The Unfinished World (The Armor of God Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue: Wherein Hope Remains

  Chapter 1: Welcome Home

  Chapter 2: Hands of Rage

  Chapter 3: A Subtle Infection

  Chapter 4: The Abandoned Idol

  Chapter 5: Cage of Lights

  Chapter 6: A City Under Dusk

  Chapter 7: The Voices Speak

  Chapter 8: A Display of Madness

  Chapter 9: Communication Breakdown

  Chapter 10: When The Sun Dies

  Chapter 11: Nothing on the Inside

  Chapter 12: Ties That Bind

  Chapter 13: Heart of Evil

  Chapter 14: As Far As It Goes

  Chapter 15: Monsters At The Gates

  Chapter 16: The Gravity of it All

  Chapter 17: The Vanishing

  Chapter 18: No Goodbyes

  Chapter 19: Into The Blue

  Chapter 20: Heaven and Helena

  Chapter 21: Eyes Open

  Epilogue: Everybody Dies

  More Words from the Author

  About the Author

  The Unfinished World

  Book Two of “The Armor of God”

  Diego Valenzuela

  “The Unfinished World”

  Copyright © 2015 by Diego Valenzuela.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the author.

  Email: [email protected]

  Cover & Logo Design by: Álvaro de Cossio

  Edited by: Gabriella West

  “Triquetra” Art by: cinemacookie

  Special Font: Trajan Pro

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First Printing, 2015

  ISBN-13 978-1519753984

  www.diegovalenzuela.org

  Acknowledgments

  Boy howdy, here we are again.

  It will be a challenge to write something interesting here and not just copy/paste the cheesy paragraphs I wrote for the first book, but I’m a trooper so let’s give it a shot.

  If I actually had the grapes to go ahead and finish this sequel after just one year, as I had planned, it was because I was happy with the response I got from readers. Thus, I want to thank you all first. You guys are rad, and if I could, I’d throw a delightful tea party for the twelve of you. Really, I would.

  Everyone in my family would deserve to be mentioned just for being there, but I’m glad I can be thankful for so much more than that. Seeing both of my parents—who had never read a sci-fi novel in their lives—become so engaged by the first book made me feel very accomplished and happy.

  Santiago, who once more proved to be an alpha reader the likes of which had never been seen; Rodrigo, whose enthusiasm for book one also convinced me that I had something very special; Mariana, who kept pestering me to hurry up so she could get her fix.

  María A. Escandón, Piers Anthony, Jake Gray, and every other author who read the first book and gave me a fellow writer’s perspective about it. Rodrigo Xoconostle, whose insights given over pizza and beer helped shape the second and third acts of this book. Of course, my great pals Densho and Draven, for all their help in marketing the first novel and getting my name out there.

  I’d be remiss if I didn’t send a particularly heartfelt nod to everyone at my day job, especially my boss/teacher Gio; a writer isn’t always the best fit for the corporate world, and I’ll be darned if she hasn’t been patient and extremely understanding. Thanks a lot for the wings!

  Humberto Cervera, another alpha reader hall of famer. And just so there’s no jealous rage and high school drama, thanks to all my Tightans and friends who read, enjoyed, and even discussed the first novel: Jesús, Oliver, Jorge, Chori, Javier, Chobs, Pepe, Santi, and all the others. If I missed anyone I swear it’s because of “my problem”.

  To designer extraordinaire Álvaro de Cossio for all the services rendered between books. The promo material makes this humble trilogy look like a goddamn blockbuster, and you’re to thank.

  And while I’m at it, I’d also love to acknowledge my hard-working and very talented editor Gabriella West. We make a good team, Gabby, hope to keep it up for a while.

  A very special thank you to the Espinosa family for giving me the chance to stay in their unspeakably beautiful ranch to get some work done away from the city. That weekend in solitude was not only productive, but also detox for the soul.

  My ragtag team of awesome alpha readers: future best-selling author and definite vampire Beatrix Harper, Bea Rivera, Gina, Ana, and all the others. Thank you for looking past the typos and unedited passages to see the story that existed beyond.

  Lots of love to anyone whom I could identify as a fan through social media. Nay Varsie, Peter LeTarte, Matt Finney, Ted Clubber Lang, et al. You have no idea how much a stranger’s enthusiasm means for a writer.

  My most sincere thank you to you all. Enjoy what’s coming next.

  The Unfinished World

  Book Two of “The Armor of God”

  Diego Valenzuela

  Everybody dies.

  [code]:[amid rebirth and everything]

  For Roy, Santiago, Mariana.

  Prologue

  Wherein Hope Remains

  In a world ravaged, lengths beneath a lifeless crust, there were scattered lights. These shed a little spark of hope to the gray corridors and chambers that had grown lonely with every inevitable passing, but not on the few remaining men and women left behind by the fortunate dead.

