Crossover Read online

  “Could we shadow travel there?” said Hypno.

  “I don’t think so,” said Shade. “I mean, I might be able to do it, but shadow traveling underground is not usually a wise idea, especially since I don’t really know where I’m going. I might end up taking us to the Second Layer or maybe even getting us trapped in between Layers. It would probably be safer to sneak in another way.”

  “Easy for you to say,” said Captain Galaxy. “I bet the Dread City is crawling with Darzens who are constantly on the lookout for intruders, especially now that the Dread God’s resurrection is at hand. Sneaking down into the Third Layer will be impossible.”

  Bolt considered their situation. He kept looking from the unconscious Darzen to the mountain peak about a mile away, thinking about what the Darzen had just told them. He was perfectly willing to fight his way through whatever defenses the Dread City had, but he also knew how dangerous and time-consuming that would be. Besides, his team wasn’t big or strong enough for a siege, save for perhaps Shade, but even she was better at stealth than fighting.

  Yet we know nothing about the Dread City’s layout, aside from what this guy just told us, Bolt thought. Even if we sneaked into the First Layer somehow, we’d have to waste precious time sneaking through the Second and Third Layers as well. And by then, the Dread God might be brought back to life and it will be useless.

  Bolt decided that they needed a guide. They needed someone who could take them through the City’s Layers to the Temple of Dread, where the Soul Crown was likely to be. The Darzen they had captured could do it, but how could this Darzen convince his fellow Darzens to allow four hostile humans into the biggest and most closely guarded city on the entire planet?

  They’d kill us just as quickly as they would let us in, Bolt thought. They would never let us in, even if we had that guy to vouch for us. Unless we became slaves, then—

  An idea struck Bolt like lightning. A smile spread across his face as his mind turned over the idea. It seemed so simple, yet so dangerous and risky, but it was also the one most likely to work.

  Bolt looked at the others. “Guys, I have a plan to get into the Dread City, though I don’t think you are going to like it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Beams suddenly woke up. He sat up, breathing hard and heavy, and realized that his helmet was missing. He still wore his green and yellow jumpsuit, but his helmet was gone. He was also sweating hard, as if he had spent the night sleeping underneath ten layers of thick wool blankets. His throat and mouth were as dry as a desert and all he could think about for a moment was how good a cold glass of water would taste right now.

  That was when he noticed a glass of crystal clear water sitting on a stone desk next to his bed. Not caring where it was from, Beams snatched the glass off the desk and downed it in one gulp. A sense of relief flowed over him as the water went down his throat and into his stomach. He sighed in relief and then looked around at his surroundings to find out where he was.

  He sat in what seemed like the room of an ancient stone castle, though it didn’t look like any castle on Earth. It seemed like a king’s bedroom, with a high-vaulted ceiling and ancient swords hanging from the stone wall.

  Beams himself sat in a four poster bed, with long black drapes running along the posters. His blankets were coarse and rough, as though they had been stitched together by someone who didn’t entirely understand how a blanket was supposed to look. His pillow was lumpy and itchy, and the sheets were even more itchy and rough. The bed smelled of dust and sweat, an awful scent that made him cover his nostrils.

  On the right side of the room were three tall windows that opened out into the rest of the world. From his position on the bed, Beams could not see much out the windows. The best he could tell was that they were overlooking a city of some kind, though whatever it was, it was definitely not Golden City or any other city which Bolt had visited. The sky was pitch-black, dotted with red stars that looked decidedly unnatural.

  “You are awake,” said a familiar voice behind him. “At last.”

  Beams looked over his shoulder. Standing in front of the door to the room was the Avatar. He stood with his arms folded behind his back, his sword sheathed safely at his side. He looked almost nonthreatening, but Beams knew better than to relax around this guy.

  “You,” said Beams. He noticed his helmet sitting on the desk next to his bed, which he snatched and held in his lap like his first born. “What happened? Where am I? How did I get here?”

