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Re: Fan Fic Contest Archive
Challenge 58 - January 25th, 2015
Quote:
Spoiler Alert!
The pillars shook. Dust fell from the ceiling. Cracks spurted along the floor and walls. The trembling did not end.
Nilia pressed her palms into her ears, willing the terrible sound to end, willing her hands to blot it out. But she couldn’t. The thunder from above echoed again. The cracks spread to the ceiling. Dust coated her head. In the near darkness, she kept her eyes open wide, for she knew if she closed them, the panic would take her. And she couldn’t let that happen. Not here. Not when so many about her were frightened already. As the terrible shaking subsided slightly, Nilia could hear someone sobbing. The sound was quiet, but not in a natural way. There was something wrong. Like the sobbing was being squashed out, forced out by the terror that was taking its place. Nilia forced herself to uncover her ears. She didn’t feel brave. She didn’t feel strong. But she had to be. She had to be strong for her people. “Hope.” Nilia turned. A small boy, younger than she, sat huddled against the rock wall. A thunderous blast from above rattled the wall, and he shook violently. “Hope,” he repeated, staring at her with wide, fear-filled eyes. She reached out to comfort him. In the wavering torchlight, she saw that her hand shook and trembled. She tried to stop it, but it only trembled the more. She looked up at the boy. His eyes were fixed on her face. “Have hope,” he whispered. The thunder drowned out all sound. “Arrows!!” Thared whipped an arrow from his quiver and strung his bow. Despite the appearance of military efficiency, he couldn’t help but notice that the tip of the deadly shaft quivered as he held it taut. He forced it to still. The fear would not win. He glanced at the elf beside him. Syvarris stood stalk still, his eyes fixed ahead, his arrow pointing into the darkness with unerring intent. He did not move. He did not tremble. It seemed he did not breathe. But he was afraid. Thared could see the sheer terror on his face. The same unthinking fright he had seen on his sister Nilia’s face before. “Take your aim!” Thared drew a shuttering breath. There was nothing to aim at. They were coming. But they were invisible. How were they supposed to fight in this darkness? “Fire!!” Thared let his arrow fly. It was quickly outstripped by Syvarris’s shaft, and then both missiles were swallowed up by the night. Cries of pain followed soon after. The cries calmed Thared. At least their foes were flesh and blood, not some fel wraith from the underworld. Not that it made much difference. He nocked another arrow. Thared was skilled with the bow. For a fourteen year-old, that was. No one in their right mind would put a kyrie of fourteen years on the field of battle. Or at least no one who could afford not to. Being outnumbered fifty to one tended to cause desperate choices to be made. Thared could still hear the order being given. He had been there, after all, listening to their leader: “We have less than fifty men. We have weapons, we have armor, but we don’t have the numbers. And you want to stay and fight?” “It’s not a question of desire, Saylind. We don’t have a choice. We’re backed up against the mountains. If we flee, we’ll be overtaken and slaughtered. We wouldn’t stand a chance.” “We don’t stand a chance here either!” Concan grabbed Saylind by his breastplate. “What would you have me do, brother? March to our deaths?! Here we have walls to protect us. Here we have provisions.” “None of which will do us any good. We are going to die, Concan. Die! The men are weary. Our weapons are rusted. Jandar has promised reinforcements, but they are a week away. The legions are nearly upon us.” Concan seemed to sag against the wall. “What do you want? A commendation for your observations? I know the odds, Saylind.” He glanced around, but failed to see Thared. “I know this is the end.” Saylind stood still for a moment, watching his brother. The truth seemed to dawn on him at last. “If this is to be the end,” he said slowly, “if this is to be the day we die, then let us spread our fate to as many of our enemies as we can. If this is to be our end, then let it be theirs too.” “We will fight to the last man. To the last boy. Take all able to bear arms. Outfit them. Arm them. Tell them they will defend their homeland. The women and children… hide them in the caves. They may be overlooked by the enemy.” “Arrows!!” Thared drew another shaft. Kyrie weren’t meant to be archers. The quiver ended up getting all tangled in their wings. “Aim! Aim for what you believe in! Aim for a free Valhalla!” A dark shape took form in front of Thared. It took him a moment to see what it was. By then it was too late. “For the Painletter! For Grut! For the blade of Ornak!” Orcs spilled onto the walls. They had thrown ladders against the fortress under the cover of darkness, and were now scrambling up them, screeching and howling with bloodlust. “Swords!” Thared didn’t need to be told twice. Half of the men already had their blades out and were dispatching the invaders. Thared dropped his bow and fumbled for the hilt of his sword. A massive orc, swinging two impossibly large blades, leapt onto the wall and charged at him. Thared’s fingers found his sword. He tugged. Nothing happened. It appeared that his sword had gotten tangled in his belt. He pulled it hopelessly, backing away from the blue-skinned death that approached him. “For Jandar!!” A figure, laden down with mail and a large shield, leapt in front of Thared. He raised a sword, a sword that glowed blue in the blackness, and clove the orc from head to hip. “Beat them back, men! Don’t give an inch! Send these creatures back to their own fiery world!” Finn, champion of the Vikings, leapt at another orc, impaling him with his blade. Thared felt strength flow into him. He wrested his sword free and charged after their leader, heading for one of the ladders. Had this been a battle of men and swords, castles and arrows, all would have been over quickly. But this was Valhalla, and the warfare was necessarily more varied. “In the name of the Nine, I strike you down!” Flames leapt into existence. Great balls of fire flew from two figures atop the walls, surging into the black masses beneath. For a brief moment, as Chardris and Johrdawn lit the battlefield, Thared could see the extent of their foe. He immediately wished he hadn’t. Orcs milled in the front ranks, falling as fast they climbed. Ladders swung towards the walls, flung upwards easily by massive frost giants. Legion upon legion of marro drones waited patiently, out of range of the arrows. It took Thared a moment to realize what they were waiting for. Finn raised his sword aloft, the blue glow illuminating the battle about him. “Chardris, show them the heat of battle!” Chardris took careful aim, waited a moment, and then sent a single fast bolt of flame to the ground far below. At first nothing happened. And then, with a hiss and a blue burst of fire, a patch of oil ignited on the ground. The flames spread. Lines of flickering blue flames burst into existence, torching the orcs and kyrie that stood above them. The fire followed the oil, which was laid out in a grid pattern, slicing through the enemy host with deadly effectiveness. Orcs caught fire and stumbled blindly into their companions, spreading the flames further. Minions fell to the ground, thrashing in agony. The frost giants bellowed at the heat, shielding their faces with their arms. For a moment, the whole of the army was thrown into chaos and confusion. But such a great force could not be held at bay for long. “The gate! Defend the gate!” Finn leapt from the wall, clattering down the stone steps, a band of Vikings fast on his heels. A terrible thundering boom shook the entire fortress. Thared heard wood splintering. Their gate was small, but it was thick. Surely it could survive any onslaught? A massive head rose from the black depths beyond the wall, one black eye staring at the warriors upon the ramparts. The beast let out a feral roar. The mount of Grimnak, orc champion, was kicking down the gate. Thared quickly revised his opinion of their chances. “Hold the gate! Don’t let them through. Don’t— AUGH!!!” Finn went flying backwards to land hard against the opposite wall. He did not get back up. More wooden planks splintered. Apparently standing next to the gate while it was being kicked down was not such a good idea. Syvarris, who up until that point had been surrounded by orcs, dispatched them all at once with a sweeping blow from his sword. “Morsbane!” he thundered into the courtyard, “give them a taste of your power!” Morsbane appeared out of nowhere, just as the gate crumbled with a final shattering of wood. He raised his staff. “Your hour has come!” Grimnak screeched from atop his mount. “Your end hastens towards you on wings of black death, maw open, ready to devour the— no… No… NO!!” Morsbane’s staff glowed with a golden light, briefly illuminating Grimnak and his terrible mount. And then the light faded. The orcs about Grimnak milled about in confusion, almost as if they had lost some form of enhancement. The beast opened and closed his mouth – it appeared that his teeth were gone. “Look at that,” Morsbane remarked coolly. “Two birds with one stone.” And then the frost giants broke through the remains of the gate. “Elementals!” Syvarris cried. Thared felt an icy wind rush past him. In another moment, three air elementals had dived for the gate, and the orcs spilling through it. They quickly took up positions about the oncoming enemy, and the tide promptly turned. A fierce wind picked up. The orcs staggered as if they had all been struck in the stomach. A few were lifted off of their feet. Almost immediately, the tide of orcs came to an abrupt halt. Silence briefly filled the night as the orcs struggled. Into the silence, Syvarris issued a single command: “Elves of Aubrien – Fire!” Arrows filled the air. The first ranks of orcs buckled to the ground as the shafts pierced them. Another volley cut through the immobilized orcs. Fire from Chardris and Jorhdawn joined the wind from the elementals, creating a vast ball of flame. For a moment, Thared thought the night might be theirs. At least until the frost giants arrived. Squeezing their massive frames through the ruined gate, three frost giants charged the elementals, bending low against the high winds. The insubstantial elementals fled, flying up to the ramparts, and the orcs, released, immediately resumed their attack. “Knights!” a hoarse Sir Dupuis cried, “charge!!” Nine knights of the Templar thudded into the ranks of the giants, lances leveled, visors clamped shut. The two forces met with a resounding clash, as the giants unleashed their cry for blood… The terrible shaking stopped. Nilia watched the ceiling warily. Did that mean they had broken through the gate? Were they already inside? She heard nothing. The falling dust had extinguished a few of the torches, so that it was now darker than ever. Silence filled the room, even as dread filled her heart. “Don’t be afraid.” Nilia turned. The boy had crept closer, and was watching her face through the darkness. “Don’t be afraid,” he repeated. “To think of the battle is to let fear in. Don’t let the fear in. Think of something else.” Nilia crouched down. “What’s your name?” she whispered. “Asin,” the boy whispered back. “What’s yours?” Nilia told him, trying to keep the fear from her voice. “Where are your parents, Nilia? Are they safe? Did they make it out?” The dread in Nilia’s heart froze over. She felt nothing but a dead weight where her stomach ought to be. “They’re dead,” she whispered, in a tone as lifeless as the stone about her. “Killed by Utgar’s hordes.” Asin blanched. “Do you have a sister? A brother perhaps? Someone who loves you?” The weight within Nilia seemed to suddenly melt, churning within her, returning fear to her. “I have a brother,” she choked out. Asin smiled. “He is in the fortress above, fighting to his death.” Asin’s smile faded to horror. “Nilia…” “No, you’re right. Don’t think about the battle. Don’t let the fear in. Have hope.” Hope. The word sounded ludicrous. Hope of what? Here, in the middle of Valhalla, surrounded for miles by Utgar’s forces, in the last of Jandar’s strongholds, soon to be found and butchered by orcs… what hope could there possibly be? What chance was there that they would escape? None. None at all. Some of Nilia’s fear – or perhaps all of it – must have passed to her face. The boy reached out a hand and took hers, looking into her eyes. “Have hope,” he whispered. “Hope for what?” Nilia said before she could stop herself. She immediately hated the words. The boy was silent. “We’re going to die, Asin. There is no help. We are outnumbered. We were doomed from the start. There is no way out, no chance of escape. What hope do we have?” Asin lowered his eyes. “Maybe you’re right, Nilia. We have no hope of surviving this. Maybe our part in this war is over. But maybe our part is not what matters.” He raised his head and looked at her. “There is good in this land of ours. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. And I know you have, too. And I for one will fight for that good. I will stand in the way of anyone who would take it from me. Yes, we will die. But I have hope that we will die for something, and to me, that makes all the difference. “Have hope, Nilia. Have hope.” The battle was going poorly. The giants had decimated the knights. Orcs were pouring over the wall, slaying kyrie, elves, and Vikings by the droves. The elementals were long dead, though they had taken many kyrie with them. The onslaught had been temporarily halted by a squad of vipers, but they had been overrun soon enough. Thared had somehow survived the attack, most likely due to a combination of luck and his ability to fly. He had to keep low, however, for orc arrows were constantly whizzing overhead. “Retreat! To the second wall! Fall back!” A large mass of yellow hair ran past Thared, burying its sword in the chest of an orc. Thorgrim. Thared turned and ran, making for the door to the second level with the other soldiers. Behind him, he could hear Thorgrim’s sword rending flesh and armor alike. He risked a glance back. It was fortunate that he did. Four red kyrie fell on Thorgrim from above, knocking him to the ground. The orcs surged forwards, trampling the Viking champion in their haste to kill the retreating soldiers. One of the kyrie detached himself from the other three, and a torch shone briefly on his face. It was Taelord. “Taelord! I knew you. We grew up together! We are friends!” “We were friends,” the kyrie hissed. “Utgar showed me what you truly are: a miserable excuse for a kyrie, content to serve a weakling like Jandar when you could rule all of Valhalla! You have disillusioned me with your lies long enough! For years I listened to you blindly, but no more. Today I am free! Today I serve my true master!” The blade glared in the merciless sun. It plunged, and blood sprayed Taelord. Thared stumbled to the ground, staring in disbelief at the blade imbedded in his father’s lifeless body. “NOOO!!!” Thared flung his entire weight at Taelord, catching the surprised kyrie with a deadly uppercut from his blade. Blood soaked the gleaming metal. Taelord stared confusedly at the gaping wound in his chest. “What in the name of one hundred eighty points…?” Thared brought his sword down on the kyrie again, leaving a deep gash in his shoulder. Taelord stumbled to the ground, clutching his wound. His sword fell from his grasp. “Today, my father is avenged,” Thared hissed, raising his sword on high. A glimmer of recognition flickered in Taelord’s eye. And then everything changed. An axe sailed into Thared’s gut. He landed hard on the floor of the wall, jarring his left arm. Another of the minions kicked him in his side. Thared curled up automatically at the pain. Fortunately, he moved his head at just the right moment, and the axe that would have ended his life shattered against the stone instead. Reacting instinctively, Thared whipped out a leg, causing one of the minions to lose his balance and fall from the wall, where he was conveniently impaled on the axe of a passing frost giant. He flailed his sword blindly, but it met only with an axe, and was wrenched from his grasp. A fist slammed into his ribs. He kicked upwards, catching the minion. And then Thorgrim arrived. Blood splattered against Thared. He caught a glimpse of Thorgrim in the torchlight, his beard grisly with gore, his sword dripping, looking as if it were made from congealed blood rather than metal. The Viking whirled and spun, catching minions with his feet as often as his blade. Soon none were left, and the orcs that still poured over the wall wisely hung back. Thorgrim grasped Thared’s arm and yanked him upwards. Thared’s injuries cried out in protest, but they were dulled by fear. Without a word, he ran with the Viking champion, grabbing a fallen orc sword as he fled. They cut their way through the orcs before them, and soon the door to the second level thudded shut behind them. They were safe. For now. The only problem was that the frost giants were now within the fortress, heading for the door. And the fortress only had two levels. Thick walls deadened all sound. Nilia shivered with fright. She couldn’t help it. Part of her wanted desperately to fling open the door to the caves and see what had happened. Part of her feared what she knew she would find. They had to remain still and quiet. If the battle had ended, it would mean that Utgar’s forces were just outside the door, searching for the entrance to the caves they knew existed. There were enough provisions in this cave to feed an entire army for months. Provisions that Utgar’s hordes could not be allowed to find. Nilia tried to still her trembling. She couldn’t. She felt Asin’s hand on hers. It was still. Not still as with death. Still, ready, willing to fight to the last. Her breathing slowed. They would come. She knew it. But she would be ready. One good shove was all it took. The door was flung cleanly off of its hinges under the blow of the frost giant. This time, no orcs streamed in. Instead, rank upon rank of marro filed through, their faces rigid, their blades flickering in the torchlight, as if they too were made of flame. They killed with precision. They killed with efficiency. And they killed without mercy. The unstoppable horde approached. “Hold steady!” Thorgrim thundered to the men gathered behind him. “You are men of Valhalla! Soldiers of the alliance! Warriors of Jandar and Ullar! You will not bow to these soulless monsters! You will not let them take a step beyond your ranks! You will hold firm, steady, and you will stand your ground!” The ragged group of Vikings and kyrie roared their battle cry at the marro. The drones did not respond. They did not slow or quicken. They continued to approach at a steady pace, their blades dripping with blood, their faces fixed in an undying grin. Thared gripped his stolen orc sword tighter. This was it. There was nowhere else to run. This small tower was the second level; there was barely enough room for twenty men. Fortunately, there were hardly more than twenty men left. He glanced at the hidden door recessed in the rock behind him. His sister was beyond that door, waiting, listening. He had to defend her. He had to fight. He would never let the marro reach her as long as breath was in his body. “This is the end!” “They’re breaking in!” “Odin! Help us!” The door trembled again. Nilia shrank against the rock wall, Asin by her side. But it was not the end. Not yet. She could hear the yells. The cries. The sound of men fighting to their last drop of blood. They were right up against the door, defending it with everything they had left. “We have to help them!” a voice screamed. Nilia looked behind her, to where a handful of women and young children huddled. A few small boys leapt up, Asin among them, and raced to the door. “Don’t open it!” someone shrieked. “You’ll be overrun!” “This is a chokepoint,” Asin said above the clamor. “We wait until they break through. Only two can get in at a time. We can handle them as they approach.” “They’ll only come in once everyone outside is dead,” Nilia said, rushing to the door as well. “If you wait, you doom them all! We must save them!” “Back fiends! You shall never conquer this land!” Thorgrim swung his sword in a mighty arc, decapitating three marro drones at once. Six more took their place. He beheaded those as well. Nine came at him. Thared swung his blade wildly, sheer panic somehow making up for experience. The drones stumbled under his assault, falling back, shattering into piles of bones and rotten flesh. A spear nicked his side. A blade sliced his leg. Something crashed down on his head, causing blood to run into his eyes. Only the thought of what was behind him made Thared lift his sword again, and again, and again… A frost giant entered the fray. Charging into the midst of the survivors, he knocked over two, kicked a third, and swung his axe at Thorgrim. Thorgrim turned to ward off the blow. However, since the giant’s axe was nearly as big as Thorgrim was tall, his sword was batted aside, and Thorgrim was cloven in two. “NOOO!!!” The giant swung again. Two more fell. Only four men remained. Legions of drones still poured through the door. Pushing drones aside like punching bags, Thared raced up to the giant, and stabbed it in the leg. He stabbed again and again, barely aware of what he was doing. At least until the giant kicked him, howling in pain. Thared managed to land on the tip of a drone’s spear. The blade went straight through him, and he crushed the insubstantial marro beneath as he fell. Ignoring the blood pouring from his chest, ignoring the darkness about his eyes, ignoring the way his fingers were stiffening, he swung his sword about him, knocking the legs out from under four more drones. Six took their places, and all stabbed him at the same time. Thared leapt up, unfurling his wings and spinning in a tight circle. The tips of his wings caught the drones and knocked them all down. A band of orcs rushed at him. Still spinning, Thared swerved to intercept them. He was surprised by how effective simply spinning in place was. The orcs couldn’t reach him. They charged, and then simply fell over, knocked to unconsciousness by the speed of his wings. Thared was just thinking he might have a chance when a massive fist slammed into him from above. Thared went down so fast that both of his wings snapped upward, the bones breaking instantly. The frost giant who had punched him kicked him over, and six drones promptly drove their spears deep into his body. Thared was beyond reacting to pain by now. A dread cold was beginning to steal over him. He could barely feel his fingers; they clutched his sword more out of instinct than anything else. Thared leapt skyward. The spears slid from his wounds with painful slowness. His battered wings scraped against the air, the once glossy feathers struggling to grasp the wind. But he knew it was over. His wings unable to hold him, he fell back to the ground, kicking some drones on his way, beheading others, and missing the rest. They stabbed him again. His sword fell from his grasp. Pain wracked his body. As his vision failed, he turned to the door. The giant was already pounding on it. No others remained. They had fought to the last man. And he was that last man. A spear sprouted from his chest, and he fell to the ground. The door shattered. Drones and orcs poured in. Screams rent the air as the women scrambled back against the wall. Asin and the others, having procured swords, felled the first few ranks easily enough. Then the giant reached through with his axe, being too large to get through the doorway, and swung it from side to side. Four boys went down. Two escaped. One was Asin. Nilia leapt to her feet. She too had gathered a sword, but it was nearly too heavy for her lift. She threw it aside and picked up a dagger. An orc caught up with one of the boys, leaping on his back and dragging him down. He was quickly trampled beneath the tide of drones flooding into the room. Asin turned as the marro reached him, swinging his sword before him. He slew every enemy that approached him, but the sword was too heavy, and he overbalanced. He fell face first into the waiting spears of the marro. No cry left Nilia. No tremor shook her body. No fear clouded her heart. Why fear the inevitable? She planted her feet, raised her dagger, and slew the first marro that reached her. She missed the second, and fell as an orc struck her. She felt a spear pierce her side. But she remained calm. She struck out at the orc, and it fell to the ground. She would die. But she would die fighting. She would die with hope. Not hope that she would escape. Not hope that she would live. Not even hope that this war would ever end, or that the alliance would ever win. But hope that there was good in this world, and that it was worth defending. That it was worth fighting for. And dying for. And she would cling to that hope for the rest of eternity. Dawn Drake swept the outpost with his eyes. The gate was shattered. Flags of Utgar fluttered from the banisters. He could see corpses littering the ramparts. Those defending it had died to the last man, woman, and child. He drew his sword. Turning to the legions behind him, he raised his voice to the air. “For the good of this world! Charge!!” First Place - Marro_Warlord
Spoiler Alert!
The Tale Of The Flooded Citadel
By Marro_Warlord The eighteen all heard the messenger’s cry, That they were surely all to die. They were to prepare a last stand, From the armies of the damned, Whose soldiers were approaching in sight. “Build some barricades!” a knight with a flag shouted. The other knights obeyed, Their champion not to be doubted. They laid down their shields and swords as they got to work, Hauling long wooden planks into position. Boarding up holes like a fine network, The hordes were approaching faster and faster, The knight’s barricades soon became a blur. Eight minutemen standing tall, Teetered on the edge of a ruin, But not one did fall. A big Scottish man barked, “Help the knights finish the defenses!” The minutemen ran, as their work began to start. The damned armies were on the move, This battle they could not lose. The ruined fort came into sight, Now was their chance to strike. The eighteen men of Jandar looked out on the horizon, The Marro hordes thundered toward their bastion. The knights and their champions pressed themselves against the door, Knowing it would break and push them to the floor. The minutemen on the wall aimed at their enemy. “Wait… Wait… Wait… Now! Fire!” Their aim was true, For every bullet struck a Marro, As they fell into the fresh morning dew. It was not enough to stop the hordes, As they continued to rush on forward. The Marro shot at the reloading minutemen, As only three fell to the ground, dead. The remaining five shot back, The Marro only took a little bit of the flak. Soon no more minutemen remained, As all their lives had been claimed. The knights stopped the door from collapsing, But the legions of Marro never stopped coming. A foot burst through the heavy door, Trampling two knights on it’s way to the floor. The remaining six took up battle positions quickly, Against the giant beast. He broke through the wall, Sending rubble at two knights, Who flew like ragdolls. The last four valiantly protected their champions to the end, Which came quickly, As the knights couldn’t protect their friends. The champions readied themselves, Hacking at the giant’s leg. The leg stamped, Sending them flying into the wall. They tried to stand, But the Scottish man was stabbed. A strangling cry came from his throat, As a twisting spear put an end to his life swiftly. The last man raised his flag, Screaming as he charged. He stabbed into countless bodies, But there were too many. A spear pierced his armor, Energy blasts shocked his body, He fell to the ground. He shrieked shrilly, As the foot landed onto his body. His armor buckled, He could feel the pain. It was too much. The last champion made no motion, All life was drained from his body. The Marro left, Their task completed. Days later, The signs of battle were still there. The bodies of the men never disappeared. It will never be forgotten, What happened at the Flooded Citadel. |
#62
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Re: Fan Fic Contest Archive
Challenge 59 - April 8th, 2015
Quote:
Spoiler Alert!
In the thirteenth era of this War, the powers of the wellsprings expired. The armies of the Valkyrie were again finite. Most took this as a sign of the War’s end. Unless more wellsprings were discovered, one side would surely yield to the other before long… Unless… 1. The Launch The setting sun bleached the night sky a deep violet. The harsh winds ravaged the thin blue flags atop the walls of Jandar’s castle. Many sentries stood guard at their posts, fewer now than there had ever been, but many nonetheless. Under their watch, this fortress had never been infiltrated. Until now. A single hooded Kyrie clung to the walls beneath the battlements, listening to the solemn march of the guards. The Kyrie’s face was shrouded in its guise, no expression giving away its mission. Slowly prying its hands between each brick, the Kyrie silently moved along the wall. Its wings would make too much noise this close to the top. Finally finding the right spot to perch, the Kyrie sat silently and watched the setting sun. The sky rapidly darkened, the wind picking up as the temperature fell. The guards shivered and complained, used to it as they were. The Kyrie infiltrator remained still quiet amid the cold, its breath in the freezing air the only thing that could remind an onlooker that it was alive. Finally the steps of the guards parted, just as the wind picked up. Its harsh howling was what the Kyrie had been waiting for. Finally releasing the bricks it had held onto, the Kyrie fell and in one swift motion rose again. Its black wings flared into the air, the wind hoisting it up and hurling it over the wall as the guards passed. Its slim frame passed right by them as the Kyrie ducked its wings back to its shoulders. No longer carried by the wind, the Kyrie fell back down. Flipping back, the silent infiltrator sailed straight through a window, barreling through the hinged shutters keeping the cold out. Crash! Sitting upright in a second, the Kyrie seized the handles of the window and shut it back up, silencing the wind outside. That single noise was all that could have given the Kyrie away, but this room was empty. Otherwise a perfect entry, since the closed window couldn’t be helped. Precise as it was, this had been the Kyrie’s first mission since before the war. Still had it though, and a good thing too, since this mission was of the utmost importance. Dangerous though, tensions being high as they were, and Jandar’s castle was more difficult to infiltrate than any other Valkyrie there was. Here inside the halls of the castle there were fewer guards, but the lengthy corridors carried their steps further than ever. Amidst the echoes the Kyrie infiltrator’s movements were silent. The reverb of the walls and the creaks of the floors were a natural defense against assassins, but even here the Kyrie remained mute, using the noise of the guards to know where they were moving. The infiltrator moved along. Finding the door it had been looking for all along, the Kyrie slunk over and silently turned the doorknob. The hinges creaked, the infiltrator unable to do anything about that fact other than move slowly. Good enough. Slipping inside, the infiltrator beheld its prize. There, in the darkness of the room, slept the Valkyrie Jandar. So even his ever-vigilant eyes needed sleep. The Kyrie moved forward to the foot of the bed. “Stop!” From the dark corners of the room, two Sentinels stepped forth. They had been standing perfectly still in the black night, to any onlooker appearing to be suits of armor alongside Jandar’s bed. This trick the Kyrie had not been prepared for. Fire lit the room, one of the guards holding a torch forth, the other pulling a lever on the wall before stepping forward. Jandar awoke in an instant, sitting up, “Who goes there?” The guards rushed forth, the Kyrie merely stepping back and spreading out its wings, buffeting the attackers away. Jandar too flared his wings out, rising up from the bed and facing the infiltrator. “Do you intend to kill me, assassin?” The Valkyrie questioned. Finally the Kyrie spoke, “No. I only needed to reach you.” Reaching up, the infiltrator threw back the hood covering its face, looking Jandar in the eyes. Jandar looked at the visitor with disbelief, lowering his wings and landing back on the bed. “Vydar…” --- “Intruder!” A Knight of Weston called out, drawing his sword and raising his shield, “In the Valkyrie’s chamber!” “Someone threw the alarm!” A Sentinel of Jandar shouted down the hall, amidst the commotion of guards scrambling to hurry to their leader’s aid, “Come on! Let’s go! Where’s the Warden!?” The Knight of Weston looked around, shrugging, “I think she left already.” Eltahale burst down the door to Jandar’s room. She immediately drew her sword and rushed towards the attacker, a cloaked Kyrie standing in the center of the room. The intruder turned and flared up his wings, attempting to buffet her away from him. Eltahale merely took one step back, her boot sparking as it touched the ground. In an instant, the Goliath vanished from sight, a current of electricity arching along the floor and around the Kyrie. The lightning burst, Eltahale leaping out of it and slashing for the infiltrator. He too was fast, however, turning and jumping back out of the way. Not giving up, Eltahale lunged forth again, jabbing and stabbing at the Kyrie with unbelievable speed. Ducking back and forth, he managed to evade each and every blow as he backed up. Changing tactics in an instant, the Kyrie ducked down low and swooped his leg out, tripping Eltahale. Holding out her shield-arm, the Goliath caught herself on the ground, at the same time stabbing upward at the Kyrie. Click! The Kyrie stood stooped down over her, her blade barely nicking the side of his face. He had extended his arm out from under his cloak, holding a pistol pointed straight at her forehead, one finger on the trigger and his thumb cocking the weapon’s hammer. “Let’s talk, Jandar.” The Kyrie calmly called out to the General, who had been watching the brief confrontation, “I don’t want to have to blow off anyone’s head.” “At ease, Eltahale.” Jandar ordered, “Vydar means me no harm.” Vydar slowly reached up with his other hand, taking the flat side of Eltahale’s blade and shifting it away from his cheek. The Valkyrie rose to his feet, backed off aways whilst keeping the weapon’s sights trained on the Goliath. Finally he put the gun away, returning his attention to Jandar. “Why did you come here in secret?” Jandar asked. “I couldn’t have anyone know I was going to be here.” Vydar straightened himself out, “Not even any of my own men.” “I see,” Jandar acknowledged, turning to his two guards, “Olithcan, go tell the others that the disturbance was a false alarm. Henden, shut the door.” The two Sentinels nodded their agreement, one leaving and the other shutting the door after him. Eltahale slowly rose to her feet, keeping her eyes on Vydar distrustfully. The Valkyrie walked over to the corner of the room, sitting down in a chair there. He rubbed his forehead wearily, finally looking back over at Jandar. “I cannot stay aligned with Utgar any longer,” He began, “But as it stands now, the Alliance is doomed.” “How’s that?” “The wellsprings are gone, Jandar.” Vydar lamented, “We cannot summon new armies as it is. We’re stuck with what we’ve got. Our resources are limited. Utgar, on the other hand, still has the advantage. His Marro and Undead armies can self-replicate endlessly. Utgar knows this, and plans on using this edge to finish off the Alliance. And most likely his allies afterwards.” Jandar was quiet for only a moment, stroking his chin, “I know this, but we have plans of our own—to finish off Utgar before he has a chance to outlast us.” “You do not know his full potential as I do,” Vydar countered, “You cannot defeat him in open battle. The Alliance is doomed.” “What do you plan on doing, then?” Jandar questioned. “Before the end, I had a vision. There is another world with more wellsprings. Ones we could use to summon new armies with. I have means of getting us there.” “You offer this to us freely?” “Between you and Utgar I see no other choice.” Jandar mused on the notion for a while, “Does Utgar know of this as well?” Vydar took a deep breath before answering, “Yes.” “…” “You must summon the other Valkyrie.” Vydar continued, “We must set out to this world and use the new wellsprings to defeat Utgar once and for all.” Jandar mused on this for a while, pacing back and forth contemplatively. Finally he turned to his guard, “Henden, send word out to the other Allied Generals.” “At once, my lord.” Henden replied quickly. Jandar turned his attention to his other witness. “Eltahale,” Eltahale broke her distrustful gaze at Vydar and glanced over at Jandar. “… Keep Vydar company.” Eltahale frowned. --- Jandar was gone, off writing letters for Henden. Eltahale stood silently in the company of Vydar. The Ex-Allied General sat by the fireplace, his wings wrapped around the side of the chair. Her vengeful eyes were deflected only by his vulpine stare. This was the Valkyrie who betrayed the Alliance on a whim, as soon as the wellsprings had dried up. Only myths and rumors could dictate the extent of his treachery. Yet his face showed no shame even in his desperate return. “You can stop glaring at me now,” Vydar assured her, “Jandar has accepted my renewed allegiance.” Eltahale did not lower her guard. “You are a Goliath, are you not?” The Valkyrie asked, “One of the last warriors of the Underdark. Perhaps the last soldier Jandar summoned before the wellsprings dried up. The only of your kind in Valhalla, perhaps?” The Warden maintained her silence. “That must be quite the burden.” Vydar glanced toward the fire, “Should we find new wellsprings, Jandar could summon more of your kin.” “…” “Ah, I see now. You were summoned in response to the invasion of Moltenclaw. I made my turn just as you Underdark warriors returned to Valhalla’s surface. Your first experience up here was betrayal and loss. Is that why you don’t like me?” Still glaring. “Fine. Keep to yourself. Now that you’ve witnessed my arrival here, you are inevitably entangled in this mess. This is all our problem now. We can’t keep secrets from each other anymore. The Valkyrie narrowed his eyes, “Soon we will all be journeying out together. We’ll have to come to like each other.” --- “What is it so vital to this war that I must bear having to see your face again?” Ullar questioned, glaring at the returned Ex-General. The Allies had assembled as promised: Ullar, Einar, and Aquilla. They stood before Jandar and Vydar, hidden in the secret meeting halls beneath Ullar’s Castle (which was the closest to the others). As a witness to the event as well as Jandar’s trusted guard, Eltahale had accompanied the General here. Now the Allies would determine the traitor’s fate. “We must all go find these new wellsprings.” Vydar explained, “We cannot outlast Utgar without the ability to summon more armies. It is of the utmost importance.” “Why should we believe a liar like yourself?” Aquilla demanded, “You whose treachery cost us much of our lands and armies.” “I believe Vydar,” Jandar stepped forth, “He is the only one who could have discovered these new wellsprings, and he has inside information about Utgar’s plans that we do not.” “We shouldn’t disperse in search of new wellsprings now at this most vital hour!” Einar declared, “The enemy was dealt a crippling blow with the recent fall of Bleakewoode. We should press our advantage while we can and finish Utgar off. We do not need these new reinforcements.” “Utgar’s armies are larger than you think.” Vydar refuted, “Even now he is preparing for war. He intends to outlast you all, and believe me when I say that you do not have the strength to defeat him as it stands!” “Fellow Generals,” Jandar agreed, “If we can secure wellsprings, we can summon reinforcements while Utgar cannot. We would win the war for sure.” “How would we even reach such a planet?” Aquilla asked. “I have constructed a ship beneath my castle in secret.” Vydar explained, “It is ready to launch at any time. We need only board it—I suggest we take that step as soon as possible.” “I have no confidence in this,” Einar was unconvinced, “I for one will not risk Valhalla flying in a spaceship in search for wellsprings that might not even be there.” “Let’s not be hasty in our decision,” Ullar pointed out, turning to Jandar, “You for one are going for certain, correct? Let us make our own verdicts.” “As you wish.” Jandar acknowledged respectfully. “I’ve made up my mind.” The green Valkyrie concluded, “Einar, Aquilla, let us know what you decide. Until then, this council is concluded.” With that, the Generals dispersed. Vydar bit his lip nervously, finally turning and leaving the hall. Ullar strode over to Jandar, putting one hand on his shoulder. “I need to council my own troops before I leave.” Jandar said solemnly. “Right then,” Ullar agreed, “I’ll be there with my answer as soon as I can.” --- “Send me, Jandar,” Sergeant Drake Alexander demanded, “We cannot afford to lose you here on Valhalla.” Drake was Jandar’s best man, yet even now his fierce loyalty was being tested. Jandar sat in his throne room, along with Eltahale, Henden, and Olithcan. Drake was ranked highly enough to be in on the secret of the new wellsprings, but Eltahale and the Sentinels were witnesses to Vydar’s intrusion, so now their presence was worthy. Ullar was there also, along with his Elf companions Sonlen the Archmage and Ulginesh the Wizard. “I must be the one to go,” Jandar refuted, looking equally distraught at the decision. But everyone knew it was not one he made lightly—Jandar never made decisions lightly, “Only a Valkyrie can use the wellsprings to their fullest potential and summon armies to Valhalla.” “But what if something happens out there?” Drake asked. “What if something happens here?” Jandar countered, “You’re my greatest warrior, Drake. I need you here to protect Valhalla in my absence. When Utgar finds out about our plans, he will strike.” Drake didn’t like the decision, but he nodded his approval after careful consideration. The General turned his attention to his fellow Valkyrie. “Ullar, you must lead the Alliance while I am gone. I will not risk all the Allied Generals on this mission—Vydar and I should be capable of summoning reinforcements for you.” Ullar nodded, “Take Sonlen in my place. You don’t know what might be out there, and he is a versatile warrior with good experience in expeditions.” Sonlen bowed, “I ensure this mission’s success, General Ullar.” Jandar welcomed the Elf, “Your services are greatly appreciated, Sonlen. I will take Eltahale and Henden as well—they know of this plot already.” Henden was quick to kneel, “I’ll give my life to protect yours, sir.” “I’ll alert the other Generals of your departure,” Ullar noted, “I’ll have them send out ambassadors of their own: their best warriors.” “Second best,” Jandar corrected, “I fear you’ll need to save your finest for when I’m gone. But the offer is appreciated, and I will return!” “I’ll send the word,” Ulginesh agreed, his Pegasus flaring out its wings and taking flight. The winged beast took to the air, circling around before shooting out of a window, making haste. Drake watched the Elf go, looking over his shoulder at Jandar. “I’ll go marshal the Alliance’s armies,” He decided, Jandar nodding his approval. Olithcan and Ullar following him out. Jandar turned to the final two remaining guards. “I hope you two are ready for an otherworldly adventure,” The Valkyrie said. “It’ll be a first, alright.” Henden acknowledged, glancing at Eltahale and shrugging, “Well, for a Kyrie, that is. I imagine it already has been an otherworldly adventure for Eltahale and the other summoned warriors.” Eltahale nodded. At this point she was ready for anything—most warriors were. “You need not maintain that vigil of silence forever, Warden.” Jandar glanced down at her, “I know you don’t like Vydar, but he’s our best chance. And soon enough we’ll all be crammed together on a tiny spacecraft for who knows how long. We’ll need to be able to work together.” At this the Goliath couldn’t keep up eye contact. She cast her gaze aside, but nodded her agreement nonetheless. So it would be. --- “Our spies tell us that the Alliance has found another source of wellsprings.” Cyprien Esenwein announced. The vampire stood in a large, dark hall alongside his comrades. There was Kee-Mo-Shi, a spidery Warwitch, as well as Tul-Bak-Ra, the Overlord of the Marro in Valhalla. The Marro made up a bulk of Utgar’s army, so as much as Cyprien disdained them, they were vital to winning the war. There was also the human Isamu, Utgar’s trusted assassin. He was so rarely seen that he didn’t need to spill blood often, but when he had to he did so with a cruel delight. “I know this.” Cyprien’s leader replied. Before them, sitting upon a red throne at the far end of the room, was the Valkyrie Utgar, chiefest of all evils in Valhalla. His huge size and deep booming voice hid a sly cunning—one that at one time had held off six other Valkyrie alone, merely by his own wit. He was the only person in all of Valhalla that Cyprien feared, and for good reason. His dismissal of such urgent news was alarming. “For the time being, we have the upper hand.” Utgar continued, his hands pressed tightly together as he glared down at his minions. “But the loss of Bleakewoode…” “They have finite resources.” The Valkyrie dismissed, “So long as the Marro continue to reproduce, we have an endless supply of soldiers.” Tul-Bak-Ra grinned cruelly. “And we needn’t fear the Alliance now that their leaders have separated.” Utgar continued, “They will call off the attack in search of more wellsprings. We should press our advantage while we can.” “But what of the other planet?” Cyprien questioned, “We should sent emissaries of our own to claim the wellsprings before the enemy does. Send me.” “No.” The General declined, “There is no need. None of them will survive.” “How do you know this?” Isamu questioned. Utgar smiled, his eye falling upon Kee-Mo-Shi. The tip of her staff glowed a bright emerald color, the same color that shone when she was brought back from the grave twice, and the same that shone in Raelin’s eyes when the Warwitch mindshackled her. “I have someone who will be on board that ship loyal to me,” He explained, “Waiting for their chance to finish off Jandar and the others. A trump card I’ve held onto for years now. Don’t you worry about a thing.” Cyprien smiled as well. Now he understood what Utgar had meant. One of three amulets created by Ullar, stolen by Utgar, and returned to the Alliance unknowingly. In the palm of his hand Utgar had held onto that mindshackled warrior, and now in the claustrophobia of space he intended to unleash them. The Alliance was doomed for sure. “Now,” Utgar concluded, “We must do what we can down on here. Tul-Bak-Ra, marshal your armies. Strike the Alliance hard. They are weak. Break them.” “With pleasure, my lord.” The Marro clicked, vanishing from sight