  The Subject had long forgotten his name. He knew it was just part of the process, and he didn’t mind; he had volunteered to be part of it, so losing himself in the name of hope was something he had made peace with. After all, what exactly was the alternative? Stay in a room, full of painful memories gathered during a long and painful life, and wait to join all the others, wherever they were?

  He had learned that once, long ago, death had a different meaning to his people, but now the concept had become a contradiction. One would think that, in these final times, human life would have become much more precious. Yet, it hadn’t. Death had been wandering the world and these halls for far too long, and now felt like a welcome guest.

  No one mourned, and neither did he.

  Maybe the process had begun to rid him of the most basic human traits as well. He still wasn’t sure what it was he would become, but it would definitely be categorized as sub-human. Maybe even inhuman.

  But that was not a problem to him; it was for the greater good, even if someone else’s.

  A part of him was glad his life was soon to end; he no longer had the ability to freely move about the facility, even within its modest limits. What little liberty he had left had been taken away, and it was because of his body’s new limitations. The disease had begun to corrode his flesh, starting with his lungs. Now, he could only walk a few hundred paces before he had to stop and catch his breath.

  This was no life, even by the dead world’s standards.

  He put his gnarled, graying hand on the wall and heaved, hoping he wouldn’t pass out again. Once already he had been found by one of the scientists,
collapsed on the floor, barely able to stand on his own. It was then that it was recommended that he remain in bed, but he refused. As long as he had some strength in his body, and some sentience in his mind, he would make use of both. It was all he had left.

  “You’ve been expected,” said the doctor in her sweet voice. He hadn’t even heard her walk up next to him. Had he been losing his hearing as well?

  She took his hand, and he couldn’t even feel her touch through his thick, stone-like skin.

  “You’re in pain,” she said. “Maybe you’re ready to go down like the others?”

  “No,” he said, and his voice was barely recognizable, even to him. “Not yet.”

  “It would take one moment. You’d go to sleep, and your role would be fulfilled. You would be at peace.”

  “No. Not yet,” he repeated.

  “I understand,” she said and smiled at the monster. “Let me help you go down to the labs, at least.”

  To this, he conceded. She had grown used to the other subjects like him, and was not disgusted at all by his thick, heavy limb. And if his smell bothered her, she didn’t let him know.

  He had a certain degree of love for this woman. She was smart and she was kind. Most of all, she was working hard, keeping hope alive.

  Yes, for someone else.

  She shouldered the considerable weight of his arm all the way to the main laboratory.

  ф

  The doctor strapped Number Sixty-Five to the table, and saw how he fell into a deep asleep almost immediately. The poor man had gone too long carrying the strain; it was a miracle he could still talk and think, and she knew that it would not last much longer.

  She inspected his body for new changes in physiology, and was soon joined by the director of Project Lazarus, who had begun to oversee her work. She hated to be micromanaged, but she understood the process was not a simple affair, and needed as many eyes as possible to ensure any degree of success.

  “I expected it would have grown some more by now,” the director said.

  “The more substantial changes won’t happen until he goes down,” she replied, and he sneered, as though the concept of this being holding on to his humanity was amusing. “I’m tempted to do it now that he’s asleep. He would never know.”

  The man nodded. “I’m inclined to recommend doing just that. We don’t have time; the change has to happen soon. He needs to be finished.”

  “Perhaps you don’t understand the nature of the Helena Fork, but I assure you time is the only thing we have to spare,” she said, and uncovered the subject’s chest. Its redundant musculature had begun to increase; it was one of the main reasons behind his weakness. It had grown heavy, but not strong. His lungs could not handle his body mass.

  “I understand they have time; but we don’t,” the man said, and he had a fair point.

  She covered the subject again, and looked at the director, wondering how it was that he had grown so fat when resources were so scarce. “I said I was tempted, but the laws don’t allow—”

  “It’s admirable that you want to shade him under laws meant to protect humanity.”

  “He will not stop being human until he stops being human,” she said, and he laughed at the tautology. “I refuse to take that step, but you’re welcome to do it. Considering how much these subjects are sacrificing for us, I’d rather die knowing I kept a shred of respect for them.”

  “I have larger concerns,” he said. “Come to the observatory. We’re inducing sleep, and I expect you to increase dosage of the L-Strain from this point onward.”

  She followed him out of the laboratory, giving the subject one last glance before leaving him behind to his eternal sleep.

  “I’ve lost track of these subjects,” he said, and they climbed the stairs to the observatory, where they were likely to remain for several hours. “Which one were we looking at just now?”

  “The subject no longer has a name, sir.”

  He sighed, apparently tired by her persistence to still regard these subjects as humans. “Yes, but I understand the people down in Development have names for each. What is this one called, Doctor?”

  “Yes,” she sighed. “His file reads: Subject Asterion.”.