  “When we crossed through the portal, you lost consciousness,” said the Avatar. “It surprised me, because I thought you were stronger than you looked. I must have hit you harder than I thought.”

  Beams eyed the Avatar suspiciously. “So we’re no longer in the IEA HQ? Then where are we?”

  “Jinkopa,” said the Avatar. “That is to say, the home world of my people. More specifically, we are in the Dread City’s Third Layer. Worry not about your safety here, because only a few hundred souls are ever allowed in the Third Layer at any one time. You will have as much privacy here as you please.”

  Beams had no idea what the Avatar meant about the Dread City’s ‘Third Layer,’ but he didn’t care. He just jumped off his bed and, slamming his helmet on his head, fired two laser beams at the Avatar.

  But the Avatar waved a hand and a portal opened up in front of him. The lasers disappeared into the portal, which closed with a soft pop an instant later.

  “I suspected you might try something like that when you woke up,” said the Avatar. “Regardless, it won’t do you any good. I can open as many portals as I want. And if I ever got tired of playing catch, I’ll just knock you out.”

  “Unless I kill you first,” said Beams.

  Amusement twinkled in the Avatar’s eyes. “Assuming you manage to kill me yourself, you would not be free. You would need to fight through the Dread Priest’s Chosen Elite; then the Dread Priest himself; then the people of the Third Layer, who are the Dread God’s Elect; then the Second Layer and its people; then the First Layer and its people; and finally, you would reach the surface. But then you would need to find some way to get off of Jinkopa, which would mean tracking down a Darzen settlement that has such technology, which would probably result in your death, because by then you would be so weak from fighting that even the weakest villager could kill you easily.”

  Beams’ hands balled into fists. He guessed that the Dread City had to be underground, based on the Avatar’s talk of Layers and the surface. He had no idea how accurate the Avatar’s description was, but the Avatar did not strike him as a liar, so he assumed that the Avatar was being truthful in his description of all of the challenges which Beams faced between here and his freedom.

  “So kick back and relax, as you humans say,” said the Avatar, gesturing around the room. “I had this room specifically designated for you. The bed didn’t even exist until a few days ago, because we Darzens do not sleep and therefore do not need beds like you humans do. I hope you like it.”

  Beams brushed his fingers against the lumpy, rough mattress. “It’s ugly and uncomfortable.”

  The Avatar shrugged. “The Darzens are not known for our sewing skills. We are conquerors and rulers, meant to bring the entire multiverse under the Dread God’s rule. You don’t need good beds to do that.”

  “Maybe, but they sure are nice to have anyway,” said Beams. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

  “Because of the Prophecy,” said the Avatar. He pointed at Beams. “You are destined to bring the Dread God back to life. Even I don’t have the authority to override the Prophecy. Only the Dread God has that, and he never overrides his own prophecies for any reason.”

  Beams opened his mouth to ask where the Rubber Ball was, but then he sensed it. Somewhere deep beneath the temple—and he was sure he was in a temple, though how he knew that, he wasn’t sure—he could sense the Rubber Ball’s feelings of satisfaction at being back where it belonged. It was the first time he had sensed such positive fee
lings from the Rubber Ball, which was usually a mixture of anger and hatred at everyone and everything around it. The Rubber Ball seemed convinced that its resurrection was indeed at hand, which filled Beams with both dread and excitement, with the dread primarily being his own and the excitement being the Rubber Ball’s.

  “Has the resurrection started yet?” said Beams, though he already knew the answer to that question.

  “No,” said the Avatar, shaking his head. “The resurrection process hasn’t even begun. Though Brother Graalix has returned with the Soul Crown, the Dread Priest needs time to set up the ritual. He said it should be done before the end of the day, which means that tomorrow will be the Dread God’s first full day back to life. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

  “No,” said Beams. “It doesn’t.”

  The Avatar frowned. “I am not one to question the Dread God’s decisions, but I wonder why he chose you, out of all of the humans in the multiverse, to be his savior. You seem reluctant.”