only a moment later. “Cyprien—you are my swiftest warrior. Send word to Valkrill. Tell him to send out his armies as well. We need not fear defeat now.” “It will be done.” Utgar chuckled to himself, glaring ahead and smiling devilishly, “It’s time this war came to an end.” --- “Welcome, comrades,” Vydar greeted the Allied warriors, gathering under his hidden castle in preparation for their voyage, “I see only Jandar has come to fulfill his oath.” “I represent Ullar’s presence,” Sonlen explained, “Forgive his absence, but he has a war to fight, and has sent me in his stead.” “And who else is here?” True to their word, both Einar and Aquilla had sent heroes of their own. The former General had sent Retiarius, a Human Gladiator. He was a buff and gruff man of few words, and it was no secret that he was fighting only so that he could return to his homeworld of Earth. Aquilla had sent a Dwarf Rogue: Darrak Ambershard. He was short and stubby, but his heavy, compact frame hid a surprising amount of speed and dexterity. He also carried a silver blade of the Underdark, as deadly as it was beautiful. Eltahale knew more about him than Retiarius because they had worked together once before. She still didn’t like him though. The two warriors gave their introductions, however brief, and Vydar continued on with the tour. His castle lay upon a small hill amidst a large ugly swamp, but beneath it was hidden a vast network of tunnels and secret chambers. The Valkyrie certainly could have betrayed Utgar under his own troops’ very noses—for no single man could ever know of every room hidden in this labyrinth. Nobody but Vydar, that is. “Only my most loyal soldiers know that you all are here,” The General explained as he walked down the empty halls, “And only those few know of this vessel’s existence. My Soulborg friends designed and crafted it from scratch. With it, we can sail through the galaxy to our destination. Ah, here we are…” Entering a huge, open room, the group found themselves staring at a massive steel ship. It appeared to be attached to the floor, or perhaps connected to more tunnels delving deeper still into the ground. For something constructed in secret, it sure was a sight to behold. The room’s ceiling curved upward into a dome, with another tunnel leading skyward. Assumedly the ship would pass through there to reach the surface, but the passage seemed far too small for a ship of this size. As he gazed, Jandar seemed to be thinking the same thing. “How do you intend to get this thing above ground?” He questioned. Vydar pointed skyward, “See that tunnel? The ship runs on a light speed capacitor. As close as you could get to teleportation, but we’ll be zipping along so fast we’ll essentially be compressed into a needle’s width. We’ll shoot straight through that hole into the atmosphere, and on our way in the blink of an eye. Or that’s the theory, anyway.” “That doesn’t make any sense to me…” Henden mused. “I stopped trying to make sense of anything I heard on this planet a long time ago.” Retiarius replied. “How long will it take to get there?” Sonlen questioned. “I can’t say. The planet is some distance away, but at our speed it shouldn’t be too long a voyage. It depends on all the variables of space travel.” “Well then, shall we board? We’d better get started sooner than later.” Jandar recommended, glancing over the ship, trying to find a door. “I suppose so. It’s ready to leave anytime, but it’ll make a racket. As soon as we’re off, everyone’s going to know about it.” Vydar replied, beginning to walk over towards the vessel. Reaching out, the Valkyrie held forth a small switch and flipped it. A second later, part of the ship opened up, allowing access. Inside was like a second network of tunnels, albeit cast in white metal rather than stone. A dim humming constantly sounded off, reinforcing the feeling that they were all inside the belly of some great machine beast. Blindingly bright and cold as it was, the inside of the vessel was at least built to house living beings, so there was no shortage of lodgings throughout. As he walked forward, Vydar steered towards the leftmost hall. He stepped out, his boot connecting and seemingly sticking to the wall. The General continued on his path, striding along the wall and up to the ceiling. All others watched in amazement. “The entire ship has artificial gravity plating,” Vydar explained coolly, “No matter where you walk, what you walk on will be the floor.” “Amazing…” Henden looked astounded, even for one who could fly. “Just don’t try flying in here,” Vydar pointed out to his fellow Kyrie, “Once you surpass the center of the room, you’ll fall to the ceiling and crash. I’d advise walking until we reach our destination.” “I’ll keep that in mind.” Sonlen acknowledged. The Elf had a small dragon pet, who remained on his shoulder at all times. The Archmage seemed capable of communicating with it, and as he whispered strange tongues to the beast, it closed its wings to its sides and stayed perched. “Anyhow,” Vydar leapt from the ceiling and flipped, moving with the changing gravity he was obviously so familiar with, and landing neatly upon the floor, “Let’s head to the cockpit and get this thing moving.” “Agreed. Lead the way.” Jandar nodded. The group continued its way through the halls, turning this way and that. It still seemed mazelike to Eltahale and the other outsiders, but she was certain that they would have plenty of time to familiarize themselves with its layout. As she gazed through each open door they passed by, the Goliath noticed Darrak doing the same. As another native to the ways of the Underdark, the Dwarf was skilled at mapping unknown areas in his mind, recalling them at a moment’s notice for navigating even the most complex of the deep dungeons. Finally they reached their destination. The cockpit was no different than many of the other rooms, save for a host of complex controls and keyboards. They had been modified by the Soulborgs for humanoid use, but they were still daunting to behold to all those unfamiliar with their functions. Vydar was not one of those, and he stepped up to the controls and began fiddling with them expertly. Several screens flickered to life, taking the place of windows on the far wall, showing the narrow tunnel above the ship. Looking over his shoulder, Vydar asked his comrades one last question. “Shall I launch?” He inquired. “Yes.” Jandar replied, not wanting to waste any more time delaying the inevitable. “Are you sure the other Valkyrie don’t want to accompany us?” “They’re needed on Valhalla,” Jandar countered, “You said so yourself Utgar had plans to attack soon. We need to leave now.” “So be it. Off we go. Brace yourselves.” Vydar turned back to the controls and pressed a big red button. Instantly the ship rattled back and forth, a deep thundering boom shaking the vessel as it prepared to take off. Suddenly the shaking stopped and the ship lurched forward, leaping up into the air at lighting speed. Everything seemed the thin out, the screens on the wall flickering. The air seemed to compress itself, Eltahale’s chest tightening. The gravity remained unaltered, and the violent shaking had ceased, yet another force seemed to be pressing against them all, the momentum outside the vessel pushing down hard against everyone as they took off at unimaginable speed. To the outside world, a thin beam of light seemed to shoot out skyward from Vydar’s castle, piercing and scattering the clouds around it and shaking the earth. The winds were flung apart as it passed by them, causing them to howl as they were sent flying away from the lands. From Jandar’s castle, Ullar and Drake looked on as the launch passed them by. “Good luck, Jandar.” Ullar murmured, “We’ll be waiting for your return.” Across Valhalla, Utgar stood atop his mountain fortress, the howling winds doing nothing to unbalance him. Behind the evil General stood Tul-Bak-Ra and Kee-Mo-Shi. “Off they go,” Utgar smiled devilishly, “Is our trump card with them?” Tul-Bak-Ra took only a second to calculate, as the Marro and all those under their influence functioned under a hivemind. “Yes,” the Marro Overlord clicked, “He is aboard, ready to act on our command.” “Good.” Utgar sounded pleased, “Kill them all, when the time is right. Then we’ll be the ones summoning reinforcements to our cause. It will all be over soon.” His Marro minions snickered at the thought, equally pleased to hear the news. “As for the Alliance,” The red Valkyrie continued, “Have Cyprien rally the armies and move out. We will smash them with our reserves and choke the last life out of their dwindling resources. Without Jandar and with reinforcements on the way, we have nothing to fear. Valhalla is mine.” 2. The Journey Eltahale sat in the ship’s Rec Room sharpening her sword. It was a large, hefty blade, but she could wield it in one hand, saving her other arm for her shield. Here the blade seemed minute compared to the size and technology of the ship carrying them all, but it was the blade she had trusted in since the beginning. Still weary of Vydar (and a few of the other passengers), Eltahale stuck to her guns for now, making sure Jandar was safe at all times. Out here in the reaches of space, literally anything was possible. For every wild and strange thing in Valhalla came from these stars, along with what nameless horror might have been left behind in the unknown worlds of the beyond. The others sat in the Rec Room as well, since there was nothing else to do. Vydar had insisted that the trip would be short enough not to require any form of hypersleep, and they had been journeying through the stars for two days now. So it was good to stretch one’s legs and find something to do. Henden stood in the middle of the room. The stout Sentinel didn’t have quite the war record as the others, but he was one of Jandar’s personal guards, so his training was just as rigorous as any big-name hero’s. Automated machines from the ceiling swung sandbags at him, and he deflected some with his shield and pummeled others with his hammer. Vydar watched, amused, as he took apart his own weapons and put them back together. He had two Earth pistols, the same that he had almost shot Eltahale with back at Jandar’s castle. The Earth weapons were better fitted for a humanoid like the Valkyrie more so than the Soulborg’s weaponry, and he seemed to like using those more than his own native world’s arms. “You keep taking those apart and putting them back together,” Darrak commented gruffly as he watched, “Do you expect to find something new in there?” “I just like to make sure they’re working properly,” Vydar responded, “I suppose you couldn’t appreciate the delicacies of a gun, Master Dwarf.” Darrak scoffed, “I’m not a Feylund Dwarf, Master Valkyrie. I know what a gun is.” Vydar held up the weapons, taking the insult in stride, “Not these guns, you don’t. These are advanced Earth firearms—Desert Eagles, .50 Action Express cartridges. Nothing can stop one of these bullets.” “I could!” Henden boasted, holstering his shield, “The Shields of Valor were crafted by Kaintar the Blacksmith and dipped in wellspring waters. They can block anything.” “Ha!” Vydar was unimpressed, “How long has the Caelios wellspring been dried up? I bet that shield’s worn out by now. Besides, it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. This’d punch right through that shield.” “This would bounce those bullets right back at you!” Henden retorted. “Bah! I could stab right through that thing!” Darrak added, brandishing his sword, “This blade has enchantments of its own. I’ve assassinated beasts with hides ten times as tough as your shield!” “As if! You’re both full of it!” Vydar twirled his guns around in his hands, “Well, you wanna try it out?” Sonlen put his foot down, “No. You’ll get somebody killed.” That put a stop to the competition. The Elf grinned a little, “…Besides… if anyone has something that could puncture that shield, it’s me?” “What!? You?” Henden asked. The Archmage pulled back his cloak, revealing a small handheld crossbow—the kind Ullar’s Kyrie often carried. “Before I left, Ullar entrusted me with one of his crossbows, as well as a Bolt of the Witherwood. So you see, I’ve got a wellspring-enchanted weapon of my own. It can pierce anything, no contest.” “All I’ve got is this crappy net and trident!” Retiarius complained. Henden and the others couldn’t help but laugh at that remark, save for Eltahale and Jandar. The Valkyrie sat in the corner, looking contemplative as ever. Being by his side many times, Eltahale knew that Jandar always had something on his mind, constantly distracting him. Sometimes she wondered how he ever slept with such issues eating away at him, yet every night he did without fail. From exhaustion, most likely. In spite of his safety and his luxuries as an Archkyrie, nobody in Valhalla suffered more from the war than Jandar. Yes, now she could tell that his troubles did not come from this place. His mind was back at Valhalla, concerned about his friends in his absence. He knew something was amiss. Eltahale herself did not mingle with her comrades easily, always feeling alone as the single Goliath in Valhalla. Yet in many ways she could relate to her General—different as his suffering was. He was alone in many ways as well; alone in the sense that he had to bear the burden of leading this war against Utgar, and making whatever sacrifices others wouldn’t, or couldn’t, make to stop the evil Valkyrie. His kind were with him, but he still chose to take on this task alone. She admired his conviction for taking that path, and for that she protected his life, ready to sacrifice herself so he wouldn’t have to be sacrificed. That’s what this whole journey was about, after all. --- “What news?” Drake asked the Kyrie messenger. The Protector had just finished landing when he delivered his message from the front, travelling with great haste back to Ullar’s Castle. The Sergeant had moved Jandar’s forces there, moving into a defensive formation now that Jandar was gone. Without their leader, the Alliance couldn’t afford to make such a bold attack on Utgar, so Drake had them pull back and form up. It was Utgar’s move—all the Alliance could do was hope that he didn’t know about the mission to find the wellsprings. “No sign of Utgar’s legions,” The messenger panted, “But Vydar is closing in, advancing closer to the border. Valkrill’s troops move unchecked through Bleakewoode as well.” Drake grimaced but held his composure, “Right. Go get some rest, scout.” The Sergeant turned and moved inside the fortress, finding Ullar over by a command table. Little pieces lay scattered all over a map of Valhalla, Drake moving two of them into the updated positions as he walked by. Ullar took notice. “So Vydar and Valkrill are forming up for attack,” The Valkyrie noted. “Vydar’s forces must be unaware of their General’s chance of allegiance,” Drake explained, “Utgar’s still in the chain of command for his army, so it looks like we may have to fight them anyway.” Ullar looked concerned, pointing to Bleakewoode, “Valkrill does not attack openly often, nor does he move out in such numbers in Allied territory. He knew we withdrew from Bleakewoode. Valkrill… Vydar… Utgar is preparing to attack. He’s just sending out his pawns first.” “Valkrill’s threat has diminished since the Underdark campaigns concluded,” Drake stroked his chin, “And I’m hoping that Vydar’s forces will be less organized under foreign command without their leader. That should reduce their strength.” “It will help, until Utgar shows his hand,” Ullar pointed out, “If he’s making such bold steps into our territory with both his allies, then I know he intends to hit us, and hard. How long do we have?” “Our scouts will let us know when Utgar makes his initial move,” Drake assured the Valkyrie. “No, I mean how long do we have until Jandar and Vydar get those wellsprings?” “That I don’t know.” Drake admitted, staring grimly at the table, “Let’s just hope it’s before Utgar figures out we’re scattered…” --- “Grahhh…” Tul-Bak-Ra stood atop Utgar’s Castle, the night enveloping his muscly mass. Tiny dots of stars littered the black sky, an equal amount of tiny torches lining the blurred base of the mountain below him. He could feel new life down there, there where the Hives churned out Drones and Stingers overnight. Drudge and Sentries swarmed the Hives, pulling out new warriors from the mass of eggs and arming them for war. Warriors bubbled from the depths of the swamps surrounding the breeding grounds. Hivelords saddled up and armed themselves, their mounts feasting upon the Nagrubs before their ventures, the tiny Wulsinu too numerous to even care for the loss of their kin. Even the Orcs looked on in disgust at the orgy of Marro birth. Yet to the Marro it was beauty. But Tul-Bak-Ra could not focus on such things. His mind stretched further into the reaches of space, his telekinetic capabilities making him a useful tool for reaching his double-agent. Now he spoke his native language across the stars, his bio-armor sparking from the psychic force. “Zztztghrchghrchztzt.” He clicked. Moving through the darkened halls of Vydar’s ship, he could see their movement now. For them, it was time to sleep, though no sun could set in their eyes. A perfect time to strike. The one bearing Ullar’s stolen amulet would kill the Allies aboard the vessel up there, and the Marro controlling him would destroy the Alliance down here. It was time to spill their blood. By dawn, there would be war. --- “Jandar!!!” Henden burst into the room, turning on the lights. Immediately a bright beam of light assaulted Eltahale’s weary eyes, a cruel trick to play on a night watch. Jandar sat upright instantly, looking over. “What is it, Henden!?” The General questioned, eyeing his distraught guard cautiously. “Someone has been murdered!” Henden explained, “It’s Retiarius… he’s dead!” “What!?” Jandar hopped out of bed, “Assemble the passengers. Now!” Everyone quickly got together and met up in the Gladiator’s chambers. True enough, Retiarius lay upon the bed, dead. By the looks of it, he had put up a struggle, but hadn’t been much of a match for his opponent. A dreadful silence throttled the room, everyone casting nervous gazes at each other. This was no accident. This had been murder. Vydar would have none of it. He pulled out his Desert Eagles and pointed them at the nearest crew members. “Drop your weapons, all of you!” He snapped. “Put those away, you fool!” Jandar barked. “We cannot risk me or you dying on such a vital mission!” Vydar refuted, “They’re not Valkyrie! They’re all liabilities—we can’t risk having them endangering the mission!” “And I will not have you killing all of them just to weed out one killer!” Jandar shouted, “Put your firearms away!” Vydar didn’t look happy with the decision, but he knew better than to try and stand up to Jandar. He slowly lowered the weapons, keeping them at his sides so he could raise them at a moment’s notice. Jandar nodded his approval, stooping down and examining the body. “Who could have done this?” The blue General asked quietly. “The Dwarf,” Sonlen accused, “He’s an assassin—it had to have been him.” Darrak wouldn’t take the claim sitting down, jumping up and ratting his fist at the Archmage, keeping his other hand trained on his sheath, “How typical of a lofty Elf to blame it on a Dwarf! Where’s the proof? Where’s the motive!?” “You’re an assassin and a rogue; that’s proof enough for me.” Sonlen said keeping his hand trained on his crossbow. “You’re trying to shift the blame off of yourself!” Darrak roared. “Gentlemen!” Henden stepped in, “Innocent until proven guilty. Jandar, how did he die?” Jandar examined the body, “Strangulation. So it could have been anyone. Any chance you have surveillance on this ship, Vydar?” “Afraid not.” Vydar confessed, “Didn’t think I’d need it.” The Valkyrie gazed wearily at his comrades. His eyes fell upon Eltahale. She could tell he would still prefer to shoot them all just to be safe. She knew that she hadn’t done it, and a part of her would like to do the same. Jandar’s heart was in the right place, but it was obvious that the killer’s real target was the Valkyrie. It was merely a matter of thinning out the numbers along the way. The guards had to go first. The killer must want a clean escape as well—just killing the Valkyrie would expose them and get them killed. They were cowardly. “I have no suspects.” Jandar admitted, turning to the crew, “And I don’t want you to have any suspects either. I don’t want any tensions between us. Just be on your guard. Understand?” “Absolutely, sir.” Henden bowed. “I wasn’t really talking to you,” Jandar smiled a bit, glancing over at Sonlen and Darrak. Humbled, the Elf stooped down low, “I cannot carry my own bias. I represent Lord Ullar. Sir.” “Brownnosed sonofa…” Darrak grumbled to himself before continuing, “Aye, sir. No hard feelings.” Vydar sighed and holstered his weapons for good, turning to leave, “So be it, Jandar. But I get the feeling that Retiarius won’t be the last to die. When you’re ready to play it safe, let me know.” With that the Valkyrie left the room. Henden sneered at his absence. “I can see why you kicked him out of the Alliance. He really thinks like a DeathWalker, doesn’t he?” The Sentinel commented. Jandar put one hand on the guard’s shoulder, “Yes… yes he does. Come on, men. Let’s get some breakfast. We’ve still got a long way to go yet.” --- Smoke rose from the horizon as Acilino watched from atop his perch. The Raptorian Captain had just come from southern Ostriyick, where Vydar’s full force had annihilated the empty posts of the Alliance. Now he had reached northeastern Aunstrom, where Bleakewoode lay right at the Alliance’s doorstep. He had seen Valkrill’s forces moving through the beaten paths of the forsaken forest throughout his flight over, but he had orders not to engage them. From the trees emerged a Human scout—Brave Arrow of Aquilla’s forces. All men were strange to Acilino, but he respected Brave Arrow’s talents nonetheless. His face was grim as he made his way to the Raptorian for his report. “Utgar’s Orcs rendezvous with Valkrill’s. They march together under the cover of the forest.” Brave Arrow reported, “They number one thousand in total, headed straight north.” “Einar is sending armies to Ullar’s Castle as we speak.” Acilino replied, “About eight hundred spears. I will report to your General and see what aid she can send. That should take care of this force.” “If Utgar plans on attacking full force,” Brave Arrow pointed out, “He will send more than Orcs. We cannot hope to outnumber him.” Acilino had no comeback to that, merely turning and flaring out his wings. “Have your men stall where they can, but be careful,” The Raptorian instructed as he lifted off into the air, “These woods will betray you to the enemy.” As he flew, Acilino felt a deep pang in his belly. He had hoped that the war would have weighed more heavily on Utgar’s finite Orc army. If they were that strong still, then his rejuvenating Marro and Undead forces would be even stronger. He had already received reports of Utgar’s Undead and DeathWalker legions moving out from Jutanguard, moving around Einar’s kingdom and heading for Upper Bleakewoode. War was coming. And it was coming fast. --- The halls aboard Vydar’s ship were darkened to give the illusion of night, silence echoing throughout the halls. Jandar slept now, in his chamber, accompanied by Eltahale and Henden. It had been a long and tiring day, giving Retiarius a proper space-sendoff and having to spend the rest of the day watching their backs and eyeing each other distrustfully. They didn’t have the luxury of sleep now, staying up to guard their General—sleeping could wait until tomorrow, taken in shifts. With the new imminent threat, however, getting any sleep at all seemed to be a forfeit to the prowling killer. It was a risk Eltahale could not take lightly. Henden had been concerned over Vydar’s safety as well, being the second Valkyrie aboard the vessel. But the General had refuted any assistance, claiming that he would be fine on his own. The Sentinel left his offer at that, far more concerned about Jandar anyway. Vydar was a strange case anyhow. Cocky as he could be, he preferred solitude over company. His people had long since abandoned his land, and in his vain attempt to shift the blame from himself, he put himself on a pedestal of pride. Despite this barrier, Eltahale could tell that something was very off about him, especially when he thought nobody was looking. He still blamed himself, his guilt topping all other criticisms. It was no wonder he took the insults of his people and his former allies in such stride: his self-loathing overrode all of those things. Like Jandar, he was alone in his own unique way, but he still would not have Eltahale’s pity for it. He was still an arrogant coward, and he had always been long before the war had destroyed his lands. So the Goliath’s mind couldn’t be troubled by the Valkyrie’s strange behavior. She had bigger things to worry about. The killer. He could be anyone. There was no clear motive at the moment, but the end goal was obvious: kill the Valkyrie and ruin the mission. Glancing over, Eltahale could see that Henden too had the issue eating away at him. He gave Jandar a concerned glance before looking back up at Eltahale. He was obviously uneasy, but having solely Jandarians in this single room seemed to calm his nerves. “You look on edge, Warden.” The Sentinel began, “I am, too. I don’t know who to suspect. I just know that they’re going to target General Jandar. I just know it.” “…” “It sends shivers down my spine,” Henden continued, “It could be anybody aboard this ship. Some might think it was one of us. You don’t suspect me, do you?” Since there were no current suspects, everyone was equally suspicious. After Vydar’s turn, Eltahale didn’t really trust anyone. It would be optimistic to put faith in her closest ally on board, but that too was lowering her defenses. She said nothing. “Well, I trust you.” Henden went on, “I don’t think it was any of us Jandarians. All I know is that we’ve gotta protect the Valkyrie, no matter what. I don’t know who will be attacked next, but one way or another, they’re going to make a go for the Generals. I’m willing to do anything to make sure that they reach the planet alive. Whatever it takes.” “…” “As far as I’m concerned, every non-Jandarian aboard this vessel is considered an enemy. Until they show their true colors, they’ll have to deal with me before they can get to Jandar.” And Henden would have to deal with Eltahale before he could get to Jandar as well. It was a good strategy, relying on each other to ensure neither was the murderer. But, at the same time, Eltahale knew she would have to sleep eventually, relying on Henden to protect the General alone. So she would have to rely on him, one way or another. Ba-boom! At that moment, the entire ship lurched forward, causing everyone to stumble and much of the furniture to fall over. Jandar awoke in a start once again, Henden and Eltahale glancing about the room for any potential threats. “That was the whole ship…” Jandar mused, “Let’s go to the cockpit. Something’s wrong once again, I fear.” They readied up and cautiously made their way to the cockpit. Vydar was already there, manning the controls and staring out ahead at the screens. The flickering windows of light showed only a mass of green ahead. “What’s going on?” Sonlen asked, stepping into the room, “What’s wrong with the screens?” “There’s nothing wrong.” Vydar explained, “Something’s blocked our course. It’s a good thing we stopped when we did, or else we’d smash right into that.” He pointed again to the screens. “And what exactly is ‘that’?” The Elf pestered. “That’s a planet, Master Elf.” Vydar replied, “It might be the one we’re looking for. We should go down there and check it out—it might be the world from my visions.” “About time,” Darrak grumbled, entering the room as well, “Three days is about all I can take aboard this damn thing. It’s not natural.” “Shall we descend?” Jandar asked. “Absolutely. Here we go…” Vydar pressed a few buttons, and before long the ship began moving closer towards the planet, making its way down through the atmosphere. Its speed was as impressive as ever, only taking a few minutes to reach its destination. “The atmosphere is breathable,” Vydar noted, looking down at the controls, “Let’s go take a look.” “Anything to get off this thing,” Darrak turned and headed out, soon followed by the others. The planet was indeed breathable without the need for any special suits, so the entire group descended down onto the odd green earth. It was a planet covered in a vast array of canyons, the howling winds making it dangerous to stray near them. There was a fogginess to the air, despite the weather, sort of like a sandstorm without sand was billowing constantly around them. There was a strange lack of a temperature, just an undefined room-temperature lingering about in the air. It was a desolate planet, and Eltahale immediately disliked it. Jandar too seemed displeased, glancing back at Vydar skeptically, “Is this the world from your visions, Vydar? Is this where the wellsprings are?” Vydar shrugged, striding forward and looking around, “I don’t know.” “You’d think you’d remember a planet like this,” Darrak growled. “Planets are diverse.” The gray Valkyrie refuted, “Let’s not look at things at face-value, Master Dwarf. After all, wellsprings tend to be underground. Let’s have a look around, shall we?” “If you say so,” Henden clearly would have preferred to skip this planet, “But keep your weapons at the ready. I don’t like the looks of this place.” “Agreed,” Darrak drew his blade, “Lead the way, Master Valkyrie.” Vydar scoffed, turning and walking onward. Moving single file, the group trekked their way further away from the ship. Visibility remained low, and the wind never let up for a second, but the group could not risk missing the wellsprings so they carried on regardless of the conditions. Time passed them by, the long walk yielding no such success. After a while, Vydar stopped and faced the nearby cliffs. “It’d be easier if we went down there.” He said, “We could see if there are any tunnels in the cliffs.” “That’s unbelievably dangerous.” Henden pointed out. “And our mission is unbelievably vital,” Vydar replied coolly, “Besides, most of us can fly.” The Valkyrie unfurled his wings, which he had kept wrapped around him like a cloak to fend off the winds. His feathers bristled in the savage weather. Valkyrie had big wings, and Henden’s smaller wings, although strong, were clearly outmatched. “Well,” The Sentinel excused himself, “You can fly better than I can in this weather… you go check it out.” “You’re expendable. You go.” Vydar retorted. “He’s got a point.” Sonlen agreed, seemingly enjoying the exchange he was exempt from, “You’re the lowest ranked flier, Sentinel.” Henden gulped but didn’t argue. Eltahale knew that he couldn’t convince anyone to have Vydar risk his life over such an important job, and that Henden certainly wouldn’t let Jandar take his place. Hate it as he did, the Sentinel inched towards the cliffs, the wind battering at his back. Watching him go, Eltahale stayed near Jandar, in case anyone was going to try anything funny. Finally Henden leapt from the edge and dove over the canyon, spreading his wings and struggling to stay afloat in the nasty weather. Wind battered his sides, the gales churning and swirling all around him, but as he fell he began to master their currents. Swooping down low, the Sentinel scanned the edges of the cliffs, trying to find anything suspicious that could be housing a wellspring. Eltahale knew that the chances were grim. This was a big planet, and it had taken thousands of years for the Kyrie to discover even a single wellspring. But if Henden spotted something that wasn’t green down there, then there was still a glimmer of hope. Flying back up to the group, the Sentinel reported his findings as he swerved around to take another dive. “Was there any green in your vision? Any green earth at all?” He shouted over the noisy squall. “No.” Vydar yelled, “There wasn’t any green in my vision.” “Well then we’re wasting our time here!” Henden replied, “All I see is green down there! The sediments, the rocks, it’s all green just the same! Ah!” The wind redoubled its efforts to crash the Kyrie, his wings unable to fight back as they exhausted themselves. The tempests picked back up, flinging the Sentinel around in the air like a ragdoll. He was in trouble now. “Henden!” Jandar spread his wings, the gales beating down upon them. Eltahale put her hand on the Valkyrie’s shoulder, shaking her head. She would handle this. “Ack!” The mighty tempests blew this way and that, the wind whipping against all of them. Sonlen pulled his hood down over his head, holding onto his dragon so it would not fall. Darrak ducked down, keeping his compact body as close to the earth as possible. Eltahale ran out to the edge of the cliff, not caring about the weather. Reaching out as Henden passed by, the Goliath grabbed his Shield of Valor, holding on with all her might. And mighty she was. “Get me closer!” Henden shouted, kicking out his legs and digging his feet into the cliff side as Eltahale reeled him in. The winds pulled at him, playing a deadly game of tug-of-war. Eltahale dug in, braced herself, and yanked her ally over the edge of the cliff once again, pulling him to safety. As soon as he hit the ground, Henden ducked his wings down, grounding himself for good. “Whew! Haha…” He murmured, “Thanks, Eltahale…” Eltahale kneeled down next to him, still holding onto his shield for good measure. “Watch out!!” Darrak shouted out of the blue. The earth behind Henden burst apart in an instant, a giant wormy monster shooting out of the ground from beneath it and snatching Henden by the legs. It was a good thing Eltahale was still holding onto the Sentinel’s shield, because it was clear that the planet was not ready to give him up just yet. “Graw!” More worms sprouted from the ground all around them, snapping at the group and trying to pull them under. Luckily everyone was armed. Vydar whipped out his Desert Eagles, open firing onto the monsters, blowing apart their heads one shot at a time. Yet more popped up with each round fired. “We’re outta here!” The Valkyrie shouted, “Everyone back to the ship!” Everyone turned and bolted, rushing back from whence they came as fast as they were able. Eltahale and Henden were stuck where they were at, however, the Goliath refusing to let go of her partner, and the worm refusing to let go of his legs. “C’mon Eltahale!” Vydar shouted at her as he retreated, “Move it or lose it, sister!” Eltahale refused to budge, gritting her teeth and fighting back at the beast. Henden grimaced, wincing with pain as the worm tore at him. Glaring back at Eltahale, he looked down at the Shield of Valor in her hands. “Take it and go!” He shouted, “There’s no one protecting Jandar right now! Just take it and go! Go!” As if on que, his hands slipped, releasing the shield. Eltahale stumbled back and fell over, the worm biting down and yanking Henden over the cliff and out of sight. He was gone. Eltahale was alone now, surrounded by more of the hungry beasts. She glared at them angrily, rising to her feet and ditching her shield in favor of Henden’s. As the first worm lunged for her, she pummeled it back with the Shield of Valor, its impenetrable steel breaking the monster’s teeth and knocking it down. Electricity sparked all around her, currents of lighting coursing through her blade. Taking one step further, the Goliath vanished and reappeared on top of another worm, blasting it to bits with her enraged magic. The other creatures dove for her, Eltahale turning and ramming into them. More electricity coursed trough her sword, arcing from one worm to another. Her blade cut through them like butter, her shield was unbreachable. The magic she summoned with her every movement zapped the worms out of existence. It burned her skin in its excess, but she did not care. Finally she was surrounded by corpses, the remainder of the beasts gone and fleeing. Falling to her knees, she pummeled the ground with her shield, denting the dirt with each blow. But she could not stay and grieve. Jandar needed her. She needed to get back to the ship. The mission had to continue. 3. The Planet “By the Nine, you’re alive!” Sonlen exclaimed as Eltahale boarded the ship. The Elf’s eyes fell to her new shield, and he bit his lip, “Henden… he…” The Goliath merely shook her head and walked over to Jandar, vigilantly guarding him once again. Sonlen and Darrak pulled back their hoods, staring down at the ground in respect for the lost Sentinel. Vydar didn’t seem to care, or he was hiding his grief. Like with his people, the death had in many ways been his fault, but if he started blaming himself now, he would go mad. “I’ll set a course around the planet,” He broke the silence, “And then we’ll be back on track. I’m—er, I’m sorry, Eltahale, Jandar. He was a good man.” “He was,” Jandar had mourned far too much over the course of the war already to be stricken now, “He was…” That was all he had to say, or all he could muster, anyway. It was all that needed to be said. He was gone. It happened in war. They had to move on. There would be time for mourning when Utgar was defeated once and for all. All the needless death stemmed from him, anyway. Vydar turned his back to the others, fiddling with the controls. Before long the ship rose back up and continued on its course. Once the chart was set, the Valkyrie turned and skulked out of the room. Sonlen nodded his condolences and left as well. “I… well…” Darrak stuttered to the Jandarians, the lines along his face deepening with his exasperation and sorrow, “Sorry.” The Dwarf turned and left hastily. Eltahale had seen him show his heart from behind his pessimism only once before, when they had been betrayed fresh out of the Underdark by Vydar’s forces. It had been needless death then, and it was needless death now. No reason was given to those left behind. --- “The Marro have finally shown their ugly faces. Eight thousand of them.” Drake announced. He stood atop the castle walls to the Alliance’s greatest fortress. General Ullar, and a host of Protectors and Marines stood around him as they stared out toward the horizon. It was a horizon littered with the hordes of the enemy. “It’s been a good, long time since we last kicked their asses.” Ullar agreed, looking through a spyglass at the advancing armies, “They’re coming. They’ll be here soon. Let’s pray that Jandar summons those reinforcements before they get here.” “He will.” Drake replied, “I know he will. All right men, get to your positions. We’ve got a lot of work to do.” The Marro hordes ceased their march as they reunited with the Undead army. They were the regenerating regiments, so they’d be on the front lines. Cyprien headed the Undead legions, looking at the Marro before him. Tul-Bak-Ra headed this army. “You’ve been busy, I see.” The count greeted, dismounting his skeletal horse. “We are Utgar’s backbone.” The Marro Overlord replied, “The Alliance will not last the night.” Cyprien scoffed, “The enemy is heavily fortified. Are you sure we can breach their defenses?” “Fear not,” Tul-Bak-Ra assured him, “Once our double-agent destroys Jandar aboard that ship, there will be no reinforcements for them. We will overrun them.” The vampire had no such faith in the Marro, “Will your agent succeed?” Tul-Bak-Ra’s bio-armor sparked, his eyes rolling up into his skull as he communicated with his spy, “Yes… yes he will… I’m sure of it.” --- The lights slowly brightened as the night waned. Eltahale and Jandar slowly rose and left their room. Neither had slept that night, the previous day’s events too much to rest on. “I will not sleep tonight,” Jandar had told the Goliath, “I cannot rest so easily while another man lies dead.” He would get no sleep this night either. The speakers buzzed, Vydar’s voice echoing through the halls. “Jandar… you’d better come here quick…” It sounded urgent. Darrak was dead, dead just the same as Retiarius had been. Sonlen and Vydar were in his room already, staring gloomily at his lifeless body when Jandar and Eltahale came in. The gray Valkyrie looked over as Jandar entered, looking very sickly. “The killer…” He said, “It’s not…” He didn’t have to finish for Eltahale to know that he had hoped that it was Henden who had killed Retiarius. Now she too felt sick to her stomach. Sick for ever thinking that it could have been Henden even for a second. He had not suspected her, but she still couldn’t bring herself to trust him. A second pang resounded throughout her body with the realization that the killer was still at large. “That’s it…” Vydar concluded, “Only Jandar and I will be going down to the planet once we reach it.” “Once we reach it?” Sonlen questioned. “Yes.” The General confirmed, “It was in the ship’s sights this morning. We’ll be there shortly. I know it’s the right one this time. It matches the color perfectly. Red. It’s all red.” “We will bring the others.” Jandar decided. “What!?” Vydar exclaimed, “How could you risk such a thing?” “Because whatever might be on that planet could be far more dangerous than this killer.” Jandar explained, “We don’t know what’s down there, just like last time, and we need protection while we’re using the wellsprings.” Eltahale was unsure about the decision, but she needed to protect Jandar, so it was all the same to her. Sonlen stared wearily at all the others, one hand on his crossbow, looking distrustfully at them all, even Jandar. Vydar too was glaring at Eltahale and the Elf, clearly suspecting them both equally. “Well then,” he spoke softly, his hands brushing the sides of his pistol holsters, “Let’s go take a look.” --- “Fire catapults!” Ullar shouted, a hail of flaming stones following his commands and raining down upon the advancing hordes. Utgar’s army was within firing range and advancing, getting closer to the walls with each passing second. Soldiers from every corner of Valhalla were gathered here, all to decide the outcome of the war. Amidst all the diversity, the Marro stood out above all others, littering the ground below. “There’s so many…” The Valkyrie muttered, “We never should have given them the time to breed such an army. Damn! Hurry it up, Jandar!” “Hold the wall!” Drake shouted amidst the gunfire and roars of battle, “Mow them all down! Hold your positions!” With no wellsprings, every lost soldier carried a heavy weight to him. They had to make every arrow, ever bullet, every man count. It was now or never—should their defense falter, the Alliance would be doomed. “Move it!” Cyprien barked at his minions as they advanced, “Get to that wall! Get those ladders up there! Kill those archers!” The vampire’s eyes fell upon Drake and Ullar, firing down from atop the highest wall, “Drake… So you’re in charge here? Allow me to promote your second-in-command.” The vampire took off into the air, sailing straight for the top of the castle, his army charging the wall right below, heaving ladders up upon its battlements. The soldiers atop the wall drew their swords and the battle began. --- The ship’s door opened up, revealing the planet below. It was a desolate red planet, not foggy like the other but crisp and sharp. Countless craters and crags littered the horizon, the ground not exactly friendly for walking on. But Vydar insisted that the terrain from his vision had been red, and that surely this was the world they were searching for. Loading his Desert Eagles, the Valkyrie turned over his shoulder as he led the way. “This is truly it.” He declared, “I can feel it. Keep close and follow me.” With that, he turned and walked onward, Jandar following not too far behind. Eltahale stuck close to her leader, Sonlen keeping up the rear. The Goliath didn’t like having her back to the Elf, let alone anyone, but she needed to stay adjacent to her General, shield at the ready. The blood-red terrain cracked under her boots, the dry terrain spiky but not durable. It made for a long walk, the tension between them offering little comfort. Everyone grasped their weapons tightly in their hands, Vydar in particular. Eltahale could tell that he did not trust her or Sonlen for a second, that if they even blinked out of line he would shoot them for the sake of the mission. She too was weary, but unsure. Sonlen’s dragon squawked loudly, making everyone jump. Vydar turned and glared at the Archmage. “At ease…” Sonlen assured him, shielding his pet, “Let’s keep moving.” Vydar looked at Jandar, who nodded, and the group continued on their trek through the terrain. Slowly the ship to their backs faded out of sight, concealed by their distance. No sign of the wellsprings yet. “We must move faster,” Jandar finally said, “Our success is needed back on Valhalla.” “Don’t you worry,” Vydar replied, “I believe our prize is right over there.” The Valkyrie pointed ahead, where only a few hundred feet away a cluster of blue dots was sprinkled in the distance. Their bright blue hue contrasted with the deep red of the surroundings, giving away their position from afar. Make no mistake, they had to be the wellsprings. On the surface, rare for sure, but wellsprings nonetheless! And so many of them as well—surely now Valhalla was saved! For a second, everyone forgot about the imminent threat of the killer and rushed down to meet the bright blue holy waters. Jandar ducked down to the first one he could reach, dipping in his hands, causing him to glow a shade of indigo. “Ah!” He gasped, “These are wellsprings… We’re here at last! At last!” “By the Nine!” Sonlen stooped to one knee, “Valhalla is saved!” “At long last…” Vydar mused. Eltahale met her Valkyrie, getting down next to him and staring into the deep sparkling pools. They each formed in a separate crater, each perfectly clear and still. The water rippled repeatedly like a ticking clock, a strange hypnotic vibe coming from them. Yet Jandar mastered and channeled these waters, native to their ways. Truly indeed, only a Valkyrie could use these to their fullest potential. Only the Valkyrie could summon armies with them. --- “Incoming!” A sentry shouted, cut short by Cyprien grabbing his neck and draining all the life and color from him. Dropping the dead soldier, the vampire lunged forth and barreled into Drake. The two rolled up, the Sergeant drawing his pistol and emptying the clip into the vampire. Cyprien’s speed was too much, however, the Undead lord drawing his twin blades and deflecting the rounds at lightning speed. “Fine!” Drake threw aside the useless weapon, drawing his sword, “There’s only one proper way to deal with you, anyway.” “Only one way?” Cyprien smiled craftily, “I don’t see any silver on you…” A bolt flew through the air, puncturing the vampire’s armor. Ullar pulled back the repeating-mechanism on his crossbow, loading another shot, “I’ve got some.” A bright flash of violet lighting crashed down behind the Valkyrie, yielding Tul-Bak-Ra in its wake, “Not so fast, Ullar of Ekstrom. You’ve got bigger problems than Cyprien right now.” “So, two versus two, is it?” Ullar turned his attention to the Overlord. “Fine by me,” Drake grinned, “I was thinking decapitation for the vampire anyway. It’s how it worked in the book I read.” Cyprien twirled his blades, “I’m not from any book on your world, Human.” “Well, I for one won’t mention you when I get back!” Drake leapt into action, the four of them duking it out atop the castle wall. Cyprien lunged