned. More like the end of the line. I wonder what awaits us beyond these cells?
It wasn't long before the vessel came to a halt with an abrupt lurch, and Jack almost lost his feet. He stood up straight and grasped the bars just as the thumping of boots began on the stairs. In the next moment, the brig hallway was filled with Marines in resplendent, deep red uniforms, cursing and shouting at the prisoners to get to their feet. Jack waited patiently with the others until his cell was unlocked, then he shuffled out behind Goldilocks. He allowed himself to be herded toward the upper decks with the others.
A sudden commotion to his right drew his attention. An officer in a blue uniform was shouting at a bewildered shape on the floor. With a sudden jolt, Jack realized it was Dasher, too injured to move or understand what was happening.
"Get up, dog!" The officer screamed, kicking at Dasher. The boy moaned painfully, curling up in a ball to cover his stomach. "Get up!" The officer's boot descended again. The man threw up his hands, turning to one of the Marines. "This one's too far gone to make it to the gallows anyway. Shoot him."
Jack bulled out of the line, ignoring the shouts and threats directed toward him. Several Marines pulled sabers free from their scabbards or pointed naval carbines at his chest.
The officer drew a Webley sidearm and shoved it in his face. "Halt!" The man's mustache and high officer's hat quivered when he shouted, and spittle flew from his lips. Jack stopped and put up his hands. "Back in line, treasonous bastard, or I shoot you now."
"Let me carry him," Jack said calmly, keeping his voice quiet in an attempt to defuse the situation. "He's badly wounded. I'll carry the boy."
"He's going to die soon anyway, fool," the officer said, then brandished his pistol again. "If he can't walk, better to die now and save us some trouble. I told you to get back in line!"
"I'll carry him," Jack continued stubbornly. "He won't be any trouble. You're to bring us to trial, yes? The Emperors will want us all for examples."
"You're here for execution, not trial," the officer snorted, but he jerked his head indicatively. "You want to carry him? Fine. You'll both be dead soon anyway. Get this piece of shit from my sight, and your own filth too."
Jack knelt beside Dasher's huddled form and slung him over a shoulder, trying to ignore the lad's whimpers. Then, he shuffled with his burden back into the crowd of prisoners moving slowly toward the upper deck.
As his head broke the surface of the hatch, bright light nearly blinded him. He squinted and covered his eyes with his left hand, though it did little good. The light didn't seem to be coming from any particular direction. It just was. Water squeezed from his eyelids, but eventually he grew accustomed to the bright glow. He dropped his hand to venture a look at their destination.
Jack's jaw dropped open, and his pained eyes widened with astonishment.
This was...paradise.
Jack still had dim memories from long ago when his mother would tell him of Heaven. The afterlife, she'd called it – where father was – a place of wonder and beauty and perfection. Jack couldn't think of anything else to describe what spread around him.
The HMS Titanfall had made berth on the shores of a crystal sea that spread away and beyond Jack's left. The calm, listless waves glittered like uncounted diamonds, roiling softly in a vast expanse of white splendor. To the man-of-war's right stretched a magnificent city, so alien to the brick chimneys and muddy, cobblestone streets of Victorian as to defy adequate description. Its white and silver spires of pale stone and glittering glass sparkled in an ambient glow, marred by no glare of a traditional sun. Somewhere in his awestruck mind, he imagined fields of spring green or colorful autumn rolling forever past the glorious city's far edge. Fields and trees and mountains and valleys the likes of which he had only heard stories.
"Dasher," Jack found his voice in the midst of his reverie. "Look; you won't want to have missed this." The boy stirred on his shoulder, peering about, and together they shared the moment of visual marvel.
"Move, filth!" The shouts of the Marines echoed along the line of captives, ripping Jack brusquely out of his trance.
"This beauty isn't for the likes of you, traitorous scum!" The officer bawled, marching along the line of prisoners. "It's not even for the likes of me, who has served the Primal Empire faithfully and with honor! You are witnessing the glory of our gods and Emperors, Order and Tyranny, whom you betrayed! If it were up to me, you'd not have the privilege. I would have had you shot in the squalor your whore mothers birthed you in."
The cabin doors to Jack's left opened slowly, and a Primal emerged. Jack's eyes narrowed. Blood red armor, with a black mask splayed across the breastplate.