  “Reluctant?” Beams repeated. “I’m not just reluctant. I flat out don’t want to be here or help the Dread God do anything, much less come back to life. I want to go back home to my friends, to my family, to my boss. Not help a bunch of crazy aliens bring their dead god back to life.”

  The Avatar looked completely unfazed by Beams’ outburst of emotion. “Yes, indeed, it’s quite the mystery why the Dread God chose you. But the Dread God’s ways are mysterious and above our own. I exist only to carry them out, regardless of whether I understand them or not.”

  Beams’ hands shook, but he just sat down on the bed. “So what am I going to do until the ritual begins?”

  “Wait,” the Avatar said simply. “I don’t want to risk losing you, not after everything we’ve been through already. You are going to stay here in your room while I go to check on the Dread Priest’s ritual.”

  Beams’ stomach growled. “What if I get hungry?”

  “We will provide you with the nutrients your human body needs,” said the Avatar. He paused. “It’s been a while since the Darzens had physical bodies, so if we seem insensitive to your physical needs, it is only because we grew beyond them ages ago, thanks to the grace of the Dread God. Nonetheless, we will strive to meet your needs as best as we are able while you are our guest.”

  “What role am I going to play in the Dread God’s resurrection?” said Beams. “What am I supposed to do?”

  The Avatar folded his arms across his massive chest. “Nothing, except wait until the ceremony begins. For now, you just need to wait here.”

  Beams glanced toward the windows. “What if I decide to escape?”

  “I can only guarantee your safety while you stay in your room,” said the Avatar. “The Third Layer is a holy place, open only to the Dread God’s Elect. Those whom the Dread God has chosen are very protective of their city … and they are not very tolerant of those they deem invaders.”

  The way the Avatar said ‘invaders’ sent a chill up Beams’ spine. He suddenly had mental images of being lynched in the streets by angry Darzens, hacking him apart with their swords and axes while calling him a heretic.

  “Okay,” said Beams, holding up his hands. “I’ll stay here.”

  “Wise,” said the Avatar. “Anyway, I must go. I have other matters to attend to before the ritual begins and the Dread Priest will be quite angry with me if I don’t get them finished before his work starts.”

  The Avatar turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. As soon as the Avatar closed the door behind him, Beams leaped off the bed and ran toward the windows. He stopped in front of the windows and peered through them at the city below.

  It was unlike any earthly city he had ever seen. The geometric shapes of the buildings were not very Earth-like. In fact, he wasn’t even sure how most of the structures were even supposed to stand. Above, the sky now looked more clearly like the ceiling of a massive cavern, because the light from the red stars (or whatever those red lights shining on the ceiling were) showed a rough-hewn stone ceiling even in the utter blackness of the night. The Third Layer seemed awfully deserted, but Beams doubted the Avatar would warn him to stay in his room if the Third Layer was entirely deserted.

  But I can’t stay here, Beams thought, tightening his grip on the window sill. I’m not going to help the Darzens bring back their god. I want to go home.

  But Beams wasn’t sure if the Darzens actually needed him to be here in order to resurrect the Dread God or if they simply assumed they did based on the Prophecy. From what the Avatar said, it sounded like they had all they needed to bring back the Dread God.

  If so, then they don’t need me, Beams thought. But if I run now, then they’ll still resurrect the Dread God and my universe—and the multiverse in general—will be at risk.

  Beams bit his lower lip. More than anything, he wanted to leave, but he also didn’t want the Darzens to resurrect the Dread God. He felt like it was partially his responsibility that the Dread God’s resurrection was at hand and there was nothing he could do about it.

  I should risk it, Beams thought. There’s no way I could possibly stop the resurrection process myself. And if they really do need me, then by running away, I could potentially force them to put off the ritual for at least a little while longer. Maybe I could figure out a plan to stop them if I do that.

  Beams closed his eyes and fired his lasers into his eyelids. As soon as his lasers bounced back into his eyes, energy flowed through his limbs and, climbing onto the sill, Beams bounded out of the window onto the roof of the closest building. Landing gently, Beams immediately ran away, hoping to get as far away from the castle which towered above him like Satan in hell, praying that he would somehow find some way to stop the Darzens before it was too late.