back and forth, stabbing, slashing, kicking, and attempting to catch Drake off guard to drain him dry. The Sergeant refused to yield, matching even the vampire in terms of speed and agility. Meanwhile Ullar and Tul-Bak-Ra battled with equal fervor. The Valkyrie had not been forced to fight in quite some time, but a worthy opponent he was, ducking back and forth, getting in any spare shot he could at the Marro Overlord. With every wound he took, however, Tul-Bak-Ra continuously teleported more Marro on top of the wall, making sure the fight was never a simple one versus one. Finally Drake got the upper hand, swinging his katana underhand and uppercutting Cyprien, leaving a deep gash across his armor. The vampire flew back, falling to one knee and clutching the wound. Drake wasted no time, opting to aid his friend rather than finish off the enemy. The Sergeant jumped to the side, grabbing his discarded pistol and reloading it, turning and firing upon Tul-Bak-Ra’s minions. As the Marro were dispatched, Ullar kicked the Overlord away and fired another bolt into his thick skin. “Gah!” Tul-Bak-Ra also fell to one knee, breathing heavily. Ullar and Drake reloaded and prepared to fire again. “You think you’ve won?” The Marro spat, “Look around you! Your men cannot hold out forever! You think you’ve got the upper hand, just because your precious leader is out searching for more wellsprings?” “How did you know that?” Ullar demanded. Tul-Bak-Ra chuckled between his pained gasps for breath, “Your trump card is our trump card. You think you have reinforcements on the way? No… it is Utgar who will receive backup! I can feel his presence now… upon that planet… he carries one of your amulets.” “What!?” Ullar exclaimed, suddenly turning quite pale. “Yes… he is turning now. He is one of us. The Marro will rule this day. Here… and there. Our only job is to give his new armies a warm welcome. Throw open the gates!” With that, the Overlord summoned a host of new Marro minions, himself suddenly vanishing in another burst of lightning and reappearing down below at the castle door. Tul-Bak-Ra clutched his helmet, the guards around him falling all at once to his psychic powers. With his telekinetic arms the Marro opened the gates in one swift motion, the legions of Utgar pouring into the castle’s courtyard and swarming all around. “No!” Drake lunged, cut off by the Marro Tul-Bak-Ra had left behind. Cyprien got back to his feet, barreling into Ullar and initiating a second battle. From below, Tul-Bak-Ra grinned as he watched his armies pour into the fortress, clashing with the last Allied army on Valhalla. “It is all over now…” He chortled. --- “Let us waste no time.” Jandar got over his initial excitement, “I have work to do.” He dipped his arms further into the wellspring, closing his eyes and continuing to glow, searching the heavens for warriors to send to Valhalla. He didn’t get very far. Bang!!! Bang bang!!! In an instant Sonlen fell, Jandar turning only to have a bullet fly through his chest. Eltahale jumped up and faced her attacker, only to have another round pierce her leg, causing her to fall over onto the ground. Vydar stood before them, holding forth his Desert Eagles, grinning brightly. The barrels of the pistols smoked, the sound of the gunshots still ringing through the air. Jandar stared at him in disbelief, as did Eltahale. They had been betrayed by the Valkyrie twice over now. “You… why?” He gasped. “Because I had the opportunity.” Vydar replied, keeping his weapons trained on the wounded Valkyrie, “I had the chance to stop you from winning the war. After Bleakewoode fell, Utgar’s time was short, and he needed to build fresh Marro armies before the Alliance came in and smashed him. This was the perfect opportunity to get you to cancel your attack plans, to kill you Allied Valkyrie, and for me to summon fresh armies for Utgar. ‘Twas unfortunate you were the only Valkyrie foolish enough to trust me, but I’ve taken care of the other stand-ins, and with the wellsprings at my disposal the other Valkyrie won’t last too long anyhow.” “I trusted you…” Jandar moaned, “I trusted you…” Vydar gleamed, “Yes, you always were too trusting. But don’t blame yourself… well, actually yes. Blame yourself. Fool me twice, and all that.” Eltahale glared at Vydar with rage. He had already betrayed her after the Underdark. Now he had tricked them again, and he was smiling about it. He killed Retiarius. He killed Darrak. It was his fault that Henden was dead. And now he planned to kill Jandar and wipe out the Alliance. She had been wrong about him. He hid nothing within himself. He harbored no grief. His words meant nothing. He wasn’t worth saving. “Now. Enough talk,” Vydar said, “I just wanted to see your reaction before I killed you, and to give you a message from Utgar: he wins. Now I’ve got armies to summon. You’ve all got to go.” He raised his pistols once more. Eltahale’s eyes widened. “No!” She shouted, bearing down on her injured leg and diving in front of Jandar, doing what she had been trained to do. Vydar saw her move and fired. Bang!!! Splat! The .50 caliber round hit Eltahale’s Shield of Valor, panging up against it loudly. The shield reverberated violently but did not give, just as Henden predicted. Instead it ricocheted back, going straight through Vydar’s head. The Valkyrie straightened up and fell back, a clean hole showing right in his forehead. The gunshot echoed, the shield finally going still. Eltahale looked up, seeing the deadly exchange, and back at Jandar. She had only been shot in the leg, but Vydar had shot the blue General in the chest, leaving a large wound in its wake. He was bleeding heavily, and going fast. “Eltahale…” He coughed, “Thank you…” “Grghgrrrrghgrgh…” A disgusting noise sputtered from behind them. Eltahale whirled around, looking at the source of the racket. From the hole in Vydar’s head, fleshy stems sprouted, weaving about in the air as if he had some kind of alien inside his skull. The dead Valkyrie’s limbs shuddered, picking up his body and bending back like a spider. Eltahale could hear his bones breaking and his flesh moving about inside his body. Finally Vydar’s corpse burst open, sinew and muscle forming up from the wreckage of his body. Its wings were no longer feathers but flesh and bone combined. Its eyes glowed brightly, its skinless form hulking up and standing upright. A bright green amulet was sunken into its chest like a heart, not worn around the neck but physically fused into its body. It was a Marro monster, built from what was once Vydar. It all made sense now. The Valkyrie’s sudden turn against the Alliance. The General’s motives against the crew and the mission. Vydar’s true self was long dead—Eltahale had never known him. This was what he had truly been, a puppet to the Marro and to Utgar. “I am Vy-Gar-Ra.” It spattered from what one would suppose its mouth was, “Valkyrie no more. Come and die, lone Goliath. If your legs can carry you that far.” Eltahale raised her sword and shield, preparing for battle. She didn’t need her legs. Taking one step forth, the Goliath teleported in an instant, falling down atop the Marro monster in a burst of electricity. “Gah!” Vy-Gar-Ra roared, unprepared for the attack but nonetheless beefy enough to survive it. It reached back and grabbed Eltahale, throwing her to the ground and trying to stomp her. Rolling out of the way, the Goliath managed to avoid each attack and get back up, slicing the monster’s leg across with her blade and blocking its incoming fist with her shield. Clang! “Agh!” Vy-Gar-Ra wailed, holding its throbbing hand and backing off. Opting once again to Thunder Step, Eltahale teleported onto the beast, ignoring the pain coursing through her body as she overexerted herself. Her blade sank into its skin again and again as she stabbed it, Vy-Gar-Ra stumbling about in a fit of rage and pain. Suddenly, it flared up its great fleshy wings, taking off into the air and bucking her off. Eltahale fell to the ground, but not before getting in one last jab into the monster’s eye. She struck the earth hard, unable to get up this time. Vy-Gar-Ra screamed in agony, wrenching the blade from its eye and throwing it aside, glaring down at the Goliath with vengeful intent. Eltahale stared back up at the monster, out of energy. “You die first,” Vy-Gar-Ra rumbled, “Then your precious General. You have failed in your mission, Warden. You are, and will be, the first and last Goliath of Valhalla. Perish alone!” The Marro Valkyrie dove down, about to stomp Eltahale out of existence. Before it could succeed, however, a bright green bolt shot through the air, going straight through the monster’s back and bursting out of its chest. The amulet embedded in its sternum shattered as the bolt pierced it. “GRAAAH!!!” Vy-Gar-Ra shrieked, the bolt altering its course in midair and sending it flying off to the side, crashing into the ground. Eltahale could not believe her eyes: the missile had killed it instantly. “Got you, you bastard…” Sonlen gasped, holding forth his crossbow, breathing heavily. He too had been shot, but he was not dead yet, certainly having made the most out of the Bolt of the Witherwood Ullar had given him. Eltahale struggled to get up, crawling over to the Elf, who fended her away. “No. To Jandar.” He instructed strictly, turning to his little dragon as it circled him, “You don’t have time to save us both, little guy. Heal the General.” The pet obeyed, turning and flying over to Jandar, landing upon his shoulder and beginning to heal him with some strange magic. It was minor, and not enough to spare his life, but it bought time. And time was of the essence. Sonlen smiled as he watched his pet work its wonders, finally collapsing down and giving into his gunshot wound. Eltahale too crawled over to her General, putting a supportive hand on his shoulder. He smiled weakly at her, thankful for her presence. “Thank you.” He said softly, “You saved my life, and gave Sonlen the ample time he needed to slay that monster. Valhalla owes you.” She merely nodded. There was no time for drawn out speeches now. “I’m not gonna make it,” Jandar stared down intently at the wellspring, “But I still have time to do my work—to summon to Valhalla the mightiest army Utgar has ever seen. The old wellsprings dried up as I turned to them. Now I can bring them through. Take the ship when I’m gone. Go to Ullar and the other Generals. You still have a life to live.” With that last note, the Valkyrie dipped his arms into the pool, reaching out into the stars and finding his army. Eltahale sat by him, and kept him company while he did his final work. --- “My connection… has been severed.” Tul-Bak-Ra stammered, “Vy-Gar-Ra… is dead? No, my brother, it cannot be!” From within the recesses of the castle, a bright blue portal opened up, the kind every summoned warrior had seen once when they came to Valhalla. It shone brightly in front of all the soldiers in the courtyard, momentarily stopping the battle. Cyprien backed away from Drake and Ullar, looking at it with a bright toothy grin. “You did it, Tul-Bak-Ra?” He asked, looking down at his ally. Tul-Bak-Ra remained silent, with a shocked look on his face. As he stood dumbfounded, he slowly began backing up, legs trembling. Cyprien’s smile faded. “Charge!!!” A huge hulking humanoid rushed from the portal, holding forth a greatsword. Those of the Underdark knew his kind: the Goliaths were here, fighting for the Alliance! An entire legion of them poured from the portal, barreling into Utgar’s confused ranks. The soldiers of the Alliance roared with a renewed morale and followed close by, trampling the enemy underfoot as their ranks broke. “Tul-Bak-Ra?” Cyprien asked again, slowly backing off himself, “Tul-Bak-Ra!?” Tul-Bak-Ra stumbled back out the gate, turning and running away as fast as his legs could carry him, too panicked to even remember he could teleport. As the firstmost and mightiest Goliath overtook the Overlord, he swung his mighty sword and lopped off the Marro’s head in one fell swoop. The Alliance poured out of the castle, charging Utgar’s ranks head on. “Jandar!!!” Drake and Ullar cheered, Cyprien staring around him at the destruction of his armies. He couldn’t believe it. Utgar wouldn’t believe it. It was all collapsing around him. For the first time in his life, Cyprien feared something other than Utgar. He feared Jandar, the Alliance, the Goliaths. And he feared for his life. The vampire took off, flying away as fast as he could, never looking back once. Just like that, it was over. Utgar sat in his throne room, watching the battle from a magic pool in front of him. He watched his forces fall apart. He watched his highest-ranked officer run for his life. He watched fresh Jandarian armies pouring out of the castle. He glared at the pool, finally turning to Kee-Mo-Shi beside him. The Marro had nothing to say, no excuse to offer him to calm his rage. This would do instead. “Hiyah!!!” Utgar seized his sword, swinging it across and cutting off the Warwitch’s head in one slice. Throwing the blade to the ground besides the decapitated corpse, the Valkyrie glared over at Isamu and his advisors. They wisely backed away, giving him space to fume. Utgar snorted, disgusted with their cowardice and incompetence, staring back down at the pool, soundly defeated. --- Eltahale slung her shield over her back and sat down at the controls of the ship, Jandar and Sonlen’s bodies returned to their rooms. Sonlen’s dragon circled her, settling onto her shoulder. She took a while to figure out the controls, eventually getting the vessel to rise back up into the air and turn back towards Valhalla. They had accomplished their mission. It was time to go home. Note: Due to technical difficulties at the time of posting, some formatting has been lost within the stories. |
#63
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Re: Fan Fic Contest Archive
Challenge 60 - May 9th, 2015
Quote:
Spoiler Alert!
Heroes or Dead
Spoiler Alert!
Three figures lie motionless on the floor of a spacious dusty room. Off to one side of them, upon a raised dais, squats an ancient stone throne that is currently being occupied by one very decrepit skeleton. Its bones are covered by tarnished armored from the neck down to its dilapidated rotting boots. In its right hand is gripped the hilt of a once mighty sword that has succumbed to rust as the other bony paw clutches a rolled up scroll. To either side of the throne stand suits of black plate-mail concealed in the dust of ages past.
Above this, a high ceiling resides being supported by four large pillars that nearly glow white as fresh snow. Various doors line the four walls encompassing the room, each pose a possible exit though all but one are metal and instead of a handle or doorknob there protrudes a cupped metal hand. In the farthest corner of the room away from the three figures is a circle which has been drawn in some type of glowing ink of a red cross entwined by two black serpents. A muffled babble hints at our heroes awakening. "What...where...hey, wake up." Sgt. Drake hollers as he shakes the individual adjacent to him, Bjorn the Tarn Viking, awake. Syvarris stirs at this commotion and rises, surveying the surroundings. "Anyone know how we got here?" "We were travelling the forests of Bleakewoode, that is the last I remember.", replies Bjorn, drawing his sword as he speaks. "It seems we are not alone." Drake proclaims as he points upwards towards a glass ceiling high above where numerous giant figures can be seen milling about seemingly in conversation. These watchers strange appearance are offset by the fact that they are dressed in what appear finely crafted outfits as they sip from golden goblets. Bjorn's blood boils with rage as he bellows his incomprehensible anger to those looking down from above. They do appear to react momentarily. "Easy Bjorn, let me try something." Drake fires his grapple arm up and at them but to his dismay it bounces off the ceiling creating minimal clatter when it hit and then quickly it retracts. "Drat, I have a feeling my pistol will not scratch that glass." "Now what?" Syvarris inquires. "Perhaps that scroll holds a clue." Bjorn chimes in as he advances suddenly towards the skeleton before Drake even has a chance to speak. Those words are barely out of Bjorn’s mouth when his foot touches the dais and the eyes of the skeleton start to glow with a sickly yellow light. With speed not common amongst the dead, the skeleton king towers forward as its blade clashes with Bjorn's causing a cloud of rust to explode in the Tarn’s face. A return swing that is sure to end the escapades of Bjorn by this sword wielding bag of bones is cut short as two arrows drill into the undead's shoulders just as a bullet explodes into its fleshless skull followed closely by Bjorn’s sword severing both legs. The skeleton tumbles, its armor and sword disintegrating as it hits the ground. The strange figures above applaud in eerie silence. The three of them just look at each other with a grin. Drake and Syvarris burst into laughter at the sight of Bjorn's rusty beard. Bjorn, not amused, shakes his head in disapproval, sending rust and shards of bone about. Syvarris retrieves the scroll made of ancient, brittle leather and starts to read aloud "The key is not always a key.” The Elf then smirks and mutters under his breath “that’s quaint." "You make anything of this Elf?" asks Bjorn pointing to the circle in the corner of the room. "No." Syvarris replies back. "I might." Drake mentions as he meanders over to take a gander. ”Looks to me like a medical symbol." He exclaims after pondering over the inscriptions for a little bit. Examining the room more Syvarris pauses in stunned silence as etchings appear on the snow white column in front of him depicting their previous battle with the skeleton. Bjorn spits. "Magic, I knew it." "Well we aren't getting anywhere standing around. Let's move men." barks Drake. Syvarris nods and knocks an arrow; Drake leads as Bjorn and the Elf follow him out a wooden door to a crossroads with long passages beckoning to both sides and lined by numerous doors. The passage stops at a dead end that is straight ahead. Beckoning to them from the end of the passage are three wooden chests. Drake mutters something about rats and cheese and approaches. Emblazoned on each of the chests are their names. Drake's chest opens as he steps forward revealing ammo for his sidearm. Bjorn's holds a roasted leg of lamb and the Elf's, a funny hat. Drake reloads. Bjorn feasts. Syvarris just stares dumfounded. Looking up through the glass ceiling he shrugs his shoulders as if to say "why?" Speaking with his mouth full Bjorn declares "Try it on Elf, It suits you." Syvarris declines and moves off to scout ahead. The Elf, over his shoulder imparts to the other two “Lots of doors." "Let's see what is behind door number one." States Drake, who, upon uttering these words, immediately proceeds to open the door and step inside of a small room. In the back of this room there is a massive motionless dog-like creature resembling a Deathstalker which appears chained to the rear wall. Around its neck is a red collar with an apple sized jade attached to it. Drake approaches cautiously, sword in one hand and his trusty pistol in the other. The creature stays put, still, like a statue, yet its eyes flicker with life. "What are you doing?" Utters Bjorn as he moves into the room as well. "What do you want to bet this gem goes into those hands back there where we woke up?" Drake states as he stares deep into green stone. "Better chance you get eaten." Reveals Bjorn as he creeps up beside the beast and with one swift motion draws and swings his stout blade, beheading the beast. "Was that necessary?" Drake questions as he leans down to retrieve the jade just as the corpse spasms, its jaws snapping dangerously close to Drake’s hand as he snatches the gem whilst mumbling to himself “Apparently." It doesn’t take long and they are back in the throne room when Syvarris asks "Which one?" Drake steps up to the double doors and places the jade in the left hand. The hand closes, the gems glow momentarily. "I think we need more." So off they go and soon exploration leads them to a room with multiple armed crossbows hanging on the far wall. A Jotun sized skull lies on the floor with emeralds sparkling in its eye sockets. Positioned upon the floor just inside the door are two apple sized balls, one of metal, one of wood. Drake leans forward and grabs the metal ball, as soon as he picks it up the crossbows drop into position and fire in unison. Thorian speed saves the Seargent but Bjorn is not so lucky. A pair of bolts rips into his chest, snapping ribs, penetrating deep, spraying the Elf, in Viking blood. Bjorn crumples as Drake breaks out his first aid kit and goes to work. Drake, after a short time is able to stop the bleeding but the wounds are dreadful. After some debate and recovering the emeralds from the skull, they start to carry Bjorn back to the throne room and once there, to the circle in the corner where they place him inside. "Now what?” Ask the Elf. “Pray?" Replies Drake Inside the circle Bjorn glows in a white light and then his eyes snap open. "What have you done?" the Viking bawls. "We saved your life." Drake scoffs at him Bjorn looks Drake strait into his eyes an barks back "At what cost? It was not your decision to make. I was in Valhalla, the true Valhalla. There was mead." "It was and I would make it again, on your feet." Retorts Drake as he makes his way back to the double doors and places the emerald in the right hand, which closes, crushing the gem to dust. The hand rotates, dropping the remains then returns to its upright position. "Try this one Drake." Syvarris says from where he stands near a single door. "Go for it." Drake commands as he hands over the emerald which the Elf then places in the metal hand which immediately closes. The gems glows momentarily and the door swings open silently, disclosing a dark cavernous room, densely thick in cobwebs. If there is a glass ceiling in this room it is not visible. "I do not like this." Syvarris opines as he lights up a torch. Drake glances up to see figures gathering above. "Cover me from the door Syvarris." He expresses as he takes the torch from the Elf and draws his pistol. Bjorn, wandering about during all this, just stares at walls. Drake enters and soon discovers that there are corpses entombed in the webs. Most seem to be human dressed in medieval garb and weaponry but the last cadaver shakes his soul. Clad still in his soldier's uniform is Lucky Harrison, one of Drake's best friends from the war. Lucky had died about a month before Drake’s arrival in Valhalla charging an enemy gun nest. There was barely anything left of him to send home. Lost in sorrow an unbeknownst to him, death creeps down on Sgt. Drake until two loud thumps and a hideous hiss returns Drake quickly to the present. He spins, unloading hot lead into the face of a poison leaking fanged massive giant spider. "Get out, there are more." Syvarris screams as he finishes off the first spider. At that same moment searing pain punctures Drake's shoulder, spinning him around and dropping him to a knee which by luck freed him from the Arachnid's grasp. Spotting a grenade on Lucky's bandolier, Drake snatches it, pulls the pin and rolls for the door. Arrows whistle overhead, finding plenty of marks. Drake rolls to his feet, tosses the grenade behind him as he leaps for the door yelling "Fire in the hole." KA-BOOM. "Lucky..." Drake collapses…. Drake awakens once again, this time though he is the one in the circle. "You were poisoned," Exclaims the Elf, “How are you feeling?" "Better," states Drake, "but I believe the circle may have adverse side effects. Look at Bjorn, he has been acting... strangely. I feel alright, except I have this overwhelming desire to stick my hand in a hole." "Great, you took out the spiders and mutilated some corpses. Some of their gear may prove useful, especially this rope." Syvarris displays it proudly. "I also found this." Syvarris presents what appears to be the hand of a very large clock. "I think we need to find more gems to open the rest of the doors." The three, after resting for a few moments, return to exploring once again and once more they approach the crossroads that they not long ago had passed when they notice that Elf's chest is closed and his name glows upon the lid like before. The Elf steps forth and like before it opens, this time revealing a golden necklace with a small red gem and a funny hat. "Now this I like." Syvarris proclaims as he grabs the necklace which is accompanied by a voice that echoes throughout the passage exclaiming "Elf now has Reflective Shots." "I'll kill you." Bjorn yells at nothing. Curious, Syvarris picks up the funny hat. "Elf now has Invisibility" Exclaims the voice once more. Syvarris places the hat on his head an immediately disappears. "Syv, Syv?" Drake whispers as he is looking around franticly "I am still here." The elf removes the hat becoming visible once more and states matter of fact “Now that is going to be handy." "Where's my loot Elf?" Bjorn questions, the blacks of his eyes expanding. "I forgot, here you go." Syvarris tosses Bjorn some canned kippers he found on Lucky. The elf steps into the crossroads and wears the necklace. Firing a shot down the long hall it ricochets off one wall and then the other, zig-zag-ing down the hall. "Nice." Heading down to what the group is calling the southern passage, they find it ends in a long stretch with solid wooden doors with a heavy bar across. Bjorn effortlessly lifts athe bar and admires it as a crushing weapon before opening the door revealing a small 10' by 10' room. Inside is a table of dark iron upon which rests a large upside-down glass flanked by two red lit candles. Inside the glass is a tiny man dressed in purple furs. He franticly jumps up and down. Bjorn steps out and retrieves the bar and uses it to smash the glass and splatters the little being inside. Syvarris glances worriedly to Drake as Bjorn laughs heartily. Most of the rest of the cells are empty or contain a chained skeleton. The final door contains a nearly naked man, one arm chained to the wall and the other ending in a bloody bandaged stump at the elbow, around his waist is a worn leather belt and holster containing an antiquated looking double barrel flintlock pistol. "Th..th..thiiirss...ty" a raspy whisper escapes cracked parched lips. "Eslo.." The words drip from Bjorn's mouth as if venom as he instantly pulls his blade and entombs it into the man's chest. The chained man manages a true grin before his body shudders then sags lifeless. "Bjorn, what the.." Drake stops cold, almost not believing his eyes as the old double barrel seems to float its way free of the worn leather holster, falling in slow motion to the floor where upon it lands, butt first, with both barrels pointing directly at the withered man hanging there. Then the gun suddenly shrieks as both barrels discharge a deafening blast of smoke and fire that almost appears to grasp for the man in a loving embrace of ebony flames which shortly envelop Eslo Rudkey in a cocoon of molten midnight. The three of them step back as the black mass expands and begins to split open. Eslo stands now where he used to sag, whole, clothed as if he was back exploring the swamps of Michigan Territory. "That is a new one" He mutters to himself. "The tales are true, he is immortal." Bjorn stammers as he attempts to swat flies that do not exist. Eslo grabs up his cursed weapon and points it at the chain, then, thinking better of it, he holsters the flintlock. "How about helpin' me with these irons." Eslo asks of the three who stand before him. "Eslo was on a mission with Eldgrim in Bleakewood Forest, only Eslo returned." explains Drake to Syvarris who’s slack jawed look says everything Eslo nods his head in understanding to Drake then continues "He charged a Kisserflee, you call 'em Marro. Those monsters ran rampant on the last world I walked, but that doesn't matter now. Strange thing is, Eldgrim is still wit' me. That crazy little Viking talks to me in my head, usually tellin' me to run you fool. He says that Bjorn should not mourn his demise, that it was a good death, now, how 'bout these irons?" Eslo proclaims as he rattles the chains that still bind him to the wall. "Pull it taunt," commands Drake, drawing his sword, he hacks through the chain. "Hell of a blade," Eslo comments with a nod of approval. Bjorn wanders off humming a lullaby. "How did you get here?" questions Syvarris. "After defeating the Kisserflee, I returned to report and I drank for the first time since I came to this place. I wandered off, all went black, and I woke up in this dungeon. I did not take kindly to this and unloaded the curse." Stepping out into hallway Eslo notes "They have made repairs. I had blown all these doors off their hinges." "How long have you been here and what happened to your arm?" asks Drake. "Not sure. Weeks, months perhaps, there are many nastys down here, one got the better of me and I woke in chains. I found that this darn cursed gun had less control of me with only my off hand to use it so I decided it was a nice break from its terminal control. Now though, I am thirsty!!! Do you have any whiskey? Though, let me tell you, I will settle for revenge." "Good enough for me, let's move." barks Drake. "Where did Bjorn go?" "He wandered off.", replies Syvarris. "He is getting worse." Catching up with Bjorn they continue to explore. They find a hallway that is dark, except at the very end there is a spot light illuminating a human sized marionette. When the group gets closer they can make out more detail. There are what looks like two other human sized beings on either side of the marionette, one female and one male. There is a diamond hanging from a golden string attached to the ceiling. When the four get close, the two marionettes on each side begin to jostle, and make movement noises, though not very much. The one in the middle does nothing. Bjorn jumps up and snatches the diamond, the golden string breaks, the center marionette pounces like a spider, and attacks. At such tight quarters the other three struggle to help the Tarn who is performing a dance macabre with the strange thing. Blades pop out from all over the giant puppet's body shredding Bjorn and bathing him in crimson. Slipping on his own blood Bjorn goes down and Drake leaps over his body cleaving the freak in half. "Bjorn. Bjorn." Syvarris screams as he rushes to his side. "You let me die Elf, it is a good death." Bjorn coughs up blood and is gone. "Let's try this diamond.", commands Drake, prying the gem from Bjorn's hand. Back in the throne room Drake tries the diamond in the double doors. The hand closes, the diamond glows, and a bolt of energy shoots out, zapping Drake and dropping him to a knee in severe pain. The hand turns upside down, drops the gem and turns back up. Drake tries a single door with the same affect. "You ok Drake?" the Elf questions. Through starry eyes Drake replies "I'll live." The third time is the charm and the diamond glows and the door opens revealing a very long hall, open on one side where there is a giant chasm and another hall. Stepping in and looking across the expanse another group comes through a door in the other hallway. A bit surprised, Syvarris blurts out "Krug and the Warwitch." The word 'witch' makes Eslo's blood boil in rage and he draws his long knife instinctively. Looking at the strange pair he realizes it is not the witch who cursed him. Syvarris fires an arrow which reflects off the invisible wall in front of him, then the wall behind him and lodges deeply in the Elf's back. He drops his bow in agony and tries to grab the arrow just out of reach. The minions of Utgar laugh in silence and move down their hall. Drake removes the shaft from the Elf's back and gives the wound a quick field dressing. Eslo continues, Eldgrim chatting away in his brain. Turning a corner Eslo cannot believe his eyes. A Kisserflee stands silently before him wielding its massive club that ends with lengths of chains with numerous skulls attached. Around its neck is a golden rope with a large pearl attached. Eslo has faced a Kisserflee recently and after one of the numerous times he was destroyed he was returned to life not by his curse but by the Kisserflee. When he resurrected he was free of the gun and the curse until the Kisserflee proceeded to unmercifully kill him again. (The story of Eslo and Eldgrim is here.) Eslo tosses the old double barreled flintlock pistol in the corner and charges the giant Marro with his long knife. The Kisserflee stands still until Eslo draws close. The club swings and the skulls howl before smashing Eslo into oblivion. Drake rounds the corners to witness a blue ball of light emerge from the Kisserflee's belly and float into the remains of Eslo Rudkey. In bright flash of azure, Eslo stands whole. Drake unloads his pistol into the creature's face, giving Eslo a chance to turn and run. His eyes wide and white he sprints past Drake and knocks down Syvarris in his desperate flight. Never acknowledging his new comrades, he yells one word "Free". They will never see him again. A spirit invades Drake's soul. His body surges with speed as he draws his deadly sword. The Kisserflee charges and cocks back its club. Drake unleashes his grapple arm and grabs a length of chains, pulling him up to the Kisserflee's face. A quick stab relieves the beast of an eye and it bellows in pain, swinging wildly, sending Drake flying down the hall. Syvarris side steps Drake and dons his funny hat, becoming invisible. Two shots to the face and the Kisserflee loses its other eye but keeps charging. The Elf dives between its legs, dropping his hat in the process, it disintegrates when it touches the floor. Drake lifts himself off the ground and sees through the invisible wall that Krug and Kee-Mo-Shi are fighting their own Kisserflee. A voice in his head yells "Run you fool." Too slow, Drake is trampled by the Kisserflee his bones snapping sickeningly. Syvarris continues his assault dropping a quiver full of arrows into the Kisserflee before it falls. The Elf notes the other Kisserflee has been hacked to pieces and Krug and Kee-Mo-Shi are nowhere to be seen. Syvarris retrieves the pearl and drags Drakes crushed form back to the healing circle. To his disbelief Drake returns to the living. “? happened what" "Excuse me." "?Me to happened What" Drake blurts out. "That is going to be annoying replies Syvarris."?huH" "Never mind, let's see if we can get out of here." ".kO" Placing the pearl in the last single door, it opens and reveals a tiny room with a jade lying on the ground. Syvarris grabs the gem and heads for the double doors. The jades glow and the double doors open to a large hall. A large solid looking wooden door lies at the far end, another set of matching double doors with hands and jades are open on this end, leading into another throne room. As Syvarris examines this new room, Drake notices there are dozens of saucer sized holes in the left wall of the hall. "!seloH" Drake gleefully plunges his hands in the beckoning holes making sure not to miss a single lovely opening. He is a half a dozen holes down the hall before the Elf realizes what is going on. Mechanical jaws snap shut and Drake pulls back stumps, spraying his scarlet life. Syvarris charges to the disarmed man who gets frightened and flees. Back in the other throne room Kee-Mo-Shi and Krug emerge from opposite doors and charge. Syvarris reacts with little time to spare and reaches for an arrow that is not there. He draws two daggers and hurls them at the quickly approaching foes. Kee-Mo-Shi dodges left and the blades strike Krug in the arm and chest, next to an amulet hanging from Krug's neck which only serves to infuriate him. Kee-Mo-Shi tries to skirt around Syvarris who ducks the sweeping attack of Krug's massive axe. Reaching for two more daggers Syvarris never sees the backswing coming. The crowd above toast goblets in silence. Villain's Victory? Three figures lie motionless on the floor of a spacious dusty room. Off to one side of them, upon a raised dais, squats an ancient stone throne that is currently being occupied by one very decrepit skeleton. Its bones are covered by tarnished armored from the neck down to its dilapidated rotting boots. In its right hand is gripped the hilt of a once mighty sword that has succumbed to rust as the other bony paw clutches a rolled up scroll. To either side of the throne stand suits of black plate-mail concealed in the dust of ages past. Above this, a high ceiling resides being supported by four large pillars that nearly glow white as fresh snow. Various doors line the four walls encompassing the room, each pose a possible exit though all but one are metal and instead of a handle or doorknob there protrudes a cupped metal hand. In the farthest corner of the room away from the three figures is a circle which has been drawn in some type of glowing ink of a red cross entwined by two black serpents. A low hiss signals the three villains are awakening. Kee-Mo-Shi, the Warwitch, is first to arise and sees a Marro Stinger laying off to one side and Krug on the other. Never one to miss an opportunity she quickly places an unadorned medallion around Krug's neck and Mind Shackles him. Krug and the Stinger soon arise and stand in silence with blank looks. "Follow.." the Warwitch commands, as she leads them threw a roughhewed wooden door. Their or we should say her approach is one of simplicity, explore and destroy all opposition and it does not take long for Kee-Mo-Shi to reason the use of the different gems as keys that need to be placed into the hands of the throne room doors to open them. The three of them travel further into the warren when they come to lonely hallway where a statue of a humanoid persists with a dog's head an holding a large shallow bowl. Chiseled below the bowl are the words "A gift of gold to pass, unless you want Death by gas." Illiterate, Kee-Mo-Shi starts to scuttle forth past the statute when green smoke blasts from the statue's nostrils. "Stop" she commands to the other two before they can come forward further. Obviously not suffering any ill effects, she moves up the hallway as soon as the smoke dissipates, looking back she tells the other two to "Follow". This passage soon ends at a large door of black iron. Kee-Mo-Shi commands Krug to pull on a large metal ring which causes the door to swing inaudibly open. Looking in, she can see in the center of the room rests a gem, and at the back of the room endures a mountain of a man whom is dressed in shadowy executioner robes. In his one hand he holds a vicious looking spiked scythe which is attached to a bone handle in the other hand by a length of barbed wire. Kee-Mo-Shi points, whispers “Kill” and Krug charges as the Stinger steps in closer and fires. The blast strikes the executioner in his chest and his eyes glow ominously. With panther speed that is surprising for his size the executioner whips his weapon abruptly, and watches with a hint of a smile as it whistle past Krug's legs. Once the length of barbwire runs out, the scythe snaps back, initiating the barbwire to bind Krug's ankles as the scythe sinks deep into his calf. Then, with a quick yank, the executioner floors the rampaging brute all whilst the Warwitch attempts to circle around to the far edge of the chamber. The Stinger persists in its barrage of the executioner, tapping into its very own life-force to amplify the power of its weapon. As each shot lands the executioner's eyes glow with a deeper darkness and then, in a blink of the eye, he charges. The Executioner, in one fluid action, wraps the barbwire around Krug as he is struggling to get up then leaps forth, bashing the Stinger to the ground with a savage kick to the hip. Never letting go of his weapon, the executioner pulls the barbwire saw like across Krug's arms, drawing it taunt which quickly elicits a bellow of agony. The Stinger, down but not out, fires from the prone position at the executioner, whom is towering above, startling though, it over loads its weapon which explodes dramatically, vaporizing the Stinger, sending the Executioner flying back through the air to land with a thud right next to Krug who instantly drops his axe, grabs him by his skull and commences to crush it between his two giant green palms until its sickly compressed. The two then collect themselves again and continue along on their search until the residents of the dungeon are wiped out and all gems collected. It does not take long to open a door with a diamond which leads to a very long hall, cavernous on one side, where there is a massive abyss and another hall. Stepping in, Krug’s and the Warwitch can see another group enter through a door on the other side of the chasm. Of this new party, an unknown human draws their blade and Syvarris fires an arrow which reflects off the invisible wall in front of him, then the wall behind him and lodges deeply in the Elf's back. He drops his bow in agony and tries to grab the arrow just out of reach. The duo laughs heartily, their perverse cackle echoing down the passage. Around the corner awaits a Kisserflee, a completely wild and massive Marro, they cannot be controlled. Swinging around its neck is a golden rope with a large jade attached. Krug moves in, battle ready, while the Warwitch claws through her looted goods, settling on a pair of plum sized glass balls containing an unknown white powder. Krug bounds forth heroically and manages to get under the Kisserflee's first attack as its massive club lined with hundreds of skulls crashes down behind him. Krug whirls his heavy axe, which feels light as a feather and strikes once, then twice, severing the Kisserflee's right arm at the elbow. The Kisserflee unleashes an unholy shriek and snaps at Krug with its massive maw. Mid bite glass shatters in its face, antiquing the Kisserflee, the powder quickly hardens as if cement. A pleased Kee-Mo-Shi rapidly decrees "Finish him" and Krug disposes of the rogue Marro with gratuitous gore. The two quickly make their way back to the throne once more, noting the do-good-ers are fighting for their lives against another Kisserflee. Kee-Mo-Shi opens the double doors with the jade she retrieved from the Kisserflee which is the last gem unplaced. The jades glow and the double doors open to another large hall which has another large solid looking wooden door at the far end and another set of matching closed double doors are at this end. There are dozens of saucer sized holes in the left wall of the hall. Kee-Mo-Shi signals Krug to wait inside one room while she steps into the darkness of another and patiently waits. It is not long before the other double doors open and soon Syvarris is poking his head in the throne room before turning and running down the hall after Drake. Krug and Kee-Mo-Shi emerge closing in on the distracted Elf. With his supply of arrows depleted Syvarris is no match for the injured and raging Krug who splits the Elf down the middle. Drake has already perished from blood loss. A quick search and looting Kee-Mo-Shi takes the Elf's rope leaving behind the rest of the fallen’s equipment. Beyond the wooden door is a large unpretentious cavern. Ahead, is a rickety looking rope bridge spanning a large chasm, water can be heard rushing below. At the base of the bridge is an open empty wooden box; inscribed across the front of the box it reads “Pay gold to pass". Kee-Mo-Shi senses danger and ties the rope around her waist giving the other end to Krug. Halfway across the bridge, boards snap and the Warwitch plummets. With the help of Krug and the rope she is able to make her way back to and across the span, securing the rope to the other side. Krug secures his end and crosses, the bridge sagging severely under his weight. The bridge finally yields and collapses just as Krug reaches the far end. It falls into a rushing river of blackish water. The cavern gives way to another hallway ending at a door of stone. The door swings open easily and inside upon a stone throne sits a woman dressed in clothes of royalty with the face of a lich. She turns acknowledging their presence and presents a metal glove with a bony hand "Who will wear my gauntlet of pain?" Kee-Mo-Shi considers attacking but notes no exits from the room. The gauntlet is far too small for Krug and not one to fear anything especially from a woman uglier than herself she steps forward. The lich cracks a thin grin. "Never has a woman been my champion." Kee-Mo-Shi dons the glove and immediately her hand begins to burn. Sizzling flesh bonds with metal which feels molten inside. The Warwitch blacks out from the excruciating pain. When she finally comes to, the lich is gone and an opening lies at the back of the chamber. Krug offers no explanation. The two once more continue down a white hallway. Painted on one side are the words: "It's been grand, it's been quite fun. In the end, there can be only one." Oblivious, they follow the passage where it ends and large double doors of ebony. No hinges, locks or handles are apparent, only indentations of a hand print. Kee-Mo-Shi places her gauntleted hand in the impression and the door opens. Inside is a large lavish chamber outfitted with furniture and book shelves. At the back of the room is an imposing stone door. In the middle is a pattern of intersecting symbols and circles, residing in the center is a small goblin like man who cryptically yells "Welcome. You are the first to arrive in my chambers. Beyond this door is your freedom. Defeat me or die." With that said the gnome magic ups a fireball, Ryu style, and launches it at Kee-Mo-Shi who throws up her hands in defense, her gauntlet absorbing a portion of the heat. Krug charges and slams into an invisible wall of force. Kee-Mo-Shi moves in and finds resistance as if pushing through wet cardboard. The gnome launches another fireball that explodes in Krug's face. Krug responds by hurling his axe which cleaves the air above the gnome's skull. Kee-Mo-Shi continues to push on and is electrified by a lightning bolt sent forth from the mocking gnome who declares "There can be only one." Krug starts grabbing furniture, hurling it at their little foe. A chair catches the gnome in the shoulder, spinning him to the ground. He looks up to see the Warwitch looming over him. One touch from her and the poison begins instantly to set in. The gloating Kee-Mo-Shi never sees the long knife fly from the shadows, sticking into the back of Krug's neck, severing the chain entwined to the amulet that is Mindshackling the brute. The fog clears in Krug's mind and as the gnome dies, the wall of force drops. Vengeance is Krug's as he crushes Kee-Mo-Shi beneath giant fists. Krug, triumphant and exhausted goes to retrieve his axe as the giant stone door slides open. Far down the hall beckons the sunlight of freedom. Krug makes haste and in his exuberance never notices the a flagstone beneath his foot slightly depresses. I spear rips from the left wall and sinks into Krug's thigh. The toll is too much and Krug crashes to the floor, mere feet from sun's rays. A never happier Eslo Rudkey emerges from the shadows, making his way over to Krug, he leans forward and whispering as if the corpse could hear “I didn’t think anything would take you down you big brute, but thank ya, I am free.” Eslo laughs to himself, looks about and starts to whistle a catchy tune as he walks off with a gratified gate toward the light….. First Place - The Grim Reaper's Friend
Spoiler Alert!
