Dark, compelling, and above all, beautifully written. Truly, the time away has not cost you your skill. Can we please have another week so that I may challenge DF? Please?
Thanks, man. Words like that make the hours I slaved away writing this thing worth it. Now, write something that blows mine completely out of the water.
Give a guy some time, huh? I spent this entire day doing hard manual slave labor. I require rest before I can utterly waste you. In fact, I'll probably require another few years.
Give a guy some time, huh? I spent this entire day doing hard manual slave labor. I require rest before I can utterly waste you. In fact, I'll probably require another few years.
Alright, here's my entry. Sorry for the sheer enormity of it. I'm kind of rusty, in all places of the writing process, so please forgive any of the grammar errors that I missed, because I'm sure there are many.
Spoiler Alert!
The Sacrifice
Utgar watched as the heavens opened in front of him, spilling out their fiery contents onto the head's of his army. Soldiers cowered and fell under the weight of the heat and power, their bodies falling down into the sand of the desert. Their cries echoed into the desert, flying into the deepest regions to find not one listener. Their skin smoked and burnt, boiling with a crackle and a sharp cry. Skin melted like ice as the fire raced through the lines and the waste piled upon the ground, mixing with the blood of their allies in the sand. The orange and the white and the red danced before Utgar's eyes, swirling into a pallet that might be used by one disturbed artist. The colors brilliance faded with the general's vision and soon the reflection of the blood in the sun turned into the reflection of his own closed eyelids.
The Microcorp Agent knelt. He ran his fingers through the mixture of gore and sand before him, observing with a keen eye only gained through years of experience and improvisation. His eyes had outlived their use as Gifts from God, as now they were only one more tool necessary for the agent's work. He scooped up a few drops of the skin and blood, enough to fit on the tip of his gloved index finger, and scrutinized every trait it carried. His comrades standing behind him squinted in the sun, trying to gather information as to what the hell it was they were standing in. The agent however, had come prepared, wearing standard issue Microcorp glasses that eliminated even the toughest of sun glare.
"Looks like hellfire ran down on this God forsaken place, eh?" The agent said with a smile breaking his stone expression. He stood up and turned to his friends. He sought out one in particular.
He was an army man that could easily be described as grizzled. His dirtied helmet was pulled down low, almost so much as it covered his eyebrows, but not enough to cover the death glare that it looked like he gave everything. His posture was slightly hunched over, like a jungle cat ready to pounce upon weakened prey, and his five o' clock shadow was perfectly seasoned. The only thing missing was the half-smoked cigarette in his mouth, tilted in place to show that he didn't give a damn if it fell out or it didn't. A close examination of his dog tags would have disclosed, 'Sgt. Drake Alexander: United States Army.'
The agent stuck his soiled fingers in the army man's face, barely causing him to flinch. Many worse things had been stuck in his face. "Look at this stuff. These guys must've not known how to keep their Fourth of freaking July celebrations from backfiring, am I right? You know what this junk is? Its blood. And skin. Melted skin."
One of the soldiers, the Roman who was wearing a tunic that left his legs greatly exposed to the environment, exclaimed in disgust as he tried to move out of the piles of gore. He looked around, trying to find a way out of this depression in the Earth and back into the flat sand they had been walking on just an hour before.
Drake looked at the substance on the agent's finger and quickly agreed with him. "Melted skin? I've never had the privilege to see that before and I can't say that I want it. How do you reckon this happened?" He scratched his unshaven face while resting his left hand on the sidearm resting in his belt. It was a Colt 45. They worked every time.
The agent thought about it for a moment. "Hell if I know. But if Hell is giving me an answer, I'd say this mess here is the remnants of its monsters. See that over there?" He turned around and pointed to a spot containing an odd green color mixed in with the aforementioned gore and sand. "I noticed it when we dropped in here. I'd bet that's the plasma from a marro rifle, melted down by the same power that made our little puddle here."
"Those things can melt?" Someone asked from behind Drake. This was another solider of the Airbourne Elite, dressed in desert camouflage and holding his rifle like it was the rope suspending him over a cliff. He looked much younger than the sergeant with a boyish face and clear, blue eyes. His name was Lucas McCain.
"If the marro we've been tracking can melt, then I'd say their guns can too," Drake said, looking around for similar green patches. Sure enough, he saw more than five of them scattered about the puddle.
"So, here's the question," The agent said. "Did this act of God get all our marro, or just whole lot of them?"
"More importantly, did it get their leader?" The roman who had been uncomfortable asked from the back. "Can we tell if Tul-Bak-Ra melted, too?"
"Yes," Said the last member of the party. This one was not like the rest. He didn't have a human body like the others, partly because he wasn't a human like them. He was a marro, referred to as 250, who's vocals came out as a hiss and a spurt no matter what he said. He carried a rifle of the Airbourne Elite and wore dog tags like theirs, having been invited to the corps a few years ago. "Is the great one dead?"
"Melted metal looks like melted metal," The agent said. "Let's take a look around."
The rest of the group nodded, except the Roman, who wasn't too keen on wading through the puddle with his bare skin feeling what used to be the bare skin of one hundred marro. They spread out, eyes scouring this pocket in the desert that held the pile of gore. The agent noted the size of the walls spreading around the puddle; three feet. Why were all them standing in here? Were they waiting to be melted?
Drake put his bare hand down into the blood and skin, feeling it ooze over his hand. It felt like he remembered blood feeling. It had been on these hands many times before. He made sure to keep the grapple hook attachment to his arm out of the muck. It was prized technology and it didn't fare too well in filth.
Lucas stuck close to Drake, seeing no sign of this melted metal the agent had told them to look for. Tul-Bak-Ra wore giant metal flaps on his head and metal shoulder pads the size of a fat woman on his arms. What for? Lucas didn't know. He was just simple farm boy from Kansas, previously stationed near the Rhine River in 1944. He still had little awareness of this world of flying demons and elves that he found himself in.
250, the marro, looked with the most determination. Tul-Bak-Ra had not been his hivelord, the one who had total mental control over him, but Tul-Bak-Ra was the one who had control over half of the marro forces Utgar controlled. With his death might come more turncoats like him, but 250 wasn't looking out for the safety of his brethren. He was looking to kill and to kill only.
"I'm not seeing anything," Drake said for all to hear. His comment mirrored that of the ones everyone else was about to make.
"Melted marro guns everywhere," The Roman said. "But no mind-control metal."
"On the day of judgment, none shall escape His wrath." The agent said. "And I doubt if one would, it would be the cumbersome marro with the football pads.
Drake nodded. He took his eyes off the melted skin and blood around him and looked up into his sky. It was a light blue, the same as his wife's eyes had been. How he missed her so. He had promised to come back to see little John grow, but he had broken that promise long ago. The hot sun beat down on his forehead, but Drake didn't mind. He had enlisted when the USA was deep in Africa, killing every son of a ***** Mussolini would throw at him. Drake had hoped to be sent here, but by the time training was done, the fight was going on in France.
Drake looked back down and saw something in the gore. A black color amongst white and red. He reached his hand through the slime, disregarding the weird sensation on his hands, and he grasped what he found below the surface. He pulled it out and held it up to the sun. It was a medallion, emblazoned with the crest of Utgar on it. His jaw dropped metaphorically. "Guys, I think we have a bit more on our hands here."
