sharpshooters had blown the guns out of their emplacements. And then they were all at the door, and Evangeline punched in the entry codes that the underground leaders had provided. Nothing happened. Evangeline tried again, hitting each number carefully, but the door remained stubbornly closed. Finlay could hear the crowd growing restive behind them.
'Typical,' he said briskly. 'Have to do everything ourselves. Julian, get this door open.'
'I'm on it,' said Julian. He concentrated, ignoring the familiar headache growing behind his temples, and hit the door with a psychokinetic hammer blow that punched the door right out of its supports and back into the bunker. The rebels cheered, and Finlay led the way through the opening. He hadn't got far before he came to a sudden halt. Evangeline and Julian, close behind, almost crashed into him. Before them, guarding the entry corridor with a drawn sword, stood a single figure in an anonymous tunic, with a featureless black-steel helm covering his head. A familiar sight to anyone who'd ever watched the fights in the Arenas. It was the undefeated champion himself, the Masked Gladiator.
'No,' said Finlay. 'No. Not you…'
'Of course it's me,' said the calm voice behind the helm. 'I've always been loyal to the Iron Throne, come what may. Which means you have to get past me to get any farther. And one man in the right place can stop an army if he's good enough. And the Masked Gladiator has never been defeated.'
'Don't do this,' said Finlay. 'I don't want to have to fight you.'
'They shall not pass,' said the Masked Gladiator. 'No exceptions. Not even you, Finlay.'
'The hell you say,' said Julian. He stepped forward, and his face contorted with an anger so overwhelming he was almost unrecognizable. 'I've waited a long time for this, you bastard. You killed my brother, Auric Skye!'
'I've killed a lot of people,' said the voice behind the featureless helm. 'I don't remember names anymore.'
'I remember,' said Julian Skye, and he lashed out with his mind. An irresistible force hit the Masked Gladiator like a hammer, smashing him off his feet. He hung in midair, feet kicking helplessly above the ground, and blood flew from every joint in his armor, as the body within was crushed by a cold, vengeful force. He didn't cry out, but eventually he stopped convulsing, and Julian dropped him. He hit the floor hard and lay still. Blood pooled around him. Julian leaned over him, breathing heavily. Blood was running thickly from one of his nostrils. He spit on the featureless helmet.
'That was for you, Auric.'
He started forward into the command center, and the rebels poured after him, cheering the man who'd beaten the undefeated Masked Gladiator. Toby and Flynn hurried after them on foot. None of them even noticed Finlay and Evangeline kneel beside the fallen man. Finlay waited till the last of the rebels had passed by, and then gently removed the dying man's helmet, revealing the blood-smeared face of Georg McCrackin, the original Masked Gladiator. The man who'd taught Finlay everything he knew, and then allowed him to replace him in the Arena. Georg tried to smile up at Finlay and Evangeline, but his teeth were red with his own blood.
'Now we'll never know… whether you could have beaten me, Finlay. Should never have expected a fair chance from an esper.'
'I killed his brother,' said Finlay. 'I'm so sorry, Georg. I never meant… Why did you go back to the Arena? I thought you retired.'
'Someone had to be the Masked Gladiator after you left, and there wasn't anyone ready to take your place.'
Georg swallowed hard, and his voice cleared a little. 'Besides, I wanted to see if I still had what it took. To be the best again. I was doing well, too, until this nonsense started, and the Empress herself called me here, to defend the command center.' He coughed harshly, and blood welled from his mouth and ran down his chin. 'Damn. I'm hurt bad, Finlay. That esper bastard really screwed me up.' He tried to smile at Finlay again, and blood leaked out the corners of his mouth. 'So you're a rebel now, Finlay. I was surprised when I heard. I never understood politics. Not for me, though. The Empire's been good to me. Can't say I'm sorry it's all over. Shouldn't think there'd be anyplace for the likes of me in what's to come. Better to go out with some dignity.'
He stopped, as though considering what to say next. Finlay waited, and only after a moment realized that Georg McCrackin was dead. Finlay closed the man's eyes and got to his feet. Evangeline stood up with him and put a comforting hand on his arm. He didn't notice. He was still looking down at the dead man.