"On your knees, maggots!" The officer roared, drawing his saber and laying about with the flat of the blade on those too slow to comply. When he was certain all the prisoners were properly bowed the officer himself went to a knee. "My lord, these criminals are unfit to walk the shores of this holy realm," the officer protested, "but I obey both the Emperors' and your command. Captain Bracken and I relinquish these prisoners into your custody."
Jack held Dasher carefully, so as not to drop him as he knelt, but risked a careful glance up at the Primal who had subdued him. He appeared a perfect specimen of humanity, just like the Primal who'd killed Morgan. Close-cropped, jet-black hair was slicked back over his head, and sharp cheekbones protruded from a thin, unblemished face. He regarded the officer with mischievous grey eyes.
"Very well, lieutenant," the Primal answered indifferently. "We'll take them to the Court of Law for public execution." His voice was so silky and smooth that Jack could have listened to him speak all day, even if it was about his impending death. "Give my regards to Captain Bracken."
"Of course, my lord."
Four more Primals emerged from the cabin doors. Jack quickly ducked his head, not daring to even breathe for fear that he might be recognized and singled out. The red demon from the safehouse was in the lead. Jack noticed two substantial holes in his breastplate with absurd satisfaction. He didn't get a good look at the other three Primals, intent as he was on his boots, though he noted their human-like appearances and shining Celestial Steel plate armor.
"Ah," the black mask Primal's voice greeted the rest with a satisfied sigh. The Marines stood forgotten around them. "It's good to be back. Stints in that shithole of a realm are a bloody nightmare."
A deep chuckle rumbled above Jack's head, and he knew it was the demon answering. "Pine after this luxury all you wish, Villain. The fight is below, and as long as Tyranny gives me enemies to kill, that's where I'll be."
"You're barbaric, Rage," the original Primal, who Jack assumed was Villain, answered lightly.
"I, for one, am glad to be clear of the Myrmidon's stench," a new voice put in. Jack risked a quick glance up to see a Primal whose armor bore a pair of dripping fangs. The Primal kicked at one of the prisoners nearest him distastefully. "Though as long as we're running Tyranny's waste detail, I'll have to put up with their disgusting odor even here. At least this entire realm doesn't reek of their kind."
"The sooner we get them to the Court of Law the sooner we can rid ourselves of them," Villain, who seemed to be the leader, answered calmly. "Get them to their feet."
Jack stumbled up, still grasping Dasher firmly. The Marines went roaring down the line of prisoners, flailing with their blades and carbine butts at those who stood too slowly. Villain strode to the back of the group, while Rage stalked to the front. He turned his devil's eyes on them. Revulsion was evident on his twisted face.
"Wingless Myrmidons move slower than shit traveling uphill," he growled simply. "Anyone who holds us up doesn't get the mercy of execution; you get the pleasure of my attention."
It wasn't the most vehement or disturbing threat Jack had ever heard. In fact, it was laughably straightforward, but coming from the maw of the red monster, it was perhaps the most terrifying statement every uttered.
"Move," Rage grunted.
They proceeded single file down the Titanfall's gangway to a dock of strange silver stone, but that was the last opportunity Jack had to gawk at his surroundings. The Primals set a brutal pace that was made all the more unbearable by the weakness, hunger, and thirst brought on by the journey in the brig. Dasher's added weight threatened to drag Jack to his knees, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving, placing one foot in front of the other on the sparkling streets. The roadways were like glass, with brilliant, crystalline jewels beneath the transparent surface. He heard a few of the prisoners stumble and fall, but no one stayed down. The demon's threat was clear in all of their minds.
Jack wondered dully why he didn't just stop. Refuse to run. His legs were wobbly and weak, and his breaths came in harsh gasps. They were only hastening to their own execution. Why make it easy for their captors? It might be better to die a few minutes early in a display of defiance than to go meekly to the slaughter. The Primals were just using them as examples.
You are responsible for Dasher. You must press on. Jack cursed himself for a fool. When has responsibility ever helped those you swore to protect? Your efforts, your determination, your very existence has been futile. Dasher is going to die anyway, as are you.
His mind waged a ferocious war, but his legs kept churning, regardless.