The agent turned and his jaw, too, dropped metaphorically. "Don't tell me that's what I think it is."
Drake turned to face the group and he nodded. "This is Utgar's medallion."
They sat in silence, reflecting upon what they had just found. Utgar's medallion, that which he wore around his neck all hours of the day. When he ordered Kelda be sent to the gallows, he was wearing that medallion. When he looked over Thorgrim's bare back and observed the forty lash scars on his skin and he ordered that he wished not to see any more skin on the viking champion, he had been wearing this medallion. When every innocent child and woman and man was slaughtered because of this lone kyrie, Utgar was wearing the medallion in Drake's hand.
Lucas was the first to pose the question. "Is...is Utgar in the pile here?"
The agent observed the area Drake had found the medallion in and he hung his head low, a move none of them had seen him do before. "I wouldn't think so. It’s just white skin. The skin of the marro we have been chasing since that village. The last remnants of Tul-Bak-Ra's army."
"Could Utgar have fallen in with them?" The Roman asked.
"I don't know," The agent said.
"He certainly wouldn't drop his medallion lightly."
"Whatever did this," Drake said, motioning down to the puddle they stood in. "It was sure enough to make him do it."
"What did do this though?"
No one answered.
"I don't think I really want to stand in this anymore," Lucas said.
The rest of the group nodded in agreement. They headed towards the left side of the puddle, the opposite of the one they had entered in. They climbed up the wall, the agent first, then Drake and then the rest. They looked down at their clothes below their knees, covered in the muck they had been standing in. Lucas found the need to try and shake it out, but he was proved to be unsuccessful. The mixture oozed down their legs and piled up at their feet, but it was something no machine washer would want to see. At least they weren't the poor Roman.
"Where do you think Utgar ran off to?" Drake asked, wondering if this would be the ideal time for a cigarette. He felt the pack in his pocket, right next to his army issue Zippo lighter. He was certainly stressed enough to call for one, but he decided against it.
"I don't know," The agent said, his eyes locked on the puddle below them. Any sign that Utgar was dead, any small detail he had missed, and they could go home and get drunk with the greatest reason he had ever heard before in his life. But he didn't see anything. It was all the same; just marro skin and marro blood and marro guns. Nothing that showed a dead kyrie to be found.
The Roman felt the mixture ooze down his legs and he shuttered. He could barely stand to look at the gore any longer, he turned around and astounded by what he saw. "My Jove......."
"What?" The agent asked. The remaining four in the group turned around in unison and looked at what the Roman had seen.
They saw a gigantic monolithic structure that mirrored that of a temple, but not any temple the agent had seen in a book. It was a tall cylinder, sticking up out of a sinkhole in the middle of the desert, but the cylinder was broadest at the top, and, like an inverted wedding cake, its layers grew narrower and narrower as it grew closer to the ground. It sat on a circular, rocky ledge, like a plate for the inverted wedding cake, in the middle of the sink hole, as if the sinking ground around the plate were a moat. In the center of the top layer was a triangular hole that the sun's rays shone directly into. It hung in a sense of decay, which various holes of notability scattered about its outer wall.
"Huh," Drake understated.
"It looks like a temple." The agents jaw had dropped metaphorically yet again. The sheer size of the structure overwhelmed him and its strange location in the middle of desert didn't help his understanding be any easier.
"Eh," The Roman said. He had been a citizen of Rome, given the right to walk down its streets unimpeded. He could gaze at the marvelous sights his civilization had created out of mere marble and stone. The Capitol, the coliseum, the massive temples to Jupiter and Saturn, all could be seen within a short walk through the city. This was a sand colored structure juxtaposed against sand colored sand. Sure, its size rivaled that of all the wonders he had seen before in his life, but he imagined inside it was just a crumbling ruin of what it had once been. "It looks more like a castle or fort."
"Yeah," Lucas said. "Look." He pointed to the sink hole surrounding the massive structure. "They already built a moat, but since it’s the middle of the desert, they couldn't find any water."
"Or the water dried up, long ago," Drake said. "It’s an old building."
"Building hardly does it justice," The agent said in awe. The world he came from had nothing like this. Only futuristic cityscapes floating in the sky over a hollow world where the savages lay below with their naked bodies jumping through the trees. All the great monuments of the past had been lost, crumbling into dust while nature wreaked havoc on a petty world called civilization. All they had were images, rendered by artists from long ago that hung along the walls of museums only a select few could see. The agent had gained entrance to one through the charity of another and he had the opportunity to gaze upon sights such as the Pyramids, the Temple of the Sun, and the Great Wall of China, all gone.
250 looked away from the sight. It was just a building. It was not helping their mission at all.
The agent sent a thought through his head, directed at the glasses on his face that connected to his brain. He ordered them to take a picture of what he saw and send it back to their base camp, where they would run it through their files. Had anybody seen this before, or had this lost relic been seen for the first time in years?
A response came through his mind almost instantaneously. A robotic voice echoed in his ears, 'Unable to find matching image. Unknown.'
"Base doesn't know what this is," The agent said.
"Really?" Drake asked. "It sure seems like something hard to miss."
If 250 could sigh, he would have. Blood was on his mind, not admiration of the some achievement lost to time. They were chasing Utgar, whose death could bring about the end to the entire war, and these guys wanted to idle here. He looked away from the large building and was instantly paid off. To his right, about a hundred yards away, was a large rock, and leaning against it looked to be too creatures. He tapped the Roman, who stood next to him, and pointed towards the rock. "Do you see that?"
The Roman followed his bony, marro finger and saw instantly what he was referring to. "Yeah. Looks like marro. Guys!"
Drake and Lucas turned to look at the Roman and 250, while the agent kept his gaze locked on the building off in the distance. They too, looked where 250 was pointing and saw two shapes, one sitting and one standing, by a rock.
"Looks like there might be survivors."
The agent snapped away from that which held his attention at the word 'survivors.'
"Let's go take a look," Drake said.
Their thoughts were confirmed almost instantly when they set across the desert, heading away from the puddle of gore behind them. The roman, the member of the party with the best eyesight, saw what was to be seen and told the rest of the group. He told of solitary marro divider hunched over another marro, who was sitting on the ground with his back against the wall. He said the one sitting on the ground was wounded, with blood trickling out from his obscured body.
They passed into the view of their prey a few minutes later. The marro divider stood up to his full height and turned around, showing his massive clawed hands. He was drenched in the muck the group had been standing in moments earlier, melted skin dripping off its head. Buckets of blood trickled off its talons, piling with his friend's blood on the ground.
The group froze in place and watched the divider, who leaned back, raising its claws up. It hissed at the group, who stood a few yards away, weapons held at the ready.
"Back down," Drake said. He drew his katana and pointed its tip at the divider.
"It’s a marro," Lucas said.
"Can you talk to it?" The agent asked 250.
"No," 250 said, shaking his head. "Marro slaves don't have telepathy with other slaves."
The divider looked up into the sky and swung its talons back in forth. It leaned forward and leveled its head down, breaking into an all out charge aimed at the group. It covered a surprising distance in a short time, kicking up the desert sand in all directions.