Operation Shields
Spoiler Alert!
Being the bad guy isn’t easy. Knowing you’re the bad guy is a lot worse. But what’s worse than any of it, is having friends, friends you know you would betray at a moment’s notice if you needed to.
Carr turned as his name was called. He couldn’t lose the target, not now. Five more seconds and the suspect would be through the doorway, and Carr would lose sight of her. Then it would be all over. “Carr!” called the voice again. “Laglor,” Carr responded as the gorillinator came ambling up to him. Four seconds. “You have a new mission,” Laglor said, thrusting a sealed folder into Carr’s hands. Three seconds. “Direct from Vydar. Top priority.” Two seconds. “Now?” Carr asked, feigning calmness. “I’m a bit busy at the moment.” One second. “This is big,” Laglor said. “Vydar wants you on it right away. He said—” Time up. Carr lowered his hand. To a bystander, it looked like a natural movement. There also would have been no suspicion in the way Carr briefly shifted his weight, allowing his hand to brush his coat, and through it, apply pressure to a hidden button on his belt. Sirens sounded overhead. Laglor stopped talking midsentence and stared up at the flashing lights which had suddenly sprung into existence, his face taking on an expression of horror. A droning voice echoed over the loudspeakers: “This is a level five security alert: all units on floor 23, section 7, alert; known suspect sighted. Apprehend for capture and questioning. Report in.” “Got to go,” Carr said hastily, stuffing the sealed folder in his coat and taking off. He caught a glimpse of his target whipping around the corner and chased after her. Panic was blooming in the hall as Carr struggled to the doorway, ran through it, and hurtled himself down a tightly spiraling staircase in pursuit. The security alert served a dual-purpose. It had allowed Carr to continue his current mission, but it also provided an excellent cover for him to move through, unseen by his target. There was, of course, no known suspect on floor 23, section 7. A Krav Maga agent is always prepared, though. Carr reached the bottom of the stairs just in time to see his quarry dashing through an open door. The door, conveniently enough, led to another staircase, a staircase which Carr happened to know led to floor 23, section 7. Carr paused at the top of the stairs and pulled a remote from a hidden pocket in his coat. He examined it for a moment, and then punched five carefully selected numbers. The loudspeakers flared to life instantly: “Suspect sighted on floor 23, section 7. Description: Nakita Agent. Identification: Cassandra. All units apprehend.” Several echoing clangs reached Carr as all the doors on the twenty-third floor slammed shut. His target was trapped, with security soulborgs closing in. A moment later, the unmistakable sounds of a Nakita Agent being captured drifted up the stairs. They involved gunfire, the thud of five soulborgs hitting the floor, and the sudden whir of a cyberclaw. After that, silence. Carr turned his back on the twenty-third floor. “Sorry, Cas,” he whispered to himself as he closed the door behind him. ■■■ “Look, it’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just… well, you’ve been suspicious of late.” Isamu grinned. Taelord couldn’t see this, of course, as the ninja’s mouth and nose were covered with a red cloth mask. “That’s good, Taelord,” Isamu replied. “It is?” the kyrie asked. This was evidentially not the reaction he had expected. “Definitely,” said Isamu. “If I wasn’t suspicious, you would have no doubts about whose side I was on. And if you had no doubts, then there would be the possibility that I could turn on you without you suspecting it. By making you suspicious, I ensure that you’re always on your guard, and thus can never be caught by surprise. This therefore means I will never betray you, because if that was my plan, I would of course be sure to not be suspicious. Unless of course that was my plan in the first place.” Isamu could see Taelord trying to figure out what he had said. Taelord wasn’t stupid; he was actually quite smart. Unfortunately for him, Isamu had long since trained himself in word puzzles. They might seem a trivial pursuit for a ninja, but they could be surprisingly distracting. “I’ll take your word for it,” Taelord finally said. “Just remember: this isn’t a game, Isamu.” Isamu’s grin dropped from his face, and he removed his mask. “Lives never are,” he said, “and I would never turn them into one.” Taelord wasn’t quite sure what to say to this, and so sat down instead. Isamu replaced his mask, and sat down opposite him. They had been stationed in this underground cave, along with three squadrons of Taelord’s minions, for nearly a week. They were part of a reconnaissance mission spying on one of Jandar’s fortresses. Unfortunately, one of the minions had been sighted four days ago, and they had been forced to remain underground ever since, while the search for them continued overhead. The minions had long since been reduced to bundles of nerves; the lack of room was making them irritable. Only Isamu and Taelord remained calm, both because of their training. “You have to admit though,” said Taelord, after about a minute, “you’ve been acting odd. Ever since Kelden, you’ve been different. First you left for about a week. I had to report you MIA. We all thought you were dead. Then you appeared out of nowhere, saying you’d been on a top secret mission that was off all the records. I was fine with that. I really was. “Now it’s different, though. You disappear during crucial operations. You leave for hours, days sometimes. When you turn up, you always say you’ve been on another secret mission. Why wouldn’t Utgar just pull you from my unit altogether? Wouldn’t it be easier for you to do whatever you’re doing?” Isamu took his time in replying. He had to be careful. He was a ninja, so it was natural that suspicion would always be on him for something or other. But he still had to be careful. Taelord couldn’t find out what he was doing. “Let’s just say that my presence here is advantageous to the mission. Come on, Taelord,” he added, “we’ve always been friends. I want to tell you. Really, I do. But I can’t. I’m on a top secret mission, and right now, things work out best if I’m here. Eventually, that time will come to an end. If I suddenly disappear and don’t come back… well, you’ll know that time has come. “Things changed at Kelden. I’m not going to deny it. I can promise you though, that someday soon, you’ll know the whole story.” Taelord leaned back against the rock wall. “I trust you, Isamu, and I trust Utgar. I don’t like what you’re doing, but I’m going to trust you that it’s for all our best interests. When you’re ready to tell me, I guess you will.” “Don’t worry,” Isamu replied. “When it’s time, you’ll know the whole story.” The whole story. But where did that tale begin? With Kumiko, who had cornered Isamu with a blade to his throat? Or with how she had let him go, choosing instead to tell him about the plan? Or with his investigation following what she had said, and his realizations? No. No, things had really begun after all that had happened. Things had really begun at Kelden. Isamu had always been good at killing people. When he was five, he had killed the neighbor’s dog. He hadn’t really meant to, but he had been experimenting with various chemicals, and had needed something to try them out on. No one had complained. The dog had kept the whole village up with its barking at night. On Valhalla, Isamu was easily the most well-known ninja. Jandar’s forces had come to fear him, and for good reason. He had become adept at sneaking into high security areas, and assassinating the commanders in their sleep. In fact, only Jandar and the high ranking officers, like Drake, were guarded well enough to stop him. Kelden had been no different. Another small village, another alliance force with a poorly guarded lieutenant. Isamu had slipped past the guards effortlessly, through the maze of kyrie homes, and into the one he knew held the commander. This lieutenant had been different, though. Kelden was actually his home. The house he slept in was actually his, the kyrie by his side his wife. His two small children were in the next room. Isamu hadn’t hesitated. Utgar had given express orders to make the assassination obvious, so Isamu had silently slit the lieutenant’s throat. All had been going according to plan, until the dead lieutenant’s smallest child had entered the room, doubtless frightened of the thunder outside. They had looked at each other for nearly two seconds, child and murderer, both frozen. And then she had screamed. Isamu had known instantly that he would be late in returning. Silencing the child was both unnecessary and repugnant. Isamu hated to do it, and the guards would arrive first anyway. He knew the child would be in no condition to relate anything, so he chose the only hiding place available to him: under the bed. It might have seemed obvious, but it served him well. The next day had been a nightmare. The guards assumed that Isamu had escaped, which made it far easier for Isamu to do just that. The problem was that the small house was now full of the dead lieutenant’s friends and family, all mourning him and consoling his wife. It had taken Isamu nearly five hours to reach the door. Those five hours had changed his life. Isamu had been forced to watch, for the first time, the consequences of his actions. He had seen the overwhelming grief of the widow. He had seen the uncomprehending faces of the small children. He had seen the anger of the friends, which quickly turned to deepest sorrow. In five hours, he had seen how his one simple action had shattered the world of an entire family, forever. If Kumiko had not cornered him a month previously, Isamu was not sure what he would have done. He probably would have returned to Taelord’s group, and eventually reconciled the pain he had caused. He would have gotten over it. Bitterness and anger swelled up within him at the thought. But Kumiko had given him an alternative. She had told him of the plan. At the time, he had not been interested. He had promised to keep the secret in return for her sparing his life, but he refused to join. Now, however, things had changed. He had seen first-hand what his life’s work had wrought. He had tasted of it, and he had found it repulsive. Disgust at his own practices had filled him. Never again would he take a life. But more than that, he felt compelled to end the killing, to end the war. Normally, it would have been naught but a dream. But after what Kumiko said, it was a reality. A reality that Isamu needed, and one that he took. Taelord could never know. ■■■ Carr tilted the picture, trying to get more of the light on it. It was small, and very old; the sides had begun to peel. It showed two people: a young woman, with a small girl – not much older than three – on her knee. Carr ran his finger slowly over the surface of the picture, wiping some of the dust off of the woman’s face. “I’ll come back, Talia. I promise. Don’t give up hope.” He gazed at the picture for a moment longer, his eyes lingering on Talia’s face, and that of his daughter. He had been young when Vydar had summoned him. The Valkyrie had promised Carr could return to Earth when the war was done, but he knew better. The war would never be over, and Vydar would never return him. But a Krav Maga Agent is always prepared. After a minute, Carr replaced the picture of his wife and child in the deepest pocket of his coat, and took out the sealed folder Laglor had given him. “Let’s see what you need now, Vydar,” he said, slitting the folder open. Several photographs fell out, surveillance images from the look of them (Vydar had wasted no time developing cameras once he summoned agents). Among them was a note, which Carr picked up. Quote:
■■■ “I wanted to commend you, Isamu,” said the figure before him. “Your retrieval of the spear was done expertly. I doubt even Kumiko could have done it better.” The figure was tall, and clearly a kyrie, though his features were hidden in the shadows. “I also want to thank you,” he continued, “for agreeing to join us. It’s not easy, what we’re doing, but each and every one of us feels it is the right path.” “As do I, Flame,” said Isamu. He didn’t know who the figure was, only that he was the head of the entire operation. He was known only as the Flame. Isamu himself had a code name, for he rarely saw other members of the operation. “Now that Mortar has the spear, however,” the Flame continued, “we must proceed to the most difficult phase of all. I believe you know what it entails?” “I do.” “Good. Kumiko will brief you on which targets remain to be dealt with. All of my other operatives are already in the field; if all goes as planned, our mission will be complete within the week.” The figure stood. His face was still in shadow. “Are you ready to end this war, Isamu?” Six days later, and Isamu was to be found, breathing hard, against the wall, deep within one of Jandar’s major cities. He had just barely escaped for what felt like the hundredth time in one day. He had always considered himself a master of stealth, but nothing had prepared him for this mission. Fortunately, none of his targets had suspected what he was doing. His reputation alone was enough to cause Jandar’s soldiers to raise the alarm, which meant that his targets usually didn’t bother to wonder why their arms suddenly itched. Isamu carefully stuffed the syringe he held back into a concealed pocket. So far, it had worked perfectly. None of the targets had thought twice about the slight prick they felt in their arm. It was followed by a moment’s itch, and then everything was as it had been. Not even a mark upon the skin. Kumiko had given Isamu a list of names. Each of those names was a target, and it was Isamu’s job to prick each target’s arm with the syringe. If he hadn’t known the plan, he would never have agreed to do it. However, after the Flame had explained everything, and shown what the syringe contained, he had been eager to begin. This would end the war. And that was now Isamu’s mission on Valhalla. He had caused enough pain. Unfortunately, things were getting difficult for Isamu. The week had started off easily enough; Isamu was so skilled that he could slip up behind a target, prick their arm, and then vanish before they saw them. The target would pass it off as a mosquito bite or the like, and continue on. Now Isamu’s list was getting short. He had saved the difficult targets until last, and he was beginning to wish he hadn’t. No less than six guards had surrounded Sergeant Drake Alexander, and Isamu had barely gotten away with his life. He had been successful, though. Drake too had been pricked with the syringe. The Flame had been in contact earlier that day, informing Isamu that the other operatives had returned, successful. An operative had been in each quadrant of Valhalla, pricking everyone on their lists. Isamu only had five names left, and when the syringe had tasted those five, every single person in Valhalla would have been pricked by it. Every last one of them. This was the plan. Isamu scanned his list. All of the names would be difficult, but the one he was most dreading was at the very top. Isamu pulled a small hand-held radio from a pocket. The small black device was becoming quite popular in Valhalla, and no one would find it suspicious that a ninja liked to listen to the VMH (Valhallian Musical Hour) when time permitted. Unless, of course, that radio turned out to be something else. Isamu turned the dial to the ‘off’ position and held a hidden button. “Crystal Base, come in,” he whispered into the radio. “Crystal Base, come in.” The radio suddenly fizzed to life. “This is Crystal Base,” said a static-ridden voice. “Go ahead.” “This is Red 5,” Isamu whispered back, referring to his code name. “Requesting tracking on a target.” “All tracking is operational. We’re watching a live feed from our hack into Vydar’s surveillance system. What’s your target?” Isamu took a deep breath. “I need the current location of Agent Carr.” ■■■ Major Q10 sighed on the other side of the radio. It is a very strange thing to hear a soulborg sigh, a sound made stranger still when heard through a minute speaker. “I don’t know,” Q10 said. “The interference is like nothing I’ve ever encountered. It doesn’t fluctuate, so it’s not a wave or disruption of some type. It’s as though there is a shield around the place that we simply can’t penetrate.” Carr raised his head a foot and glanced over the log he was hiding behind. Just over two hundred yards away, partially hidden by thick pine trees, was the Daerk Base. From this distance, it didn’t look inhabited. The forest had begun to reclaim it in places, vines and bushes marching up its sides. From the thermal images though, Carr knew it was swarming with people. “That’s a negative,” he said, sliding back down behind the log. “I can’t see anything that would interrupt you. The base looks completely deserted from where I’m at.” “I’ll try a different frequency,” Q10 said. Carr waited. It hadn’t taken him long to reach Bleakwood; he had nearly been on its northern edge anyway. The difficult part now was approaching the Daerk Base unseen. Vydar’s agents had designed it to detect anything that moved. If that equipment was still operational, Carr could be incinerated by two-inch soulborg blasters the instant he approached. “This isn’t working,” Q10 said a moment later. “I’ve tried every frequency we have. High, low – nothing can get through. There must some kind of invisible shield around the place. This tech is high, higher than anything I’m aware of.” Carr grimaced. When a soulborg can’t understand technology, you know you’re in trouble. “What about the wire tap?” he asked? “We have minimal access. We had to set up twelve separate firewalls and encryption devices to make sure they can’t track us. They have some kind of AI running their defensive software. We can hack in for about five minutes before it shuts us out. It takes five more minutes to get back in on a different server.” “What kind of control do you have?” “Control?” repeated Q10. “Not much, if you want to stay unnoticed. If we pulled all the stops out, we could shut off the motion detectors that aren’t protected for about a minute or two. That’s assuming they don’t have backups hidden with a firewall. If we do that, though, they’ll know something’s going on.” “People I can get past,” Carr muttered. “It’s the cameras that are the problem. If you can create a diversion by shutting them all off, it will probably help me get inside.” “That I can do,” said Q10. “Just give me the word.” “Stay on the radio,” Carr said. “I want to do some more surveillance, then I’ll give you the signal. Is the extraction team standing by?” “Standing by,” Q10 affirmed. “We have a ground force a hundred meters behind you, and the stealth gunship circling overhead. You’re covered.” Carr nodded to himself and pushed his earpiece. The line was still active; neither could hear the other, but Q10 would be ready when Carr turned his radio back on. Carr broke out a pair of large and extremely futuristic-looking binoculars. He scanned the Daerk Base, looking for the gun ports that it had bristled with in the days of Vydar. He could see nothing, but then again, there were far smaller guns to be had. He switched to a thermal image. Nothing. The base was as cold as the surrounding forest. Even with thermal imaging, the base seemed perfectly lifeless. Everyone must be underground. Carr didn’t like that. Previous images had shown several people above ground. If everyone was underground now, it could mean only two things: either they knew he was there, or something big was happening beneath the base. Neither option was pleasant. ■■■ The figure, showing up bright orange in Isamu’s visor, was crouched over behind a log. It appeared to be viewing the Daerk Base before it through a pair of binoculars. Isamu’s perfect opportunity to strike. Isamu clicked off his visor and edged forward, almost sliding along on his stomach. He slithered through the mat of dead leaves that covered the forest, the scent of decay and darkness filling his nostrils. He had the sudden urge to sneeze, and only just quelled it in time. Isamu raised himself slightly, and pulled the syringe from its pocket. In the other hand, he slowly pulled his sword from its hidden sheath. He then crouched low, and slid forwards, his eyes on his target. Carr was the last name on his list. ■■■ “Carr!” hissed the soulborg. “Heads up! We just picked up a small form moving toward you fast from the north!” Carr didn’t turn around. He kept his eyes glued to the Daerk Base, which he had been observing. Turning around would spook whoever was behind him. “How far?” he whispered, not moving his lips. “About… twenty meters. Humanoid, from what I can tell. It’s strange though… no heat signature at all. Absolutely zero. It blends in perfectly. It’s definitely there, though. We can see its distortion in the electrical field we have around you.” With no heat signature, Carr’s instant thought would be shades. But the figure had substance from what Q10 had said, and shades faded in and out. That could mean only one thing. ■■■ The trick now would be to prick Carr’s arm without drawing attention to himself. To anyone else, a bug bite in a forest would have been nothing to worry about. To people like Isamu and Carr, it could mean nothing short of first degree murder. Carr was going to notice. Isamu’s training would truly be put to the test. Could he vanish, from right beneath Agent Carr’s nose? He doubted it, but he would have to try. ■■■ “It’s stopped about ten meters behind you, Carr. It’s definitely a human. I’m going through all our active hacks right now… no, none of the generals have any units anywhere near you. Whoever it is, he’s operating on his own.” Or under someone else, Carr thought. He had no doubt about who the figure was. Soulborgs had been designed to prevent Mariedians from escaping. Not many humans could get by them unnoticed, no matter how much help they had. In fact, Carr only knew of two who could: himself, and Isamu. He casually dropped his hand to his belt, where his sword lay, concealed in its sheath. Not even a trained assassin could have interpreted the motion correctly. If Isamu meant to ambush him, he would have to deal with the consequences. “The figure’s moving,” came Q10’s voice. “He’s going slow, but he’s headed right for you. Seven meters. Five. Four. Three…” Talia, Carr thought. I do this for you, Talia. I do this so that we may be together again. The two of us and our daughter. Carr tightened his grip on his sword. ■■■ Abandoning all stealth, Isamu leapt at Carr, even as Carr whirled around, whipping his sword from its sheath. Most martial arts are defensive. They tend to focus on blocking attacks. Isamu wasn’t attacking, though, which gave him the advantage. For a brief moment, he abandoned all training, and launched himself at Carr’s arm. The arm is generally not a target. This is why Carr hesitated for a half second. That half second was all Isamu needed. ■■■ Isamu rocketed past him, catapulting himself over the log, rolling as he landed, and then springing upwards. He took off running, heading straight for the Daerk Base. His cover was blown. Carr leapt out from behind the log and chased after Isamu, shouting instruction to Q10 as he ran. “Hit them now! I repeat, hit them now! Shut the cameras off!” Isamu was unbelievably fast. He leapt over logs and around tree trunks with the agility of a cat. Carr whipped out his pistol and fired off a few shots, but it was no use. Isamu changed direction constantly, and it was already so hard to aim while running, that the shots went wide. Carr replaced the gun in his holster and ran even faster. “Oh no,” came Q10’s voice over the earpiece. “I’m blocked. Carr, I don’t have access! They put me in a virtual system, the actual servers keep switching IP addresses – I can’t get a lock on them. I thought they were just background noise. The cameras are still on. I can’t tell if they can see you are not, I’m totally shut out.” Carr gritted his teeth but did not reply. He had no breath to spare. Isamu leapt over several boulders, heading straight for the massive blast doors of the Daerk Base. They were tightly shut, but as he approached, they suddenly swung open. No one could be seen in the dark passage beyond. Foreboding filled Carr at this sight. If the doors had opened for Isamu, that meant someone, or something, knew he was there. It therefore followed that they could also see him, Carr. And that could mean only one thing: since they weren’t shooting, they wanted him alive. Carr should disengage now. They meant to capture him! “Evac!” Carr shouted into his earpiece as he skidded to a halt. “I need evac now!” But the line had gone dead. Something was blocking the signal. Carr turned to run, but it was too late. He heard the hiss of pistons as something popped up behind him. The next thing he knew, a gun had fired, some kind of concussive force had hit him in the back, and he fell forward, unconscious before he hit the ground. It seemed the Daerk Base did, indeed, have operational guns. ■■■ “It is done, Flame.” “Everyone?” “Everyone. Except for me.” Isamu withdrew the syringe, and pricked his own arm with it. He then handed it to the Flame. They were standing again in the same dark room they had a week ago. The Flame examined the syringe, his face still hidden in shadows. “I’m glad Mortar designed this self-cleansing needle. I didn’t much relish the thought of stabbing everyone with the same one. If you’re going to end the war, best to do it cleanly.” The flame lowered the syringe to his own arm, and pricked himself. He then placed it in a drawer, and stood. “What shall we do with our guest, Isamu?” he asked. “Carr?” Isamu said. “Keep him contained. Once Operation Shields is complete, he won’t be able to do a thing. Until then, though, he’s very dangerous.” The Flame nodded, bowing his head in thought. “Carr has nearly unveiled us,” he said musingly. “Does it really matter?” asked Isamu. “In half an hour’s time, Operation Shields will be finished, and we’ll be revealed to all of Valhalla anyway.” “I know,” murmured the Flame. “But Vydar is incredibly fast-moving. I doubt he knows what we’re doing here, but he knows we’re hostile. Or thinks he does, anyway. This whole thing is undercover, which means he can attack us outright. Our technology is more advanced, but we’d never survive a direct attack from his Science Division.” “But surely they can’t get here within half an hour?” The Flame grimaced in the shadows. “Never underestimate the enemy, Isamu. A Krav Maga Agent is always prepared.” ■■■ The instant his brain returned to its normal, calculating state, Carr was awake, ready and willing to take on a hundred men. With a knife. He noticed several things at once. He was in a small cube of a room, with white walls, floor, and ceiling. There were no windows, and only one door. He sat in the only chair. His hands and feet were chained together. Two soulborgs were standing on either side of the door, observing him placidly. The next thing Carr noticed, was that the soulborgs were Gladiatrons. They were under the command of Vydar. “What’s the situation?” Carr asked the instant this information had computed. “You are being detained,” the soulborg on the right said. Carr blinked at it in disbelief. “I am a first division officer. Release me.” “Negative.” If the habit hadn’t been trained out of him at age three, Carr’s jaw would have dropped. Soulborgs might have free will, but they never, never disobeyed a direct order from their commanding officer. And that meant… “Who is your commanding officer?” Carr asked. “Flame,” said the soulborg on the left. “He reprogrammed you?” “Negative. We have joined Operation Shields.” Flame? Operation Shields? What was going on here? “You’re aware of my background?” Carr asked. “Affirmative.” “Then you know that I could disable both of your input circuits and be out of this room in about five seconds?” “4.872, to be exact.” Carr stared at them. “And you’re fine with that?” “Negative. You see, you are currently unable to harm us, Carr. Very soon, Operation Shields will be in effect. We request that you remain where you are. You will be released to do as you please in twenty-two minutes, thirty-six seconds.” “What happens in twenty-two minutes, thirty-six seconds?” Carr asked warily. “Operation Shields goes into effect.” Carr suddenly grinned. While the soulborgs had been talking, he had managed to unlock the chains around his hands and feet. It had involved working the lock picks out of their hidden pockets in his boots and coat sleeves. If you’ve ever tried to unlock something with your toes, without moving your feet, you will know how difficult this was. He now promptly raised the lock picks in his hands, took careful aim (all of which took less than one fifth of a second) and threw them at the soulborgs. The lock picks hit their targets perfectly, striking where the input circuit controls would have been. The only problem was, the soulborgs suddenly vanished. The lock picks clattered against the wall and fell to the floor. “Holograms,” Carr muttered. He didn’t waste a moment, but launched himself at the door, analyzing its structure as he flew through the air, and arranging his body to compensate. The side of his foot struck the lock a moment later, and the door was flung open, to bang against the opposite wall. Agent Carr had broken out of a security holding cell in a little under two seconds, from the point he left his chair. It was not a new record. ■■■ “Carr’s out,” he reported a moment later. “How long will it take him to reach the chamber?” he added, glancing at Isamu. Isamu did some quick calculations. “About ten minutes, if he knows where to go,” he replied. “We need more time. The operation will be complete in just over twenty.” “Go,” said the Flame. “Remember, don’t injure him. Just delay him.” Isamu nodded once and was gone. ■■■ The compartment held a tiny red card, about the size and appearance of a computer chip. Carr pressed his thumb to the card, waited for one second, and then replaced it in his boot. He closed the false floor, pulled the boot back on, and stood up. Escape was a thought that was not present in Carr’s mind. The enemy had brought him willingly into the Daerk Base. This was too good of an opportunity to miss. Fortunately, Carr had been in the base once before (which in his case, meant he had the floor plan memorized). He took off at once, heading for the central chamber of the base. If anything big was going on, that was where it would be. Meanwhile, the small chip in Carr’s boot, being activated by his print, was sending out the longest radio wave known to man: that is, a nearly perfectly straight line. This radio wave had two distinct advantages: it was virtually impossible to trace, and it was very fast. This was why, approximately eight seconds later, major Q10 was able to make contact with Agent Carr, within the Daerk Base. “What is this? How did you get past the shield? Where are you? What’s going on?” Carr chose to answer all of the questions. “This is a Delta H wavelength. It is completely untraceable and unhackable. It is the lowest frequency wavelength there is. I have it pinpointed at your exact location, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to hear a thing. “I am currently halfway through the Daerk Base, closing on the central chamber. I expect pursuit any moment.” Shocked silence followed. “And how is your day going?” Carr asked as he ran. ■■■ “B hall, closing fast. If you don’t stop him, Carr’s going to get here before we’re ready.” “I hear you,” Isamu said. He clicked his radio off and replaced it in his pocket. “I’ll stop him.” ■■■ Without warning, an arm clothed in red swung out from a doorway. The hand carried no sword, and neither did it need to: the edge of the hand was as deadly as any blade. Without pausing, Carr bent over backwards, ducking under the hand. He grabbed it from beneath, flipped his trajectory around, placed one foot against the near wall, and pulled. Isamu was flung over Carr to land on the floor with a terrible crunch. Not that this did any damage. The ninja leapt up instantly. There then followed a series of martial arts moves so complicated that the eye could not follow them. The combatants fought more with instinct than with mind, going through hundreds of moves, over half of which were designed to counter the ones used by the other. Ninja and agent circled each other so fast that they seemed to have four legs: two for running, two more for kicking. Their hands were a blur of motion, blocking the other’s kicks with lightning reflexes. Every half second, one of them would lunge forward, jamming his opponent up close to prevent him from kicking. A series of fake punches would follow, to throw the opponent off guard, followed by a series of real ones, which were all blocked. Then the defendant would leap backwards, sliding back with one foot, and raising the other to kick his opponent. The attacker would slide backwards, dodging the kick, and then close again. Carr and Isamu carried on like this for nearly two minutes. Carr was, however, taller, more heavily built, a lot more experienced, and a lot more prepared. He finally managed to snag Isamu’s cloth armor on a lock pick protruding from his sleeve, which gave him enough time to deliver a knife-hand strike to the back of Isamu’s neck. The ninja crumpled instantly. ■■■ Mortar checked the clock. “We’re operational,” he said. “Isamu did it.” The Flame watched Carr through the monitor. “Throw the switch,” he said. ■■■ ■■■ “I did! It’s still charging up! It only needs five seconds!” The Flame’s eyes were glued to the monitor. “We don’t have five seconds. We’re not going to make it.” ■■■ Workers milled about the chamber, checking screens, flipping dials, monitoring data. The center of the chamber was dominated by a massive structure, similar in shape to a gigantic hourglass. The two tips were separated at the very center, allowing just enough space between them for a man to stand comfortably in. And there, hanging perfectly still in midair between the two halves of the machine, was Raelin’s Spear of Gerda. As Carr watched, the top and bottom tips of the hourglass suddenly ignited with energy. The Spear of Gerda flared with a blue light. Carr slotted the last piece of his grenade launcher into place, and took careful aim at the very center of the machine. It wasn’t the most precise weapon, but it would get the job done. Unless, of course — Isamu crashed into Carr from behind. The two of them crashed to the floor, Carr keeping them from rolling down the steep side of the central chamber by hanging on to the edge of the floor. He quickly flipped up over Isamu, turned around in midair, and kicked him. Isamu went flying off the edge of the hall. He dropped a moment later, and went plummeting towards the floor of the central chamber, far below. That was when things changed. The machine exploded. Or, at least it seemed to. What actually happened was that the machine extracted the blue energies from the Spear of Gerda, and then flung them outwards in a gigantic shockwave. Isamu was flung backwards, cushioning his fall. Carr, who had been about to fire the grenade launcher again, was slammed to the floor, the weapon knocked from his hands. The blue magic sped over him, and then raced up the hall, quickly flooding the Daerk Base. ■■■ ■■■ “You said once that I’d know the whole story.” Taelord sighed. “I just never thought it would look like this.” Isamu came up behind him. He walked with a slight limp now. “Neither did I, to be honest. I knew this was the end goal, but I never really thought it would work. It was enough just to know that I was doing something.” “You really changed at Kelden,” Taelord remarked, still observing the black fortress. Isamu was silent for a moment. “A lot of things changed there,” he said. Taelord looked down. “Any word from Vydar?” Isamu waved a hand. “You know him. He’s still shut up in his castle, pouring over his surveillance equipment. He doesn’t want to admit what’s happened. Either that, or he can’t.” “I still find the whole thing a bit difficult to comprehend, myself,” said Taelord. “There have been so many rumors about Operation Shields; no one really knows what’s fact anymore.” “That’s true,” agreed Isamu, “but I think the Flame likes it that way. No one knows the exact workings of anything, which means no one can stop them if they wanted to.” “And you still won’t tell me who the Flame is?” Taelord asked. “I don’t know,” said Isamu. “I never saw his face, and I never asked. I have a suspicion, though,” he added, seeing Taelord’s skeptical look. “Really?” asked Taelord. “Who?” ■■■ All seven Valkyrie were present. Utgar, his red skin gleaming, glowered about the table as he stood, which was evidently his way of looking impressive. Beside him, Valkrill slouched in his chair, looking sullen, and shrinking away from the bright sunlight. On Valkrill’s left sat Einar, rigidly straight in his Elven chair, his brown hair flowing down his back. Next to Einar sat Aquilla. In contrast to the warrior beside her, Aquilla sat with a fluid grace that seemed commanding, and yet gentle. Ullar was on Aquilla’s left, his powerful arms bare, his fingers absently stroking the wooden table they all sat at. Jandar came next, his face radiant with a righteous fire that still flickered. Vydar was not present. All the Valkyrie had agreed that the war was over save for him; he still remained in his castle, searching for a way to thwart what the Flame had done. Vydar’s chair was, however, occupied by a seventh Valkyrie. This Valkyrie was tall and powerful like the rest. It was impossible to glean anything from his appearance, however, due to the fact that his face was covered with a black cloth. This was the Flame. He had called for this meeting two weeks after Operation Shields had been completed. He had sat quietly, saying not a word, while accusations flew across the table, the Valkyrie all blaming each other for the state the war was in. They were angry, all of them, because no matter how much they had said they wanted peace, what they had really desired was victory: the chance to conquer their enemy, and submit him beneath their heel. This had been denied them. The arguments had now burned themselves out, and Utgar stood, facing the Flame. “You have been silent through all of this, Flame,” he said. “Have you no opinions? Did you summon us here merely to listen to our grievances?” The Flame stood. The simple act seemed to have an effect on Utgar, for he sat down abruptly. “I did not come to hear your arguments,” the Flame said calmly. His voice was quiet, patient, as if he was willing to wait for the rest of eternity to achieve his goals. “I summoned you here to dispel the confusion now coursing throughout Valhalla.” The other Valkyrie leaned forward with interest. “Operation Shields began as a dream, a desire, a fantasy wished for by few, and spoken of by fewer. These individuals dreamt of a Valhalla with no war, where none could be harmed. For most of them, it stopped there. Such a thing was impossible. “For two, it did not. For me, the dream lived on. I confided in my friend, a man whose name is now famous throughout Valhalla: Mortar Castle. Mortar had long achieved the impossible with his designs; if anyone could turn the dream to reality, it would be him. “It took a great deal of thought and time. How could one end the war, and simultaneously ensure no one, not a single person, would ever be harmed again? The answer came to me one day, with no warning, no context. I was surprised at its simplicity. It sounded so simple, and yet was so hard. “Mortar thought it could be accomplished with the right people though. And so began Operation Shields. Mortar remained at Jandar’s castle, where he could stay informed of things. I traveled Valhalla, converting those I trusted to my side. In time, they turned others, and then those turned more, until I had a following of nearly a thousand. “The method in which they joined me meant that all of these soldiers knew only a select few others in the Operation. Only the captains – those I had personally confided in – knew everyone under them, and I knew all the captains. Every single soldier that had been turned remained in the employ of their Valkyrie. I would have need of them, but for now, there was no need to raise suspicion. “Having recruits all throughout Valhalla worked to my advantage. If that hadn’t been the case, I would have walked right into Vydar’s surveillance. As it was, some of my recruits under Vydar warned me first, and I was able to sufficiently cover my tracks, though I think some clues still leaked out. “The recruits most crucial to my operation would be the ninjas. It was imperative that I win them all over to my side. Kumiko was the first. She had tasted enough of the war, and was ready for a change. Shiori and Moriko quickly followed. This left only one ninja: Isamu. “Kumiko managed to corner Isamu one night. She put her knife to his throat, but instead of killing him, told him about Operation Shields. Isamu did not wish to join. He did, however, agree to keep my secret in repayment for Kumiko sparing his life. The honor of ninjas, fortunately, runs deep. Isamu remained silent. “It was a short time later that Isamu joined me. He had been forced to watch the repercussions of one of his assassinations, and the sight had turned him against the war. He realized what he had been doing, and now joined the crusade to make it right. “With four ninjas on my side, Operation Shields was suddenly looking hopeful. Mortar Castle sent Isamu to retrieve Raelin’s Spear of Gerda: a job that was suddenly made easier at the Battle of Varnem Pass. Raelin’s death was a terrible blow to the alliance, and one I will not easily forget, for she was my friend as well. “With the spear, however, Mortar had what he needed to make the operation work. The spear was one of the most powerful artifacts in Valhalla. Mortar had long studied the shields it created. If he could strengthen them, why, one would be invincible. All he needed was a way to extend the spear’s shield over everyone in Valhalla… no easy task. “A way presented itself, however, a month after the spear was collected from Isamu. Mortar had designed a synthetic serum, a substance able to conduct the strange magic of the Spear of Gerda. The serum had only to be touched by the spear’s force field, and it, too, was surrounded by an impenetrable shield. After some experimentation, Mortar found that anything injected with this serum and then exposed to the magic, would similarly be protected. “We now had a way to protect everyone in Valhalla, and the means to carry it out. We also had the agents with the skills necessary to do so: contaminating an entire continent’s population with a foreign serum and having them be none the wiser is no easy operation. “My ninjas were quick though, and startlingly efficient. Within two months, nearly everyone had been injected with the serum. Only the most difficult targets remained: the Valkyrie themselves, and several highly trained or well-guarded soldiers. These too eventually felt the needle, myself, Isamu, and Agent Carr being the last to feel it. Barely half an hour before the machine would be turned on, every last person within Valhalla contained the serum. “Agent Carr nearly stopped the operation. Vydar had grown suspicious, and had sent him to investigate. Through the actions of Isamu, however, we gained just enough time to activate the machine before Carr could disable it. I thank the heavens above that it was so.” The Flame sat down. “You know the rest. The machine activated the Spear of Gerda. A shockwave of blue magic erupted over Valhalla, passing through earth, stone, and flesh. No one escaped. The serum within every person’s body was activated. “When they woke, the inhabitants of Valhalla found themselves shielded from the outside world. Attacks simply bounced off. Battles halted. Wars descended into confusion as soldiers found themselves unable to fight, or, indeed, be fought. No one could be harmed by anyone else. “Slowly, unable to do anything to each other, the armies retreated. And then they realized something truly terrible, something I myself had not thought of until that moment. The shields blocked anything, be that the blow of a sword… or the touch of a loved one. The evil of war had been taken from Valhalla, but with it, all that the soldiers fought for had fled as well. They had fought for the land, but they couldn’t enjoy it, for the shield blocked even the scents from the air, and the feel of earth beneath them. They had fought for their families, but no longer could they be with them, for the shield was forever a barrier between them. “My shield had accomplished something I never meant it to. Not only had it stopped the war, it had shown each and every soldier what thing held true worth in their lives, for that was the thing they missed most, the thing the shield kept from them.” The Flame sighed. “And now, my friends, you know the whole story.” There was a long silence. “Well,” said Utgar at last. “The war is over. That much is clear. It seems to me that this Mortar Castle fellow should figure out a way to take these shields off; I don’t much fancy spending the rest of my life in a bubble.” “Maybe we need the shields yet,” said the Flame calmly. “The instant they’re gone, what do you think will happen? War will break out on Valhalla once again.” “He’s right,” said Jandar standing. “Utgar, Valkrill, we need to end this, now. This Flame has finally made us come to our senses for a moment, let’s put the time to good use. I propose a treaty. Utgar, you retain the Volcarren as your dominion. The other Valkyrie retain theirs. The rest of Valhalla will become one province, where kyrie may go as they please. This province will be ruled over by all of us. Those that wish to stay under the rule of their Valkyrie, may stay in his lands. Those that wish to live under the new regime, may live anywhere else.” “I accept,” said Utgar heavily, reaching across the table to shake hands with Jandar. “Done,” said Jandar, grasping Utgar’s hand firmly. Both of them leapt back in surprise. “You – I – the shield! It’s – It’s gone! I was able to shake your hand!” Both of the Valkyrie were looking at their hands as though they had never seen them before. There was a moment’s uproar, and then the six Valkyrie turned on the Flame. “What’s going on?” “Why is the shield gone?” “Will it come back?” The Flame smiled beneath his cloth mask. “There was one last thing I did not tell you,” he said. “While it is true I had not considered the cost of the shields, Mortar had. He knew what would happen. That is why he designed the machine with a secret function. This function allowed the magic in the serum within each of us to become dormant, thus allowing the shield to evaporate. With the push of a button, however, the shields all across Valhalla may become active once again – a button Mortar has assured me he will press if ever another war arises. “This is why I hope, now that the shields are gone, you will embrace what you have come to miss.” ■■■ Earth. Home. Love. Talia. Carr opened his eyes. |
#64
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Re: Fan Fic Contest Archive
Challenge 61 - June 2nd, 2015
Quote:
Spoiler Alert!