Eventually, it became apparent that none of the prisoners would be capable of maintaining such a pace to their ultimate destination, and the Primals reluctantly allowed them to falter into a trudging walk. Jack's feet slowed to a resigned plodding pace, but his embattled mind continued its inner struggle despite his exhaustion.
Jack checked on Dasher, who was utterly silent. He wondered if the lad had expired during the forced march. Light, irregular breathing greeted him, and a tiny sense of relief penetrated his fatigue.
As he dropped his eyes back to the glassy surface of the street, a flicker of movement caught his eye from a silver spire ahead, and he squinted curiously.
A glint of sunlight off of the tower. He frowned. There's no sun here...
A brilliant glow as dazzling as a newborn star burst suddenly into being, spraying the bright world around him with intense droplets of searing light. He stumbled to a knee and shielded his eyes, bewildered at the radiant explosion.
A deafening BOOM shattered the Celestial air. One of their captors stumbled. The center of the incandescent blaze faded into the shape of the most beautiful woman Jack had ever seen.
She stood on a dais atop white stone steps with arms upraised. Her hands bore a glowing, double-edged sword. Silvery blue, Celestial Steel armor fit to her form as if it were a part of her body, and gleaming, silver-white hair flowed behind her in a luminescent stream. Eyes of shocking blue pierced the air from a face that he could describe only as perfection. She was a regal manifestation of power, like a force of nature: beautiful, dangerous, and terrifying.
Waves of shifting light burst from her back in refracting lines of crackling cerulean, and she rose slowly off her feet to hover above the steps. She placed a shining helm over her head.
A dreadful roar of fury echoed to Jack's right. Rage's wings of flame exploded behind him as he bellowed his defiance. A spiked mace coalesced in his hand.
His wits abruptly returned to him. This street was about to become the arena for a deific death-match.
"RUN!" Jack shouted. He followed his own advice, sprinting for the cover of a nearby building. The others scattered in every direction.
From the corner of his eye, Jack saw the goddess take off as a blurring bolt of light. Behind him, a colossal crash resounded like the head-on collision of two locomotives. The street became chaos.
More armored Primals converged on the street. Weapons of Celestial Steel sang behind the force of powerful wings. Jack abandoned his search for shelter as Primals smashed together around him. He hunkered on the edge of the street next to white stone steps and covered Dasher with his body.
A second, echoing BOOM split the ringing of metallic weapons on Celestial Steel, and Jack saw the Primal with dripping fangs on his breastplate take the hit on the center of his sigil. He jerked and fell for a moment before his wings sputtered to life and carried him haphazardly away. Jack cast about with his eyes and found the sniper atop a flat-roofed tower in the distance.
Villain spun by overhead, grappling with a white armored Primal. Jack ducked, but the two combatants pulled up anyway. Their reckless flight sent them careening into a column of nearby pillars. Another Primal bedecked in gold armor was hacking down on one of Jack's captors with a massive, doublehanded executioner's sword, and a Primal in green and gold armor fended off another of the guards with an enormous shield.
Jack witnessed this in a confused daze, but his attention settled on the ferocious struggle in the middle of the street, where Rage and the radiant lady were exchanging inhuman blows. Rage smashed his horned head into her helmeted face, and she staggered back. Then, Rage's fist came up, and it lit with fire, hardening into a thick ram of stone before smashing into the woman's breastplate.
Villain and the white knight crashed suddenly into the street at Jack's feet, and he scrambled back, losing sight of the lady and the demon in his haste to escape the bitter battle before him. Villain and his adversary rolled over and over the glass road, weapons forgotten as they pummeled each other with armored fists. Grunted curses flew from the wrestling combatants in a steady stream. Jack dragged Dasher back, but the two Primals broke apart and leapt up. Their weapons flickered back into their hands. He observed their continued combat in awe. They moved with such alien grace. Swords swiped, thrust, and parried as their armored feet moved over the ground, more like a beautiful dance than the previous violent brawl. Even when their wings once again lifted them into flight the deadly ballet continued unabated, and the Primals whirled like dervish pinwheels as their blades flickered back and forth. Jack hardly even noticed the sniper's third shot, intent as he was on the mythic contest above him. The air sang with the ringing chime of Celestial Steel and the metallic crash of deflection. White and red armor blurred together into a perfect storm of skill and havoc.