  But I’m still all alone down here, Beams thought. I don’t have Rubberman, Alfred, or even James, my older brother. Unless a miracle happens, I’m only delaying the inevitable.

  That was when a huge red lightning bolt exploded from the center of the city, blinding Beams, who nearly tripped over his own feet.

  What was that? Beams thought, shaking his head and looking toward the center of the Third Layer. Was that a lightning bolt? A red one?

  Another red lightning bolt shot into the air, followed by a scream and what sounded like metal smashing into wood.

  Uh oh, Beams thought. Whatever is going on here is obviously not normal.

  Instead of running away from the scene, however, Beams ran toward it. He had no idea who else was down here aside from himself, but if it was serious enough that the Darzen were sending soldiers to deal with it, then it might just be his ticket out of here.

  At the very least, whoever was fighting the Darzens couldn’t be any worse than them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  In Bolt’s mind, it had been a good plan, even if it was a bit undignified. Taking advantage of what their Darzen captive—who told them that his name was K’kloxin’shse, though Bolt decided to call him Klox for short—had said about only slaves being allowed in the Third Layer, Bolt had suggested that he and his allies enter the Dread City as ‘slaves’ of Klox. He argued, quite convincingly in his opinion, that the Darzens would not think to look at slaves like them too deeply and that it would be easier for them to enter the City if they came across as harmless slaves than powerful fighters who could cause trouble.

  The others didn’t like the idea at first—especially Captain Galaxy, who seemed to react to the idea of pretending to be slaves more violently than either Shade or Hypno—but eventually everyone agreed that it was probably the best idea. It helped that Bolt explained that they would just pretend to be slaves until they got to the Third Layer, at which time they would be able to reveal their true natures and start kicking butt and taking names.

  It even worked up until a point. Using rope Bolt had recovered from Klox’s caravan, they had tied themselves up and allowed Klox to take them down to the Third Layer. Hypno had used his powers to convince Klox that he had m
anaged to defeat and capture four ‘invaders,’ who were now his personal slaves, as per Darzen law. He was going to present these slaves to the Dread Priest as a ‘gift,’ supposedly as a symbol of religious devotion, but in actuality a bribe in order to receive some kind of top position in the Darzen military. Klox, it turned out, was very ambitious.

  The plan went swimmingly when they reached the First Layer, where Klox and his ‘slaves’ were stopped by a dozen of the biggest and toughest Darzen guards Bolt had ever seen. Bolt had thought it would take them a while to reach the Third Layer, but when Klox displayed his ‘slaves’ to the guards and explained what he intended to do with them, the guards immediately approved Klox for travel into the Third Layer. Bolt wasn’t quite sure, but he thought the guards must have recognized him somehow, because one of the guards’ gaze had lingered on him a bit too long and the sped up approval process was suspicious.

  That was the first sign that things weren’t going to go smoothly, but Bolt had ignored it, which was easy to do given how strange the Dread City was. Bolt didn’t think he would ever forget it as long as he lived. The First Layer had to be at least as big as New York City, possibly even larger. The Second Layer was slightly smaller, though Bolt saw even less of it than the First Layer because they didn’t stay in it very long. He did catch a glimpse of a massive stone statue towering over the Second Layer, and he had the oddest feeling that the statue didn’t represent the Dread God, but some other figure from the dustbins of Jinkopa’s long history.

  The Third Layer, by contrast, was the smallest of them all. Though still unreasonably big for an underground city, the Third Layer felt more like some of the smaller cities in Texas that Bolt had visited in the past. Yet it also seemed … older, somehow, than the first two Layers. It was like the Dread City had grown from the earth, starting with the Third Layer and gradually piercing the layers of Jinkopa until it reached the First Layer. The guards who escorted them below treated the Third Layer with more reverence, too, bowing their heads and muttering strange words under their breath that sounded like prayers.