Coldware (Part 1: Software) -- Chapter Eight (Rough Version)

My Lady gently scoops up the delicate teacup in her palm, smiling sweetly at the Reaper as he drops two cubes of sugar into the steaming cup of tea. I, sitting across from her, sip at my black coffee as I stare absently at some unknown thing just over her slender shoulder.

“Are you enjoying your studies thus far, Maira?” She asks me, her voice angelic and soft as it floats up to my ears, kissing each gently. As she blows at the steaming liquid, I force my eyes to snap away from whatever it was that they had been so intent on and attempt to focus on her. Something didn’t feel right today.

“I suppose, my Lady. I just finished reading up on the Purge, so I’ll be moving on to the Grand Matriarch period next, I think.”

She hesitates before drinking her tea, taking her turn to look over my shoulder. I see her face scrunch up ever-so-slightly in distaste and I know she has seen her worthless husband. “Nasty business, that. No wonder they sent Dea’s Tears after us.”

“The Purge?”

“Indeed.”

I think back on my studies, recalling the fifty-year event that had occured some five-hundred thousand years ago. Back when the Church actually existed, they had brought much of humanity together in an attempt to rid themselves of False Angels, or as mortals now know them, Demonic Luminex.

Back then, Celestial Luminex were the parton symbol of the Church, their pale skin, dark hair, and white-feathered wings matching the vivid paintings of angels from times long-since passed. They had used this adoration to their advantage, letting the Church loose on their dark-feathered brethren in an attempt to purge them from the world.

Not many survived; I believe only nine females and two males. These eleven Demonic Luminex--now referred to as Elders in modern-day society--went into hiding, away from murderous mortals and the virus the Church had developed--Dea’s Wrath--that targeted Demonic Luminexian bodies, turning them to mush from the inside out. A nasty thing indeed.

“Not humanity’s most merciful moment, I’m afraid,” I sigh, glancing over my shoulder to see Julian was far closer to the table than I had originally anticipated. Catching the back-end of my words and my eyes as they rake hatefully up his body, he smiles fakely.

“Ms. Ayers.” His bow is more of a shift in posture than any real sign of respect. I should be more offended; I protect his wife night and day, after all.

I turn back to my Lady, not bothering to return the half-hearted greeting. My gaze drops involuntarily to her chest as she leans over the table, reaching a hand out to her spouse. I can’t help but smile; I might not have his respect, but I do have his wife. As filthy as the thought may seem, it’s only fair. What goes around comes around, my Lord. “My King,” she rasps, clearing her throat as she kisses his hand. I wince.

“My Queen,” I don’t bother mentioning that he still sounds fake. He doesn’t love her; it’s painfully obvious to everyone present. I wonder if he ever did. “Are you enjoying your outing? I’m glad to see you outside in the fresh air for once,”

I scoff before I can stop myself; he doesn’t sound pleased in the slightest. As I sense another presence just behind him and turn to seek out its source, I realize why. His Luminex is right behind him, one hand on his shoulder while the other fiddles with her hair.

“Liviachi,” I mumble, trying not to flinch as her violet eyes snap to mine. As two elite bodyguards to members of the royal family--I to my Lady, and she to her Lord--we are permitted to speak to each other without being spoken to first, so long as we do not disturb our superiors’ conversation.

With that in mind, I push back my chair and stand, bowing to my Lady before stepping away from the table. The King takes my seat with a stiff smile, continuing his mundane chitchat with his wife as I begin a painfully long walk with this DL bitch. “Ms. Ayers,” she hisses, lifting her chin at me disdainfully.

The woman is nearly seven feet tall, her body slender and light, tanned skin making her long white hair stand out all the more. She’s donned traditional summer Luminexian clothing--which is to say, she’s found a revealing bodysuit, slashed full of holes near scandalous places, forming a set of attire that would make a prostitute blush--paired with a black one-shouldered cape to offset the dark red of the rest of her clothing. I sniff; it is quite possible that I just might hate her clothing more than her guts.

At the very least, neither of us has ever been particularly fond of the other. “I assume you and your Lord have been busy?” I ask bitterly, remembering the obscene moans and cries my Lady and I both heard coming from the King’s private chambers. A shiver runs down my spine unpleasantly as I recall how harshly her sobs had coursed through her body that night. Not even the romantic poetry she adores so much had soothed her tortured soul.

“Quite; political matters, and all that. Foreign affairs are messy at best. Your Lady should do a better job with structuring.” She huffs, looking over her shoulder to check on the King. I did the same; both husband and wife looked miserable. My Lady looked as if she were on the verge of tears, unwilling to meet her husband’s eyes. The worthless swine seemed more agitated with having to speak with his spouse than anything else. It disgusted me down to the core.

As my boots hit gravel--the sound and texture far different than the stone tiles that made up the paths surrounding the Royal Garden’s picnicking area--I check my surroundings for any sign of danger. Tall hedges to the west keep the miniature hunting forests at bay, beautiful red roses planted just in front of the hedges so that their gangly stumps did not disturb the eyes of any noble visitors. The grass was trimley cut as always, broken only by the occasional tree or decorative shrub. “My Lady conquered eleven countries from the age of twenty to twenty-five, building up a territory that now consists of eighty-seven percent of the world’s total usable land. What did your Lord spend his youth doing, again?” I smirk, enjoying the angry glares she sent my way.