  Chapter 1

  Welcome Home

  I wonder if he realizes that we’re probably never going back.

  The ghosts had been speaking those words for what might have been years. It was difficult for him to understand the passage of time when everything around him was so utterly senseless. He had grown used to chaos and its treacherous schemes, but now it appeared to have gone as far as invading his one haven: dreams.

  Ezra Blanchard, a youngster who for a few months had been an army man, opened his eyes, and the world hadn’t yet changed. He could barely get up, having scarcely gotten any rest—truly, it had been days since he had rested. In fact, he was sure the only moments in which his body could get some respite was when it was nested inside the Apse of Besoe Nandi, the Minotaur.

  His reluctant other half.

  Too bad his mind would still be restless when piloting Nandi, as it required his constant attention to command its enormous body. Controlling the Creux was not easy—it had never been, not even when he was just training, and no one expected him to perform beyond his level of skill and understanding. Back then, he had shown promise as the pilot of Besoe Nandi, but then everything changed.

  It was his fault, even if the others tried their best to convince him otherwise.

  And no amount of training had prepared him for this journey, and all of the fighting. Every time the group was on the move, they would fight monsters. He was tired of fighting and he was tired of walking, even if it was on the red giant’s legs. He only wanted to get to where they were going, or go back home.

  We’re probably never going back.

  It was Garros’ voice he had heard while sleeping, he realized. Still, he didn’t know if it was something that had actually been said, or just a part of his increasingly pessimistic dreams.

  He sat up on the grass and tried to focus. The sun was setting behind a serrated, red horizon, but there was shade, provided by the four enormous humanoid shapes lying flat on their backs at the fringes of the oasis.

  Seeing the sun—or the sky for that matter—was a rarity. He had never seen it, having grown inside the domed city of Roue, and had always imagined it would be more beautiful than this.

  Upon its arrival several centuries before, the Laani had changed the world in too many ways. The divinity had died, and in its death had begun to turn its inhabitants into creatures in its own shape—perhaps as means of living on. It destroyed the flora, and altered its atmosphere into something that could bear no life except its own.

  Now, there was a blanket of thick clouds masking the sky and blocking out the sun. It seemed to be more present at night, when temperatures dropped; in the days they had been travelling, Ezra was yet to see the stars.

  No wonder the planet was almost dead. Ezra wasn’t sure it could be salvaged, even if they completed their impossible task, and the Laani was defeated.

  “You’re not going to get some sleep?” Erin asked him. The petite blonde, appointed leader of their small outfit of four, sat on a large rock not far from him. Her feet were naked on the grass, enjoying the touch of the moist blades between her toes.

  These oases were a mystery. After leaving Zenith, the facility in which they met, where they had trained together, they had come upon several of them. Amid scattered remnants of long-dead settlements, there were patches of rich land. There was grass and trees, some even bearing fruit. In some of them, they had even found birds nesting on tree branches, and some strange, small animals they had never seen or even heard of before. Garros liked to hunt and eat them.

  For reasons none of them could yet puzzle out, there were segments of terrain that appeared to be entirely unwilling to accept that the virus had taken hold of the world. These closed ecosystems were memories of what it used to be like—and
it used to be beautiful. Having never experienced nature such as this, it was always difficult for him to leave the green to step back into the gray.

  “Yes, I was trying,” he said and got up. “You woke me up.”

  “We did?” Garros said, and it was a rhetorical question; he didn’t really care.

  “I wasn’t getting much rest anyway,” Ezra said and got on his feet, looking up at the orange sky through the small window in the clouds. It appeared to be dawning.

  “Tell me about it,” Garros said. Back in Zenith, this huge man had always taken care of his appearance; he exercised, shaved his head regularly, and kept his beard as neat as his spotless uniforms. Now, the only habit he kept was the exercise, which appeared to slightly curb a bad temper he had seldom shown before. The hair on his balding head had begun to grow out; his beard was shaggy, thick and uneven, his uniform torn and dirty.

  And so was his, and Erin’s. Things like clean clothes, or even a truly full stomach, had become unreachable luxuries to them—they were on a critical mission to find a friend and then save humanity; their comfort was not a concern. The feeling was altogether new to all of them; having lived their entire lives in Roue and Zenith, they had never gone wanting in terms of basic comforts.

  “I found more of those fruits, whatever they are,” said Garros and dropped five pieces of fruit on the grass. They were big lumps of sweet pulp covered in a yellow peel—something that didn’t exist in Roue. Eating these fruits was one of the few things that would lift his spirits, at least a little bit. “Eat up if you’re tired of the Zenith rations as well.”

  “Yes, I am,” Ezra said and began peeling one of the fruits before taking a big bite and licking every last drop of its juice, which left sticky remains on his mouth, and the thin hairs that had begun to grow around it.