But it was useless. The agent aimed his rifle at the divider and Lucas followed suit. He nodded to the soldier and they both shot the divider square in the chest. It fell into the sand in spray of blood.
"Idiot," 250 said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. The rest of the group followed suit, holstering their weapons, save the Roman, who kept his sword drawn and at the ready.
They crossed the remaining yards to the rock, making sure to step over the fallen divider. The rest of the group kept their heads up, favoring not look down at the body lying in its own blood. 250 stepped in the blood and felt a little somber. This was a mindless brother of his, following the orders of the hivelords just like he had. Marro weren't idiots that run at their enemies, fully knowing that they had ranged weapons that'll kill them before they even get within shouting distance. This poor fallen divider was following orders. Tul-Bak-Ra still lived.
"There he is," Drake said, as the group halted in front of the wounded marro who lay against the rock. "Tul-Bak-Ra."
He was right. The group looked down at the overlord lying in his own blood with his chest barely rising to take in air. His massive shoulder pads, the ones they had been looking for in the gore, were right where they were supposed to be. This was indeed Tul-Bak-Ra. The marro hivelord opened his eyes and stared at the group in front of him. He raised his arm, as if to instruct the fallen divider to attack, but it felt back down to his side.
"Pathetic," Drake said.
"Should we kill him?" Lucas asked, raising his rifle and pointing it at the wounded marro.
"I'll do it," The Roman said.
250 opened his mouth to tell the group that he would finish off his former overlord, but before he could a voice entered his mind. It was a sweet voice, like that of a vixen, but 250 knew better. The same vocal pitch had belonged to his hivelord, who would deliver his orders in this voice as if it were seducing the seduced. "Marro? How do they not see you? It matters not to me. Kill them and give me time so I may teleport out of here." 250 looked down at Tul-Bak-Ra, who was staring straight at him, wondering if his orders would be fulfilled.
250 hadn't talked telepathically in a long time. He didn't miss it one bit. "Where's Utgar, Tul-Bak-Ra? We found his medallion among the melted bodies of my dead brothers. Brothers that died doing your bidding."
"You were not among them?" The voiced echoed in his mind. "The creature came upon us and killed the main column of our soldiers. Luckily we were in the back. Utgar's bodyguards carried them off in the other direction, and my dividers brought me here. We were ambushed by the creature again and I was wounded. Now, kill them before they realize we're talking."
"Where did Utgar go?"
"Kill them, slave."
"Where did they go?"
Lucas caught what was going on and looked at 250. Drake touched his shoulder and shook his head at the soldier.
"They know, slave. Kill them now."
"The creature carried them off to the temple nearby. Now kill them. Shoot Drake Alexander and I'll teleport out of here while they finish off you."
250 smiled for one of the first times in his life. He spoke out loud, like all marro slaves were forbidden to do. "No." He raised the rifle Jandar had given him when he had swapped sides upon the death of his hivelord. Three others had made the wise decision, and they had since been killed by their fellow marro. 250 was the last of his kind. Free-thinking marro. He put a bullet in Tul-Bak-Ra's head, and instantly, throughout the empire of Utgar, marro warriors felt their own will take over, replacing the voice inside their head that told them what to do and when to do it. As the hivelords head exploded and his body sank down into the desert sand, many marro had their first free thought. One of freedom.
Drake nodded, watching what happened. "What did he say?"
"Tul-Bak-Ra said some creature carried Utgar off to the temple we saw earlier."
Drake looked up into the sky. The sun that had risen when they started this journey was beginning to sink below the horizon in the west. "Looks like we're going after him, boys. We can end this war right now and some mysterious temple in the desert isn't going to stop us."
The Roman dropped off of the rope and Drake untied the rope from the rock and retracted it back into his arm. He was the last one to shimmy across the rope Drake had hung over the sinkhole, heading to the temple. The sun had set an hour early, and the moonlight was their only friend in the desert. Bitter cold attacked their bare skin, nipping and freezing them. Drake had the greatest of sympathy with Roman, who had to bear all of this wearing only a tunic. He flopped down onto the ledge, only a few feet away from the black depths of the sinkhole. His foot was regained rather quickly and he joined Lucas and the agent who were trying to read text written into the wall of the temple near the entrance.
The agent had already snapped a picture of the text and sent it off to the base. The response had just arrived and he spoke it to Lucas, who stood next to him, feverishly interested in the text. "It says the traits of the characters mirror the language of an extinct kyrie tribe native to Crumland. It says they were wiped out a good 2000 years ago by the nomads that inhabit the place now."
"Do you think they built this place?" The Roman asked, standing next to Lucas.
Behind them, Drake and 250 peered over the ledge and down into the sinkhole. It appeared to go on forever, sending a chill shooting up Drake's spine. He couldn't imagine falling in there, waiting for hours to splatter at the bottom of the Earth. "How far down do you think it goes?" He asked 250.
"Far enough," The marro answered.
"Thank God, I've got my grappling hook," Drake said. He looked away from the chasm and beckoned for the marro to do the same. There was no use pondering one's own death when they practically shake hands with it every single day. They walked over to the other members of the party, just in time to hear the agent answer the Roman.
"I have no idea. From what I know, ancient kyrie didn't have too big of a penchant for building things and I wouldn't place money on some primitive sand crawlers being able to build this. If anything, they could have just chiseled their text into the wall here."
"Did it say what it read?" Lucas asked.
The agent shook his head. "The last speaker of it died 2000 years ago."
"Who do you think built it then?" The Roman asked.
"Yeah," Drake said. "Did base give you any information?"
"Nothing useful," The agent said.
"Ask more about the kyrie tribe," Lucas said. He walked through the group and observed the text himself.
"Alright," The agent said, thinking the thought in his head. The party stood in silence, waiting for the base to respond to his query.
This was a nifty little device, Drake thought. Something that can answer any question you have within seconds.
"We've got something." The agent touched his finger in his ear, listening to the voice in his head. "They say that were never unified. They were a quarrelsome group ruled by kings and princes that fought amongst each other. This, in part, led to their easy defeat at the hands of nomads migrating north out of Volcarren. However, it says that they all shared belief in one deity, depicted on cave walls and the shrouds of leaders as a huge red-skinned human with spikes jutting from his face and bulging eyes staring down at worshiping kyrie. This deity, whose name is lost to time, is characterized in many epic poems coming from the nomads that conquered this tribe. In the poems, it is said to live beneath the Earth and feed on the blood of evil souls. Many historians interpret that this means the ancient kyrie sacrificed fellow kyrie to this deity."
"Okay, that's enough," Drake said. The agent's voice stopped. "It still doesn't help us much."
"What do we need help for?" 250 said. "Utgar's in the temple, we need to find and kill him. Simple enough."
"Yeah, but I read this book The Treasure of the Sierra Madre when I was in basic training," Lucas said. "In it, there were traps all over the empty Aztec places they explored. Any background information would definitely help us."
"Uh..." Drake said. He had read the book too and didn't remember any of that.
"It’s highly unlikely the kyrie built this, anyway," 250 said.