Run! Run run run! Rirust dashed along as fast as his worn legs could carry him. The dead pavement tore at his feet, the sound of each step echoing through the dark halls around him. The dull, heavy sound of following feet echoed not far behind him. It was closer now than it had been before, nearing with each fast-passing second.
The only thing in Rirust’s thoughts at the moment was sheer panic, instinctually fleeing like a chicken from a fox. The elf could hear the threat behind him, its presence overpowering all other senses. The radio at his belt crackled to life, its words wasted on his terrified ears. “Rirust! Are you there?” His hastened panting sufficed as a reply. “Rirust! Talk to me!” “It’s after me!” Rirust managed to say. “What is?” The raspy radio voice seemed more interested on gathering data than it was in survival. It was hard to make out over the air, in the moment. Fangs, fur, fast-moving muscly limbs, claws and hair made up what could be seen as it tore around each and every corner. But its true form remained hidden, clouded in peripheral since looking at it head-on would require facing it. And that of course meant that you’d be dead before you could turn around to keep running. A quick glance over the shoulder was the best that Rirust could do. Each turn down the twisting corridor came quicker than the last. Rirust’s elven eyes darted around, desperately scanning for a fork in the doomed road. “What’s going on? Rirust! What’s happening?” The radio interrogated, its commands going unanswered. Rirust skidded to a halt, his outstretched hands slamming up against a wall. A dead end. The impact of the sudden stop sent the tiny radio flying from his belt, the device chipping as it struck the wall. With nowhere to go, the elf simply turned around, facing his fate as his back pressed against the dead end. The radio sat on the ground, slightly dented and still sizzling with the staticy transmission. “Rirust? Rirust?” The voice questioned. Only a terrible noise returned. It was soon replaced by a dreadfully quiet silence. Rirust was gone. --- Darkness. Not a speck of light anywhere to be found, blotting out any and all vision. Mark couldn’t even see his own fingers right in front of him, even as his sleepy grogginess slowly wore off. His vision couldn’t adjust to darkness of this magnitude. His own tired groans he could recognize, however, and so the additional exasperated breaths he knew weren’t his own. Others resided alongside him in the darkness. But who? And more importantly, where was he? Where had he last been again? It was all a blur right now, the pitch-black bleakness surrounding him not helping. Heck, for all he knew, he was dead. It had the right atmosphere for it. Onto the mysterious beings next to him. Should he call out to them? They might know more than he did, but if they were hostile, talking would give away his position in the darkness. Lucky for Mark, the strangers in the dark were the first to break the silence. “Ugh… where am I?” The first voice, gravelly and male, sounded off, even the quiet words echoing down through the halls. At least, Mark assumed them to be long winding corridors—the echo sounded that way. The voice wasn’t familiar to him, but nothing about the situation was familiar. “Who goes there?” The second voice, cold but also male, was quick to reply, “Where am I? Where’s the convoy?” “What convoy!? Who the hell’re you!?” The first voice snapped. Mark figured that it was best that he go now, but as luck would have it the first man had risen to his feet and begun wandering around. He tripped over Mark, giving him away. “Get off me!” Mark rose to his feet, backing off against a wall he didn’t know existed. The wear of the intrusive visitor suggested that he wore armor of some sort. Its rusty, spiky edges had scratched Mark’s legs, and it already hurt. He hadn’t been summoned to Valhalla for his merits in battle, but here he was with this spear-toting grunt. “Another? I don’t know you.” The second voice continued, “Wait a second…” Slowly light began to fill the area. Dim as a half-finished match at first, but it soon blossomed into a visible glow that lit the halls. It wasn’t satisfactory lighting, but it was better than nothing. The trio could soon see each other. Mark considered himself a normal man, but it quickly became evident that he was the only one here. In his presence was an orc and a Warforged. The former, whom the first voice belonged to, was indeed dressed in savage armor, probably more dangerous to touch than it was protective to the wearer. The Warforged on the other hand, was dressed in scholarly wear. The sagely cloth seemed to conflict with the cold iron body that it clothed, but it wasn’t like wardrobe choices mattered—both were without their weapons. “Alright orc, tell me where we are!” The Warforged demanded, quick to point fingers. It made sense—everyone knew that orcs meant Utgar or Valkrill, and there was little doubt that they were probably responsible for whatever was happening here. “How should I know?” The orc snapped, suddenly stopping before he could continue, “Wait… what is that?” Sure enough, further down one of the seemingly endless halls, the sound of fast-approaching footsteps sounded off. It was soon followed by a deep growling sound, rattling the chilly air. The orc sniffed at the air, deemed it unsatisfactory, and turned to leave. “I’m outta here!” The combination of the noise’s hostility with the lack of weapons spurred Mark and the Warforged to follow him. Nearing uncomfortably fast, the following noises seemed to give chase, hounding after the trio at a rather terrifying pace. Must go faster, Mark thought as the terrible growling and footsteps came near, Must go faster! The hallway churned, weaving this way and that, seemingly going on forever. This would do them no good as is, but luckily the path ahead forked, and forked again later on. Perhaps they could lose their pursuer in this maze. The orc took a left, then a right, then another left. His quick decisions on the matter almost made it look like he knew where he was going. Or maybe he wasn’t wasting any time on thinking things out. After all, all the corridors looked identical. “Keep going!” The orc snapped over his shoulder, almost immediately running into a dead end, “Ow! Damn!” He turned to leave in a hurry, but the Warforged held him back, “No wait! …Listen… I think we’ve lost it.” “What is ‘it’?” Mark asked, panting from the exhausting chase. “I’m not sure,” The Warforged replied, “I’m not sure about any of this…” Suddenly, a fourth voice crackled to life right by the trio’s feet, “Who’s there? More visitors? Identify yourselves!” Mark jumped back and looked down. There was a small, dented radio at their feet, still switched on. The voice that came from it sounded human enough, masked behind static and a poor connection. It was only now that he looked at the ground beneath him that Mark also noticed the dried blood that stained the floor and walls. Again he jumped back. Less shocked, the Warforged picked up the device and tried talking back, “Who is this?” “That depends. Who are you?” The orc snatched the radio, quick to make the conversation hostile, “Tell us your name, and we’ll tell you ours!” “No. I can’t take that chance. I don’t know if I can trust you.” “I don’t know if we can trust you!” The orc retorted. “Well, if you’re going to be stubborn about it…” This time Mark took the radio, not about to waste his chance of escaping, “No no no… we’re not being stubborn. My name is Mark! I just woke up down here with these two. We got chased down here and happened by this radio!” “Well,” The radio replied, “It seems that luck is on your side, finding my last radio by mere chance down here.” “Can you help us?” “Perhaps… That creature, it won’t give up on finding you. You need to find me.” “How do we do that? This place is a labyrinth.” The Warforged questioned. “I’ve mapped out what I can.” The voice over the air answered, “If you’re where Rirust last was, then I can lead you back to my position. Do exactly as I say, and hurry! That monster won’t lose you for long.” “Very well.” The Warforged looked back down the hall, “I’m going to trust him.” “How do you know he’ll help us?” The orc demanded, far more suspicious of the trio’s mysterious predicament. “I don’t. But it’s the best I’ve got.” The Warforged turned back to the radio, “Lead on, mister.” Nobody wanted to stay where they were at, so following the voice’s commands seemed like the only other option. The corridors wound onward as they cautiously moved. Left. Right. Right. Keep going. Now turn left. They went on, the paths seeming to stretch on forever. For all Mark knew, they did. Finally the Warforged seemed to lose his patience. “Are we getting close yet?” he demanded. The voice was quick to respond. “Yes. Very close now, provided you haven’t taken a wrong turn.” A deep, volatile hissing sound rumbled from one of the halls beyond. Mark gulped and listened carefully. There was no mistaking it—the creature had found them. Its violet noises, although still terrifying, seemed different from before, no longer growling and stomping. This time it hissed and slunk, the echoes carrying the sounds of its arrival sounding like a death knell. “Time to go.” The Warforged decided, “Where to now, mister? Hurry!” “Take a left,” The radio crackled, “Then an immediate right.” The Warforged dashed off, following the directions to a T. Mark and the orc scrambled after him, crammed between the thin corridor in their mad attempt to evade their monstrous pursuer. Mark still didn’t know what exactly was after them, but the noises indicated that he didn’t want to find out. And the noises were growing nearer by the second. Whatever it was, it was on to them. “Left, right, straight.” The voice on the radio relayed, “Now another right. Keep going strait. Now turn left.” The Warforged obeyed every command, reaching a fork in the road and turning left. Immediately he hit another dead end, Mark and the orc crashing into him a second later. “No! Right, I meant right! Go!” The voice shouted, the terrible noise of the oncoming monster quickly drowning it out as it fast approached. “Go back!” The Warforged threw Mark and the orc off of him, hopping to his feet and heading back the other way. Sure enough, down this path there was a sturdy door, shut tight. Assuming it would open, he rammed up against it and began pounding on it loudly. Mark and the orc soon followed, the three of them banging on the barricade whilst their pursuer neared them. At last the door was pulled open, the three of them spilling onto the ground. The man who had opened the door shut it tight, locking it with at least six bolts. Soon after, something else began pounding at the door, dust coming from the ceiling with each blow. The man backed away, going over and taking a seat at a large table in the middle of the room. A room? Not a hallway? Mark got to his feet, dusting himself off and looking around. The room was octagon-shaped, large and open compared to the tight corridors of the maze. Additional sources of light were strung from the ceiling, brightening the room more than the surrounding halls as well. It reminded Mark of a bunker, but compared to the previous scenery, it wasn’t so bad. The walls were lined with shelves of boxes, many dusty and empty. The man sat at a large table in the room’s center, a large maze scratched into its wooden surface. Several other chairs lined the table, more broken radios lying beside them. It was dreary, but as the pounding at the door stopped and the noise of the monster slowly faded, a far more important aspect of the room became clear—it was safe. “Well, you all made it in one piece.” The man finally said, propping his feet up onto the table, “At least, I think you mentioned there were three of you. Who are you?” The Warforged seemed prepared to answer, but it occurred to him (as it suddenly did with Mark) that he didn’t know either of his comrades, he stopped. He turned to them. “I don’t know these people either,” He admitted. “Well then we can all introduce ourselves!” The man at the table suggested. “My name is Heirloom.” The Warforged began, “I was travelling in one of Vydar’s convoys—nothing too important—when we were suddenly ambushed by orcs. We fought valiantly, but were outnumbered. That’s the last thing I remember before I awoke here. As far as I know, I’m the only survivor.” “Makes sense,” The man nodded, “How about you, human? What’s your story?” Mark tried to remember. It was nothing battle-related, but he hadn’t been summoned because he was strong. He was summoned for his smarts. “My name is Mark. I was at Jandar’s castle…” He began, not sure if he should be telling soldiers of Vydar and Utgar this, “I had been helping form strategies for the next battle, deciding who to draft and what not. I went to my quarters for the night, slept. Next thing I knew, here I was.” “Interesting,” The man added, turning to the orc, “And what about you, mister orc? I bet your story’s fascinating.” “Yes,” Heirloom turned and faced the orc, “I bet Utgar captured us and threw us down here as food for this monster. So what’s one of his soldiers doing down here?” “Insubordination.” The orc answered, “I’m Tornak. I got in trouble.” “What for?” “I threw my shield at Ornak.” Tornak answered. “What? Why?” Mark asked. “Well, I was mad that he was always getting picked for battle over me!” The orc snapped, “As if his mad flag-waving’s any more useful than I am! He’s a talentless hack! So I lobbed my shield at him. Utgar said he’d have my head, and what do you know, here I am in this hellhole.” “That would explain that!” The man laughed. “And what about you?” Heirloom asked, turning to face the group’s mysterious host. “Ah, of course.” The man moved his feet off the table, “Call me German. I’ve been down here for who knows how long, trying to find a way out of this maze. Unfortunately everyone else I knew down here is dead. Fortunately, you guys just turned up, so there’s still a chance for us to get out of this place.” “And just what is this place?” Heirloom demanded. “Didn’t you hear me say it?” German replied, “It’s a maze, housing a monster. Just like the old minotaur stories.” He took out a combat knife and ran it along the table, etching in another hallway into the map of the maze. It was a big labyrinth, all right, but there was really no way to know just how big it really was, or if the table was even big enough to support a full map drawing of it. “And that monster?” Mark asked, gulping. “It is what it is: a monster.” German explained, “Summoned, bred, created with dark magic… I don’t know. All I know is that we’re all test subjects to test out its effectiveness. A.K.A. food. This thing knows the maze, and it knows us.” “What do you mean ‘knows us’?” Tornak growled. “It preys on fears.” German went on, “Materializes them, becomes them… I don’t quite know for sure. I can never tell because my comrades over the radios always panic like crazy before it kills them.” It was quiet for a while, everyone taking all this in. Finally German broke the silence. “I decided to stay here and map out the maze. Look for an exit. Unfortunately my fellows have all died in the search, but now that you’re here…” He lightly tapped one of the radios on the table. “I think we should stay here.” Mark declined, “I mean, it’s safe, right?” German frowned, looking as if the idea of sharing the room upset him, “Yes, this is the one safe spot in the entire area (as far as I know). But we can’t all just stay here and rot.” “Why not? That’s what you’re doing.” “Whatever that thing is…” Heirloom pondered, “It can’t be good for Valhalla. I’d sooner get out of this place and get help than waste away down here.” “Exactly.” German nodded, “This whole thing is an experiment to test this monster out. If we find an exit and get out, we may be able to stop this twisted test in its tracks. Besides, I need to stay here and map this maze out, in order to help you navigate it. It’s all too easy to get lost in here without guidance.” Mark sighed and sat down, rubbing his aching head, “Ugh. I don’t want to go back out there.” “I suppose I can’t force any of you. It’s no easy task. You can think it over as long as you like. Tea, anyone?” German sounded polite, but his tone indicated that he knew they’d eventually give in to his demands. Either that, or they’d all rot there forever. Heirloom and Tornak exchanged skeptical glances. Mark massaged his temples and sighed again, “Yes, some tea sounds nice. I need time to contemplate.” German poured some of the stuff (many of the boxes scattered about the room seemed to contain enough rations to last a while), handing Mark a hot cup soon after, “Contemplate away.” An annoyingly long time passed. Heirloom sat in the corner, musing to himself whilst Tornak paced back and forth frustratingly. Mark sipped at his tea, staring at the closed door in front of him. All the while German sat at his table. It was silent. This sucks. Mark thought to himself, We’re trapped, stuck with whatever that thing is. We’re safe here, sure, but sooner or later someone’s gonna have to go out there. We can’t all just corrode away in this dump. The door sat directly in front of him. Beyond that, who knew how much maze was left undiscovered. The exit could be in any one of those four directions. So could the monster. Mark didn’t want to leave this place and go out there where that thing could be waiting around any corner. Yet deep down inside he knew he had to, if he ever wanted to see the light of day again. It was like doing anything else you never wanted to do. You could just avoid it as long as you liked, but at the end of the day, if you knew what was good for you, you went through with it. Mark glanced over at the others. He supposed that, as seasoned warriors, it didn’t weigh so heavily on them. After all, it was like going into any other battle. You knew you might not make it out alive, but if you wanted to win you did it, hurling yourself into the chaos in the hopes that you’d make it to the other side in one piece. But Mark was no warrior. He had been summoned out of that crash and brought over for his smarts. And now that he was finally starting to get used to this whole Valhalla mess, this happens. The tea was gone. The door remained. German stared at him, looking as if he’d stare for years if he had to so long as he got his way. Mark didn’t like returning the glance, but since looking at the door made him feel sick, it had to do. While he remained here, nothing changed. The feeling stayed the same. It was safe in here, but it was also dreadful. The building nerve and tension probably was worse than going out there and facing fears was ever going to be (or at least that’s how it usually was, but this might be the exception). And if he took that risk, there probably wasn’t any undoing it. Ugh. I hate being so hesitant. Neither situation is a win, but only one is a guarantee, Mark finally thought, I suppose there’s no other choice by that logic. So be it, I’d sooner go out there and get mauled to get it over with anyway. As if on cue, German tapped the table loudly with his own cup, getting everyone’s attention. “What’s it to be, sirs?” He asked, “Will you be my new scouts?” “…I suppose I have no other choice,” Heirloom replied, “We can’t very well wait around for someone else to solve our problems here.” “And why not?” Tornak grumbled, less enthusiastic. “You know Utgar’s not coming to fish us out.” The Warforged denied, “The only way out is our own… if there is one, that is.” Tornak mumbled and reluctantly nodded. “I guess so,” Mark agreed, “Just promise me we’ll make it out of here alive.” “I can’t promise you jack.” German tossed him a radio, “But I can assure you that it’s the best chance we have.” “Ugh.” “Right!” German sat up, ignoring the last comment and pointing to the map, “Now, for the sake of survival I suggest that you stick together (we’ve only got one radio). Which door you take doesn’t matter since the exit could be in any direction. Just do as I say, stay in constant communication, and report every turn you take. I’d advise you count your paces.” “Got it.” Heirloom took the radio from Mark and tuned it. Its static was loud and raspy, being underground and all, but it would have to do. The Warforged glanced around the room, seemingly listening in case the creature was nearby, before picking a random door and heading over to it. He opened it, revealing the dimly lit corridor beyond. Mark followed, a deep unrelenting apprehension filling him. Tornak was right behind him, even less willing to step out into the unknown. The corridor stretched on until the lights were too far to make out clearly. A quiet but deep ambient noise rung out from the halls, for a moment making Mark desperately want to close the door and stay back inside the safe room. But now Tornak was behind him, stepping out into the corridor with his spiky armor prodding Mark onward. “Good luck. Stay in touch.” German waved a final goodbye and the door shut with a loud, echoing bang. Heirloom turned and began hastily heading down the hall. Again, Mark suddenly felt no obligation to follow the Warforged, but he knew that with that loud noise going off it was unwise to stay here. He followed, his gaze turning left and right cautiously. From the first turn the safe room’s doors were out of sight. All walls looked the same again. “Turning left,” Heirloom reported into his radio. German was quick to respond. “Alright, I follow you. I’ll take you to one of the unexplored areas. No need to waste time in these recorded places.” “Roger. Lead the way.” Heirloom replied, moving quickly through the dark halls. The group was led through the maze quickly and efficiently. For a while it almost seemed as if there was no danger with the directions, as if this were a familiar neighborhood. It was a false security though, and danger was the most present when you let your guard down. Of course, Mark didn’t even have a guard to begin with. “Are we close yet?” Tornak demanded impatiently, “This has been going on forever!” “German?” Heirloom radioed in. “You’re getting there.” The radio buzzed, the voice hard to decipher, “Keep going down this hall. Thirty paces.” The crackle of the radio was interrupted by the dreadful sound of a fierce, distant growling. Everyone’s heart skipped a beat, maybe two. The fearsome noise neared, Heirloom not wasting a second as he turned and tore down the hallway, Mark and Tornak scrambling after him. “Better half the pace count—we’re running!” The Warforged shouted into his radio as he sprinted, turning the next corner, “Where to now?” “Is it after you?” German asked, “Not so soon…” “Where to, German!?” Heirloom snapped. “Right! Then left!” “Okay; stay close you two!” Heirloom followed the directions, Mark and Tornak struggling to keep up. The turns now came sharper than ever, the three constantly losing sight on one another for a split second. German barked commands over the radio, the speed and panic of the sudden chase blurring his words, but Heirloom seemed to understand them. The halls shuddered as whatever pursued them bounded closer, its steps heavy and thunderous. It was closing in. Tornak pushed at Mark’s back, “Faster, you maggot! We’re not gonna make it!” “I’m going! I’m going!” Mark stumbled from the sudden bump. The growling neared. “Dammit! We’re gonna die!” Tornak snapped, suddenly breaking apart from the group and dashing down a separate corridor in an effort to divide from the hunted pack. Mark jumped to his feet, a shadow falling over him in a second, and then it was gone. Tornak’s voice rattled from down the hall, “No! Not you!” The orc’s cry was soon replaced by a gut-wrenching scream of terror and agony. It echoed through the halls, sending tingles crawling up Mark’s spine. He shakily got up and hurried to find Heirloom. The fallen orc’s shrieking quickly stopped, and soon the pounding footsteps continued onward, searching for more prey. If nothing else however, Tornak’s “distraction” had given them some valuable time, enough to distance themselves from the monster. The two of them ran, their footsteps and German’s commands the only noise for a while. Finally Mark’s stamina failed him, and he stopped to catch his breath. Heirloom skidded to a halt and radioed in. “I think it’s gone.” He reported solemnly. “Good.” “German. Tornak’s gone. Dead, I’m sure.” “Did you see it kill him?” German asked suddenly. “No,” Heirloom replied, “I could hear it, but I didn’t see a thing.” “You think that means there’s a chance he’s still alive?” Mark inquired. “No, not that…” German answered. “Hmm?” Heirloom prodded him to go on. “This creature… it makes unusual sounds, and follows irregular stalking patterns. I’ve noticed, over the radio when the other scouts would die. I’m just curious as to what it’s doing.” “Well I didn’t see a thing,” Heirloom pondered, “If it’s never really been seen, it makes me wonder if there is even anything to see at all.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Mark asked, somewhat annoyed with the Warforged’s clear mindedness. “Nothing. German, we should be near the border of your map, yes?” “Correct.” German replied, “From here on out it’s uncharted territory.” “Great.” Mark muttered. He had grown used to being led, and now once again the prospect of the unknown before him did little to ease his nerves. The labyrinth stretched on for who knew how long, and he didn’t know if they were even headed in the right direction. Heck, he didn’t know where they’d be if they found the exit—he didn’t know anything about his current predicament. The only option now was to keep moving. “Alright,” Heirloom acknowledged to the radio, “We’re moving forward. Just give Mark here a chance to catch his breath.” “I’m alright.” Mark wiped his brow, “Let’s go.” “Okay. German, we’re moving.” Heirloom began heading further down into the darkness. “Roger. Count your paces.” The two began their descent into the unknown, calling out their every turn over the air. German was quiet now, busy etching their progress into his table. Things had gotten quiet again, but the tension was higher here than ever. Every dead end, wrong turn, it all only made the agonizing stress worse. Turning around at a dead end was the worst part, Mark always certain that the monster would be right behind them. Heirloom seemed less concerned, perhaps because he was a Warforged, or perhaps he thought that their chances of encountering the monster were slim way out here. Their venture carried on for a long time, things starting to get quiet again, save for the occasional mysterious echoing sounds. It was an unsettling ambience, but a lonely and repetitive one. Someone could end up starved and rotting out here just wandering the maze forever, just the same as if they had simply stayed put in the safe room for all of eternity. “This is getting old.” Heirloom finally stated, trudging onward down every identical hallway, “German, are you still tracking our progress?” “Yes.” The voice was fainter now than it had ever been, “You’re very far out now.” “According to your limited data.” Heirloom muttered, “This could go on for miles.” “Well it’s something.” Mark replied, “Besides, its size is helping us evade that monster.” “Hmph.” Heirloom pocketed the radio, “I’m starting to wonder if there even is a monster. Everything about this predicament of ours says ‘set up’ to me. All the Effect is here, but I’ve yet to directly encounter the Cause.” “A luxury you should appreciate.” German’s voice rasped from the Warforged’s coat. Everything suddenly went dark, all the lights lining the halls powering down. However dim they might have been, they did keep this place void of total darkness. Now it was void indeed, Mark suddenly completely unable to see two inches in front of him. “Shoot.” He muttered, “Heirloom?” “German, what’s wrong?” The Warforged asked. “What’s happened?” “The lights are out.” “That’s new.” The radio sputtered quietly, “Alright, just keep moving and—” A rattling sound caught everyone’s attention rather than the rest of the sentence. It sounded like someone was dragging a long, bony spine along the floor, but more importantly it sounded close. It was if the monster had followed them all this way, waiting for something to go wrong. Or if it could simply materialize near them when something did go wrong. Mark cursed their miserable luck. “It’s here.” He whispered. “Run.” The radio replied, “Run!” Heirloom turned and ran fast as he could, Mark right behind him. The Warforged hit a wall prematurely in the dark and turned, going left. The footsteps were his only indication of position, Mark struggling to keep up in the chaos. The creature rattled along, its horrible echoing noises making its position impossible to ascertain. It could be down one of the halls right in front of them. Wherever it was, it was close. Mark ditched the luxury of taking too long and ran faster, ramming into walls left and right. He might have turned himself around, or taken a wrong turn who knew how many times. It didn’t matter. He just needed to run. After a nightmarish chase that seemed to last an eternity, Mark ran out of energy and collapsed onto the floor. It grew silent around him, perhaps safe. But even if it wasn’t he was too tired for now. The lights slowly returned, revealing Mark’s solitude in this labyrinth. “Oh no…” Mark sat up, leaning against the wall. He had lost the monster in the chase it seems, but he had also lost Heirloom, and German with him. That meant he was lost. All the walls looked the same, everything looked the same. Without German’s tracking, someone could get lost out here not twenty feet from the safe room. He might be twenty feet from the safe room without even knowing it right now, or he might be a hundred miles from it. There was no way of knowing here. It made him wish that he had brought some way of marking his progress, but there were no breadcrumbs here. Well. I suppose I can’t expect a rescue from here. I’ve no choice but to keep going. There’s no backtracking through here, especially when I couldn’t see where I was going. Mark thought, getting to his feet and wondering onward. The ambience seemed louder here, stranger. Perhaps it was being alone that heightened his tensions. Maybe it was the quiet without the constant reports to the radio. They had seemed tedious before, but now they sounded comforting. A report meant talking to someone out here, letting them know you were all right. Now Mark’s only company were his fears. He could see a small hole in the wall up ahead on the left, too small to fit your arm through. It was unusual for these big stone walls to sport such wear and tear, but maybe it meant something. Mark walked up and peered on through. All he could see on the other side was teeth. Lots and lots of teeth, as if someone on the other side had faced that wall, gaping into it and waiting for someone to happen upon the other side and be spooked. The fangs moved, speech following. “I’m coming for you, Mark. Run while you can.” Mark backed up, startled. Gulping, he hurriedly moved away from the wall, going further down the corridor as fast as he could in an attempt to get some ground between himself and whatever that had been. Either his mind was playing tricks on him, or the creature was nearby, only inches from him a moment ago, separated by that wall. Mark kept moving, not caring where he was going. Further away was better at this point, and it’s not like his judgment held any sway over where the hidden exit would be. This went on for hours, Mark moving, slowing, and a sudden noise or creepy echo getting him picking up the pace again. He was positive the monster was stalking him now, (good for Heirloom, he guessed, if Heirloom was still alive). Another distant, alien bark made him turn his head, making him jump again when he heard a new noise right below him, the tap of his shoe onto a smooth tile. “Huh?” Mark looked back, finding himself in a new room altogether now. The floor had been the same uneven stone all the way through for miles back there. Now it was thin, glossy, square tiles. The rest of the room was bright and well lit, and a room at that—not another hallway. It was all cast in a white and minty-green color, quite clean and serene in comparison to the dark maze before it. A door with no handle lay at the far end of the room, the rest of it filled with strange contraptions and computers. Very odd indeed. Computers? Well there’s one thing I can manage. Mark strode over, turning one of them on. It merely said “ERROR” however, so he had to abandon it and venture on over to the door. It slid open automatically as he neared, a crisp clean swoosh noise indicating its opening. The next room was much the same as the first, this time with desks lined with vials taking up the room’s center. The walls were lined with clear cylindrical tubes filled with green liquid. Most housed nothing, but a few contained a single black speck in the center, floating up and down as it hovered amidst the jade fluid. Mark felt much safer in these rooms, although the automatic doors would just as easily allow the monster in if it wandered this far. Still the idea of safety caused him to slow down and give him the chance to feel intrigued instead of panicked. Was this the exit? Or was the maze just the beginning? And what was all this junk? Another computer sat at the corner of one of the desks. Mark booted it up, the screen flickering before dimming. The words “VIDEO ERROR” came up, but the machine’s speakers began sputtering out some kind of recording. Mark toned down the volume so it wouldn’t alert any unfriendly ears, but listened in nonetheless. “Do you know what wins wars, General?” The first voice that came in asked. “What?” A low, grumbling second voice replied. “Swords? Shields? Arrows? Guns? No, wars are won with minds, General.” The first voice answered, “Everyone thinks, makes make-or-break decisions. Whether they are tactical and commanding or instinctual and amidst the chaos of war, everyone thinks. A clear mind keeps armies together.” “Go on.” Voice #2 demanded. “If a clear mind keeps armies together, a panicked mind tears them apart in battle. Ranks fall apart, chain-of-command means nothing, the disciplined army wins.” Voice #1 explained, “So, I’ve researched how we can disrupt the minds of our enemies. And I’ve discovered its number one weakness: Fear.” “Fear, you say?” “Nothing creates panic more than fear. People become primitive when they are afraid, only out to satisfy their basest instinct: survival. “ Mark stopped the recording for a second. The second voice he didn’t recognize, but he assumed it was Utgar seeing as how he was likely the one who put them all in here in the first place. The first voice, however, sounded somewhat familiar to him. Maybe it was because of the staticy nature of the recording, and he’d been listening to staticy radios all day, but he pondered the possibility nonetheless. He continued. “Enough theoretics. What have you done about it?” Voice #2 asked. “I’ve created a life form,” Voice #1 answered, “One that not only preys on a subject’s fear, but fully embraces it. Any shred of doubt summons it, and from there it’s all downhill for its prey. As the subject becomes more paranoid, my creation’s hold over them grows. Voice #1 continued, “Now imagine on the battlefield you make an opening rally, do anything to break the enemy’s morale. As soon as that happens, you unleash a squad of these monsters into their ranks. As the tear their prey to shreds, it will spread confusion and chaos through the enemy army. When that happens, these creatures will feed off of that, and grow stronger and more numerous. You could win a battle without losing a single soldier so long as you plant these seeds amidst the opponent’s ranks!” “I like the sound of that.” Voice #2 replied, “Hand them over, and we’ll see how they preform in the field.” “Well, wait… I mean.” Voice #1 corrected, “This all needs thorough testing first before we can play our hand preemptively in the field. I’m still in the early stages.” “I didn’t come all this way for a preview. Show me results.” “Give me some time, General. If things go wrong, this could all spiral out of control. We have to proceed slowly and methodically.” “You’ve had more than enough time, more than enough resources!” The second voice, assumedly the General snapped, “Your research was complete long before I took you under my wing. Now what can you give me!?” “I’ve got the necessary materials to create these beings, but we haven’t yet tested them…” Voice #1 answered. “Then I’ll test them for you! Confiscate the research materials!” “But what about me?” “What about you? I knew if you weren’t good enough for Jandar you wouldn’t be good enough for me. But at least your creatures will do. Now I’ve only to test their loyalties.” The General said. “Stop! It has no loyalty! It is what it is: a monster! Valkrill, stop!” The recording shut off. Mark stepped back, the computer powering back down. That second-to-last sentence he had heard before, and now it matched up with the familiar voice. It was German—he had created this whole mess. And what’s more, he had previously worked for Jandar before going to Valkrill? The Valkyrie may have thrown him into this maze with the rest of them, but he had still lied to them. He’d have to warn Heirloom, if possible. Provided the lost Warforged was even still alive. Swoosh! Mark heard one of the doors behind him open. Ducking and making for cover, he hid under one of the desks, out of sight. He could hear slinking steps echoing through the clean room, heavy breathing gasping at the cold air: certainly not human, nor Warforged. It was in here with him. Educational as the recordings had been, they still left Mark in the dark about what exactly this creature was. The splatter of generous drool accompanied the monster’s heavy steps, drawing uncomfortably close to the desk where Mark hid. All he had seen of it before were the teeth, and he certainly didn’t want to have to experience their bite firsthand. He hadn’t seen what had become of Tornak, but his imagination filled in the blanks enough to unnerve him. Those teeth had also spoken to him, but the way this thing spat and groaned, he doubted the capabilities of its speech. It was as if it were now a different monster entirely, but perhaps that depended on his fears. Perhaps if he summoned the courage to become fearless, he’d be invisible to it. No… that’d be incredibly stupid. It knew to navigate the maze, after all, and the maze didn’t have fears. Drool dipped down onto the floor in front of him. It was on top of the desk, sitting, waiting. Mark held his breath, waiting for as long as he could. Finally the monster seemed to leave, the door opening and closing behind it as it pressed further onward into this strange laboratory. Swoosh! Mark gasped for breath, looking out cautiously. Sure enough, the trail of drool led straight to the closed door. Great, and that was his best lead out of this place. He waited again, knowing that as long as it was beyond that closed door, this place was safe. But, if he wanted to get out of here, he’d have to venture further in, where he knew the monster resided. It was like the dread of the safe room all over again. Finally gathering his courage, and assuming the monster had left the next room at the very least, Mark left his hiding place and went up to the door, staring potential death in the face as it opened up. Nothing yet, just another clean empty lab room. This time there were more containers housing things, bigger black splotches hanging in the center. Mark assumed these were additional creatures, grown from a tiny, seed-like speck into a full-blown killer. Perhaps these empty rooms weren’t so safe after all. Mark crept onward, knowing better than to risk turning on any more computers when even the tiniest noise could draw the monster’s attention. There were three doors onward from here, so at least the creature might be avoidable going through here. The faint sound of shattering glass and objects falling could be heard in the adjacent room, probably the creature knocking things about as it rummaged through the laboratory. Mark wisely took the door furthest from it, moving on ahead. The further in he went, the more decrepit the lab became, abandoned and destroyed. It began to feel more like the maze had, eerie and alone. Mark picked up the pace, not wanting to dawdle. He heard the monster not far off, separated by merely a wall. But at least Mark knew where it was, so that helped. It was a momentary ease, however, as the monster soon felt the need to leap up into the ceiling, clamoring into one of the vents atop the rooms. Now it had full access to this place—it was time to leave. Mark went on from one room to the next, making his way further along, trying desperately to find a way out. He was still lost as he had ever been, but at least this place felt slightly more navigational. He could hear the creature moving along the vents above his current position, his fast-paced strides became a run. His run soon became a sprint. The banging in the ventilation grew louder. “There!” Mark found the way out, dashing back out of the lab. The door swooped shut behind him, sealing the monster in. He’d hear the door open if it pursued him here. He was back in the maze, sad to say. But it was better than nothing. He hadn’t exited from where he had entered, so he assumed that he had made some progress. The monster stirred in the lab behind him. He kept going. “Who’s there!?” He ran into someone as he made a sharp turn. “Oof!” Mark sat up, “Heirloom?” “Mark?” The Warforged got to his feet, “I was certain you hadn’t survived. German, I’ve found Mark. He’s alive.” Mark glanced at the radio, frowning with suspicion, “Er, yes. Listen Heirloom…” “Hold on,” The radio sparked to life, “You survived?” “Yup, still here, German.” Mark snatched up the radio, “And I found some interesting intel while I was separated.” “You found something?” “I managed to find the lab where you cooked up this creature for General Valkrill.” Mark reported, Heirloom raising an eyebrow as he heard the words. “…” Radio silence. “Anything you’d like to say on your behalf?” Mark demanded. “Alright, fine.” German finally replied, “You’re right. I made this thing, and now Valkrill’s thrown us all into this mess together. So it hardly matters at this point.” Heirloom held forth one hand, the radio flying out of Mark’s grasp and floating back over to him. The Warforged grasped the device and held it to his mouth, taking over the conversation, “So we’re in here because you designed a killer monster to unleash on the Alliance?” “I wasn’t summoned by Valkrill you know,” German answered, “I once worked for Jandar. But he had no appreciation for my research. He would rather lose the war then resort to such effective weaponry. He had the gall to claim to be above fear. In my frustration I went to those who had the stomach for my hard work.” “Your story does little to ease my judgment.” Heirloom replied. “What else could I do? My talents were wasted in the Alliance.” German admitted, “But Valkrill only had eyes for the effectiveness of my monster on the battlefield. He could fail to contain it if he lets it loose without thinking. You still need my help to stop him, don’t you? So help me out, please.” Mark scowled but Heirloom seemed to think it over. “Okay. Fine, German.” Heirloom decided, “We’ll help you, if only for stopping these things from seeing the light of day.” “Good! Excellent!” German replied, “Okay, so Mark had found the lab, correct?” “Yeah.” “Backtrack and go back there. The exit ought to be in there somewhere, as well as a full-scale map of the maze. You can navigate me out of there while you’re there.” Mark looked over his shoulder, biting his lip, “Er, yeah.” The monster was still back there, somewhere in the lab, waiting for them. “So we might have a chance.” Heirloom mused, “Alright. Let’s go, Mark.” “Didn’t come all this way for nothing,” Mark sighed, “Okay, but don’t get your hopes up, German. I don’t know how much time we’ll have to stick around. The creature followed me in there.” “It will be worth it, I assure you.” With that, the two headed back towards the lab. It was a short distance away, easy to locate with its distinctive closed door. A deep, faint pang in the vents signaled the monster’s location within as the two neared. Mark gulped. Swoosh! The door swung open, Mark and Heirloom inching into the laboratory, glancing around nervously. They were alone, for now. “We’re in.” Heirloom reported over the radio. “Keep quiet,” Mark told him, feeling more experienced in this place, “It can hear us in here.” “Right.” The Warforged pocketed the device, laying low. They advanced hurriedly, not wasting any time. The laboratory was quite large, and they still had no idea where they were going, so time was of the essence. The vents churned above them, always reminding them of the imminent danger. In fact, it didn’t take long for the sound of the monster dropping down onto the ground to sound off in the room behind them. They picked up the pace. So did the monster, obviously aware of their presence. Its footsteps quickened, turning into a sprint. A screeching yowl echoed through the room as they fled, again sounding different as ever. “Go! Go go go!” Mark shouted, the monster’s speed seemingly increasing with his own heart rate. Room after room they ran, the creature closing in on them. They weren’t going to make it. “Mark!” Heirloom tossed him the radio as they ran, “Go!” The Warforged skidded to a halt, whirling around and raising his fists, blocking the doorway. “What’re you doing!? It’ll kill you!” Mark shouted over his shoulder. “I’ll believe it when I see it!” Heirloom dismissed, seemingly adamant about his survival. Mark wasn’t about to stop him. He wasn’t sure he even could, so he wasn’t about to try. They’d both be killed if he did, so he ran on ahead. Heirloom held the door open with his broad metallic shoulders, facing the door at the opposite end of the room, “C’mon… show your face. It’s about time you did.” The door opened, revealing nothing, yet the footsteps continued onward, nearing him. The creature’s hissing seemed to come from the air around him. Heirloom glanced around, fearless of the oncoming danger. If he had his trusty staff, he could use his spells to defend himself, but he figured his cold steel fists would do just fine. “C’mon…” The Warforged challenged, “I’m not afraid of you… show yourself…” Still nothing came through the door. Heirloom waited for what felt like far too long. Again the footsteps neared him and seemed to stop. The Warforged glanced around, finally spotting a small pool of drool lying at his feet. That hadn’t ben there before, and as he stared another droplet fell down into the spit. He glanced up, finding the source of the drool. It appeared directly in front of him, coming out of nowhere and falling to the ground, as if it were simply being created from nothing. Invisible. “Wha…?” Heirloom took a step back, the sudden and dooming realization shocking him. As soon as the feeling crossed his mind, the shapeless monster took form, pouncing only a split second later. Mark could hear the deadly encounter several rooms down. Reaching a ladder, the panicked survivor scrambled up and entered yet another room, this one much like the ones before it, but dimmed and dreary. A bright, lit map of the maze lay framed upon one wall. “There!” Mark slammed the hatch over the ladder shut and locked it, hurrying over to the map. The thought crossed him to just go on ahead without German, especially since letting him up would involve opening the hatch again. He sighed and faced the map, quickly locating what appeared to be the safe room (there was really only one octagon-shaped room in there). If those specks in the tubes below were indeed more monsters, he’d need German’s expertise in destroying them properly. “German?” He radioed in, “I’ve found the map!” “Excellent!” German replied, “Tell me exactly where to go!” “Okay, hold on…” Mark tried his best to lead his fellow survivor out of the maze. He hated how long it took, even with the exact directions of how to navigate the labyrinth. It wasn’t aided by the banging on the hatch that soon ensued. “Shoot!” Mark glanced over, the pounding getting fiercer. It knew he was here, and that hatch wouldn’t hold it back forever. “Mark!?” German was in the middle of nowhere at the moment. If Mark left, he’d likely never find his way here, or back. “Hold on…” Mark slowly backed away, the hatch beginning to give way. The edges were bending upward from the force, Mark able to see sharp teeth from underneath, gleaming at him eagerly. “Mark!?” German questioned louder, but Mark was incapable of answering now. The banging was getting louder, the hatch giving more each time. Tiny, piercing eyes gazed up into the room, quickly falling upon Mark. The giant, sharp teeth pressed together into an evil smile, the creature momentarily stopping its assault to stare at him gleefully. “Oh no…” Mark felt sick looking back at it. It was like the culmination of everything that unnerved him, personified to make him lose track of what was important right now. I really shouldn’t have played so much FNaF 4 back on Earth. Still staring and smiling, the monster continued banging its head against the hatch, forcing its way in. Escape was the only thing that mattered to Mark at the moment, the door out right over in the corner. But German… Mark dashed out of the monster’s line of sight, hiding behind one of the tables in the middle of the room. He hoped the darkness could hide him while he continued directing German out of there. The map was still lit, so if he leaned over enough he could still see. “Okay German, listen up and make it fast!” He muttered over the air, “There’s no map of the lab so you’ll be on your own once you make it here.” “Roger, direct away!” Mark issued as many commands as he could, as quietly as he could whilst the creature barged its way into the room. The hatch was almost gone. No, it was gone, finally flying up into the room and falling to the floor with a clang. The creature leapt up into the room in one graceful bound, landing and hissing as it tried to sniff Mark out. It sounded thin and boney as it clamored about the room, suddenly completely different from what it had been before, as if changing to fit someone else’s fears would aid its searching powers. “German!” Mark hissed quietly, scooting away to the other end of the table. “I’m in! Hold on! Over and out!” The radio replied, falling silent. Mark held his breath, lying low as he had done so many times before. He could hear the splattering drool of the monster near him, the slight taps of its fingers on the floor tiles, on all fours. There were a very limited number of hiding places in this small room, Mark’s time even more limited because of it. The creature continued its slow and methodic search, finally crawling close to the table. It paused for a moment, as if it were going to pass Mark by. Instead it suddenly lurched forth, throwing the entire table back against the wall, revealing the hidden survivor underneath. Mark scooted back as far as he could, gazing up at the monster before him. Difficult as it was to see in the darkness, he saw was that it had indeed changed dramatically. Like a black Marro monster, it was considerably thinner and bonier, tall and slender, yet still contorted in its hunched position on the floor. The best way he could describe it was like something H. R. Geiger would cook up to scare someone—it certainly looked enough like the famous movie Alien to him. Not that the film had scared him much back on Earth (he figured that this was someone else’s fear), but now that it was physically here the fear felt pretty legitimate. Even now as it crept forward it began to morph again, its face and torso expanding and its teeth growing. There was nowhere to go, no move he could make that would outmaneuver the creature before him. “Mark!” German leapt up from the ladder, suddenly entering the encounter. The monster instantly snapped its neck toward him, drool splattering to the floor in eager anticipation. “Yeah, there you are…” German slowly inched forward, arms up defensively as he neared his creation, “Daddy’s here.” The monster hissed, ceasing its transformation and beginning to advance on its new target, suddenly leaping into the air and diving for him. Thinking quickly, Mark dove and grabbed the creature’s tail, adamant to protect the man he had wasted so much time bringing here. The bony tail tore at his hands, but he dug his feet into the table and held his ground. German dashed around the monster as it fell to the ground, making his way for the door, Mark dashing right after him. The monster screeched, turning and scrambling after them, not wasting any time. Mark and German slammed the door shut (this one wasn’t automatic), quick to hold it down as the creature banged against it viciously. Like the hatch before it, the door wasn’t going to last too long. “Mark! Door!” German backed off, leaving Mark to hold off the monster on his own. He raced over to the other side of the room, grabbing one of the desks and slowly pushing it over to the door, barring it momentarily. He then turned and raced over to one of the monitors, booting it up and beginning to madly type away at it. Steam hissed from above, sirens beginning to sound off all throughout the facility. “What’re you doing?” Mark shouted, still holding the door shut while the monster slammed against the door repeatedly. “Destroying the seeds!” German replied, “This whole place has got to go—you ought to get out now while you can. Things are about to get a little… explosive in here.” “What? What about you?” “I can destroy all this from here, but there could still be more out there. I don’t doubt Valkrill’s willingness. Someone’s got to alert Jandar, no?” Mark bit his lip, but the increased banging on the door spurred his decision-making into overdrive. Dashing to the door, he opened it and looked up. Sure enough, there was another ladder, leading upwards into a blinding light. The outside world. Looking over his shoulder, he looked back at his ally, still stuck in the room with his monster. “How am I supposed to get to the Alliance?” He questioned, “I’m in the middle of enemy territory!” German smiled slyly, “You can do it. You’re a survivor.” With that, he clicked another button on the computer, the door shutting in Mark’s face and sealing tight. Mark gulped, looked up and scrambled up the ladder as fast as he could. The light shone in his eyes as the outside world opened up around him, a vast open landscape suddenly abandoning the claustrophobia he had almost grown used to. It was almost too much to take in all at once, his eyes slowly adjusting to the light. Down below, German flipped the kill switch, horrible screeching coming from down below as the seeds were sapped of their growth tanks. He then flipped the self-destruct switch, the sirens’ whines growing louder. “You always thought this place was expendable, eh?” He muttered as he set the timer, “Well, the joke’s on you this time.” The door burst open, drawing his attention to the approaching creature. Its form still shifted as it approached, slowly advancing on its prey. German backed up, blocking the door as he pressed against the wall. As he smiled at the creature, it slowly began to turn invisible again, revealing the oncoming explosions behind it. KABOOM! The ground shook under Mark’s feet, smoke slowly billowing up from the hole in the ground where he had just escaped. He was alone now, out here in the middle of nowhere. But even now he couldn’t rest. Well, let’s see… He thought, already plenty exhausted, The sun’s still rising, so North is that way over there… Without any time to waste, he began walking off cautiously toward where he knew the Alliance resided. |
#65
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Re: Fan Fic Contest Archive
Challenge 62 - October 7th, 2015
Quote:
Spoiler Alert!