“That doesn’t matter, does it?”

“It does if he is incapable of structuring a measly point-five percent of the world’s land for agricultural purposes. How long has it been since he started? Nine years? I can’t imagine what was going through my Lady’s head when she married that buffoon.”

The DL chuckles darkly as she looks me up and down suggestively. “I imagine she believed she had a back-up plan.”

I nearly slap her, but my Lady calls out to me in distress. Not hesitating to leave the Luminex’s company without a farewell, I sprint across the grass to my Lady’s side. She leans her weight against me, crying quietly as she mumbles something about feeling ill, so I begin the long trek back to her private chambers. I do not cross my boundaries and ask what her King has done this time, but I do make a mental note to slap that DL slut across the face the next time she and I find ourselves alone.

I’ll kill Liviachi one day. I swear it.

*****

“What do you suppose we do about this, Ms. Ayers?” The inventor asks me as she slides her goggles down over her eyes. I’ll admit that it’s a logical question; Liviachi doesn’t mess around when it comes to the Hunt. She had dragged her colossal Aerial Falcon out of its storage chamber, the beast-of-a-vessel nearly eleven times larger than Evora’s Investigator-brand ship.

All guns ports open, the Signature Runes on each of the two-hundred and fifty cannons activated and glowing brightly, it was a sight that sent shivers down even the sturdiest of spines. “Ms. Traditoryn,” I sigh, rubbing at my temple tiredly, “I haven’t a bloody clue,”

I really thought I had killed Liviachi the last time we crossed paths. Now she was an Elder, dangerous, psychotic, and immune to bullets through the head. Brilliant.

“I don’t suppose you have any intel on this particular war ship? Security can’t find anything in her database.” Evora gunts, lifting the goggles back up onto the top of her head. I grit my teeth.

“She keeps her toys off of the records. If I’m recalling things correctly, this should be the Animatesla Beralia, an Aerial Falcon with so many modifications you’d think it an alien species. It might look like the hull is made of mid-grade hyperbrass and steel, but in actuality it is a type of pyraglass that is lighter than air and sturdier than titanium. If you shot it with a cannonball, the ship would laugh at you.” I hear the little biter whistle as he stares at Liviachi’s war ship. It’s been anchored in place with Air Lock runes, it’s body blocking the rising sun. “The Signature Runes are all authentic and hand-drawn. Since they are all glowing that dreadful violet, let’s go ahead and consider them active Drones. She’s likely holed up somewhere in the belly of the beast, so to speak, her power locked onto the runes so that the flick of a finger will fire the whole lot of them.” I gesture to the wall of cannons, grimacing.

“Dear heavens,” Evora breathes, taking off her gloves and putting them back on out of habit. I try not to slap her wrists to get her to stop, and instead choose to focus on more pressing matters. “So there’s no way to escape this situation?”

“I’m afraid not.” Glancing up at the small white-haired boy who waves down at us blankly from the edge of the Falcon, I close my eyes. Damn it to Hell. She has a Sentinel with her, the filthy cur. “How did you even let her get so close?”

“She had cloaking runes activated until she was right up on us. One of the deckhands complained about a foul stench seconds before the deactivated the lot of them.” The inventor cracked her knuckles--oh, dear lord, she hadn’t broken that nasty habit yet?--before turning to the mass of gathered deckhands. “I suppose we have no choice than to welcome her aboard.”

A piece of my soul dies as I mentally agree with her; as much as I hate Liviachi, if we don’t follow her demands, we’ll be plummeting countless miles down to the ground before we can finish the first sentence of our protests. “I suppose so. Biter, get inside. I don’t want her to catch wind of you and get any ideas. If she’s got one Sentinel, she’ll be looking for more delicate boys to recruit to her collection.”

The little biter whirls around on his heels, looking about as disgusted as I feel. “Pepper me dry, lady, that is truly and utterly appalling. You mean that kid up there ain’t naturally-Luminexian?”

“Intercourse with a Luminex resorts in a certain amount of toxic run-off, as it were.” I sniff distastefully, ushering him below deck. “Relax; he’s older than he seems.” I hope.

“Crackers. And there I was, about to get short with you for calling me ‘delicate’.” The kid moves willingly into the dank hallways, giving me a quick wave before beginning the long jog down to the Guest Chambers. “I’ll find that Dock Master lady and tell her what’s up.”

“Ms. Ayers,” I turn as Evora calls my name, suddenly aware of how surreal this situation really is. To think that Liviachi would find me all the way out here. “Anything else I need to be aware of before she steps onto my ship?”

It doesn’t take me long to come up with a few. “Don’t talk about the King, don’t mention the Divyal family line at all, and have plenty of sugar on hand.”

“Sugar?” Evora asks, incredulous as she barks out orders to her crew to gather up a list of hospitality items. “Whatever for?”

“Didn’t you know? Luminex are rather fond of sugar.”