"Yeah, they probably moved in and changed it for their liking. I wouldn't be surprised if there are images of this 'deity' all over the walls inside," The agent said.
"Then who did build it?" Lucas asked.
The group stood in silence yet again, pondering the question that had been in the back of their minds since they got here. If the kyrie hadn't of built it, there being no evidence that they had the ability to, then who did?
"We should be going," Drake said, looking at the large mouth of the temple next to them. The group turned to followed his gaze and saw the opened, large enough for a man three times their size and three times their width to fit through the door with ease. They all picked up their feet and walked through the opening and entered the temple.
The group stared in awe at the open room they found themselves it. It was as spacious as the open world and the ceiling must have been at least a mile away. Moonlight shone down through the holes in the crumbling walls and piles of rubble were scattered about through the floor. The last vestiges of columns rose up, illustrating a path from the entrance to the inner sanctum whose door was blocked off by a cave in caused by an earthquake long ago. The group walked on the stone floor down the path, standing between the columns. Large black vines strangled what remained of the columns like a python and similar vines hung snaked in every direction overhead. They all looked forward at the largest pile of rubble in the room, the one blocking access to the inner sanctum.
"There's no where he could have gone then," Drake said, saying what was on everyone's mines. "Spread out. Utgar has to be around here somewhere."
The group went off in various directions looking for what had to be found.
The agent went left, towards a triangular hole in the wall. Through it he could see the various stars in the sky above, constellations he had grown accustomed to seeing before he fell asleep on the desert sand. For four days they had been tracking these marro, and for four days he had seen these stars. Never had a cloud come from the sky to obscure the view. Back at their base camp, someone said they had been stationed in Crumland since the beginning of the war and they had never seen it rain in the desert. The agent poked his hand through the whole and felt no breeze outside. He looked to his left and his right. No Utgar.
The Roman had gone to the right, past the columns that had a look he had never seen before. In Rome, they were always Doric columns, no matter where they were. Senate buildings homes, etc. Always Doric. These columns were perfectly cut cylinders with little lines hatched into them all over. The column he observed was broke near the middle, its top lying on the ground nearby. From what the Roman could tell, the columns didn't go all the way to the top of the ceiling, for obvious reasons. Utgar was nowhere near any of the columns he saw.
250 went forward, toward the pile of rubble blocking the party. It was comprised of rocks around the size of two men put together. He looked up and saw that the wall and ceiling around the pile was pretty much intact. Where had all these rocks come from, then? He walked around the perimeter of the pile, weighing his rifle in his hands. He kicked away a few smaller rocks from his path and he noticed how dusty the floor was. It didn't look like anyone had been in here for years. What Tul-Bak-Ra had been laying to him and Utgar was already 500 miles off in the opposite direction? It was quite possible, as 250 saw no sign of the general anywhere.
Lucas went to the left, and he saw something immediately. Tucked away in a back corner, partially hidden by a fallen column, was a dark passageway. He stepped over the rubble, drawing his rifle and pointing it through the opening. He could see anything in the dark recess and he couldn't tell if it led somewhere or it was an empty room. There were no holes in the wall nearby and no moonlight was guiding him. "Guys, I found something."
Drake drew his katana at the first decibel uttered by Lucas entered his ears. He quickly sought out his location and ran over to him, closely followed by the rest of the group. They stepped over the column, just like Lucas had, and gathered together, peering down the passageway.
"I can't see anything," The Roman said.
Drake reached into his pocket and took out his lighter, along with his cigarettes, because, hey, why not? He popped one into his mouth and slid the pack back into his pocket. He flicked open the lighter and his cigarette was burning in an instant. In the next instant, he stepped into the passageway with the lighter and everything lit up. It indeed was a passageway. Drake could see the hall go on for awhile and then curve downwards. He could imagine seeing stairs when they reached that point. He looked at the walls, which weren't made from stone, but were bare rock, uneven and rough.
"That's better," The Roman said, stepping behind Drake. His sword was out, reflecting the light from the lighter. Lucas, the agent, and 250 followed closely behind while Drake and the Roman started to walk down the corridor.
An eerie silence filled the air as they walked the few footsteps towards the curve in the corridor. Drake had been right. There were stairs, not too many, but they were stairs that curved with the passageway and led them to another corridor. Their footfalls echoed in the tight space and the Roman coughed. The flame danced on the light as Drake took large strides characteristic of a large man. At the end of this corridor, it too curved into a staircase. The group walked down it, wondering exactly where they were going. This was a large temple in the middle of a sinkhole. How could they be going underground? At the bottom of the stairs was another corridor, the third one. They went slower this time, scrutinizing every inch of the hall. At the end of this one, it did not curve. Instead the hall emptied into an empty, round room, where a dead minion of Utgar lay in the floor.
The group spread out around the room and Drake kicked the minion. Nothing. He kicked it again, poking its head with his katana at the same time. Still nothing. "He's dead," Drake said, kneeling down and rolling the minion's body over. There was no visible wound, and it looked peaceful, as if it were only sleeping. Its weapon and shield were missing, but everything else looked standard of Utgar's minions. He looked around the room, checking for any sign of anything else, and sure enough, he found something.
"Behind you there, Lucas," Drake said, pointing at a small hole in the wall behind the soldier. It was shoulder width and just tall enough that a kyrie could squeeze through. Even with Utgar's immense size, it was no long shot guess that he went through there.
Lucas turned around and looked at the hole, kneeling down and peering through it. A pale blue light glowed from the other end, "You wanna go in there?" The rest came and stood behind Lucas, taking a look through the hole themselves.
"Looks like we're going to have to," Drake said. He dropped his half-smoked cigarette to the floor and put it out with a quick stomp. It echoed throughout the room as he sheathed his sword and slipped into the hole.
"I'm coming right after you," The agent said as Drake squeezed his way through.
It was slowly going, groping his way through the small portal. Drake grabbed onto any rock he could find and pulled himself forward, dragging his legs along the smooth ground. All he could see was the pale blue light ahead of him. It looked like it could be moonlight, and Drake hoped this didn't lead outside. He could feel the agent behind him, quietly asking Drake to hurry it up because staring at his ass wasn't the most fun thing in the world. Drake felt his head poke out of the hole. He reached his hands out, grabbed the wall of the room he entered and pulled his body out.
He most certainly wasn't outside. He emerged onto a small ledge overlooking a large chasm, quite like the one outside snaking around the entire temple complex. The ledge was fairly, large, thankfully, and Drake was sure all five of them would fit on it easily. He looked across the chasm and saw another ledge and far to the right on it was a doorway. The pale blue light came from the bottom of the chasm, begging Drake to ask just where he was.
The agent pulled himself out and stood next to Drake, looking around. "Utgar flew across the chasm and through the door. I don't really think I'm up for climbing that rope of yours again."
"Who followed you?" Drake asked as the Roman poked his head out of the hole.
"Him," The agent said, taking a seat next to a large rock sitting on the ledge. Several of these rocks darted the ledge, but the other side appeared to be completely devoid of them. The Roman climbed out, took a look around, grunted slightly and joined the agent on the ground. "I think you should get started with the rope," The agent said. "We don't exactly have time to lose."
