Read Online New Olympus Saga (Book 3): Apocalypse Dance by C.J. Carella - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: C.J. Carella
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conversational Ukrainian. I think they might help us escape.”
“Whenever you think you’re ready, say the word and we’ll make our move.”
Christine almost suggested they did it right now, but quickly reconsidered. The disruptors had done a number on her, she was blind in one eye and the Iron Tsar, who had once fought Ultimate to a standstill, was heading her way. It was about the worst time to do anything.
“Not now, but soon,” she said.
Mark nodded. “Soon.” He made the word sound like a death sentence.
She hoped it wouldn’t be their own.
* * *
Christine couldn’t stay in Dreamland forever, much as she wanted to. For one, the Big Bads might notice she wasn’t all there, and for another she sensed that if she spent too much time away from reality, her body would start to deteriorate. She’d almost died once before, courtesy of a mind-trip alongside a miserable little d-bag who called himself the First.
So, she’d said see-ya-later to Mark and returned to the Real Crappy World.
The pain in her gouged eye was a dull throb by now, but under it was a steady itching that made her want to claw at her eye socket. Luckily for her, she didn’t have to resist the urge, because she couldn’t reach anything with her hands. At some point while she was astral-traveling, they had strapped her to an x-shaped contraption. Her arms and legs were extended up and shackled with multiple disruptor restraints, their Outsider energy crackling and making the skin around her wrists and ankles tingle painfully just by their proximity. The rest of her body was bruised and battered. Back when she’d been human, Christine had bruised like a peach; she couldn’t imagine what colors she’d be turning about now.
She’d never been in this much pain and discomfort, even counting her time as a sorta-superhero. So far, her stay on Earth Alpha had consisted on lots of ups and downs, with the downs outnumbering the ups by a considerable margin. Would things get better or would she just die in torment?
Worrying about it is just going to add to the torment , her brain whispered in her head, surprisingly helpfully for a change.
Mark said, also in her head; it was getting pretty crowded in there.
She didn’t get a chance to explain. The door to her cell slid open and the Iron Tsar his own darn self walked in. He came in alone, no guards or anything, although she was sure a reaction squad was waiting nearby in case she decided to get fresh with their king.
The ruler of the Dominion was tall, about as tall as John Clarke, and similar in build, broad of shoulder, narrow of hip, filling out his green-and-gold military uniform quite nicely. His head was covered by a metal helmet, a medieval-looking thing with a narrow viewing slit which was glowing with an internal source of light.
There’s no head inside that helmet , Christine realized. His head is made of pure energy! How the eff did that happen?
She figured it would be rude to ask, so she stayed quiet while the Iron Tsar walked over to her. He moved a bit like a tiger, relaxed but clearly able to pounce at a moment’s notice. It was obvious this was one tough, scary dude, the kind of guy even Mark would regard with wary respect. But what really disturbed her was that she couldn’t get a good emotional read from him. His emotions were muted, hidden under multiple layers of energy and psychic defenses, some natural, others generated by a collection of miniature devices sewn into his uniform or implanted under his skin. Some of the protections came from Words inscribed into his body, Words like the ones her father had used, like the one Word she’d picked up less than an hour ago. If things got nasty, this could become the Spelling Bee competition from Hell.
“Christine Dark,” the Iron
“Whenever you think you’re ready, say the word and we’ll make our move.”
Christine almost suggested they did it right now, but quickly reconsidered. The disruptors had done a number on her, she was blind in one eye and the Iron Tsar, who had once fought Ultimate to a standstill, was heading her way. It was about the worst time to do anything.
“Not now, but soon,” she said.
Mark nodded. “Soon.” He made the word sound like a death sentence.
She hoped it wouldn’t be their own.
* * *
Christine couldn’t stay in Dreamland forever, much as she wanted to. For one, the Big Bads might notice she wasn’t all there, and for another she sensed that if she spent too much time away from reality, her body would start to deteriorate. She’d almost died once before, courtesy of a mind-trip alongside a miserable little d-bag who called himself the First.
So, she’d said see-ya-later to Mark and returned to the Real Crappy World.
The pain in her gouged eye was a dull throb by now, but under it was a steady itching that made her want to claw at her eye socket. Luckily for her, she didn’t have to resist the urge, because she couldn’t reach anything with her hands. At some point while she was astral-traveling, they had strapped her to an x-shaped contraption. Her arms and legs were extended up and shackled with multiple disruptor restraints, their Outsider energy crackling and making the skin around her wrists and ankles tingle painfully just by their proximity. The rest of her body was bruised and battered. Back when she’d been human, Christine had bruised like a peach; she couldn’t imagine what colors she’d be turning about now.
She’d never been in this much pain and discomfort, even counting her time as a sorta-superhero. So far, her stay on Earth Alpha had consisted on lots of ups and downs, with the downs outnumbering the ups by a considerable margin. Would things get better or would she just die in torment?
Worrying about it is just going to add to the torment , her brain whispered in her head, surprisingly helpfully for a change.
She didn’t get a chance to explain. The door to her cell slid open and the Iron Tsar his own darn self walked in. He came in alone, no guards or anything, although she was sure a reaction squad was waiting nearby in case she decided to get fresh with their king.
The ruler of the Dominion was tall, about as tall as John Clarke, and similar in build, broad of shoulder, narrow of hip, filling out his green-and-gold military uniform quite nicely. His head was covered by a metal helmet, a medieval-looking thing with a narrow viewing slit which was glowing with an internal source of light.
There’s no head inside that helmet , Christine realized. His head is made of pure energy! How the eff did that happen?
She figured it would be rude to ask, so she stayed quiet while the Iron Tsar walked over to her. He moved a bit like a tiger, relaxed but clearly able to pounce at a moment’s notice. It was obvious this was one tough, scary dude, the kind of guy even Mark would regard with wary respect. But what really disturbed her was that she couldn’t get a good emotional read from him. His emotions were muted, hidden under multiple layers of energy and psychic defenses, some natural, others generated by a collection of miniature devices sewn into his uniform or implanted under his skin. Some of the protections came from Words inscribed into his body, Words like the ones her father had used, like the one Word she’d picked up less than an hour ago. If things got nasty, this could become the Spelling Bee competition from Hell.
“Christine Dark,” the Iron
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