Purger
“Which side are you on anyway?” She asked, sword drawn. Shimmering in the sunlight, her blade was firmly pressed against the agent’s throat. A simple flick of her wrists would be enough to decapitate him, if not slit his throat. “I don’t know why you’re doubting my loyalty, Otonashi,” he replied, “ I never thought you were stupid enough to think of me as your enemy. I’ve been feeding Vydar information for weeks now, and you’ve come to assassinate me? I thought you people were supposed to be reasonable, not ill-tempered and judgemental.” Snorting, he frantically waved his hands around, “I don’t have anything new to tell you anyway. Why do you think I’m preparing to backstab you? Why would I betray you? Surely you would have disposed of me already, right?” She spun her sword around, cutting into the agent’s burly neck muscles. He sputtered, as his head was quickly lopped off by her sharpened steel katana. “That’s what I’ve come to do, traitor,” she whispered, sheathing her sword. Gingerly, Otonashi dragged the body along the dirt path running alongside the forest. She quickly leaned it against a tree and took off, sprinting along the road. She’d been in Carr’s pursuit for weeks; it was time to head home. “The plan has been set in place. Carr’s served his purpose. We should begin to mobilize the soldiers. Extend the supply line. Phase II will be commencing soon,” A chattering voice said. The figure, however, remained shrouded in misty darkness. Exhausted, Otonashi flopped down onto the chair she recently found walking the woods outside. Hopefully she wouldn’t be called again for another job. Vydar had been very demanding of her lately, and murdering people wasn’t easy work. However, it paid in being able to live, a high price in Valhalla. She was just about to take a long nap when she heard a loud knock on her door. “You are free to enter,” she said, a customary reply in Vydar’s fortress. Upon hearing these words, a tall elf strolled onto the metal floor of Otonashi’s room. “Who the hell are you!” She shouted, jumping from her chair, “Why is an elf in my quarters!” “Ah, hello. I am Survius, an elf from Ullar’s kingdom. I have come of behalf of Lord Ullar, as he wishes for you to join myself and others on a journey,” he announces gallantly. “How did you even get in here?” She hissed, grabbing the collar of Survius’s shirt, “And why are you here for me? You must have screwed up. I work for Vydar only.” “I am here for reasons even I cannot fathom, m’lady,” he replies, “Lord Ullar requests that you come immediately, and bring whatever weapons and tools may be necessary.” Survius loosens Otonashi’s grip, and shoves her away. “I suggest you come with me. Now.” “What do you want me for? You’ve got to tell me,” Otonashi demands. She slowly begins to slide her katana out of it’s scabbard. “Now, tell me again, how and why are you here?” “Even I cannot tell you. I must say though, it is much more important than whatever Vydar will ask of you,” He sighed. Survius quickly uttered a stunning spell, so he stuffed her now unconscious body into a large sack, which he kept on his back. This was going to have to be quick, for Survius’ spells didn’t hold for long on trained warriors. “She haven’t been sighted in her living space for the last hour, commander.” “Good. The plan is moving into place faster than I thought. Phase III shall occur shortly.” Survius meticulously sneaked across the fortress floor, covering his footsteps. She was located, luckily, on the ground floor. It was going relatively easy for him, and no guards were in sight. Suddenly, boots clamping against the ground startled him. They were coming from hallway adjacent to him. “Damn!” he swore. Quickly, he dashed to a nearby wall and prepared a sleep spell. The footsteps grew louder. They were about to turn the corner. “Hey! How’d you get in he-!” The agent was quickly cut off, and put to sleep. Survius gently laid the body against the wall and continued creeping along the fort. He was tense for another encounter, but it never came. Strangely, Vydar hadn’t installed a monitoring system yet. After thirty minutes of slow, agonizing footfalls, he finally reached the main gate. It was only due to sheer luck he made it out, as for some reason, sentries weren’t posted at this hour. “The escape shouldn’t have been that easy,” he thought, “What if Vydar intended for us to capture her?” He quickly dismissed that very thought from his mind; it was too outrageous. He ran for another hour, until he had reached his destination, a large oak tree. Survius rapped his knuckles against the stiff bark, causing a hidden panel to slide away from the rough exterior. A small metallic compartment rested inside of the tree. Heaving, he launched the sack into the tight compartment, and then slid himself into the gap. It was a difficult task, but he was able to make it. Instantaneously, the floor slid out from under them. They were on a one-way journey to the underground tunnels of Ullar. “The tunnels of Ullar were certainly much older than Otonashi, and even older than many grand elves. They were created as a spy system, using “borrowed” information from Vydar. The tunnel plan was quickly scrapped after the initial transports were dug, but some remained operational. It was only after Ullar was usurped by his own elves that the tunnel plan resumed. Ulginesh had taken control, and turned the army into a loose coalition of elves. Any non-elf was quickly put to work digging the tunnels, creating a quick transportation system around Valhalla. Nowadays, the handful of remaining elves after Ullar’s death call them “Tubes”, which are frequently used. Few non-elves knew of this wondrous design, and fewer still knew how to operate it. The tubes are commonly used by The Elvish Battalion, the elves summoned by Ullar that took over his kingdom. Due to the lack of summoning new soldiers, the coalition typically retreats to a new location every once in while. They are typically thought of the underground resistance of Valhalla.” - Chardris, Elvish Commander The ride was short, as the container arrived shortly at a underground central hub. It wasn’t comfortable at all, but it was quick nonetheless. Survius stepped out of the gloomy metal shell, and he dragged Otonashi behind him. She was finally starting to stir after the long while. The terminal was a long hallway filled with metal caskets eager to take them places. A tall, pale, elf stood in a shadowy corner. “I see you’ve arrived with the target, Survius. We need to head to Ekstrom in order to meet up with squad A. Halwren already brought back John, and the Special Operations Squad is waiting,” The elf announced quietly, “Now get in the tube. I’ll follow you there.” “Yes sir!” Survius responded. Lugging Otonashi behind him, he dumped her into the container labeled “Ekstrom”. Quickly, he climbed in, as the door shut behind him. Soon, he was enveloped in darkness, which quickly accelerated into a wild ride. “She’s in the tunnels. Heading to Ekstrom, I believe.” “Good. We’ll set off detonation in the fortress, then.” “But we’ll need to send in more soldiers. Shall we prepare the new wave?” It wasn’t long before they arrived in Ekstrom. Soon, they stepped out into the bright sunlight of an ancient forest, rife with life. “We shall hold a council now, for everyone is present.” The strange elf proposed. Their short walk through the shrouded grove was interrupted by a loud rumbling from Survius’s sack. Startled by the sudden noise, he flung it away from him. “Ow! Where the hell am I!?” Otonashi demanded, her voice ending the beautiful silence of the walk. A large sword cut into the burlap, tearing it to pieces. Suddenly, amidst the torn pieces of cloth, a beautiful warrior stood. Her eyes narrowed as she began to slowly advance towards Survius, blade drawn. “I’ll kill you for this,” she spat. “No-no-no-no-no! You don’t understand! We need you!” Survius stammered, “Help me Herzon! Talk some sense into her!” Survius backed away from Otonashi, and began to wave his hands franticly. Herzon sighed. “Look Otonashi. We need you to, as strange as it may seem, to stop Vydar from executing a dangerous plan. He plans to use-,” he explained. “We can’t tell her now!” Survius interrupted, cutting off Herzon, “That can wait for the council! What if she’s a traitor!” Otonashi recoiled from the sting of the words. However, she lowered her katana, and returned it to her scabbard. “So, what is this you want to tell me about?” “Well,” Herzon explained, “we received information from our double agent, Carr, whom you killed, following Vydar’s orders. This information, as you were probably wondering, shows that Vydar is planning to summon warriors and inject them with a serum. This serum will turn the warriors into walking bombs, which will deliver a deadly disease in a large blast radius. He can detonate them whenever he wants. We need you to help us shut down the system and kill any warriors that have already been injected.” “Why would Vydar do that? And how was Carr in on this?” Otonashi objected. “Because,” Survius added, “he will finally be able to do what he wanted to do for his entire life: Rule a world alone. It’s sad, but true. Now, will you agree to stop this menace?” “Yes,” Otonashi agreed, “if everyone else should die, I will no longer be employed. But I must ask, why did you need me?” “You’re from Vydar’s fort. You were supposed to be assigned: “Group Navigator”,” Herzon answered, “We must get moving to hold the council, though.” “She’s approaching the dome after waiting. You think she knows?” “I doubt it. If she does, we need to wait for an attack to target the leaders.” “Shall we detonate Halvac?” “Do it. We must delay the attack for as long as possible. That way, we can complete the plan before they intervene.” “Understood. Moving to phase IV!” The scene of the bloodbath shocked them all. What was once a meeting room was now covered in splotches of blood. Pieces of gore dotted the room. Ragged strips of cloth hung from rafters, and jagged strips of metal stabbed into walls and bodies. Dim light wafted in from the windows, giving the council’s chamber an eerie glow. What was once alight with conversation was now silent. Overturned chairs, the beige walls turned red, bones splattered across the vicinity. The surprise was overwhelming. Of the fifteen men and woman in the room, less than three had identifiable corpses. The corpses were dismembered violently, as much were torn in half, or ripped to nothingness. Herzon carefully ambled forward, gingerly avoiding the bloody mess. His cape trailed behind him, flowing as though it was a light amongst despair. He knelt down and touched his hands to the barely intact face of an elf. The head was roughly hewn from an unknown body, but the full beauty in her face shimmered. “Who did this?” Herzon whispered, “Who killed you all? Why are you all dead?” His voice faltered, “I’ll… Kill them. And send them to oblivion for what they’ve done. I’ll make sure to find them and slice them and-” “Get ahold of yourself!” Otonashi shouted loudly, “We can’t spend time mourning the fallen when Vydar is planning to kill everyone on the planet!” She dropped to her knees, and she began to shake Herzon violently. “I know what happened here,” Herzon replied, tears streaming down his face, “We recruited a walking bomb. Vydar knew. He killed them all. And for that, I will be the one to end his sorry life!” “We will not let this setback destroy us!” Survius howled triumphantly, his cape wavering in the majestic sunlight from the doorway. “We will take the fight to Vydar, alone if we have to!” He whips out two short swords from scabbards tied to his back. As he raised them into the air, he shouted, “And with these swords, I shall rip him to shreds! We will avenge our brothers!” His head swivels to look at Otonashi and Herzon. His long hair and blades glowed faintly in the light. “Now is the time for war,” he said, “Go to the tubes. We’re going to take the fight to Vydar!” “She’s leaving? How strange. I believe they may be heading to the fortress, my lord.” “Excellent. Everything must be going according to plan. They’re weakened. It’s good they’re all spread out. Release the new batch of experiments. They should hunt down the other rebels. The task should be simple. Seek and destroy. The plan is almost over…” The lifts went up, as all three of them jammed into a metallic box, whirring every second. They were going to extract vengeance from Vydar, and make him pay for what he’d done. They were going to avenge their fallen comrades. They were going to save Valhalla from itself! Each of them felt the adrenaline pumping through them; they were in the moment. Slowly, the tube ascended in the shaft towards the surface. The environment was tense, as the warriors prepared themselves for battle. This wasn’t easy, as they were cramped into a dark, dank, and damp box. Their sheer determination kept them from turning back, for this was the time for war. As if the journey had lasted for hours, they had finally reached the top of the shaft. Herzon slammed open the door, as each soldier clambered out after him. They were ready to attack from the woods. They were armed to the teeth, and all were hungry for vengeance. “Onward,” Otonashi ordered, “For the good of Valhalla!” “Sir, they’re approaching the castle at less than a third strength. They should be easy for our guards to fend off. The new batch of experiments are moving in to pursue the other rebels. We’ll crush them all. Should we execute the counter-action?” “No. It isn’t needed. We’ll just see the events unfold as is.” “Shh. It’s best to remain silent here,” Otonashi whispered to the elves, “There’s a hidden route out back through the waste disposal that we could use. Storming the front would be suicide, so we should probably go that way.” “Okay, you lead us, navigator girl,” Survius replied. The trio was nestled behind a tree in the woods around Vydar’s castle. “Follow my lead.” Otonashi threw herself to the ground, and pulled a muted green tarp over her head. “You never know when stuff like this might come in handy.” She glanced at the elves. “You should probably use your cloaks. They look green enough to blend in with the grass.” Slowly at first, she inched forward on her stomach, with the elves following behind. All was going well. They were moving discreetly enough so the sentries wouldn’t notice them. After an hour of painstakingly long crawling, they finally came to the outermost wall. There was a small pipeline attached to it. The group stood up, a small overhang obscuring the view from above. They were almost in. “We’re going in there?” Herzon questioned, “It’s awfully small.” “Shut up!” Survius hissed, “We’re going to get caught at this rate!” “Whatever. You coming?” Otonashi carefully slipped open the lid, and dove into the 18-inch opening. Suddenly, a booming voice rang from above the wall. “Glad-4. Send a squad down there. We could have intruders.” It was followed almost immediately by the clanking of metallic joints. The elves broke out into a sweat, and began to shiver. “Hurry up!” Herzon demanded, “Survius, shove her down. I’ll go in last.” “Sure thing, boss,” he shot back sarcastically. Survius grabbed the ninja’s foot and thrust it into the pipe. Once enough space had been freed, he wedged himself in and pulled forward. “No. They’re almost here!” Herzon muttered, “Get moving!” The footsteps grew louder with each second. It wouldn’t be long before they exited the gate and found them. In a burst of desperation, Herzon flung himself into the pipe, and shut the entrance. However, he wound up entangled with Survius in the small spot, creating an extremely awkward situation. “Otonashi,” Survius called, “a little help here?” Otonashi begrudgingly trudged back to the elves. “Really?” she moaned, “Just shut up while I get you two unstuck.” Her deft hands went to work, pushing and pulling arms. “OW!” Herzon shouted, echoing across the pipe. “Way to go, buddy,” Survius mocked, “Now we’re all gonna die.” They all sat in anticipation of being killed, but the moment never arose. The guards must have ignored them. “That’s strange,” Otonashi proposed, “Soulborgs never refrain from duty. I wonder why they didn’t find us?” She had finally fixed the mess the elves had gotten into. “Doesn’t matter. At least we’re still alive,” Herzon retorted, “Now come on, and get moving. We only have so long, and so much people to strike!” “They’re in.” Sensors detect them moving inside the sewage pipe. I don’t think it’s required to bail them out now. Your plan was excellent, master.” “Do not thank me yet. We are not done. We will celebrate with our supreme domination once this is over.” The smell of decaying waste, meat, and unwashed clothes assaulted the warriors’ senses. The waste pipe was stuffed with junk, and not a shred of light peeked inside. Rotten food and decaying corpses of small critters squished against their knees. Squelching noises echoed throughout the pipe; the whole experience was very uncomfortable. The crawling dragged on for what seemed like eons, and the foul environment certainly wasn’t helping. Slick sludge caked the edges, which made for a smooth, albeit disgusting, trip. “Ugh,” Survius complained, “I can’t wait until we’re out of here.” “Look, we’ll be out soon,” Otonashi offered, “After that, we’ll slay Vydar and avenge your fellow comrades.” The rest of the trip was spent in grim silence, with only the occasional water drop, or mud slip to break the silence. At last, they had reached the end of the tunnel, which stood a corroded iron gate. “I’m going to break this thing off,” Otonashi informed, pointing towards the gate, “You guys go in and take anyone out, okay?” The elves solemnly nodded. Their attack would begin now. “Aha, they’ve made it in. They’re feeding directly into our plan. Don’t execute a resistance unless they spread propaganda or go after us. Let him buy us time.” “How devilishly you think, my lord.” They stepped into a large room filled to the brim with refuse and slag. Across this filthy wasteland lay a door labeled ‘Main Corridor’. Stealthily, the company moved forward, darting behind large wooden crates in a methodological manner. Otonashi cracked a grin, “I’ve spent my entire life here guarding this place; now I need to break into it. How ironic,” she thought. Her feet moved like lightning, avoiding all the security measures she knew so well. Soon, they all arrived at the door. Gathering around it, they prepared to blast in. “We go in on… 1… 2…,” Herzon whispered, “3!” He turned around and promptly kicked the door off it’s hinges. A long, bland hallway filled with doors and stunned companies of Vydar’s soldiers looked at them. An awkward silence held tense for a few seconds. “Combat is inevitable now. We can wait for them to kill them. The real test will follow…” “Open fire!” One of Vydar’s sergeants shouted, “Take out the introducers! Sound the alarm! Alert Vydar!” “Counter attack!” Herzon screamed back, “Kill. Them. All!” A fierce battle ensued. Bullets rained down upon the trio, but Survius’s magical field stopped them dead in their tracks. On one side of the hallway lay fiercely trained elven wizards. On another was a hardened garrison of Vydar’s high-tech agents. Spells and bullets flung at each other. Fireballs shot across the corridor, burning men and women alive. Bullets dug their way into the elves’ flesh, spouting spurts of blood. Meanwhile, Otonashi snuck across the battlefield, using her quick reflexes to dodge incoming fire. She lifted her blade, and quickly decapitated an agent. Another one quickly fell to her crimson katana with a gurgling cry. Microcorp Soldiers were falling rapidly, even with their guns blazing at full auto. Shouts of dying people filled the air, as bullets whizzed and zinged. Bolts of magic shattered and blew apart men like ice. Gunshots drilled into the limbs of the Ninja, releasing a bloodcurdling cry. The elves were dripping in their own blood as well as their enemies. Very few warriors remained on both sides. As if the fight wasn’t going well enough for the agents, they routed and fled down the hallway. Herzon gleefully pursued them, laughing maniacally with every man he cut down. After the dust had cleared, the bland, white corridor was now painted red. Bodies of slain agents littered the floor like trash. Survius was bleeding severely from his torso, and Herzon’s right leg became a bloody pulp. “Otonashi,” Survius begged, “go on and slay Vydar. We’ll stay here and hold off the reinforcements.” Otonashi turned and ran. Her friends would buy her enough time to slay Vydar. And they would buy it with their lives. “She’s heading towards the throne room. We have no guards on duty, and he’s inactive.” “Don’t worry. She’ll have no way to destroy us. We can always trigger her too.” “But she dropped off the control!” “We’ll find a way.” Otonashi rushed down the hall, into a large set of black doors belonging to Vydar. The room was dark, and she strained to see. A large, black recliner sat with its back to her. In it was the legendary general, Vydar. Immediately after her entry, it swiveled around to reveal the Kyrie, his great wings unfurling. “Otonashi, how did you get in here?” He calmly asks. Instead of a kind response, Otonashi unsheathed her blade and lept up in one fluid motion. Landing on the great Vydar’s neck, she brought the blade completely through, severing his spinal cord. “Doesn’t matter to you, traitor,” she hissed, “And now you’re dead.” “What? Otonashi? Why?” Vydar stuttered, “Why would you betray me like this?” Vydar coughed, and died. Meanwhile, the large black doors opened, and a large, hideous Marro stepped out, claws clacking against the floor. “I guess you’d want me to explain,” the strange Marro asked, “You see, Vydar didn’t actually make these human bombs. He was working to slay the bombs in his own ranks; why do you think you killed Carr?” Otonashi thought in stunned silence. She looked down at her gloved fingers clutching her blade. The blood on her hands was innocent, unlike her own. She simply sat there while the Marro continued. “We made these bombs by mindshackling these soldiers and injecting them with explosives. We must rid the world of all imperfections, like you. You were made a bomb of, but you dropped of the detonation network after the mindshackling failed.” The Marro slides a large claw out of his hand, “And for that, we must end you.” “She’s going to find out we’re stationed here.” “I believe not. Watch, and learn.” With a rush of adrenaline, Otonashi surged forward towards the Marro. Leaping off Vydar’s corpse, she prepares to slice at his head. However, he easily parried her blade. “Is that all you’ve got. You’re a sorry excuse for a soldier.” His arm darted out in an attempt to grab her, but she dodged away. Spinning around, she aims her sword at his neck. The Marro moved into parry position, but she changed her katana’s target at the last second. The large metal claw of the Marro flies clean off its body. Otonashi stabbed her blade into the Marro’s heart, and then swiftly cut its throat. “And you’re an even sorrier one.” She turned around to walk outside the throne room, but the floor opens up beneath her, taking her by surprise. “Now she’s inside!!! What are you thinking!!!” “It’s simple, really. We’ll just corrupt her again.” “It’s not!” “Oh, look, she’s here now. I’ll prove it to you.” Falling down a large and sudden hole hurts. Gingerly, Otonashi pushed herself to her feet and stood up. “Who the hell are you?” She shouted fearfully. Two large Marro walk up from a computer shrouded by misty darkness. “We are your captors. I am Ne-Gok-Sa. This is Kee-Mo-Shi. We will now take you back to where you truly belong.” Suddenly, light illuminated the dark chamber, revealing a grotesque Marro hive in wall. “This is where you belong Otonashi. Together we can purge the world of evil.” “NO!” She resisted, “I am not one of you bloodthirsty bastards!” In a last ditch effort, she slashed her way through the two Marro, and jumped to the computer. Suddenly, the screen blinked, and her name appeared on a long list of soldiers. “She’s back on the network. Quick! Kill her!” Kee-Mo-Shi yelled. She crawled to the computer, in hopes of stopping Otonashi. Otonashi scans the computer and surrounding workbench for anything to destroy the hive. Her eyes stop on a remote labeled ‘Otonashi’. “I can take it out,” She thought, “But it’ll take me with it.” Reluctantly, she grabbed the trigger and made the last run of her life. Tears ran down her cheeks as her imminent doom approaches. The world became a blur around her, the metal she’s running on seems to fade. She leaped into the large mass of wriggling green jelly, and pulls the trigger. A large explosion rocks the inner station, as the hive violently pulses, eventually spewing its contents everywhere. Vydar’s fortress begins to collapse on that point; metal, timber, and stone begin to fall. Unborn Marro screech as rocks and debris snuff their lives out. “NOOO!” Ne-Gok-Sa bellows, as a large pillar soon ends his life. Everything is falling, crashing down on the Earth. Everything is dying, none will live. As the fortress crumbles down, Herzon and Survius limp out, supporting each other. Each of them wears a grim look. They know. Otonashi won’t make it out. They quickly make it out of the disaster radius, and into the forest. After a quick tube trip down, they’ll have to share the news. They look back on the fortress. They only knew Otonashi for a short while, but even so, she would be missed by them dearly. “Friend,” Survius said, “will you pass on the legend of how Valhalla banded together to fight an evil greater than itself, with me?” “Yes,” Herzon replied, “we will share the courage of the one ninja. All the world should know her bravery, her sacrifice, her duty…” -The End- -Epilogue-
Spoiler Alert!
“The remaining soldiers under Vydar unified with Ullar’s elves, creating a force to be reckoned with. It was only for the actions of Otonashi, the purger of evil, that Valhalla stood one more day. And now, that I write this, I am indebted to her, as she saved me, and showed me the way. I hope that one day, we can follow in her footsteps and bring an end to this war.” - Herzon, commander of the Coalition of Purging.
Second Place - Lazy Orang
Spoiler Alert!
Vydar’s Betrayal
Trent huddled behind a pile of rubble with Saul and Robin, her fellow Krav Maga Agents, as the Omnicron Snipers on the keep’s battlements mowed down hordes of advancing Blade Gruts with their pin-point accurate laser fire. She motioned to the Gladiatrons to keep back for now, seeing that there was no point advancing until the Omnicron barrage was silenced. Occasionally, she’d lean out from cover to fire at one of the twenty or so Sentinels holding the Blade Gruts off, but her bullets would simply ping harmlessly off the Jandar Kyrie’s shields. They had come here with Utgar’s forces, as part of an ongoing campaign to carve deep into Jandar’s territory. Utgar had accepted their help gratefully after Vydar left the Alliance, at least on the face of it. Jandar’s forces had been completely unprepared for such a betrayal, and had fallen easily before the combined assault - they were unused, particularly, to Vydarian tactics, and had few methods of dealing with the devastating long-ranged firepower now coming their way. Now, they were assaulting Concan’s Castle, the last bastion of defence before the march on Idona Castle, where Jandar would make his last stand - or, at least, that was Utgar’s plan. The outer walls of the fortress had fallen after a hard fight, and it had seemed the enemy was on the rout, the Knights of Weston and 4th Massachusetts linemen simply fleeing the field, cut down by hordes of Orcs, Marro and Soulborgs. Trent had thought the battle was basically won, but this keep was essentially impenetrable as long as the Omnicrons held it, and the Sentinels wouldn’t let anyone even close to the door before the Jandar Soulborgs had the chance to blow them away. It was an extremely effective defence - she couldn’t fault Concan on his tactical acumen. She opened up a comm-link to Carr, her mentor and superior officer. ‘Sir, we’re pinned down out here! Something needs to be done about those Omnicrons or there’s no way in hell we’re getting out of this.’ ‘Just hold on a bit longer - Taelord’s been monitoring the situation, reinforcements should be on their way.’ A moment after he said this Trent felt and heard a change in the air above her. Looking up, she saw a flight of Minions of Utgar and Phantom Knights soaring overhead, closing on the Omnicrons’ position. Trent gave a slight, sideways smile. ‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘Over and out.’ Waiting until she could tell that the barrage of lasers was relenting, Trent gestured to the Gladiatrons to advance, knowing that now, the Omnicrons that still lived would be far too busy to fire down upon their forces. The Gladiatrons charged forwards, meeting the Sentinels in melee and clamping them with their firm claws. A few fell to the hammers of Jandar’s finest, but more than enough remained to hold the Kyrie in place as Trent, her fellow Krav, and the many Blastatrons and Stingers - only just now making their way through the outer gate - began to open fire. Though many shots were still deflected by the desperate Kyrie as they tried in vain to beat away the Soulborgs, the Sentinels began to fall swiftly. Trent gestured to the Blastatrons to focus on the Sentinels in the centre of their battle-line, and this they did - soon a hole was opened up in the Kyrie formation. Exploiting this swiftly, Trent and her fellow Krav dashed forwards through the hole, and finally to the door of the keep itself. Knowing speed was of the essence, Trent got out her C-4 and planted it on the solid wooden door. Setting it to detonate in five seconds, she and the other two agents took cover to the sides of it, letting the stonework frame shield them from the blast. In a deafening explosion, the door blew apart, and Trent, Saul and Robin made their way through quickly, before the dust had time to settle. As her sight began to clear, Trent saw a hallway which made her think of the medieval castles she had heard of back on Earth. The floor was wooden, but overlaid down the centre with a lush, purple velvet rug that Trent would have associated more with Einar than Jandar. The walls were of marble and mahogany, and lined with torches which imparted a slight, warm light to the hallway. Depictions of wings, swords, shields, warhammers and Kyrie warriors adorned the halls in the form of sculptures, paintings and frescoes, along with light blue drapes bearing, in white, the heraldry of Jandar. ‘Now remember,’ said Trent, sternly, in a tone not to be ignored, ‘our mission is to find Concan, and it is vital we do so before anyone else does, understood?’ ‘Gotcha,’ replied Saul, while Robin, silent as usual, merely nodded. ‘And remember, don’t aim for wings or vitals, no matter what - and I mean it,’ she added darkly. ‘Yeah, yeah, we’ve been through this a thousand times already, Trent,’ replied Saul, once again grating on her nerves. ‘If we’ve got to find him so quickly, any ideas where this guy’s gonna be?’ Trent had to think for a moment. ‘We’ll try the armoury,’ she decided. ‘Concan’s no coward, and he knows the battle’s going badly for him.’ The agents began racing down the corridor, swiftly and silently killing the few guards they found. It wasn’t long before they reached a door to their left, adorned with the symbol of a crossed sword and hammer over a shield, forged in shining silver. Trent made the reasonable (and correct) deduction that this was the armoury. Once again, she fitted C-4 against the door and, together with Saul and Robin, took cover on the other side of the corridor. Boom! In seconds, with dust and debris still flying through the air, the agents were in the room, guns blazing. Several shots later, and the four knights inside, as well as Concan’s Kyrie squire, were dead, their blood spattering the weapons and armour that littered the room. Concan stood there majestically, his breasplate covered in his comrades’ blood, holding his two handed blade to his side. He was fully armoured, save one gauntlet that his squire had lacked the time to afix before being shot down. Perfect. ‘Traitors!’ the Kyrie knight half-growled. ‘This battle may be lost, but you three murderers at least shall meet your end!’ Concan, thought Trent, sardonically, so arrogant and dramatic. The Kyrie lunged forward, the jump assisted by the flapping of his mighty wings. The agents spread out, firing their guns as they did so. If killing him were a possibility, he would have been riddled with bullets by now, but since they had to be extremely careful to avoid hitting any of his vital organs, only one of Saul’s shots found its mark, burying deep into the Kyrie’s shoulder. Concan seemed to ignore the new hole in his armour leaking blood, however, and lunged once again at Saul, this time reaching him before the agent could escape, and slashed down, making a large gash in the agent’s chest, causing Saul to collapse to the ground. Quick as a flash, knowing that time was of the essence, Trent took a large syringe out of her belt and lunged forwards, grasping the Kyrie’s ungloved hand. Swiftly, she injected the drug straight into Concan’s artery, and the Kyrie warrior collapsed, lifeless, to the floor. ******************************* Trent watched from the castle courtyard, as Ornak and Laglor flew the Utgar and Vydar flags respectively, side by side, from the top of the keep. It wasn’t a comfortable sight to behold. The battle was won, the dead and wounded were being accounted for, and the troops were resting. Neither Vydar nor Utgar were the most compassionate Generals, and the treatment of war prisoners was harsh. At least Vydar took care of his wounded, though - most injured Marro or Gruts were expendible, left to fend for themselves. If they could deal with or heal their own wounds, good, but if they couldn’t, bad luck for them. Utgar did provide medical assistance for his Minions, though, as did Vydar for his soldiers - probably more because they were too valuable to waste than out of any genuine sense of mercy. Trent had visited Saul in the medical tent. He should pull through, but his injury hadn’t managed to make him any less irritating - she felt sure he was milking it for all it was worth when she spoke to him. Now, she was standing with Robin (who hadn’t said a word the whole time - no surprise there), and waiting for the next part of her mission. She looked to her left. No need to wait any longer, it seems. ‘Trent!’ called Carr, who she’d seen walking towards her. ‘I need to talk to you.’ Trent walked right up to her superior officer. Let’s get this over with. ‘Did you speak with Taelord?’ she asked, making a conscious effort to keep her tone as normal as possible. ‘Yes, I did,’ replied Carr, at the same time surreptitiously slipping a small device into her hand, which Trent swiftly pocketed. ‘So, we know what the plan of action is now?’ she asked. ‘Indeed we do,’ came his reply, ‘you’ll be briefed later.’ Then, in a quick whisper, ‘You know what to do.’ Carr walked away. Attempting to look as casual as possible, Trent walked up to the blown door of the keep. As she did so, she felt as though she could feel eyes following her, boring into her. She dismissed it as paranoia, but decided she should remain vigilant, nonetheless. Two Minions were guarding the door when she reached it - she’d need to get past them. ‘Hold it!’ demanded one of them in a gruff voice. ‘Who are you, and what is your business here?’ ‘Agent Trent, Krav Maga Lieutenant, I’m on official business from Vydar.’ ‘What kind of businessss,’ the second hissed, its voice close to being genuinely serpentine. Trent couldn’t tell the truth, and as she hadn’t come up with a lie yet, decided that refuge in audacity would be her best plan of action. ‘Look, I don’t know what kind of mandate Taelord gives you, but over in the Vydar camp, we don’t let inferiors know things they don’t need to know, and I doubt Taelord would be very pleased to hear about you inconveniencing the business of his allies - so please, get out of my way.’ Looking slightly intimidated, the Minions hesitated, before stepping aside. Trent bestowed a cursory, and less than civil, ‘Thank you,’ before making her way down the corridor. Eventually, she came to a door guarded by two gladiatrons. Should be easier than the last two idiots, Trent thought to herself. She repeated her line: 'Agent Trent, Krav Maga Lieutenant, I’m on official business from Vydar.’ One of the Gladiatrons seemed to scan her face before saying, in a robotic voice, 'Continue, Miss Trent,’ and stepping aside. Trent opened the door, and entered the room. It was dark, lit only by a single torch, and the window was closed. On the far side of the room, Concan sat in chains, divested of his armour and weaponry, but still very much alive. 'Come to gloat?’ he shot at her. 'Only slightly. Mind if I open the window?’ 'Can I stop you?’ Trent strode confidently towards the bolted wooden hatch. 'It would appear not.’ She unbolted it and swung it open, letting light stream its way into the room. 'What do you want, traitor?’ Jandar’s champion demanded. Trent said nothing - she merely took out a key from her belt, and undid the locks on his chains. 'Why did you do that?’ demanded Concan, stunned. 'What in Gerda’s name are you doing?’ 'What does it look like I’m doing?’ asked Trent, rhetorically. 'You realise I could kill you where you stand?’ 'With no weapons or armour, weakened by the drug, your chains, and the wound in your shoulder, while I’m healthy and fresh with two guns at my side? I think I’ll take my chances.’ 'Why?’ He demanded. 'Why didn’t you kill me? And what did you inject me with?’ 'Earth drug - you wouldn’t know about it, but it simulates death,’ was her reply. 'We needed to capture you, but we couldn’t let Utgar’s soldiers know that. As to why, well...’ Trent took out the device Carr had handed to her. 'This should explain fairly eloquently.’ She pressed a button. 'So,’ came a voice out of the device, 'now Concan’s Castle is ours, we march on Idona Keep in three days - I want your forces to hold the line behind us so that the siege can’t be relieved. Is that acceptable, Carr?’ 'Agreed, Taelord - your plan has merit.’ Trent pressed the button again, and the playback stopped. 'You should be receiving a communiqué from Vydar soon about his plans - I expect we shall strike the enemy from the rear when they least expect treachery, allowing us to wipe out their force in one stroke.’ 'So you do this with your General’s permission?’ asked Concan, more confused than ever. 'Of course,’ replied Trent. 'Does the traitor really think he can come crawling back?’ 'Yes - because you need him,’ replied Trent. 'The Alliance is falling apart without us, and without our help, Idona will fall.’ 'Because of you.’ 'Don’t be so naïve,’ returned the agent. 'We were already losing the war, we needed an advantage - now we have one.’ 'So this was Vydar’s master plan all along?’ 'As long as I’ve known of it. Come on, you don’t really think we’d side with Utgar, do you? You may lack faith in our integrity, but please - don’t insult our intelligence. Utgar’s far too powerful, and he can’t be trusted.’ 'So that’s the going price of treachery these days, is it?’ asked Concan. 'One piece of information?’ 'If you think that’s all we’ve managed to squeeze out of Utgar, then you really are naïve,’ was Trent’s slightly mocking reply. 'How many have died for you to get your information? How many good men have you slaughtered?’ Concan was truly furious now. 'I don’t have time for your moralising,’ Trent shot back, 'and if you want to save Nastralund, neither do you. It’s your choice, Concan - you can go to Jandar now, say Vydar released you and tell him what I told you, or I can kill you where you stand.’ The Kyrie scowled at her. 'Jandar will not forget your actions, murderess,’ he threatened, 'nor those of your General.’ With that, he turned, and clambering to the edge of the open window, shook the dust from his wings and soared away. 'I’m sure he won’t.’ Trent turned around, opened the door again, and left the room. Entering the hallway, the sight that met her stopped her dead in her tracks. The Soulborgs were no longer operational - their chassis seemed to have been hacked at with some sharp weapon; wires were torn and their circuits crackled. Their metal bodies lay perfectly motionless on the floor. Trent panicked and began to run. She had to inform Carr. ***************************** 'Thank you for the information, Isamu,’ uttered Taelord, darkly. 'It is most helpful.’ The red ninja smirked under his mask. 'My pleasure, sir,’ he said. 'My pleasure.’ First Place - The Grim Reaper's Friend
Spoiler Alert!