Abruptly, the airborne duel ended as Villain spun away from a blow and retreated, leaving his adversary behind. A raging cry echoed from the white knight, but he did not follow, and Jack realized with a start that the other guards had also fled.
Not all them. The Primal woman stood over Rage, her sword planted in his shoulder and her armored boot on his side. The white knight approached and helped the woman remove her breastplate, and Jack noted the extensive damage to the silvery blue masterpiece. The demon was laughing, but a horrible gurgling sound was rising in his throat. The woman twisted savagely on the sword, shouting at the defeated Primal. Whatever she wanted from him, it would do little good. Jack knew death well, and the red devil had no more than a few moments left to live.
Good riddance. It was the first coherent thought to pass through his mind since the appearance of the Primal lady in her burst of light. The second quickly followed. Now is the time to run, escape this city, execution, and these insane Primals.
Jack looked down at Dasher. The boy's eyes were open, but his breaths came in short gasps. He won't survive more than a few hours. Jack knew he wouldn't be able to carry him while on the run in this city anyway.
Jack's feet shifted, carrying him toward escape. He stopped himself, cursing vehemently. He was a steamblown fool. In all likelihood, Dasher would be dead soon, and he knew how well his efforts to protect had ended in the past.
Best to leave him behind – he's dead anyway. Jack's feet didn't obey. He turned, growling angrily at his own weakness, and scooped the lad into his arms. He didn't want to do it, but as long as there was still a way to save Dasher, he wouldn't leave. He couldn't leave.
"Hey!" Jack's voice was hoarse and raspy, and his legs were weak with fatigue. But he continued to stumble toward the gathering group of Primals.
The Primal woman was raging bitterly, but she stopped and turned to look at him when he shouted. Her brilliant blue eyes seemed to pierce his soul, and Jack almost halted at the intensity in her expression. He willed his legs forward.
"This lad needs help!" Jack continued. He approached the group warily. "He's going to die without immediate medical attention!"
The white knight turned his helmed head and shared a glance with the woman. Jack moved forward, noting that he was alone. The rest of the prisoners had vanished into the surrounding streets. The huge, golden warrior pushed into the gathering circle.
"Out of the question," a deep, rich voice laced with disdain emerged from the slits of his helmet. The firm tone was addressed toward the lady, and seemed to be answering some unsaid question.
"What do you propose, Justice?" the white Primal asked. "That we leave the boy to die?"
"Yes," the deep voice answered, unmoved. "What care should we have for Myrmidon gangsters? Their fate is sealed, and well deserved."
"Look at the lad, Justice!" The white knight pointed at Dasher with obvious exasperation. "It's a boy, not a gangster! What–"
"Are you proposing that one cannot be both young and a criminal?" the golden warrior answered with logical calm. "Boys younger than he have caused much sorrow. Leave them, I say. The realms are better off without our prolonging their kind."
Jack looked around as the conversation unfolded, noting the participants of the ambush. The lady, to whom he had turned first, was unreadable. She continued to stare at him as if thinking, but her eyes seemed far away. The gold and green armored Primal was leaning on his massive shield and holding his side. Jack could see shining silver drops oozing between his fingers, but he didn't speak up or complain. The white warrior stood next to the Primal woman, and seemed to be arguing on Dasher's behalf. The golden knight was Justice, he presumed, based on what had been said.
Not THE Justice, Jack told himself. But who else could attack Tyranny and Order's Primals with such impunity? If it is the real Justice, then that would mean the lady...
"This bickering is pointless," the lady suddenly spoke up, cutting off a retort from the white knight. Her voice rang like clear bells and exuded command. "Tyranny's forces are converging on this location as we speak." She turned to the silent knight with the shield. "Sentinel, how bad is it?"
"I'll live," Sentinel replied. He chuckled lightly and leaned on his shield. "Bondage got a lucky swipe by me, but I can manage."
"Good," the lady replied. "Valkyrie, lead on."
The sniper, whom Jack had not seen approach, nodded a black helmed head. Jack barely noticed the newcomer, so intent was he on the lady.
"What about Dasher?" he demanded desperately. "You can't leave him like this. He's going to die!"
The woman turned her eyes back to him, and he wilted under the piercing gaze. She was silent for a long moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice was soft. "We'll take him with us for medical care."
Relief flooded his veins, then alarm. "I'm coming too!" Jack found his voice finally. "I'm not leaving him alone with you and yours."