'Julian doesn't need to know,' he said finally. 'Let him think he killed his brother's killer. It's simpler, that way.'
'For the moment,' said Evangeline. 'But what happens if he ever finds out the truth? That you were his brother's killer, and he killed an innocent man?'
'No one's innocent anymore,' said Finlay. 'And what's one more secret, to the likes of us?'
He strode off into the depths of the command center, following the distant sounds of combat and the screams of the dying, not looking to see whether Evangeline was following him.
All across the planet of Golgotha, in towns and cities and starports, the rebels moved unstoppably forward, driving back the Imperial forces on all fronts. Their one trump card, the huge war machines, now stood dead and lifeless, empty metal shells with nothing to guide them. The Imperial troops looked defeat in the face, and reacted in the only way they knew how. They broke out the biggest weapons they had, and opened fire on everyone who wasn't them. They cut down rebels and civilians alike, and flooded the streets with blood. They took crowds of women and children hostage, used them as human shields, and threatened to execute them in batches of ten if the rebels didn't back off. They blew up important installations and power plants and hospitals rather than let the rebels take them. They destroyed whole towns and their populations in order to save them. Such widespread savagery and slaughter had been expected, and theoretically allowed for, but in practice the sheer coldbloodedness of it shocked the rebels to their souls, even after all they'd seen on Virimonde. All over the world the rebel advances slowed and stopped, confronted by an evil too great for their simple tactics. The rebels were willing to give their own lives for victory, but faced with the responsibility for mass slaughter of civilians, they hesitated, and were lost. The rebellion faltered, and suddenly everything seemed in the balance again.
And that was when the Mater Mundi manifested again, all across the planet. Our Mother of All Souls, the uber-esper, slammed into every esper's mind simultaneously, hundreds of thousands of espers suddenly transformed and transfigured into a whole new order of being. Linked into one great massmind, they acted as one, the psistorms flashed through towns and cities all over Golgotha, sweeping away the Imperial troops while not touching the rebels or civilians. Polters and pyros destroyed Imperial buildings and refuges, torched barracks and tore down barricades, unstoppable avatars of destruction. Telepathic storms swept through the troops, jumping from mind to mind, washing away sanity and memories and leaving nothing behind. In other places, esper-driven nightmares ran riot through helpless minds, and hardened soldiers tore out their own eyes rather than see what they were being shown. Other troops gunned down their fellows, then turned their guns on themselves.
And as quickly as that the tide turned again, and resistance to the rebel forces was swept away. Mater Mundi looked upon her work and saw it to be good, and withdrew herself from the thousands of esper minds. The rebel forces mopped up the mess she'd left behind and took control of the towns and cities, whose populations praised them as saviors. The war on the surface was over.
But the Mater Mundi wasn't finished yet. Manifesting through an old friend, Jenny Psycho, the Mater Mundi reached out and snagged two more useful souls, and teleported all three of them to where they could do the most good. They disappeared silently, air rushing in to fill the space where they'd been, and in the general chaos no one even noticed they'd gone. Satisfied that she'd done all that was necessary, the Mater Mundi shut herself down until she might be needed again.
In Lionstone's Court, Hell had taken root and bloomed like a dark and poisonous flower. There were flames everywhere, their golden and scarlet light sometimes all the illumination there was against the lowering dark. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur, spilled blood, and cooked human flesh. Captured rebels had been impaled on rough wooden stakes or hung on traceries of metal thorns that slowly pulled them apart. Corpses of dead advisors hung from chains. Ravens ate their eyes and tore at their faces, and spoke shrilly in human voices. It had become dangerous to fail the Empress in anything now. Bloodred angels with burning wings stood in ranks behind the Iron Throne, bearing monofilament swords. Dishonorable weapons, but Lionstone was past caring about such niceties.
Captain Silence, Investigator Frost, and Security Officer Stelmach made their way cautiously through the crimson-tinged mists of Hell, carefully skirting the yellow sulfur fogs that belched up out of the glowing ash pits.