To Walk the Halls of Fear
Chapter One: Gray Walls
Spoiler Alert!
Linia awoke slowly. It took longer than usual, for some reason. At first she was barely aware that she was awake. She had to struggle to draw herself from sleep, like someone fighting to free themselves from a mass of quicksand.
After what seemed far too long a time, she opened her eyes. Nothing met them but gray. Simply the color gray, soft and unbroken, as if she was staring at something without focusing on it. She blinked. With painful slowness, blurred details began to come into focus. A ceiling. She was looking at a gray ceiling. It seemed to be made out of stone, from what she could tell. She frowned; that wasn’t right. Stone, here? At the same time, she became aware of something else: the muscles of her face were behaving very peculiarly. She tried to frown again, with the same result. She could feel her mouth merely twitching downwards. Her face felt sluggish and heavy. Something was wrong. Linia tried to sit up. She half expected it, but a gasp of surprise still escaped her as her arms and legs refused to support her. She fell limply back on the bed, trying to regain control of her muscles. Where was she, and what was going on? Linia’s mind seemed to be speeding up. Drugged. That was it, she must be drugged. Not much else could induce a state like this. Her skin crawled with the thought of foreign chemicals flowing through her. She felt contaminated, dirty. Who would drug her? And why? A dark shape suddenly loomed over her, its outline blurred like everything else. Linia cringed away from it, and was somewhat relieved to find that she could move again. “Don’t worry,” said the shape. “It looks like we’re in this together.” Linia blinked several times. The shape sharpened a bit, but still remained undefinable. It looked humanoid though. “Stay still,” the shape said. “Whatever this drug is, it wears off faster if you don’t fight it.” Linia remained still, her eyes locked on the blurred face of the speaker. It was male; she was sure of that. She didn’t trust herself to speak; the muscles in her face still felt oddly slack. After about a minute, Linia blinked once more, and the shape finally resolved itself into a man. Linia’s first impression of him was of plainness in the extreme. He was about average height, with dark hair and eyes. He was wearing simple black clothing, made out of some sort of rough fabric. If Linia had to guess, she would have placed him in his early thirties. “Mark,” said the man, holding out a hand. “And what is your name?” Linia lifted her arm, though it still felt slow and heavy, and took the man’s hand. It felt large and rough beneath her fingers, as though it had once been covered with calluses that had only partially healed. “Linia,” she managed, her tongue feeling foreign and swollen in her mouth. The man held her hand for a moment, as if he was trying to determine something. Then, letting go, he said, “So, are you a mage then?” Linia frowned. That seemed an odd thing to ask. “Your hands are soft,” said Mark, “even for an elf. You’ve probably never lifted a blade in your life. And since no one is summoned here unless they can contribute to the war, I’m betting you’re a magic-user. Am I right?” Linia’s mind was blank. “I… I don’t know,” she said. Mark grimaced. “I had suspected as much,” he muttered. “It seems that we’ve both had our memories wiped. I think I must be some sort of agent – it sounds about right to me. I know I was summoned to Valhalla by Vydar not that long ago, but all the details are gone. Nothing. You?” Linia closed her eyes. She felt like there was a blank cloth over her mind, obscuring it in white fog. She could sense her memories, her knowledge, just behind it, but she couldn’t quite reach them. Something about the word ‘mage’ sounded right though. It seemed to fit. “I… think I’m a mage,” Linia said slowly, her eyes still closed. “And I know Ullar summoned me… but I can’t remember anything else.” She opened her eyes. “Sounds about right,” said Mark, looking around. “A mage who can’t remember her spells, and an agent who can’t remember his training. Wonderful.” Linia swung her legs to the floor. They felt lighter now, but she still didn’t want to trust them with her weight. Instead, she examined herself. She was wearing a mixture of leather and cloth, dyed varying shades of green and yellow, doubtless to blend in with a summer forest. There was a leather belt about her waist which she felt sure should hold a dagger, though it was empty. Any weapons she might have had were gone. “Take it easy,” Mark said, noticing that Linia was sitting up. “You can get a bit dizzy the first time you stand.” Linia nodded. She was getting dizzy just sitting, but she didn’t want Mark to know that. “Where are we?” she asked. “Well,” said Mark, glancing about, “I can’t rightly say. Gray room, closed door, two beds, nothing else… looks like some sort of cell. This is a strange place though. The walls and ceiling are stone, like they’re hewed out of a single rock, but the color is all wrong. See how the shade never changes? Just the same gray over and over. The door is all wrong too. It’s just one sheet of metal. No lock. Almost like it’s supposed to be pushed open. But what kind of a cell would that be?” Linia twisted around to find the door Mark had described. It was set in the wall directly behind her, and it did indeed look odd. It was plain, flat, unchanging… almost like someone had forgotten to finish it. Now that she saw how close the door was, Linia noticed the size of the room she was in. It was barely more than a large closet, just big enough for four people to lay comfortably side by side. The floor was perfectly flat stone, covered with a thin layer of dusty hay. She stood up. The grayness of the room instantly swirled together, forcing her to close her eyes against the dizziness. She sat back down quickly. “Maybe,” she breathed, “we’ll be able to find out what’s going on if we can get out.” “Are you all right?” Mark said from somewhere above her. Linia shook her head, not wanting to open her mouth. “You’ll be fine in a moment,” Mark reassured her. “It passes quickly enough. As for getting out… I think you’re right. We’re not going to learn anything from this nondescript cave.” Linia heard a grate of metal on stone. Opening her eyes, she looked around and saw that Mark had opened the door. He shrugged. “Maybe they forgot to lock it,” he said. But that wasn’t right. Linia could see the other side of the door now that it was open, and it was just as plain and unmarked as the other. There was no lock. That could only mean that the door wasn’t meant to keep them here. But why? Mark walked out of the room and glanced around. “Just a hallway out here,” he announced. “It goes left and takes a right turn. Flat gray metal walls, just like the door.” He knelt on the ground and rested his hand on the smooth floor. “What is this place?” he muttered to himself. Linia slowly slid off of her bed, which she now saw was more of a crude cot, and walked gingerly to the doorway. She stood just inside the room, watching Mark. “I would say this craftsmanship is Vydar, but somehow it doesn’t seem to fit. He always builds on natural caverns; he conserves metal whenever he can. It’s not like him to build an entire metal hallway like this. It doesn’t fit Jandar or Einar either. Jandar hardly uses metal at all, and everyone knows Einar can’t go three feet without adding a decoration to something.” Linia looked at the hall. It was perfectly uniform; the metal that made it up was straight and unchanging. “Ullar didn’t build it,” she said quietly, half to herself. Mark looked up. “He likes trees,” she explained, “and the way they change. This is nothing like him.” “Utgar?” Mark suggested. “Valkrill, maybe?” Linia shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “Wherever we are,” said Mark, standing back up, “it’s probably Utgar or Valkrill that put us here. This doesn’t seem like the kind of place our allies would leave us.” “No,” said Linia, hugging herself and realizing at the same moment that a chill hung in the air. “It doesn’t.” Mark stood still for a moment. “No sound,” he said. “I can’t hear anything. And there aren’t any windows,” he added, turning on the spot. “We could be underground. Maybe in some sort of dungeon.” Linia had noticed something else. “Where’s the light coming from?” she asked. She hadn’t noticed it before, but there were no lights. Still, though the whole place was dim, a flat gray light seemed to pervade the air, without source or substance. Enough so that it was dark, but they could still see easily. Mark glanced about. “Good question,” he said. “This whole place is weird. The sooner we get out of here, the better.” Linia didn’t move. It was a lot more than weird: it was disturbing. The flatness of the walls, the grayness, the unmarked door, the silence… it was wrong, all of it. She wanted, needed to know what was going on, and yet… “We don’t know what’s around that corner,” Linia said slowly. “Maybe we should wait here. Sooner or later, someone is bound to come.” Mark listened for a moment. “I don’t think anyone is down here,” he said, “and somehow I doubt anyone will be for a long time. We should move. The sooner we can get out of this place, the sooner we’ll be able to figure out what’s going on.” Linia sighed. He was right. They couldn’t stay here and wait for… something to happen. Still, she was reluctant to leave the room and confront whatever might be waiting for them in the hall beyond. “Come on,” Mark said, holding out a hand to her. “All we have to do is get out of this place.” He was right. Reluctant though she was, Linia took his hand and stepped into the hall.
Spoiler Alert!
The first few steps Linia took were faltering and unsteady. However, Mark supported her through a tight grip on her hand, and soon the last of the drug had left her legs, allowing her to move with more certainty.
Linia braced herself as they approached the turn in the hall, but she need not have worried: the only thing that met them was another expanse of flat unchanging gray, as the hall stretched on before them. The same dim light pervaded the air here too. Everything was deathly silent. Even their footsteps seemed somehow muffled, though they should have echoed loudly in such an enclosed metal hall. Neither of them spoke as they moved onward; the silence seemed to press in on Linia, making her want to move faster, to escape the unnatural quiet. An uncertain amount of time passed. The walls and floor never changed, so that though they moved forward, they seemed to be making no progress. Eventually however, the hall before them, which had faded into a distant gray blur, resolved into another left turn. As they approached the turn, Linia saw that this one, like the one before it, was perfect. It was a right angle. There were no rounded corners, no seams or bumps of craftsmanship. Just a perfect corner. She pointed this out to Mark, more out of a desire to break the silence than anything else. “I don’t like it either,” Mark said. “Something about this place is just off, but the sooner we get out of here the sooner we’ll understand what’s going on.” “And why we’re here,” Linia added. “I’ve been thinking about that,” Mark said as they turned the corner and continued down another nondescript hall. “It seems to me this must be some sort of prison. I can’t see any other scenario in which they would wipe our memories and then leave us here alone. This unnatural place – it’s just that: unnatural. It has to be magical to some extent, which means it’s probably a high security prison. And that means that we’re—” “High security,” Linia finished for him. “Exactly,” said Mark. “But we don’t know why, because we can’t remember anything. Which,” he added, “is probably exactly the way whoever put us here wants it.” He quickened his pace. “Come on. We’re going to get out of here and find out what’s going on.” The hall had been leading to a blank metal door, which they soon reached, though it seemed to take much more time than it should have. Cautiously, Mark pushed it with the palm of his hand. The door swung open easily. Beyond it was a large square room, gray, metal, and unchanging like the hall, with another door on the opposite end. The only difference was the mist. This room was filled from top to bottom with dense fog. It was plenty thick, but Linia could still make out the wall and door on the other side. The thing that made her draw back slightly was the color of the mist: it was a deep, deadly-looking black. “We’re not going through that,” she said automatically, drawing away from the door. Even as she did so, she noticed that the mist was not flowing through the open doorway as it should, but remained in the room, silently eddying about. Mark seemed to have noticed this too. “I wouldn’t go through it either, but it’s the only way. There are no other halls: this has to be the way out.” He stuck his foot into the mist, and then drew it back out. Nothing happened. Mark waved his hand through the mist, and then quickly pulled it back. There was no change. “I guess it’s safe,” he said, crossing into the room. “Come on; the door’s not far off. We’ll be out of this room in no time.” Linia did not want to enter the black mist. She didn’t like the way it moved despite the absence of wind. She didn’t like the way it coiled and drifted, occasionally obscuring the far door. She was afraid of going in that room. Mark said the only way we’re going to find out what is going on is by getting out of here, she told herself. And he’s right. I have to go on. Reluctantly, she stepped into the room after Mark. It was a few seconds before Linia realized that she was tense, ready to leap backwards. She forced her muscles to relax, and glanced at Mark, who nodded at the door and, taking her hand, began to lead her across the room. As had been the case with the hall before, getting to the door seemed to take longer than it should have. The door grew closer, but much too slowly. At first Linia thought she was just being paranoid, but after a while, she was forced to admit that they should have reached the door by now. It was at this point that she noticed something else as well, and stopped. “What is it?” Mark asked. Linia turned on the spot. “Does it seem… darker in here to you?” she asked. Mark looked around. “Now that you mention it,” he said slowly, “it does. I don’t think this mist is getting any thicker, but it’s definitely getting darker. I can hardly see the door anymore.” Linia squinted through the mist at the door. Mark was right. She could still see it, but it was definitely not as visible as it had been when they entered the room. “Let’s hurry,” she said. “I don’t want to lose that door.” “Good idea,” said Mark. They resumed walking at a much faster pace than before. However, the faster they walked, the slower they seemed to move. It wasn’t long before Linia stopped again. “I can’t see it,” she said. “The door’s gone.” “Same here,” said Mark. “It’s getting darker by the minute.” “Let’s keep going,” Linia said, trying to keep the nervousness from her voice. “We were going in the right direction, and this room isn’t that large.” As it turned out, however, either the room was a lot larger than they had thought, or something very strange was going on. Though Linia had thought the door had only been about fifty feet away, they walked for more than five minutes without so much as a glimpse of a wall. The darkness thickened as they walked, until Linia could no longer see Mark. All she could make out was a blurred shadow at her side. She reached out, found Mark’s hand, and held it tightly, to assure herself that he was still there. After another minute of walking, Mark stopped. “This isn’t right,” he half-whispered. “All this darkness could be hiding something. We could have gotten turned around somewhere, and be heading right into some sort of ambush.” “We can’t have gotten turned around,” Linia whispered back, mostly to convince herself of it. “We’ve been going straight the whole time.” “Still,” Mark breathed, “I don’t like this. We don’t know where we’re going. I should scout ahead and make sure we’re on the right path. If we are, I’ll come back and get you.” “What? No!” Linia whispered. She didn’t want Mark to leave. His presence was something real in this world of silent mist and darkness. Something that she could count on. “I’ll only be gone a minute,” Mark said. “I’ll go out, then come right back. Just stay where you are.” His hand slipped from hers and he was gone in an instant. Whatever tricks time might have been playing on her, Linia was very sure that Mark was gone longer than a minute. She waited for what seemed to her at least half an hour, turning about on the spot, watching the mist, waiting, listening. There was complete silence. No distant footsteps, no voice from Mark. The silent mist was eerie, as it continued to tumble and curl about Linia ceaselessly, never making a sound. She tried to ignore the mounting fear inside of her. She told herself there was no reason to be afraid of silence and darkness. But she knew what she really feared was what that silence and darkness could be hiding, what could be creeping up on her at that very moment, unseen and unheard. She willed herself not to turn around and look behind her. She was letting her fear get the better of her. She couldn’t do this. She had to get out of here, not let her mind play tricks on her. Unfortunately, this was easier said than done. She turned around despite herself. There was nothing there. But now something else could be waiting, just out of her range of vision, on her other side. She turned back around, determined not to be caught off guard. It wasn’t that she particularly thought anything was there. It was simply the knowledge that something could be there, and she would never know about it. She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself tighter and tighter, drawing herself together. She glanced over her shoulder. Silence. She glanced up – many an unforeseen attack came from above – but there was nothing there either. Relax, she told herself. She watched the darkness, searching, trying to see through it, for a hint of Mark, the door, a wall, anything to change this silence and darkness about her. She could see nothing. She could feel her fear mounting within her, despite her constant refrains to ignore it. It rose slowly, inexorably consuming her from the feet up. First her legs tensed, ready to spring away in any direction. Then her stomach slowly constricted as she twisted this way and that, trying to see in all directions at once. It spread to her shoulders and arms, so that they ached with the pressure with which she hugged herself ever tighter. It filled her chest and constricted her breathing, until her breath came in short, fearful gasps. It slowly crept up her neck, tensing the muscles, causing her to glance every which way. It spread slowly, like a great slimy something, up her scalp, prickling her hair. It spread to her mouth, causing it to run dry. And then it lodged in her mind, and she knew that no amount of logic could save her. The darkness seemed to suddenly converge on where she stood, pressing in from all sides. The stillness and deathly quiet overpowered her until she could no longer think. “Mark!” she whispered. Her voice came out hoarse and terrified. The whisper seemed unnaturally loud in the total silence. Too loud. And then Mark was beside her, his hand on her shoulder. Relief flooded Linia, chasing her fear away, as every muscle in her body seemed to turn to water instantly. She sagged against him, weak and unable to speak. It was a moment before organized thought returned to Linia. She soon realized that she was shaking slightly, and immediately forced herself to stop. She had let her fear get the better of her, and she wouldn’t do so again. Almost at the same instant, she became aware that Mark was talking to her, asking if she was all right. “I’m fine,” she said, though her mouth was still dry. “I just—” she teetered for a moment on the edge of saying ‘panicked,’ but Mark interrupted her. “It’s all right, there’s nothing in here but fog,” he said. “Fog and a door.” “You found it?” Linia asked, hardly daring to hope. “I found it,” Mark repeated. “I took so long because I had a hard time finding you again. But don’t worry. I know the way now; no amount of darkness can stop us.” He grasped Linia’s hand in his, and began to lead her through the mist. With Mark by her side, Linia wasn’t half as frightened as she had been. It was still nearly pitch black, and she still looked over her shoulder occasionally, possessed by the feeling that anything could be following them, but somehow the fears that had claimed her held no sway over her as long as Mark was by her side. As long as she could feel his hand, she knew that she was not alone. Presently, a wall loomed up out of nowhere, and Mark, seeming to conjure a door out of thin air, pushed it open. Beyond stretched the unnatural gray hall, with its straight walls, its strange grayness, and its dim half-light. But Linia ran to it as if she were greeting an old friend.
Spoiler Alert!
Linia could see that the hall curved to her right not far off, but she had no desire to see what was beyond that corner. She leaned against a wall and slid to the floor, perfectly content to stay there for a long time.
Mark stepped into the hall and let the door to the Dark Room swing shut behind him. It did so, not with swinging back and forth, but with a single motion that stopped abruptly the instant it closed. “There,” he said, glancing around the corner. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He went back to Linia and sat down beside her. It was a moment before Linia replied. The gray hall seemed oddly bright after the darkness of the room, and she sat there, simply drinking in the presence of light, no matter how dim. “I’m afraid of the dark,” she said after a few moments. “I think I must be. Back in that room, I kept thinking of all the things that could be hiding in the darkness, just behind me.” “I know,” Mark said. “I did too. Most people would be at least a little bit scared. But I kept telling myself that the only way to get through that was to get to the door. And in the end it worked out: here we are.” Linia didn’t answer. “I think we must be in some prison of Valkrill’s,” Mark said after a minute. “Only he would design something like that. The Valkyrie preys on fear; he would think it was the perfect way to keep his prisoners in.” Linia nodded. It did seem Valkrill’s style. They might know where they were, but that did little to make her feel better. “I wonder why he put us here?” she asked. “The answer is probably waiting for us just outside this place,” said Mark, standing up and offering her his hand. “Come on. We should keep moving.” Linia sighed. She had the strangest feeling that the prison wasn’t over yet, that there was a lot more hall between them and the exit. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to sit here with Mark, where she knew she was safe. But Mark was right, and she knew it. They had to find out what was going on, and to do that, they had to keep going. She took Mark’s hand, and allowed him to pull her to her feet. As Linia had feared, the turn in the hall revealed another long stretch of unchanging grayness. She set off down it with Mark, thinking that it was at least better than another room. Now that she knew she was in a prison of Valkrill, things were starting to make sense. The constant gray light still defied explanation, and the abundance of metal didn’t fit at all, but at least she knew why it was so quiet. As Mark had said, they were probably underground, in some abandoned part of the Underdark. Knowing who her enemy was gave her strength. She felt certain that she didn’t like fighting the unseen; that she liked to see her foe. Now that she knew who it was, she felt that she could fight back. In time the end of the hall resolved itself into another right turn. Upon reaching the turn, they found that it led to another flat metal door. Linia’s heart sank. She didn’t want to go through another room like the last one. She wasn’t sure if she could. Mark seemed to sense her thoughts. “I’ll go first,” he said. Cautiously, he edged the door open. It didn’t resist his touch, but swung wide easily, revealing a room that was as high as the hall, and almost twice as wide. It was long as well. It stretched for so far that at first Linia thought it was another hall. Once again, there was a plain metal door set in the far wall. The room was completely empty and silent. Linia forced herself to enter the room with Mark, and willed herself not to rush back out as the door closed behind them. She braced herself for something, anything, but nothing happened. The room remained unchanged, the silence unbroken. In fact, the silence seemed thick, palpable, almost as if the room was holding its breath. Linia looked around. They were still alone in the room. Nothing was with them, nothing had happened. She took Mark’s hand, and together they set out towards the door. As with the Dark Room, it seemed to take a long time to cross the room. They walked in silence for a minute, and the door got only a little bit closer. Linia suddenly stopped. She was sure she had heard something. She turned back and looked behind them. “What?” Mark asked, stopping as well. “I thought I heard something,” Linia said. “Like a… click. It was very faint. It was there, just behind us.” Mark went towards the spot Linia had indicated and bent down, examining the floor. “Nothing here,” he announced after a moment. “Just the same gray metal.” “Did you hear anything?” Linia asked hopefully. If he hadn’t, she would know the sound had been in her head. “Yes,” said Mark reluctantly. “I heard it exactly when you did. I thought it might be in my mind though. Come on,” he added. “Let’s not wait around for something else to happen.” Linia nodded, and they resumed their slow walk to the door. Linia stopped not long after, sure she had heard another click behind them. She raised her eyebrows at Mark, who nodded; he had heard it too. She glanced behind them, but there was nothing there. Then, as she was looking, another click sounded barely an inch from her feet. She leapt back from the spot, searching for whatever had made the noise. There was nothing there. The clicks sounded exactly as if something was walking on the metal floor, something with hard, pointed feet. Like a giant crab. Or perhaps a spider. There was another click, close to where the last one had been. And then, as if something was scuttling across the floor very quickly, the clicks suddenly made for Linia. Before she could even move, Mark leapt in front of her. The clicks seemed to pass right through him as though he wasn’t even there. Linia backed away as the clicks approached, and they followed her. And then, quite suddenly, they stopped. Linia cautiously edged away from where they had last been. “It’s beneath us,” Mark said, watching the floor. “Whatever this thing is, it’s beneath us. That’s why it moved through me.” Linia looked down. “Do you think it’s—” The rest of her sentence was lost, for she had just heard something else: a whispering, slow and steady, coming from the walls. She glanced around. They were completely alone. Or were they? Were there perhaps invisible assailants all about them, whispering, moving in, coming closer even now? “Do you hear that?” Linia whispered to Mark. “That… sound?” “Yes,” Mark replied, glancing about the room. “I hear it.” He turned back to Linia. “But there’s nothing here, Linia. This room is empty. All these things, these sounds; they’re just illusions. I can feel it. They aren’t real.” Behind him, the whispering increased in volume. He went to where she stood and took her hand. “Come on. We just have to get out. The door isn’t that far off.” Linia glanced at the door. It looked like it was only a few paces away, but if the rooms before had been any indication, it would take at least five minutes to get there. The whispering was sounding eager now, excited. “Come on,” Mark said. “We just have to reach the door.” Linia looked at him. All about her, the whispering still echoed, taunting her to look, to search for its source. But Mark’s voice, though quiet, drowned all that out. She could still hear it, she was still frightened by it, but it was in the background. All that mattered were Mark’s words. We just have to reach the door. “You’re right,” Linia said. “If we reach the door, we can get out.” Mark smiled. And then everything changed. The room was plunged into blackness so abruptly that Linia thought for a moment that she had blacked out. Mark’s hand was wrenched from hers as if he had been pulled away by some massive beast. At the same time, the whispering suddenly increased in volume, and Linia heard the clicking begin again, this time scuttling away from her. “Mark!” she cried into the blackness. There was no reply. Mark was gone. Linia’s fears came crashing down on her. Mark was gone, taken. She was alone in this darkness, with no way to find him. And without him, she had no chance. You just have to reach the door. Linia’s head snapped up. She wouldn’t let fear get the best of her. Not this time. She would find the door, and she would get out. Linia began staggering in the direction the door had been. She stretched out her arms, feeling in front of her, waiting for her fingers to touch cold metal, to touch anything other than the empty blackness they now felt. The whispering was all about her, and to Linia, it seemed to be moving. She thought she could hear movement about her, close by, like the sighing of a light breeze. Something was barely three feet in front of her. And five feet behind her. And there, on her left side. She was sure of it. The whispering came from them, and they circled her, gliding through the air, invisible to her eyes. Were they watching her, waiting to strike? Or were they perhaps waiting for something else, something they knew drew closer every second? Linia’s outstretched fingers finally struck cold metal. The wall. Wait. That couldn’t be right. She had been heading for the door. Linia pushed. No, she had definitely found the wall. In a sudden panic, Linia whirled around, trying to see through the blackness. The door had to be here, just inches from her. She went a little to the left, running her fingers up and down the wall, doing her best to ignore the whisper-creatures that circled her. Mark had said they weren’t real. Linia went back right, but still, no door met her. She had gotten turned around. She could be anywhere. She was lost. It was this last realization that frightened Linia the most. She had to get to the door, but how could she when she didn’t know where it was? Linia stopped and tried to think. This was difficult when she was surrounded by invisible whispering phantoms. It was made harder still when one of them came close enough to just brush her shoulder. Linia instantly felt as though her arm had been plunged in ice. She shrank away from the creature, but she was surrounded. They were all about her, whispering, whispering, always whispering. She couldn’t escape. It was at that point that the whisper-creatures seemed to retreat. Their voices grew fainter, until Linia was sure they were a good distance away. She could hear them moving about, but they had inexplicably left her. Linia shrank against the wall. Perhaps something else was coming for her. Linia mentally shook herself. Mark had said these were all illusions. She herself had seen that the room was empty. None of this was real. There was nothing coming for her. No sooner had she reached this conclusion, that she heard a very quiet sound from the far end of the room. It was like a sigh, but much deeper, much fuller than it should have been. The whispering seemed to die away until Linia could barely hear it. She strained her ears, both wanting and dreading to hear the sound again. It came once more, and with a jolt, Linia realized it was the sound of breathing. Very slow, very deep breathing, as if from some massive creature. She heard it again. It was closer this time, coming her way. Linia shrank against the wall, and as she pressed herself into it, she realized it was vibrating. The whisper-creatures were in the wall once more, and Linia could hear their voices through it. The sound coursed up and down her body, permeating her flesh and settling in her bones. The slow breathing came closer, slightly faster now, as though it could sense its prey. Linia tried to shut it all out. It wasn’t real, none of it. She told herself that her mind was playing tricks on her. The wall wasn’t vibrating. There was nothing coming for her. She was alone in the room. Either her mind wouldn’t listen, or she was wrong; whichever it was, the situation didn’t change. Linia’s fingers seemed glued to the wall, and her legs refused to move. In fact, it was more than fright keeping her stationary. Linia could feel something warm and slimy, like a wet vine, creeping around her legs, binding them in place. She struggled, but found that her feet were bound fast. The vines slowly began to creep up her legs, immobilizing them too. At the same moment, Linia realized that she really couldn’t move her hands from the walls. They were stuck there as though they were part of the wall. In fact, she was almost certain – yes, she could feel it now – that there were hands, deadly, ice-cold hands, pinning her arms back, holding her against the wall. And still the breathing came closer, definitely faster now, and now Linia could hear quiet footfalls, dragging slowly across the floor, coming towards her. It’s not real, she told herself. The grip on her arms and legs tightened. Mark said it’s not real. These are illusions. Linia was sure something more than cold air was over her mouth. She could feel it pressing against her head, forcing it sideways, exposing her neck to whatever was approaching her. They are in my mind, she thought, over and over. They aren’t real. The breathing stopped right in front of her. Linia could feel her heart, struggling furiously against her ribs. She could feel the blood pounding in her ears, the adrenaline rushing through her veins. She waited, knowing the creature was just inches in front of her. She was helpless, caught and held motionless, waiting for she knew not what. It’s not real, she repeated over and over in her mind. It’s not real. It’s not real. Mark said these are illusions. They’re not real. And like a ghost, she saw Mark in her mind, talking to her. She strained to hear what he was saying. “They aren’t real, Linia. They can’t hold you; there’s nothing there. You just have to get to the door.” The door. She had to get to the door. She was held by her imagination, not some strange creature. Something touched Linia’s neck, something warm and slimy. Linia tried to scream, but the hand clamped over her mouth stifled the sound. No. There was no hand over her mouth. But Linia could feel the fingers pressing against her face, the strength of the arm. But it wasn’t real. It wasn’t really there. Linia tried to grab the hand from her mouth. Her fingers passed through cold air. She had been right. Mark had been right. There was nothing there. A second later she realized that she had moved her arm, despite the creature pinning it against the wall. Ignoring the grasp, she moved her other arm. Nothing held it back, either. Just get to the door. Ignoring what her mind told her, Linia bolted and ran, just touching the wall with her fingers to make sure she stayed at the edge of the room. She would eventually find the door. The breathing pursued her, followed by the whisper-creatures. But Linia was ready now. She knew they weren’t real. She knew it. They are illusions. Illusions. Fake. They aren’t real. And then, quite suddenly and without warning, Linia’s fingers found the door. She didn’t hesitate or pause to consider, but ran at it. It burst open, and Linia fell forwards, landing painfully on the hard, cold, blessedly gray floor of the hall.
Spoiler Alert!
Linia remained where she had fallen, shaking. She was shaking partially from fear, but mostly from joy. She had escaped.
“Linia!” That was a voice she knew. Linia sat upright and saw Mark running towards her through the gray light. “I thought you must have made it out before me; I was about to start looking for you,” he said. “You got out? You escaped?” “It was just a little dark,” said Mark. “How hard could it be?” Linia looked at him uncertainly. “You didn’t hear… them?” “Who?” asked Mark. “What did you hear?” Linia closed her eyes. Further proof that they hadn’t been real. “Nothing,” she said. “I heard nothing.” “You heard something,” Mark said. Linia opened her eyes. “You said ‘them.’ Who were you talking about?” Linia stood. “Illusions,” she said. “I heard illusions. I felt illusions. But they weren’t real, just like you said; none of them were.” “How did you escape?” Mark asked. “You must have thought they were real at some point to have felt them.” Linia had felt them. In fact, she could still feel the bruises across her face where she had thought a hand had been clamped over her mouth. She could still feel the pressure on her arms where they had been held. The slimy moistness on her feet and legs was real enough. Something had been there. But Linia shoved these thoughts aside. She was out now, and that was all that mattered. “How did you get out?” Mark repeated. Linia looked up at him. “I remembered what you had said. You had told me they were illusions; that they weren’t real. I kept repeating that to myself, and they couldn’t hold me. I kept running until I found the door.” For a moment, Linia thought the illusions had come with her from the room. She thought she saw a triumphant smile pass over Mark’s face. But the next instant, it was gone. She must have imagined it. “Well,” said Mark. “Now that you’re out, I may have found something we’ve been looking for.” Linia caught her breath. “The exit?” she breathed. Mark nodded. “It’s just around the corner.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Linia hurtled down the short hall, turned the corner, and found herself confronted with another door. This door was flat and metal like the rest, but it was different. Its surface was embossed in the middle with countless lines crisscrossing each other, forming a complex pattern. Linia thought she could see a word in the pattern, but she couldn’t be sure what it was. Mark came up beside her. “Through there,” he said. His voice sounded a little strange to Linia. “Are you all right?” she asked, turning to him. “You sound… I don’t know… resigned somehow.” “I’m fine,” Mark said. “It just seems a little anticlimactic, that’s all. I mean, I didn’t expect the way out to just be a door. I’m fine, really,” he said when Linia continued to look concerned. “Let’s just get out of here.” Linia turned back to the door and pushed. It swung open easily, like the rest. However, all that Linia saw was another room. This one was barely more than a large closet, and there was no door in the opposite wall. There was only one way in or out, and it was through the door that Linia now held open. She turned back to Mark. “I thought you said this was the way out.” Mark smiled. To Linia, the smile seemed tired, defeated. “It is,” he said. “I know it is. Once you walk in that room, you’ll be free of this place. This prison will seem to shatter about you, like a dream, and you’ll be able to walk away like it never happened.” Something was wrong with Mark. Maybe he had simply been awake too long. Or perhaps this place was starting to affect him, something Linia had begun to believe was impossible. “You need to get out,” she said. “Come on, we’ll leave together.” Mark didn’t move. “I can’t come with you, Linia,” he said. “I’m sorry. I have to stay here.” Linia just looked at him. “Of course you can’t stay here,” she said after a moment. “Why would you say that?” Mark sighed. “I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely truthful with you, Linia,” he said. He looked up and found her eyes. “You see… I’m not Mark.”
Spoiler Alert!
Mark suddenly seemed to swell. His head shot towards the ceiling, and his arms and legs elongated to match his new stature. He leveled out at seven feet, towering above Linia. And then the wings came.
Sprouting from his back, two great wings, slightly tattered and bony looking, seemed to suddenly fill the hall, their ebony feathers, some withered, some bent, stretched wide. Mark’s back suddenly bowed until he was hunched, and lines appeared on his face. His hair turned dark gray, lengthened, and hung down his shoulders in an untidy mass. A gnarled staff appeared in his hands, which he planted on the ground to support himself. He looked up, causing Linia to step back into the room. His skin had turned pitch black. But worst of all were his eyes. They had turned yellow, not bright yellow like a cat, but a sickly shade, like something diseased. “I’m not Mark,” the figure said. “I’m Valkrill.” Linia staggered backwards. Her mind, so acceptant of illusions, now could not register what she had just seen. Mark was still there. He had to still be there. This was another illusion. “You… You can’t be—” “I am,” said Valkrill, advancing into the room. He was stooped so low that he was able to pass through the doorway with ease. “You are in the Dimholt, Linia; a prison designed by the gods of old to hold their worst adversaries. It is a prison of fear. It tests you, discovers your greatest fears, and then sends them against you. Overcome those fears, and you have overcome the Dimholt, just like you did not five minutes ago.” Linia hit the far wall. She still stared at Valkrill, her mouth slightly open. Numb disbelief coursed through her. “I am fear,” Valkrill said. “I embraced it long ago and made it my strength. I cannot overcome what I am; therefore, I cannot get out. Now go!” The last two words he shouted, his voice echoing like thunder. The sound seemed to shock Linia’s mind into action. That voice was Mark’s. Twisted, mutilated, burdened with age, but it was still Mark. She would have recognized it anywhere. Perhaps Valkrill was telling the truth. Perhaps he was Mark. But Linia still couldn’t accept that Mark as she had known him was gone. He was still there, somewhere. Linia’s mind and Linia’s thoughts were disconnected. Her thoughts were ordered and logical. Her mind was still frozen with shock. Therefore, all she was able to get out was: “But you… Mark… I thought…” Valkrill smiled. His face was lopsided, so that it came out as more of a grimace, reminiscent of extreme pain. His voice softened. “Mark is gone, Linia. He never existed.” He sighed, and the sigh was so familiar, so human, that Linia’s shock subsided somewhat. Valkrill continued. “I know you, Linia. In fact, everyone knows you, but you’ll find that out soon enough. What they don’t know, and what I discovered, is that you are afraid. Everything frightens you. The dark, closed in spaces, being alone, sudden sounds, anything. You’re afraid of it all. “Fortunately for you, you are also the most powerful archmage Feylund has ever – or will ever – produce. You learned to cope with your fear, not by confronting it, but by burying it in your power. If you’re afraid of something, you simply incinerate it until only dust remains. It was a strategy that worked quite well. Until now. “Your mind was wiped before you were sent to the Dimholt. With your memories went your knowledge of who and what you were, and of how to control your magic. Your power was gone, leaving only what you truly were beneath: a very frightened elf. I knew you would never make it through the Dimholt. “That’s why I transformed myself. I became Mark, the agent immune to fear. With him there, you would have someone to help you through the rooms. You would have someone to strengthen you, to reassure you, to banish your fright. I hadn’t anticipated being separated from you in the final room, but by that time, you were able to overcome your fear yourself, thus defeating the Dimholt.” Linia’s mind was still trying to catch up. All she could manage was a faint, “Why?” “Why?” Valkrill echoed. “Why were you put here? Ironically enough, it was fear that sent you here. Ullar had summoned you to end the war, a feat you are very capable of. He became so afraid of your power though, that he decided you were too dangerous to be on Valhalla. He met with the leaders of the alliance, and they unanimously agreed that you should be sent here, to the Dimholt. For safe measure, they wiped your memory. Then Ullar drugged your drink one night, and used his wellspring to send you to where you woke, within the Dimholt. The Alliance thinks you gone forever. Now go!” “But…. Mark.” Linia’s mind was finally leveling out with her thoughts. “You had to create him from someone. You couldn’t have just imagined him. He was real.” “I know you’re just trying to convince yourself of that,” Valkrill said softly. There it was again: Mark’s voice. “It’s not true though. I’ve had plenty of time to imagine many things in here. I can make a convincing disguise when I want. I could have left you alone; I could have never appeared. But I knew that you would need someone like Mark to get you through here, to get you out, to avenge yourself on the Alliance. Oh yes,” Valkrill said, noticing Linia’s look of dawning comprehension. “That’s what I want: Revenge. Jandar put me here years ago, and now Ullar has sent to me the perfect way to get back at him. Naturally I want you to get out. Not being able to get out myself, what you do once you’re free is entirely your decision. I would only urge you to remember what Ullar did to you.” “How do I know what you say is true?” Linia asked warily. Valkrill cocked a burnt eyebrow. “You don’t. But once you leave this place, your memory will return. And if you don’t believe that, anyone you meet will be able to confirm who you are and what happened to you.” Valkrill bent down so that his head was level with Linia’s. “You’ve overcome the Dimholt,” he breathed. “You’ve done what I never can. You have faced your deepest fears, and defeated them. You must leave, Linia.” He was right. Linia knew he was. She had been afraid when she first awoke, afraid of everything. But with Mark’s help, she had conquered her fear. With Valkrill’s help, she corrected herself. She sighed. I suppose Mark really is gone. But I’ll remember him. With him, I faced my fears, and I overcame them. The instant she thought this, the room, the grayness, Valkrill himself, shattered and faded, as if they had never been. Linia was left standing in a dark cavern. The Dimholt was gone. She was free.