Drake agreed and looked for a place to tie his rope as 250 came out of the hole and stood by Drake. He knew immediately what was going on, his marro eyes having seen the chasm coming as soon as he had entered the hole. "The solider might take awhile."
Drake nodded, seeing a deep cut in the wall. He could easily detach the rope and jam it in there, assuming he had already attached the grappling hook to something on the other side. He turned around and scanned the opposite side, looking for any place the hook would stick. There were no rocks and the only think he could see other than bare rock was the doorway, but he nearly jumped out of his skin when a light suddenly flickered to life in the doorway.
"Get down, get down," Drake said, pushing 250 to the ground to hide behind the same rock the Roman and the agent were behind. The agent turned to see the source of Drake's fright and he understood instantly. He pushed back the Roman's curious head and ducked down as far as he could, making sure no body part of his was sticking out from the behind the rocks.
"Stay where you are, Lucas," Drake said once his body was firmly hidden.
Lucas, who was just about to the exit the hole nodded. He looked out into the room his friends were in and saw the light in the doorway. If it was Utgar, they wouldn't want him running. A quick bullet in the head from someone unexpected certainly wasn't the worst the general deserved, but it looked like it was all they could give. The solider reached his arm back and pulled out his sidearm. Given the tight quarters, this was quite difficult. He pointed it towards the doorway and waited.
A being emerged from the doorway holding a torch. It walked with huge strides out of the door and onto the ledge, taking no time to look down at the chasm or across to the other side where the group lay in wait. It was clearly a kyrie, with red skin like those of the followers of Utgar, with huge wings like that of a bat. It wore only a loin cloth and a horrific mask over its face. The mask was decorated with blood red paint and it depicted scenes of a kyrie being stabbed by large reptilian beings. Spikes stuck out from the mask in all directions and it contained no holes for eyes or a mouth. As the kyrie walked out of the doorway, a procession of red-skinned kyrie wearing similar masks followed him, all carrying torches and walking along the ledge in step. Halfway across the ledge, they stopped and turned to the other side, looking at it with blank faces. Lucas was paralyzed in fear, not sure what the hell he was looking at. In his head, he recited the 23rd Psalm and wished he had enough room in the passage to cross himself. The kyrie stood silent, watching the ledge as if they expected something come out and meet them. Drake saw the light illuminate the cavern better than the pale blue one had. Don't look back, Drake thought. With his glasses, the agent had caught a bare reflected image off a particularly shiny rock, and he had already sent the image out for evaluation.
After what seemed to be a lifetime, the kyrie turned back in unison, and continued their march along the ledge, which went farther than Drake or Lucas had ever imagined. Once the lights from their torches were but a small glint off in the distance, Lucas pulled himself out of the hole and the other four poked themselves out from behind the rock.
"What the hell was that?" Lucas asked while holstering his sidearm.
"What was it?" Drake asked.
The agent stepped in for Lucas and answered, "They were kyrie, walking in single file like a funeral procession. They were wearing these strange masks, and base already told me they don't have a clue."
"And they looked at us," Lucas said. "I swear, they were looking straight at me. And their masks didn't have holes for the eyes, but they were looking at me Drake."
"Did they look like they were followers of Utgar?" 250 asked.
Lucas and the agent shook their head.
Drake turned and looked at the ledge on the other side of the chasm. Already the glint from the kyrie's torches had disappeared. "We still have to cross guys. Utgar is over there."
250 and the Roman nodded, but the agent and Lucas looked uneasy. "Maybe the kyrie got him?" Lucas said.
"We won't know for sure," 250 said.
"He's right," Drake said, while shooting his grapple across the chasm. It caught onto the edge of the doorway and buried into the stone easily. Drake pulled the rest of the rope out of his arm and watched it spool onto the floor. He grabbed the other end and walked it over to the crack in the wall. With his knife out, Drake jammed the rope into the crack and pulled on it to make sure it was taught. It was as taught as it ever would be. "We have to do this."
The Roman nodded and climbed onto the rope. He was the fastest at this, as evidenced by the last time they shimmied over a canyon. He went faster than Lucas ever imagined he could and within minutes, the Roman was on the other ledge, watching out for any other creepy guests.
Reluctantly, Lucas hopped onto the rope and climbed across. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and dripped down into the chasm. He hated doing this, always had, but he was glad they taught him how to do it in basic. Who knew that they actually taught him actual skills in basic training? Don't think about what's going on, they had said. Think about your woman, or you home, or whatever relaxes you. Lucas thought about Samantha Thompson, back home in Kansas, her long blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes that just asked to show how deep his love was. Before he knew it, Lucas was across and standing next to the Roman, his hand uneasily resting on his rifle.
Drake looked at 250 and the agent and decided that he was next. Usually Drake would shoot the grapple and the force of the rope retracting would drag him across, but seeing as after his arm was cut open the grapple gun was physically attached to him, that wasn't exactly going to work here. The only thing he was worried about was getting his rope back if he they had to exit a different way. He dropped off of the rope and joined Lucas and the Roman.
250 stood forward and grabbed onto the rope. He had a different method to this. While everyone else usually grabbed the rope with their arms and their legs, 250 only grabbed on his arms, leading everyone else to think that he was showing off. It was quite possible that he was, if only he had a sense of humor. He carried himself across the rope like an acrobat and stood next to the other four on the bad side of the chasm.
The agent was the last. He grabbed onto the rope with his arms and legs and began to shimmy, but already he knew something was wrong. The rope felt looser than it should, and he felt it start to slide. The agent opened his mouth to scream while he ran through his mind, looking for any possible avenue of escape his technology could offer. In a split second, the rope slipped out of the crevice and the agent fell, his hands failing him. His body fell and slammed into the side of the chasm. His head smashed against a rock outcropping and it stuck into his scalp. His skull split open and his brains spilled out, the prize Microcorp glasses falling off of his head and down into the pale blue light at the bottom of the ravine. The agent's body followed suit.
Drake grabbed onto the rope as the agent fell, but it was all for naught. The agent's hands had given way and he was long gone, dead before he even hit the ground. Lucas fell to the ground, his head peering over the edge of the ravine, watching the agent's bloodied body fall and fall and fall until it disappeared out of his vision. He wanted to yell after him, but the fear of the mysterious kyrie stopped him. 250 kept calm and pulled Lucas up off the ground and held him close.
Drake pulled the rest of the rope onto the ledge with the help of the Roman, hoping with optimistic hope that the agent would still be hanging onto the other side. The end of the rope came up onto the ledge, the same end that Drake had jammed into the crevice on the other side, but no agent was holding on. He sat back in shock.
"What...?" The Roman said.
"He's dead," Lucas said in shock. 250 released him from the embrace and stood back. "He fell down into the pit and now he's dead. He was the same rope that we were and now he's dead."
Drake's hand rested on his helmet. When he tested the rope, he was sure it was tight enough. How did that happen? Everyone else had gotten across fine. What happened?
"We need to get going," 250 said after awhile. He and the Roman stood in the back, disjointed from what was happening. "We need to find Utgar."
Lucas looked down into the chasm one final time. "But he's dead...."
"Then we need to make sure he didn't die for nothing," 250 said, turning towards the doorway the kyrie procession had entered from. "Utgar, wherever he is, is that way. And we will find him and make him pay for every live he has taken."