The lady's eyes searched his own, and Jack found himself wishing he'd never spoken. He struggled to remain standing upright and not cringe beneath the weight of her stare.
"Freedom, you can't possibly be considering–"
"I can, and am," Freedom cut off Justice's interruption. Jack's jaw dropped open.
It was Freedom.
This was the Emperors' most hated enemy. This was their ultimate nemesis, leader of the IAL, right here in the flesh. Jack really did cringe at this revelation. He hunched his shoulders protectively. She's said to be as insane as Chaos, and infinitely more intelligent. All the atrocious things the Illuminati had ever taught him about the anti-god raced through his mind. You left the Illuminati, Jack reminded himself, because you couldn't trust them, remember? You don't know that those things are true. You realized long ago that those delusional priests are nothing but propaganda criers for the Empire.
Freedom's mind seemed to be made up, but she turned with a quizzical look on her face. "Justice?"
The golden warrior shook his head emphatically. "He is what he is, Freedom, but..." The assurance in his voice faded somewhat, and his next words emerged reluctantly from his mouth, as if forced unwillingly. "He is, perhaps, not the basest of his kind. There is strength, great courage, and a kind of primitive nobility." As if to provide context for his previous statement, Justice continued on. Acid returned to his tone. "I still find him a repugnant, vile creature, deserving of little but death."
"But not wholly deserving of death?" The white knight's tone was both mocking and amused. "That's new. He must be a saint!"
Jack squirmed uncomfortably under Freedom's continued gaze. He had never been so thoroughly examined.
"Tyranny's forces are coming," she said, after an eternally long pause. "Choose, Myrmidon. If you come with us, you will not be allowed to leave again without my permission. You may never be released. The risk is too great that you might, willingly or unwittingly, betray our secrets. Do you wish to accompany the boy? He will be well cared for, whether you are there or not. You have my word."
Indeed, real or imagined, Jack thought he could hear a winged horde approaching from the Celestial city's center, and his decision was quick.
"I do not trust Primals," he stated simply. He forced himself to stand firm under Freedom's penetrating eyes. "There is little I can do against the likes of you, but while I still draw breath I intend to see that he is safe. Besides," Jack gestured away, allowing a small, humorless smile to cross his face. "Going with you is the only way I escape this place alive."
Freedom nodded almost before he was finished, as if she had already known his answer. She turned away. "So be it. Hero, take the boy. Justice, you have the other. I'll take Valkyrie."
Before Jack could react, the white knight plucked Dasher from his arms and lifted off on pale wings. He opened his mouth, and then let out a surprised shout as the golden warrior scooped him up roughly and shot into the air. His stomach dropped through his feet, and one of Justice's armored hands clamped over his mouth. The other tightened around his waist.
"Fool Myrmidon," he growled. "We are attempting to evade pursuit, not draw it to us."
Jack was too terrified to answer. The world sped by at an alarming speed as they flew through the glowing streets, staying well beneath the tops of the buildings to avoid being seen. Several times he cringed, expecting his golden chariot to smash into upcoming walls and towers, only to turn at the last moment with incredible alacrity and soar down yet another street of sparkling glass. Right, left, straight, right, straight, right, left, left: he lost count of their blazing maneuvers, but Justice seemed to know where he was going. Occasionally Jack would catch a glimpse of white or blue or green flashing ahead. His eyes watered continuously because he dared not squeeze his eyes shut even for a moment.
Abruptly, Justice cut right, leaving much of Jack's stomach behind, and flew toward a mansion fronted by huge pillars. Jack expected him to swerve into the street running perpendicular, but they shot through the open door before he even had time to yell his alarm. The mansion's interior blurred as their breakneck pace continued. He vaguely noted traversing a long, curving staircase in the space of a moment, and they were suddenly speeding through a long hallway toward...nothing. There was no window or door. No exit of any kind. Only an open wardrobe, filled with hanging clothes and thick coats.
Jack flailed wildly as Justice bore him toward the dead end at high speed. He could only imagine hitting the wardrobe and wall at this velocity. There would be nothing left of him but an unrecognizable pulp.
The wardrobe continued to streak toward him. He struggled in vain. The armored hands wrapped around him were clamped in an iron grip. The wardrobe filled his vision.
Jack screamed.