The Bleed: Book 2: RAPTURE by David Moody (best selling autobiographies .txt) 📕

spot on a balcony with a glass retaining wall, under the stars. If they looked up, they seemed to be floating, and their view of the gargantuan God-city, the nearby planet, and the ascending field of stars above begged to take their breath away, but Arridon and Derrick had no air left to give.

Arridon pulled the stopper off the smoke-filled tube Timtar gave them, and whispered into the open top. “Timtar, we’re on a balcony on the three hundred and thirty-third level of a tower they call ‘Epsilon Prime.’ We need more guidance on how to get to our sisters, if you can spare us the time.”

The moment he finished his simple message the smoke issued upward, escaping into the air above. It wisped away into the thin, manufactured air, and diffused into nothingness. Arridon corked the tube. They looked at each other and waited. Derrick sipped a drink out of a glass cylinder a machine had dispensed for him earlier, when they were trying to find a quiet spot away from the pedestrian traffic and the halberd-cannon wielding guards.

…I’ll be there before the city orbits the planet below…came into their space, whispered through a dancing gossamer tendril of smoke that appeared in the air above. When the words finished, the smoke glided downward and tapped and bounced around the cork of the bottle in Arridon’s hand. He opened it, and the mist wormed its way back inside.

“I’ll go get more drinks,” Derrick said, and he did.

Lord High Spatial Adjudicator Timtar Wrothson entered the balcony through the public stone portico without fanfare. He kept his leather duster, adorned with gadgets and rune-carved items, pulled tight, and he kept his goggles fronted, face pointed down. He wore a hat Derrick recognized as a fedora in what looked like an attempt to remain inconspicuous, or at the very least, out of the front of someone’s attention.

“Some fifties noir stuff going on here,” Derrick muttered. “That can’t be good.”

“What’s fifties noir?” Arridon asked.

“Arridon of House Frost. Derrick Morrison,” Timtar said quietly. He slid to the balcony’s transparent wall and leaned on it. He kept his face averted from the entrance, in case any of the sparse passersby stole a glance in their direction.

“Why are you being so…sketchy?” Derrick asked him.

“You’re in a real Iron Maiden,” Tim said. “Put yourself in a bad way.”

“How so?” Arridon challenged him. “We did what you suggested. We followed their rules and got screwed.”

“Since when has following the rules ever benefitted anyone? I didn’t say blow a gasket and threaten to demolish the city,” Tim shot back, turning to face them with his round, large goggles. The stars reflected on their surface, swimming in the fishbowls he peered through. “You fucked yourselves. Your sisters, for sure, are about to go right into the meat grinder that is the Bleed, which means they’re persona non grata. And with your little temper tantrum in front of the retrieval officer, you flagged yourself as dangerous.”

Arridon tried to apologize, but a lack of actual desire to do so coupled with Tim continuing stopped him.

“Oldros has been brought in. You have any idea how bad that is for everyone involved?”

“Who’s Oldros?” Derrick asked.

“A shit headed pacifier that wants to placate the Bleed instead of fight it. Won’t even take a stand, spineless turd eater. He wields power in this city unlike anyone else, and he’s got a whiff of your scent,” Tim whispered, then looked around to see who heard him. “Scuttlebutt is that the prick has picked a handful of worlds and their universes to give to the Bleed to get them to go away, and your sisters are right in the middle of the bullseye. He won’t appreciate any meddling, and sense you gave the retention people your names, not to mention your DNA scans, he’ll be able to track you down. And boys, if he thinks you’re gonna screw with his plans, he’s stomp you into oblivion and mail his shoes to the Bleed for it to lick.”

“What the hell do we do then?” Derrick asked. “If you came here to tell us this, then you must have an idea. Am I right? You wouldn’t have risked your life just to tell us we’re fucking bent. A smart man with something to lose would’ve walked.”

Timtar’s lips curled into a smile, revealing his fangs. “It so happens I do have something to lose, and yet I’m still here.”

“Oh shit,” Arridon said. “We got ourselves a hero, don’t we?”

“Cockroaches flee when the lights go on and heroes step forward when danger presents itself,” Tim said with a quiet laugh. “,But I wouldn’t call myself a hero. I do fucking hate Oldros, though. He’s a pompous prick that’s had far too long to meddle and ruin everything. His attempts to feed the Bleed have only served to give it more power and make it even hungrier, but his unwavering conviction that it’s helping, he can’t see the big picture. Those of us who want to take the fight to the Bleed know the truth.”

“And helping us is taking the fight to the Bleed?” Derrick posed. “Not sure that’s what I signed up for.”

“If we can save one soul, just one soul from being consumed by the seething, world ending hatred of the force that’s trying to destroy everything, then yes. Yes, we’re taking the fight to the Bleed, and we may not win, but there are a lot of us who can’t stand by and let what’s happening, happen. The gods aren’t the ones paying the price for their folly. The Bleed destroys or subjugates everything in its efforts to get to the gods.”

“So what do we do?” Arridon asked the half-demon.

“Best case, we find a helpful god that can hop dimensions without a room, but those are as rare as zombies in heaven. And when I say those, I mean helpful gods. Instead, we’re going to transit to a dimension that doesn’t give a shit where people or