Drake stood up, taking the lighter from his pocket once again. He walked over to Lucas and put his hand on his shoulder. "He's right. We need to get going."
Lucas looked up at Drake, who gave him a look of reassurance. "Alright." The solider stood up and watched Drake spark the flint and light the lighter. He walked over to the doorway and entered in, the remaining members of the group followed, with Lucas on their heels.
When they entered the large room, they no longer needed the light. Torches hung on all corners of the wall, illuminating all to be seen. It was an empty room, just like the first one they had entered in the temple, except for the huge throne the size of a building that sat on the opposite wall. In the throne sat a stone statue of a red-skinned kyrie with spikes jutting from its face and bulging eyes that stared down at the floor, and in the floor, on a large wool palette, lay an unconscious Utgar.
Nobody in the group moved. All their eyes stared at the wounded kyrie in the center of the room. They were merely a stone's throw away from the one who started this whole war. The one who's death would end it all.
The Roman felt no need for hesitation. He drew his sword and walked across the room. He stared down at the Utgar, who lay with his arms spread out, his chest perfectly situated for stabbing. "Speak, hands, for me," He said while plunging the sword into Utgar's heart. The evil general's eyes opened for one last time, looking down at the sword in his heart. He looked up at the Roman who killed him and snarled. It was the last thing going through his head before his eyes rolled back and the mighty force that was Utgar ceased to exist.
"Its over," The Roman spoke, pulling his sword from Utgar's body. "Its over! Utgar is dead! I tell you Utgar is dead!" He ran the side of the blood drenched sword over of forehead, caking it completely.
The rest of the group watched the Roman shower himself in Utgar's blood. 250 walked over and stared down at the dead kyrie, not sure that it was true. After all this, had the general who killed so many just roll and over and die so easily? Had one misstep into a desert temple really end the war? Drake and Lucas followed 250's example and looked down at the dead body. It was over.
The Roman dropped his sword to the floor and smeared the fallen general's blood all over his face. Its previous white color was drowned beneath the red as the Roman screamed his triumph. He himself had killed Utgar, struck him down with the same blade he had carried with him for years. It was like he had ventured down to Hell and stabbed Satan himself. He had brought peace to Valhalla. This was the Roman's last thought as his head exploded, spilling brain and blood all over his comrades and Utgar's deceased body.
Drake, 250, and Lucas staggered back away from the two dead bodies on the floor, wiping the chucks of the Roman out of their faces. Drake opened his eyes and saw the statue in the corner of the room peering down on the floor, right where the Roman had been standing next to Utgar's body. But the statue was different this time. Its eyes were closed and one of the red-skinned, masked kyrie stood at the base of thrown, staring out in the same direction as the statue.
Before the group could react, they saw the masked kyrie fill the room, coming out of shadows that weren't there just a few moments ago. They stood circling the perimeter of the room, including standing behind Drake, 250, and Lucas, blocking any avenue for escape. In their heads, they were mourning in the Roman, but those thoughts were cut short when five of the kyrie came up and overpowered them, pushing them all to the ground and burying their knees into the small of their backs, pinning them down. Lucas reached for his sidearm, but the kyrie on him snatched it away and through it into the shadows. All their visible weapons were confiscated and tossed away.
Drake kept his hand on his hip, showing no resistance. If they didn't see his pistol, they couldn't take it away. The marro and Lucas, however, were not as resourceful. They struggled, to no avail, with the kyries' inhuman strength keeping their faces in the dirt.
The kyrie standing by the statue, spoke, and his voice, shrill yet serene, pleasant but biting, resounded throughout the whole room. "Welcome, Drake Alexander, Lucas McCain, and Marro Drone Number 250. We are not used to guests, so please forgive the accommodations. We tend to prefer having our sacrifices spend their last moments in peace, so we apologize. We have been expecting you for the past few days, as we have been expecting the man you came to kill. Unprintable predicted it for us, his followers. We are sorry if you are confused. Unprintable is using my vessel to speak with you. We gathered you here for our annual sacrifice of wicked souls to nourish Unprintable. All of your souls are unclean and will fit wonderfully."
Lucas looked at the speaking kyrie, then away. He bit his lip and said, "What are you talking about?"
"Unprintable is a just god, and he demands that his people act as his right arm. We must gather all the evil on the planet that we can find and erase it."
"But we aren't evil...." Lucas said.
"Yes, unfortunately, you are. Over two hundred have fallen to Drake Alexander's sword. He is a warmonger, plain and simple. No matter what great purpose you have, if you must commit evil to get to it, it is an evil purpose. The marro blew up a prison filled with innocent prisoners and civilians just to kill one man. Inside were twenty marro, the kind he says his life is devoted to saving. But instead of saving them, he killed them all. You too, Lucas McCain are not without fault. You have killed your fair share of men."
"But aren't you committing evil by sacrificing us?"
"It is true that we are wicked too, but it is the only way we can wipe the scourge from this planet. You did your job. You came in here and ended your war. Now we must end those that caused the war."
"Do your worst," 250 said. Struggling in the kyrie's grasp.
"Very well. We will do just as we did to your Roman friend."
The kyrie on top of the marro drew and small knife out of his belt and buried it into the back of the marro's head. The blade pierced the brain. There was no blood.
"Through him into the pile. Unprintable will be waking soon enough."
The kyrie, followed by two others, picked up 250's lifeless body and gently laid it next to Utgar and the Roman. They backed away from the pile in the center of the room and joined the other kyrie standing in the circle around the room.
"What were we supposed to do?" Drake asked the speaking kyrie. "Just roll over and Utgar kill everyone on this planet."
"You're supposed to have faith, Drake, that things will be dealt with in due time."
"It’s been ten years since the war began. Millions have died. Where the hell have you been?"
"Due time, Drake. Everything happens for a reason and we interrupt when we were meant to interrupt."
"I'm sorry that I had to kill warmongers myself to stop children from being massacred. You all sicken me."
The kyrie, didn't say anything. He merely motioned towards the kyrie sitting on Drake. The army man could feel they kyrie behind him reach back and pull out a knife. Drake chose this time to act. He rolled to his right, tipping the surprised, masked kyrie off him. The kyrie fell to the ground and Drake jumped into a kneeling position. He drew his pistol and fired once, putting a bullet in the kyrie's head. He whipped back around and fired two shots, killed the kyrie on Lucas.
"Lucas! Run!" Drake said. He turned towards the circle of kyrie behind him and began firing blindly. Two more kyrie were dropped before the soldier's leg exploded, just as the Roman's head had and he fell to the floor. He looked to his left and saw that Lucas had fallen to the same fate, but he wasn't taking it too well. He grasped the stump where his leg had once been and screamed out into the ceiling until a merciful kyrie came and stabbed him in the heart.
Drake shook his head. In the corner of the room, the statue stood up and shed its stony cocoon. Drake crawled away as the red-skinned deity, Unprintable, as the natives had called it, began to devour all the kyrie in the room. They all fell to their knees and offered their heads up to it. They chanted in an unknown language, admitting to their wickedness. There would be no mercy for no one.
Drake took his pistol and pointed it at his heart. This was the end. It had been a long run. The war was over, Utgar being dead. His death, and the deaths of his friends had not been in vain.
The soldier smiled as he pulled the trigger, ending his life.
Sorry man. I just don't have the time to read this.
Feeling like an old lurker. 15 years, wow. That's half as long as I've lived. Love y'all like family.
I had a great start, and then I hit the single worst writers block of my life. Like I seriously, could not type anything! I'll try to crank this out tonight, but I'll be up late. If you want to judge before then, you more than have the right to.
Not my best work, and definitely not going to beat DF's, but I like it.
Spoiler Alert!
Erechom emerged from a smoothly carved tunnel, and winced as the sudden light hit his eyes, so used to total blackness. The light of the torches was nearly doubled by the glare jumping off the water. The dwarf shook his head, dislodging the pain from his eyes. Erechom glanced about the vast cavern he had entered, still in wonder at the marvel before him, though he saw it every day. The walls of the cavern were rough black rock. The ceiling could barely be seen. Before his iron-shod feet stretched a road that kept a steady course for nearly half a mile before splitting into three. The middle way carved through a river that roared as it ran the length of the cavern. The flanking roads crested steep ridges that rose out of the riverbed. The broken road then merged again before meeting the outer wall of Erechom’s home. Khellaz-Himmron. A fortress that literally joined the two walls of the cavern, which were easily a mile apart. In the middle of this great wall were two sets of doors, cast in iron and steel, and carved in the ancient tongue of Erechom’s fathers. Midway between these doors and the walls of the cavern, a great causeway stood upon either side, leading to another set of doors twenty feet above the main gates. Behind this great expanse were the foundation pillars, sinking deep into the bedrock and biting up into the ceiling, keeping Khellaz-Himmron in its place, no matter what. Guards patrolled the walls, brandishing torches against the dark. Most dwarves could see in the dark, but often preferred a source of light. Erechom stared another minute before continuing his trudge down the road.
The dwarf kept his steady pace all the way through the main gate, past the collection of dwarves sharpening weapons in the guardroom, until he reached an intricately carved door on the third level. He pounded on the door for nearly a minute, dwarves rushing about the place like ants before it opened. A crater-covered face stuck out, scarred beyond repair and sporting a patchy blonde beard. “Yes? Yes? What is it?” This was all out of his mouth before he looked at his visitor. “Oh! Erechom, back from your walk? Good! Come in, come in.” Erechom took a step forward, but it wasn’t fast enough for his host. He grabbed Erechom by the collar and yanked him in, slamming the door behind the two.
“Ack!” Erechom stumbled, and came to rest in a chair covered in cured Drache-worm skin. He squirmed. The leather squeaked, a small reminder of the ear-piercing shriek the skins former host had made when it tunneled into Khellaz-Himmron last year. Erechom dismissed his revulsion and spoke. “Grimell, I just came to give a report.”
Grimell snorted. “Did you now? And what do you have to report?”
“Well, the tunnels up to Nang-Zelleth pass are clear. Not a sign of the enemy, not so much as a wandering troll.”
Grimell grinned. “And how long did you spend checking these empty tunnels of ours?”
Erechom frowned, not liking where this was going. “I was out there for most of the past week. Not a soul.”
Grimell’s smile twitched, just a hair. “Well then. Perhaps you and your report on nothing can tell me exactly why the latest reports indicate an army of massive size departing from Valkrill’s region of the Underdark, tramping down the major tunnels, and coming right at us!?! Well!?! Can you?”
Erechom jumped to his feet. “What? When? How many?”
Grimell snorted. “Oh, I’d say they outnumber us six to one. And my other scouts, the ones who, apparently, aren’t patrolling the tunnels with their eyes stitched shut, are telling me they’re not twenty miles away! Twenty miles! Are you useless? Are you insane? How did you miss this? How in the world did you miss this!”
Erechom yelled now. “I don’t know! I don’t know! And frankly, if they’re that close, why are you yelling at me! We’ve got to prepare for their arrival! Arm the men, get the women and children out, fortify the weak points-”
Grimell shook his head. “It won’t do us any good to evacuate. This army knows where all the exits are. The non-combatants are going to be dead the minute they step outside.”
“That’s impossible. How could they possibly know where the exits are? For that matter, how do they know we exist? This is supposed to be a secret outpost. Not a single creature save the Generals know we’re here.”
Grimell sighted. “There’s a traitor. In the inner circle of the Generals. And that traitor is leading the enemy right to us. Gonna wipe us right-
Grimell never got to finish that sentence. The wall he was next to exploded before he could. Erechom went flying, ending up entangled with the Drache-worm skin chair in the corner, and coughing out stone dust. He struggled to his feet, and rushed to Grimell, who was buried under a pile of rubble. He pulled the dwarfs bloody right arm out of the stone, and checked the wrist. Not even a mutter of a pulse. He groaned, and rushed to the newly made hole in the room. The light of the torches was gone, overpowered by the light of thousands of torches advancing down the road he himself had just walked. He squinted, and made out the figures of trolls, zombies, and orcs in the distance, coming for the fortress. Coming for them. Erechom turned, yanked the door open, and ran.
He skidded down the corridor, and came out the exit to the center hall. He ran until he hit a dwarf full on coming the other direction. Erechom screamed at him to sound the alarm, and then kept going. He reached the chamber of commanders inside a minute, and burst in, panting. Several older dwarves looked up from long lists and maps, to see Erechom collapse on the floor.
Erechom awoke to the sound dwarves talking. He drew a raspy breath, and sat bolt upright in a chair. Nardri, a dwarf of the council and by far the oldest in Khellaz-Himmron, leaned forward. “Are you alright soldier?”
Erechom spoke fast. “Council, there’s an army-”
Nardri held up a hand. “Peace, soldier. We know. We’ll be ready for them be tomorrow. Everything is-”
“Tomorrow? No. No, they’re coming tonight!” Shocked expressions took dominance in the room, as the elder dwarves stared at Erechom. Erechom looked around the room. “They’re coming right now!”
Nardri was the first to regain his composure. “How do you know this? How?”
“Sir, I just saw them. They’ll be here in a matter of minutes!”
Nardri turned to the others in the room, barking orders, orders to fortify the gates, ready the guard, and draw the non-combatants into the innermost chambers. One by one, they rushed to do his bidding. As the old dwarf stalked out the door, he threw words over his shoulder. “To the walls, soldier.”
Erechom stood atop the wall, gazing at the host before them. He was part of a line of a few dozen dwarves, fitted with crossbows. Only a short ways away was the enemy, encamped upon the outer splits of the roads. He could see them clearly now, the shambling corpses in lines, and the orcs sitting about fires. Erechom turned, and looked down at a hundred dwarves, shields broad up and axes sharp, standing in the courtyard behind the gates. At the left and right, guarding the second level and the flanking doors were another twenty armored soldiers.
Erechom turned back to the enemy and studied them for a moment. There was no way. The enemy had them outnumbered and outgunned. To make matters worse, Erechom could see the traitor strolling up and down the lines. He sighed. Before he’d been posted here, Erechom had fought beside her, and had taken comfort in her presence. Now the spear of Gerda served the enemy, and Raelin the Resolute saved the innocent no more. Lost in his thought and mourning though he was, Erechom heard the grinding of wheels at the enemy camp, saw the catapults fire, and dived for cover. A rock twice the size of a man crashed into the spot where he’d just been, and another three dwarves had to dive to avoid being hit. Erechom crawled on his hands and knees to the battlements, and peered out. A troll, naked and missing an eye, was loading another rock into the closest catapult. Erechom growled, loaded a bolt into his crossbow, and took the troll’s other eye. He heard the scream of pain, and smiled grimly. He ducked low as more missiles hit the walls, some breaking through. Several soldiers screamed as the rocks struck, and the archers along the wall had to flatten themselves against the battlements to avoid being struck.
At the enemy line, black orcs shaggy with matted hair, leaped forward, rushing for the doors, with ogres close behind. Erechom heard a dwarf scream, “Fire!”, and he rose, loosing another bolt over the wall. Nearly half the orcs fell, but most of the ogres hit the doors running full tilt, hammering at them with clubs of iron. The doors held, and the same dwarf rose again to yell command another volley. The next rock took him full in the chest, carrying his body over the battlements and down to the crowd of dwarves below. Erechom peered again between the battlements, and fired another shot. An ogre sprinting the middle cleft pitched forward, and bolt between its dark eyes. Still, more came, as the orcs screamed and hammered against the doors with unbridled fury.
A yell split the dank air to Erechom’s left. He turned to see a dozen dwarves battling with Gruts on the causeway. Outside the fortress. Some bright spark had opened the door, and sortied out to fight the enemy. They had underestimated the enemy, and were now being ripped apart by a dragon and bow-wielding orcs. Erechom loosed a bolt into the fight, rushed to the other archers, not bothering to check where the missile hit. “The enemy has breached the Western gate! Come, quickly!” He rose, and ran for the gate, half-hunched and pressed against the battlements. He reached the safety of the corridors within, and kept running for the gate. He glanced behind to see another ten dwarves, each stowing crossbows and drawing axes. Erechom roared, and sprinted forward. He rounded the corner just in time to see a fireball barreling straight at him, and there was nothing to do but hoist his shield. That was enough to save him, but the dwarf behind fell to the ground, screaming, rolling as his flesh was set alight. Erechom rushed the orcs that had come charging through after the fireball, and met them just behind the gate. He ducked the first blow, and buried his axe in the orc’s back. The corpse held the axe tight, refusing to let go, and Erechom very nearly took a scimitar to the stomach because of it. With a snarl, he wrenched the blade from his victim, crushed the skull of the nearest Grut against the wall, and jabbed the head of the axe into the orc rushing him. This was no good. The corridor was too narrow. He looked behind to see the other dwarves leveling their crossbows at the door, and hit the floor. Ten shafts flew over his head, and the dragon outside crashed against the gate, crumbling the stone and permanently destroying the doorway. Orcs poured over the rubble, over the dragon’s corpse, and kept coming, Swog Riders leaping with them. Erechom scrambled behind the line of dwarves, who loosed another volley before tossing bows aside and taking up axes. Numbers though they had, the orcs could not breach the wall of dwarves, and their comrades outside coming up the causeway fell under more and more shots from the wall above. Erechom crashed into the orc line shield-first, and they made short work of the enemy.
Erechom looked at the dwarves before him and said, “Right, we have to hold them here. No letting any more come through this gate, understand?” Most of the dwarves nodded, but one just stared behind Erechom. At the space in the gate. “Oh, Hell.” Erechom knew that look, and he turned, bringing his axe around as he did so, and buried the head deep in blue and silver armor. The kyrie went nearly limp, kept up by the axe that had collapsed her chest. The dwarves rushed forward, and pulled the axe from the being. Raelin’s breath came in stolen gasps, and her lips were wet with blood. A dwarf cradled her dying form in his arms, but dropped her as the last words left her mouth.
“We will destroy every last one of you.”
Erechom stared in stunned silence for a minute, and then had his attention drawn by screams below. He rushed to the open-air stairway that led to the courtyard, and saw that the enemy had broken through the gate closest to them. Dwarves surged forward to meet the enemy, only to be swatted aside, bloodied and broken by clubs of iron. Ogres waded through the crowd, sweeping their weapons back and forth. Erechom loaded another bolt into his crossbow, and the head struck an ogre leg. It fell, and the dwarves swarmed over it, butchering the monster. Erechom rushed back to the others that had come with him from atop the wall, and indicated two of them. “You two, with me, the others hold the line here.” None argued, the trio took up positions at the stairs, firing at the enemy as they came through. They kept going, for nearly an hour, until they heard feet behind them. Erechom turned to see dwarves he’d posted at the gate running towards him. “What are you doing!?!”
One gasped, “They’ve broken through the East gate. Vampires...” He stopped to catch his breath. “Vampires, slipped behind the walls, killed the guard at that gate, and opened it. Zombies, they led zombies up to the wall, and, and...” He shook his head. “They’re gone. All of them. We’re all that’s left on the upper levels.” That dwarf collapsed in a heap.
A low growling issued from Erechom’s throat. “So much for stalwart defense. Alright, all of you, listen up. We have to keep on holding them. Even if they’ve broken through the East flank, we can keep the pressure off here. We stall, we give them time. Understood?” A couple dwarves looked sick, but most agreed. They understood alright. They’d hold out until they were infected and turned into shambling corpses, until they marched against their friends. “Good. Now we fight.”
They held. They held as long as they possibly could. And yet, the enemy came. The enemy came, and took them into their own ranks. As Erechom went down beneath an endless tide of flesh, the last to give in, he bellowed to the remnants of the defenders below. “The West Gate is lost! Retreat! Retreat!”
The call was taken up, and the remaining soldiers fell back to the inner chambers, with their wives, with their children. The gates doors there lasted no longer than the gates. As the enemy flooded Khellaz-Himmron, the earth shook. The walls shook. A deep thudding came from the deep.
As the defenders of Khellaz-Himmron fell, so too did Khellaz-Himmron herself. The fortress crumbled in on itself, the foundation pillars came down, and the cavern buried all within beneath the unforgiving rock.
By the way, AG, it may be close to midnight where you are, but over here it's 10:05
All of the entries were written well. I thank the three of you for your stories, I enjoyed them all.
Third:
Spoiler Alert!
SoA, your story was masterfully written, I particularly enjoyed the part with the burning flesh. Unfortunately, it didn't fit the prompt. It had two armies, but no being of awesome power.
Second:
Spoiler Alert!
Elven Lord, your story had a particular western feel that I rather enjoyed. My issue was that there was little back story. Why were Budapest and the Gauls fighting over this village? Nonetheless, I enjoyed your story.
First:
Spoiler Alert!
Dragonfire, your story was exactly what I was looking for. The mystery, the struggle, the loss; it was amazing. The only thing I would comment negatively on was the spacing in your story. A fantastic read!
Thus ends my judging. Congratulations to you all.
An unfinished fanfic that needs to be expanded on or revamped: The Price of Un-life
An old user that wandered back to hone his writing skills.
November 20th, 2011, 10:25 PM
In fact, I'll probably require another few years.
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