Spoiler Alert!
Linia’s memories returned, just as Valkrill had said they would. She eventually found her way out of the abandoned part of the Underdark the Dimholt was hidden in, with a little help from the spells she now remembered how to cast, and returned to Valhalla.
It seemed that the Alliance had done exactly what Valkrill had said they had. Whether Linia sought revenge on them though… well, that’s another story. Throughout it all, Linia remembered one thing. She remembered Mark. She knew that, despite what Valkrill had said, Mark was real. He wasn’t human. And his name wasn’t Mark. But what she had seen, what had walked the halls of her fear with her, had been Valkrill before the war. She knew it. And she also knew that he was still in that mutilated monster down there. Somewhere. And she would find him. She would set him free. Last edited by TGRF; February 6th, 2016 at 02:02 PM. Reason: Next updater: start at page 251, post 3002. |
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Re: Fan Fic Contest Archive
Challenge 63 - November 17th, 2015
Quote:
Spoiler Alert!
Last Voice of Reason
Ekstrom, Valhalla, two-hundred years after the War of the Valkyries: I woke up as the sun rose above the hills, bathing me in its light. The weather was getting colder, despite the bright sun. Harvest season had come - for those who were still settled enough to grow crops, at least. I was not one of them. Always travelling, it was important that I awoke bright and early, as usual, to continue moving. No destination, just continuous movement - looking for food,shelter, whatever we could scavenge, and whatever work we could find. ‘Swift River! Come on, we need to get going!’ ‘I’m coming, Rhangyll!’ I called back to my Elven companion - apparently dawn wasn’t early enough for him. He’d always been a somewhat uncompromising taskmaster. I got up, quickly clothing myself in my tunic and leggings - all the clothes I had, the only ones I’ve ever had, since my home was destroyed. I left the shelter of the ruined farmhouse through the back way and went out to the small well, before washing my hands and face in the clear, spring water there. After returning to the farmhouse and putting on my jewellery and small, lightly feathered headdress, I strapped my bow to my back and my knife and quiver to my hips before slipping on my moccasin shoes and leaving out of what used to be the front door. I found my companions - the aforementioned Elf, and a seven foot tall pile of cobbled together, mismatching parts that passed for a Soulborg. ‘What took you so long?’ Rhangyll asked. ‘Washing, dressing - that’s pretty much it.’ ‘No, before that - I was waiting ages before I called you.’ ‘I’m not an elf, I need more than four hours - I can’t be on the move until one and get up again at five. If you’d wanted that, you should have chosen a different travelling companion.’ ‘As I recall, I didn’t exactly choose you.’ ‘You wanted to get going, didn’t you? So, shall we?’ He nodded. ‘Indeed we shall. Come on, Scrapheap.’ ‘Mission acknowledged, sir,’ replied the robotic voice. 'It’s not exactly a mission...’ 'Don’t even try,’ I interrupted. ‘So which way are we going?’ The Elf seemed to think for a moment. ‘North-west - with luck, we should make our way into Nastralund within a few days.’ I nodded ‘Good plan, let’s go.' I pointed ahead. ‘I suggest we head to that hilltop first, see how the land lies.’ He turned his head to look at me, and his eyes betrayed a touch of pride. 'You’re learning, Swift River.’ 'Thank you - I guess it comes naturally to a Mohican.’ After about an hour of walking, and little in the way of talking (conversation tends to dry up quickly when you’re travelling on foot with the same person your whole life), we crested the top of the hill. I took a sharp intake of breath. 'River, are you seeing this?’ asked Rhangyll. 'Are you talking about the massive swarm of Gruts with the giant lizard at its heart?’ 'That would be what I’m referring to.’ I couldn’t believe it - Orc bands were common place, but I didn’t realise ones this size still existed. I thought they were a thing of a past age, from a time during the war before the world had fallen apart, and I’d only heard stories of the giant lizards the Grut champions were said to ride. 'They’re in the east, and they’re heading west - towards us,’ stated Rhangyll. 'Should we keep heading to Nastralund?’ 'No, I said they’re going west, we’ll cross paths if we do that - we should go north-east for now.’ 'And run right into them? Are you insane?’ 'They won’t retrace ground they’ve already covered - all we need to do is avoid them seeing us, and then we’ll be safe,’ he said with authority. 'Come on, we need to be moving.’ ********************************* 'Remind me why we’re in this wheat-field?’ I asked, getting frustrated with having to push giant stalks of it aside for the umpteenth time. 'We’re in this wheat-field because it makes the Orcs far less likely to spot us, as you know very well, River,’ Rhangyll replied, in a lecturing tone. 'I don’t know how - with all the noise Scrapheap’s making, they’ll hear us before they see us anyway.’ It was true - the whirring of his rusted, worn down servos was loud and grating, and his large,ungainly frame was trampling the wheat in a way that would have made us depressingly easy to track. 'No they won’t - he isn’t that loud, though I’ll admit he’s a liability. I don’t know why you insist on keeping that useless pile of rust around anyway.’ 'Don’t say that, you’ll hurt his feelings.’ 'He doesn’t have feelings - he’s a robot with a damaged brain.’ 'He’s more than that, and you know it.’ 'I’m sorry, I forgot what a fascinating conversationalist he is - 'Mission accepted,’ 'Error: file not found,’ 'Failed to execute: rebooting internal systems’. Riveting.’ 'That pun was beneath you.’ 'It wasn’t one!’ he protested. ' Look, just because he can’t convey his thoughts properly doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them.’ Rhangyll shrugged. 'Whatever you say. Anyway, more light’s penetrating this field - I think we’re reaching the end.’ As the light began to strengthen, I heard the gutteral, growling speech of Grut language, and the protestations and cries of a woman in distress. I put a finger to my lips, gesturing to Rhangyll and Scrapheap to remain quiet - probably a meaningless endeavour, as Rhangyll seemed afronted that I, who was not charge, had felt it necessary to indicate something so obvious, and Scrapheap’s capacity for understanding things was less than stellar. As I approached the edge of the wheatfield, I carefully brushed the stalks aside, looking through the gap that I’d made while attempting to stay silent and hidden. I watched as five Blade Gruts, presumably a raiding party that had split up from the rest of the mob, milled around while two of their bretheren were manhandling a young Kyrie woman. She was wearing simple, peasant clothes, and was trying with all her might to break free, but was quite simply overpowered by the much stronger Orcs. Their growls were not something I could understand with any sophistication, but it was clear they were attempting to capture her - perhaps to sell on as a slave, or maybe just to roast over a fire as their evening meal. On the ground two Kyrie men lay dead, their bodies slashed to ribbons alongside the corpse of an eighth Blade Grut, who had the point of a sickle buried deep into its skull. I took the bow from my back, and began to string an arrow. 'What do you think you’re doing?’ demanded Rhangyll, in a forceful whisper. 'I’m helping that Kyrie woman, and I’d appreciate it if you’d help as well. Scrapheap, you start firing when I loose my bow - shoot only at the Orcs.’ 'You don‘t make decisions like this!’ 'I’m making one now, so start shooting before we’re too late.’ Heaving a somewhat disapproving sigh, he did as I said, grabbing his own bow from his back and stringing an arrow to it. Simultaneously, we both drew back our bow strings, held for a moment, and then loosed our arrows at the exact same time. Both found their mark, and two Orcs lay dead. Within a second, the staccato bark of Scrapheap’s machine gun rent the air as I began fumbling for a new arrow, and concentrated on stringing it to my bow. As I drew the string back taught, I suddenly realised that Rhangyll had already let loose another shot and, between him and Scrapheap, the last five Orcs lay dead, sprawled on the ground and staining it a deep crimson. I let my grip on my bow slacken, and returned my arrow to its rightful place in my quiver as the roar of the machine gun ceased. Rhangyll, Scrapheap and I stepped out of the wheat-field to meet the startled Kyrie who stood there. Her wings were white as snow, and her hair a jet, raven black. There was only one thing I could think to say. ‘Are you alright?’ I asked. She looked up at us. Her eyes - wide in alarm but slowly settling into something resembling relief - were the most piercing green I’ve ever encountered. ‘T-thank you.’ ‘Never mind that - who are you, what’s your name?’ demanded Rhangyll, his tone uncompromisingly business-like. The Kyrie hesitated a moment before responding. ‘T-t-tyra. M-my name’s Tyra,’ she answered. ‘Good. I am Rhangyll, descendent of the great Elven warrior Syvarris. The young woman beside me is Swift River, daughter of the Mohican River Tribe.’ ‘I’m not sure what you’re referring to.’ She spoke hesitantly, her expression confused. ‘Typical,’ scoffed my Elven companion. ‘Ill-educated peasant.’ ‘Rhangyll!’ I interposed, furious. ‘How dare you speak to this woman that way! Besides, most of the records have been destroyed - memory of the past has faded.’ ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he replied, grudgingly. He turned to the woman again: ‘Why are you here?’ ‘My parents sent me to check on... t-to check on...’ The hesitation and stutter had returned to her voice, as she looked down at the bodies. ‘To check on my brothers.’ Rhangyll looked down, before looking at the woman again. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ ‘Thank you,’ replied the Kyrie, her tears plainly in her voice. ‘Now please, I need to get back to the farmhouse - my parents need to know.’ Before she could flap her wings to take off, Rhangyll reached forward to stop her. ‘Where is this farmhouse?’ ‘Over there,’ she said - she was pointing to the west. My heart nearly broke for her in that moment. ‘I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,’ he said. ‘We saw a large group of Orcs moving in that direction - it’s right in their path.’ The alarm returned to her green eyes. ‘Then I need to go! I need to help them!’ ‘You’ll be too late. I’m sorry.’ ‘Then I can fight - I know how to fight!’ ‘Really? I didn’t exactly see anything impressive earlier.’ ‘They ambushed me, I didn’t have time to do anything!’ Tyra protested. ‘Whatever the case, this is no raiding party, but a small army - you’ll be cut to pieces.’ ‘But...’ ‘No.’ Rhangyll had given up on being gentle now. ‘Tyra, your parents are dead, and if you try to save them, you will be too.’ I watched as the last glimmer of light left Tyra’s eyes. ‘Rhangyll!’ I protested again. ‘River, she had to be told,’ he snapped back. He turned his eyes from me back to Tyra. ‘You’re welcome to travel with us for as long as you wish - Swift River will provide whatever medical attention you require.’ ********************************* Two days later, and Tyra was still travelling with us. I had tried to draw her out of her shell when tending to her wounds (some light bruising and lacerations easily dealt with using a simple poultice) and several times after that, but so far, nothing. She had completely retreated into herself - not that I could blame her. On the second day, after we’d stopped to have lunch and before we started moving again, Tyra left the group without a word. While Rhangyll was in favour of heading off without her, saying that if she’d wanted to stay with us she wouldn’t have wandered off, I wasn’t so ready to abandon her. We were close to the border into Nastralund, and I found her sitting down, alone, wings folded, looking out across the Sigling Sea. I moved closer, trying to make just enough sound to let her know I was there without startling her, and sat down next to her. ‘It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?’ I said, in attempt to draw her into conversation. She just took up a small stone from her side, and cast it into the waves. ‘What makes you want to disturb the water?’ I asked. She said nothing for a moment - I thought I was having as little impact as usual - and then she spoke. ‘The whole world’s disturbed,’ she replied. ‘What’s one damn stone.’ I couldn’t disagree with her - Valhalla was a world out of balance for as long as I’d known it. With Marro swarming from the south, Grut raiders in the north, small groups of survivors forming the majority of the remaining population across the whole breadth of the world, nothing in the way of organisation anywhere anymore, very few people still being able to work the now devastated land (Tyra’s family having been some of the last subsistence farmers), and nature disrupted and crying out in pain from all these creatures desecrating it, the world had fallen apart. ‘I’m sorry about your family,’ I said. ‘I know how you feel.’ ‘No you don’t,’ she shot back. ‘I do,’ I insisted. ‘I was born in Braunglayde - my tribe’s elders said we’d moved north there after the war, when the Marro took over Ticalla. I was fifteen when the swarms moved far enough north to enter Braunglayde.’ The memories were still painful to talk about, but I knew what Tyra was going through, and I didn’t want her to feel alone. ‘My whole tribe - everyone I knew - was slaughtered. If it hadn’t been for Rhangyll, I’d have died amongst them. He took me in.’ ‘I thought the Marro merely legends,' Tyra remarked. ‘I hope he was more sympathetic with you than he was with me,’ she added, bitterly. ‘He was,’ I replied. ‘He was always strict and stubborn, but he’s grown harsher as the years have passed. He’s a kind man at heart, he just doesn’t show it.’ ‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’ ‘Keep travelling with us and you might.’ She seemed to think for a moment. ‘Why not? I have nowhere else to go.’ She turned to me. ‘I’m sorry about what happened to you as well. Thank you for your help.’ ‘You’re welcome - I thank you, too.’ ‘So, what are you and Rhangyll exactly?’ ‘Survivors. We wander the world, finding food, scavenging, and sometimes taking mercenary jobs when they present themselves.’ ‘And the robot?’ I smiled - thinking of Scrapheap always made me smile. ‘He was cobbled together by another group of survivors out of old Soulborg parts - they used him as a defensive weapon against Grut raids. They hired us as mercenaries to attack a camp of Orcs which had stolen their equipment, but when we were gone they were attacked and cut down by a group of wandering Death Knights. When we returned it was too late, but Scrapheap was still functional. Rhangyll thought we should leave him, but I felt sorry for him so I insisted he stay with us. You could say he’s become... something of a pet.’ I actually managed to get Tyra to smile at the final remark. ‘I can see that,’ she said, and I saw warmth in her green eyes for the first time. We just sat for a moment, looking out across the waters, before she spoke again. ‘What do you know about the war?’ she asked. ‘About how the world got this way?’ ‘Very little,’ I replied. ‘All I know comes from the stories the elders of my tribe passed down, and none of them were old enough to remember the war themselves - we humans only have a lifespan of around sixty, sixty-five years, on average, and that’s if we’re lucky enough not to be killed. All I really know is that there were a number of powerful Kyrie who ruled these lands, and that by using some form of magic - my elders always said it was by some kind of pool called a Wellspring - they transported warriors from other worlds to this one, so that they could fight in their wars. My ancestors were apparently among those summoned.’ ‘You mean the Kyrie - my people - were once this land’s rulers?’ she asked, showing what appeared to be utter astonishment. ‘You didn’t know that?’ ‘No - the Gruts have always seemed most dominant to me. I never imagined...’ she stopped for a moment before continuing. ‘Do you know anything else?’ She seemed agitated, desperate for more information. ‘Snippets,’ I replied, ‘but mostly in the form of stories told around the campfire. I could tell you what I remember of some of them if you’d like, over time, but I don’t know how informative they’d be - I have no idea where to separate fact from legend.’ 'Oh.’ She seemed disappointed, and gazed out to sea again, with a far off look in her eyes. 'Are there no records?’ 'None that I know of,’ I replied. 'I don’t know how many were made, and those that did exist seem to have been destroyed.’ 'I thought not.’ Tyra seemed lost again - the life I’d noticed in her the last few moments had left, and she seemed to have drifted away with her thoughts. Suddenly, I remembered something. 'There have been rumours...’ I began. She turned to me at once, her green eyes keen with interest. 'What?’ 'I’ve heard rumours of someone who can remember the war, who was alive for it.’ 'Who is he? Where?’ Her eyes were blazing now, not only with interest, but with determination - with an intense, powerful green flame I have never seen in anyone else’s eyes before or since. It was intimidating, but undeniably engaging - I had to look away for a second, her gaze was so strong. 'I don’t know - I don’t know the species, temperament, anything. I don’t even know if it’s more than a rumour. All I’ve heard about him is that he’s a recluse, and he’s supposed to live in an abandoned fortress down in Anund.’ Tyra once again turned her gaze to the water, but this time, her eyes maintained their determined fire. 'I’m going to have to leave you,’ she said. 'I have to find him.’ This was definitely more than mere curiosity, and I was beginning to seriously question her motives for starting this conversation. 'You can’t!’ I said desperately. 'You’ll never survive the journey on your own - no one could. You’ll be slaughtered.’ She looked at me, and despite the burning in her eyes, her voice was calm and level. 'I have to speak to this person, Swift River - there’s nothing else for it.’ There was no way I could talk her out of this, I could tell, but I couldn’t just let this woman walk into her death, not now - and besides, she was becoming quite fascinating. 'Alright,’ I said, 'but you can’t go alone - we’ll go with you.’ The fire softened, and her look changed to one of gratitude, confusion, and even a slight amount of humour. 'We? Who’s we? I appreciate the offer, River, I do, and I would take you up on it, but if you mean to include Rhangyll, I doubt he’d be as sympathetic or as willing to go on this expedition as you are.’ 'Maybe not,’ I replied, 'but he won’t let me go alone, and after years of travelling with him, I know how to twist him around my finger if I need to.’ ******************************** 'So, let me get this straight,’ said Rhangyll. 'Now we’re at the border into Nastralund, you want to turn around, traipse south all the way back through Ekstrom, back into Anund, and find some abandoned fortress in the south of that province so your new Kyrie friend can talk to someone who may not even exist?’ 'In essence, yes,’ I replied. 'There is no way we are ever doing this, Swift River - I hope you understand that.’ ********************************* 'I still can’t believe you talked me into doing this.’ I flashed Rhangyll a sardonic smile. ‘I have my methods.’ The journey had taken around three weeks, and had been a hard slog - Grut raiding parties, hostile survivalists, groups of undead and Deathstalker packs had been ever present dangers that we often had to fight or avoid, and Rhangyll’s sour mood over the entire expedition had done nothing to make matters any easier. Tyra acted as a scout, her ability to fly being invaluable when it came to spotting and avoiding the aforementioned dangers. After our talk overlooking the Sigling Sea, she began to open up to me more - she even talked a little about her now-deceased family, and while the pain was still clear in her eyes, discussing them seemed to help ease it to a degree. She asked me about my own life, and in the evenings she would often request that I share with her the stories my tribe’s elders had told me of the war - she seemed nigh obsessed with it. Her determination to reach her destination was absolute and unshifting, and her eyes often blazed with the same fire I had seen when I had first mentioned this rumour to her. I began to realise that she was using this as a new purpose in life - whether as a simple distraction from her pain or to help her come to terms with it, I was never sure. I wasn’t sure, either, what would happen to her when we had reached our journey’s end. I hoped that she would be able to speak to this person about how the world had reached this state and use that as some form of closure - but this person may not even exist, and whether he did or not, what her reaction would be was not something I could predict, no matter how hard I tried to unravel the mysteries of her mind. We were at the gates of the fortress. The stone walls were overgrown and crumbling, clearly neglected for at least a century - the gate had been blown apart long ago, and its wood was slowly rotting away. Tattered grey banners depicting parallel swirls forming from inside hexagons flew from the ramparts. A number of broken Soulborg frames, skeletons and rotting Marro husks littered the ground. 'Well, we’re here,’ said Tyra, somewhat impatiently. 'What are you two waiting for?’ Turning away, she ignored the open gate and simply soared over the large stone walls. 'Showoff,’ I quipped, before Rhangyll, Scrapheap and I walked through the ruined gate and into the huge, walled courtyard. The ground was strewn with yet more decayed corpses and damaged soulborgs - a truly staggering number, far greater even than the carnage that lay outside the walls. 'Whatever happened here, it was a bloodbath,’ commented Rhangyll. 'Impessive deduction,’ I replied sarcastically. I crouched, and looked down at one of the robot frames. 'So many broken Soulborgs - don’t suppose you have any memory of this, eh Scrapheap?’ The Soulborg emitted a low whirr for about ten seconds, and then, in a monotone, robotic voice, replied 'Error: 506, file not found.’ 'Thought not.’ 'Alright, Swift River, we’re here,’ said Tyra. 'Now where is this recluse you were mentioning? Any thoughts?’ 'The rumours seemed to imply that he’s somewhere in a tunnel network underneath this fortress,’ I replied, looking torwards the overgrown keep. 'We need to find an entrance.’ 'Are you certain these tunnels exist?’ asked Rhangyll. 'No,’ I answered honestly. 'Digging around in thorns to find an entrance to a tunnel network that may only be imaginary, in an attempt to find someone who’s probably only a myth. Wonderful.’ 'Stop complaining, Rhangyll, and start looking,’ Tyra shot back. 'Don’t get brusque with me, peasant - remember I’m already helping you under protest.’ 'My apologies if my tone was echoing your usual level of diplomacy,’ replied Tyra, with an edge to her voice. ‘Believe me, it’s not a mistake I’ll make again.’ After several minutes of patient searching, I found a short drop leading to a large door in the keep, both hidden under a truly ridiculous quantity of brambles. 'Well,’ I called out, 'the good news is I’ve found it - the bad news is we’re never getting through all this foliage.’ Rhangyll, Tyra and - with a little prodding - Scrapheap, all rushed to my side. 'We have to get through,’ said Tyra, and I could tell by now from her voice alone that her eyes held the same fire as before. 'Anyone have any ideas?’ Five seconds of whirring preceded Scrapheap incinerating the entire thicket with his wrist-mounted flamethrower. 'I’d rather you didn’t do that to plants in future, Scrapheap,’ I remarked. 'You have to admit, it worked well,’ was Tyra’s response. One by one, we made the small drop, landing on the now scorched stonework and burned plantlife. Rhangyll pushed open the door and we all hurried through before it slammed shut behind us, the heavy crash sending echoes through the tunnel. Disoriented both by the sudden, pitch blackness and by the overwhelming smells of rust and rotting flesh, I stumbled. Reaching out in the darkness to catch myself, my hand found a flat, hard and smooth surface sticking out from the wall, and I accidentally flipped what must have been some sort of switch. In a moment, a long row of glass disks framed in metal running down the whole length of the tunnel’s ceiling began to glow, bathing us in an unnatural, electric blue light. I disliked it immensely, but at least it allowed us to see. 'It worked out this time, River,’ began Rhangyll, 'but a word of advice - in the future, try not to set off things when you don’t know what they do.’ 'Shut up, Rhangyll,’ I shot back - not my most sparkling retort, but I lacked the inclination at the time to come up with a better one. The tunnel’s walls were merely uneven, carved rock, but the floor was overlaid with a fine metal grate - the whole setup was utilitarian in the extreme. The remains of yet more corpses and Soulborgs littered the ground. The tunnel stretched out in front of us so far I could barely see the end of it, and I could make out many branching paths - it seemed a vast network. 'How are we supposed to find the recluse in here?’ asked Tyra, sounding genuinely lost and baffled. 'The rumours said he spent most of his time near a wellspring somewhere in these tunnels,’ I began, 'but that’s of little use to us if we can’t find it.’ I crouched to the ground again. 'I’m going to have to look to see if I can make out the most recent tracks - they’ll lead us to him if I can identify them in this mess. If that doesn’t work, we’ll just have to think of something else.’ 'Or,’ suggested Rhangyll, 'we could just use this map.’ I looked up at him, confused. 'What are you talking about? What map?’ 'This one, here,’ he said, pointing at a spot on the wall. 'You must have missed it. It is rust-stained, but it looks usable enough.’ I got up, moved closer, and looked where he was pointing. Another flat, hard surface, much larger this time, seemed to have been placed upon the walls by this fortress’s former inhabitants. Once again it was smooth and white, but there were no switches this time. Instead, just as Rhangyll had said, a map appeared to be printed on it. It was not like any map I was used to, being nothing but harsh, straight lines printed in black, with numbered annotations on it, but it seemed clear enough to use. 'Yes,’ I answered. 'That... should work.’ Rhangyll placed his hand on my shoulder. 'Always look for the easiest route in future,’ he said, in a strangely softer tone of voice than usual. 'Don’t patronise me.’ 'Alright, if that’s what you really want, then I won’t.’ 'I think the way you just said that counts as being patronising....’ 'Yes, it does. Shall we get going?’ 'Wait,’ I began. 'How are we supposed to remember the way through all these twisting tunnels?’ 'Don’t worry,’ replied Tyra, 'I have a nigh perfect visual memory.’ I shrugged. 'Of course you do.’ We wandered the passageways for what couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, but it felt like an hour. As it turned out, Tyra’s perfect memory had been unneeded, as at every tunnel entrance there was a copy of the same map, with a red dot to designate where we were. The deeper we got, the fewer fallen warriors we found, though this strangely failed to make me feel any less uncomfortable. I had lived my life in the open, in touch with nature from my earliest days, and in the claustrophobic tunnels I felt entirely cut off. I knew in my gut that this was the last place I belonged. My discomfort finally began to clear when we saw sunlight streaming in from the end of the last tunnel. I practically ran to reach it, much to the chagrin of Rhangyll, though Tyra seemed just as impatient as I. We were greeted by a large open cavern, the walls natural and craggy rather than artificially hewn - there were even a number of stalagtites protruding from the ceiling. Above, there was a hole in the cave roof, where pure, golden sunlight shone down onto the beautiful, clear, sparkling pool in the centre of the room. Here, I felt not only connected to nature once more, but I could tell that this place was magical - its presence was palpable, and I could feel its power surging through my entire body. 'Great Spirit,’ I muttered. Standing in front of the pool was a tall, heavy set figure, with deep red skin and small, golden horns protruding from its forehead. Its body type was male, as best as I could tell, considering that this species was completely alien to me. It had white hair and a white goatee, wore heavy robes of red and gold, and bore in its hand a large, silver staff which resembled some sort of bizarre, arcane key. 'I have waited for someone to come,’ he said methodically, but with a quiet sense of joy I could just pick up. The voice was plainly male, and carried the weight of many, many years. 'Who are you?’ asked Tyra. I decided to let her speak - she was the one who had wanted to come, after all. 'Ah - but who are you?’ replied the creature, ' You are, after all, in my domain.’ 'My name is Tyra,’ she said. 'The human woman beside me is named Swift River, and the Elf is called Rhangyll.’ 'And the soulborg?’ 'Scrapheap,’ I chimed in, briefly. The creature smiled slightly. 'How original. My name is Rygarn. I am a Tempovar, and a Chrono-Mage of my species. I am the only one of my race presently alive on this planet.’ 'I wished to speak to you, Rygarn,’ said Tyra - she was certainly bold. Her gaze still burned as she spoke. 'Of what?’ 'I wish to know more of the war - of how Valhalla reached its present state. You remember, yes? You were alive for the war?’ Rygarn looked entirely unsurpised. 'I expected you to ask that. I was around for much of it, but not all - I was only summoned several years in, by the Archkyrie Vydar who ruled from this place. Montfre Manor, it was called then. You are certain you wish to know?’ 'Absolutely,’ replied Tyra. ‘Very well,' said Rygarn. ‘I shall explain. A little over two hundred years ago, a number of Kyrie discovered - or, more likely, rediscovered - the Wellsprings, and used their power to summon armies to them - there were five Kyrie Generals to begin with, but as the war carried on there became more. War ravaged Valhalla for years, but no one’s army would conclusively break - they had an endless supply of reinforcements after all. Eventually, loyalties cracked, the Valkyrie Generals began to die on and off the battlefield, and the old goals of the conflict became forgotten. The alliances and the armies broke down, and the world became an every-man-for-himself nightmare. Some were ambitious enough to try to form their own civilisations, but in such an unstable environment, none could last for long. The whole world broke down into what it is today, and now all who are left are survivors, raiders, and the growing plague of Marro in the south. It is a world of naught but death and destruction - as you have seen, I can tell.’ His entire speech sounded rehearsed, as though he had been planning to enter into exactly this conversation with someone for an extremely long time now - all but the last few words of it, that is. Tyra appeared greatly taken aback by that last comment, but she stood her ground, and attempted not to let it show. 'Is it redeemable?’ she asked. 'In its present state, no,’ he replied. 'The chaos will only grow, that is until the Marro consume all left in their path - it’s only a matter of time until they do. There is, however, one possibility - probably hopeless, but it’s all we have.’ Tyra’s eyes blazed ever brighter. 'Tell me.’ 'As I said, I’m a Chrono-Mage - use your imagination.’ 'Time travel?’ interjected Rhangyll. 'Really? Aren’t there serious problems with something like that?’ 'If you’re worrying about the the temporal repurcussions, I shouldn’t,’ replied Rygarn. 'The Valkyrie Generals pulled warriors throughout the whole of space and time - have you any idea what that’s already done to the timestream? Anything we do would be inconsequencial - you may even heal it if you can prevent the massive recruitment drive that occurred during the last stages of the war.’ 'Us?’ responded Rhangyll. 'Us? You really expect me to just piggy back on your ridiculous scheme, head back in time and save the world? Anyway, if you think this is so important, why don’t you do it yourself?’ 'I cannot,’ was Rygarn’s rebuttle. 'You may think me negligent with the consequences of time travel, but I will not risk what could happen if I met myself.’ I could hardly believe this conversation was actually taking place. Suddenly, a voice - clear and determined - cut through the air. 'I’m going.’ It was Tyra. I found it even harder to believe that I’d really heard those two words - but they had been spoken, and the fire of her eyes grew ever stronger. Rygarn smiled. ‘I thought you would.’ ‘How does this work?’ she asked. ‘I am not powerful enough to manipulate time in such a way myself,’ Rygarn explained. ‘Fortunately, I have discovered a way to overcome such difficulties.’ He indicated fifteen small chambers around the Wellspring, along with the amulets which had been placed inside each one. ‘Each amulet comes from a different Wellspring. When all are gathered at one, it allows the one who uses the Wellspring to control their visions, and, as such, I can home in on Valhalla’s past and allow you to go there through the portal I can create. I spent one and a half centuries searching for these, and lost many friends along the way - they sacrificed their lives, so that this may be done. It is fortunate you arrived when you did - we Tempovars may be long-lived, but we are not immortal, and my days are coming to an end. Had I died before these could be used, their sacrifices would have been in vain.’ ‘What do I have to do?’ asked Tyra. ‘On your own, you’re nothing - on their own, everyone’s nothing. You have to be a voice, an idea, an inspiration - the last voice of reason in a world gone mad. Then, maybe, someone will hear you, and you can turn something around.’ He paused for a moment. ‘You have to understand, there is no coming back.’ ‘I have no reason to wish to.’ ‘Good,’ said Rygarn, looking relieved to know that his life’s work might actually mean something. ‘Then it is settled.’ Tyra turned to the rest of us. ‘You’re welcome to join me, if you wish. I would like you to.’ She spoke to all three of us, but she was looking directly at me, and addressed me first and foremost. The green fire was just as bright now, but it no longer seemed intimidating - I could even describe it as comforting, and while the first time I’d had to look away, this time I found I could not. I understood as I looked into her eyes that she felt she had to do this, that this would give her a purpose that had been missing from her life after the death of her family, and that this was something she truly believed in. What’s more, I trusted her. I found myself believing in it too - I found myself thinking that this could work, that we could do something to save Valhalla from this fate. I knew that I would stand by her in this, and, as such, promised to go with her. 'Thank you,’ she replied, and smiled. ‘Are you out of your mind, Swift River?’ ‘I suppose that’s a no from you then, Rhangyll,’ said Tyra. 'You’re really going to go to another time?’ he continued. 'What the hell has got into you!’ 'Rhangyll, think about it,’ I began. 'What do we gain from staying here - a life of constant travel, desperation and an endless search for food and shelter. This may not work, but we might be able to change things - and wherever we end up, surely it can’t be worse than this.’ He fell silent for a moment, looking thoughtful. I had never expected my words to get through to him, but they did. 'You’re right,’ he said at length. 'We have no reason to stay here. I may as well go.’ 'You’re coming?’ I couldn’t believe it as I said that. 'Someone needs to make sure you don’t screw things up.’ I was glad to hear this - Rhangyll may constantly irritate me, but he was the only family I’d had since my home had been destroyed. I didn’t want to leave him behind. 'What about you, Scrapheap?’ I asked. 'Oh yes, ask the mind last,’ commented Rhangyll. 'Affirmative,’ said the machine, after several seconds of whirring. 'Excellent,’ said the Tempovar. 'Now, let me partake of the waters, and you can be going.’ 'Wait a minute, we’re doing this now?’ queried Rhangyll. 'Any reason to wait?’ asked the Chrono-Mage. 'Well... no, I suppose not,’ replied the Elf. 'I do have one question first, Rygarn,’ I added. 'When we’re in the past, should we seek you out?’ The Tempovar smiled sardonically. 'No - I was a different person then. Vydar rarely recruited the wise, he summoned those he could control and manipulate. I was young, foolish and arrogant - I never considered the consequences of my power over time, I simply revelled in it. It was a stage most young Tempovars with the powers of a Chrono-Mage went through. Most of us were coached by one who was older and wiser than we were, but I was snatched up by Vydar before this could happen, and he merely encouraged my arrogance for his own ends. So no - you will receive no help from me, I’m afraid.’ He turned towards the Wellspring. 'The moment of truth,’ he said. I could feel my stomach churning over what was about to happen, but I did my best to centre, and to remind myself to trust my instincts here, rather than my fears. The Tempovar cupped some of the Wellspring’s water in his hands, and drank of it. He then placed his hands on two raised, runed panels beside the Wellspring, which each depicted a large star encircled by swirling rocks. His concentration was plainly intense, as he closed his eyes and the tension built in the cavern. Suddenly, a portal emanating a brilliant blue light opened, as a spiral of rocks and crystals rose ever higher in a circular pattern from the Wellspring. 'Go through,’ commanded Rygarn, his voice strained and weary. 'Quickly.’ Tyra, Rhangyll, Scrapheap and I entered the portal as swiftly as we could, before it closed behind us. We found ourselves in a green, open field, with tall trees growing all around us. 'It worked?’ asked Rhangyll. 'It did,’ I replied - and I did know. From the air that I breathed to the grass underneath my feet and to the wind in my hair, it was clear that we were in another time - one that felt, to me at least, inherently more hopeful than the one we’d left. It felt exciting, beautiful and terrifying all at once. I hesitated before speaking, unwilling, for a while at least, to break the spell, but eventually I found my voice. 'What do we do now?’ Tyra looked at me with the same green flame that I’d first seen in her eyes as we sat together beside the Sigling Sea. 'We spread the word,’ she said quietly. ‘We spread the word.’ First Place - The Average Fan
Spoiler Alert!
Why “Here they come! Archers at the ready!” Falshan commanded, his wings flaring out as he gave the order. From below, the Human and Elven archers nodded and fired their arrows overhead, the missiles flying up and arching down into the mass of enemies approaching them. A few too many of the bolts landed on untrodden ground, the enemy forces trampling them underfoot only a few seconds after. Falshan gulped—he had given the order a touch too early, wasting precious arrows on such a numerous opposing army. He turned to Concan, a fellow Kyrie beside him. “Are you sure I should be in charge here, sir?” He questioned the superior officer. “It’s your town, Falshan.” Concan replied coolly, unbothered by the wasted volley, “We figured you’d know best how to defend it from these monsters.” Falshan returned his attention to the aforementioned foes, “Right.” Orcs, hundreds of them, charged straight toward Falshan’s hometown with the sole intent to destroy it. They were clothed in savage armor, bearing blunt but deadly weapons, the very sight of them disgusting. They snarled at the air as they charged, their tiny eyes void of meaning, full of bloodlust. The mindless hordes of Utgar sickened all but the most soulless of Valhallans, Falshan no exception. His family had lived in this tiny village for as long as he could remember, as long as any of his ancestors could remember, and now Utgar’s armies sought to destroy it merely for its strategic positioning in this endless war. He would fight to the death to defend it. Concan motioned for another volley, soon getting his wish. The second barrage pummeled the Orcs’ ranks, the monsters struck falling lifeless only to be stampeded by their brethren. Falshan’s village was lucky to have the Alliance’s aid, Jandar and the other Generals quick to send soldiers to defend it despite its neutrality. Only a few days ago they had transformed the tiny town into a miniature fortress, complete with a small wall, trenches, and wooden barricades. “Here they come! Swords at the ready!” Concan shouted. Falshan nodded and turned to some of the villagers spectating from their homes, morbidly curious, “Get inside and hide! It’s about to get ugly!” The Orcs had sustained losses from the arrows, but they were so numerous that it had hardly dented their forces. Seemingly in a mad frenzy, they charged the barricades outside the wall without hesitation. Only the Gruts at the very front lines saw the wooden stakes sticking out towards them and cried out, but the soldiers behind them refused to slow down. Falshan smiled grimly as they were forcibly impaled by their own stampede. It seemed that the only thing the monsters valued over bloodshed was self-preservation. At the very least it might make them easier to disperse, he figured. The oncoming hordes rushed the barricades until the wooden spikes couldn’t sustain more bodies. The remaining Orcs scrambled up on top of them, climbing onto the walls and jumping into combat. The first several to make it were shot down by archers, but that didn’t hold them off long. Finally the main bulk of the Orc army had made it up onto the wall and burst into combat. Friends and foes all around Falshan swarmed left and right, locked in deadly combat. Falshan kept to the wall, his wings beating furiously to keep enemies from getting behind him in the madness. Orcs dashed to his position, quick to lock blades with him. The Kyrie cut one down and then another, outnumbered by unworthy opponents. The goal right now was to keep the Gruts from the archers, but Falshan really fought to keep them from his home, where his family hid. “Keep fighting them back! Kill them all!” Concan shouted over the madness. Falshan did his best to obey, not a half bad swordsman himself for an untrained villager. The only problem was the numbers. More of the savage creatures climbed the wall, spilling out onto the battlefield. They weren’t strong but they were nimble, swarming all about and slipping past engaged combatants with ease. Finally there were just too many of them, the remainder of the forces pouring down from the wall and into the village. “No!” Falshan looked over his shoulder as Orcs scurried about his town. He could already see an entire squad making their way towards his own residence, unchallenged. Furiously grasping his blade, the Kyrie cut down all the Gruts around him and took to the skies. Orc arrows battered his exposed wings, but he didn’t care; he’d give his wings to save his family. The monsters had already made it inside. “Hya!” Falshan dashed through the open door, cutting down one of the invaders before calling out, “Zelshan? Boys?” This area was empty save for the now dead Orc, and the house only contained two rooms, making things more urgent. As Falshan stormed toward the next room, an Orc archer stepped out and fired his bow. The flimsy bolt struck Falshan, the Kyrie quick to slash down the archer vengefully. He had no time to worry about the wound, bursting into the next room. It wasn’t about the war anymore at this point. Concan and the others were all gone to him—it was only between Falshan and these monsters. It was a grim sight. The remainder of the Orc squad was here, having smoked out Falshan’s wife and two sons. They cowered all the way in the back, cornered. His wife, Zelshan, shakily held a sword towards the closest Orc, a grinning, snarling beast with a unique scar across one eye. She wasn’t much less trained for battle than Falshan had been, but she was outnumbered and trying to protect two children. As soon as Falshan was in the room, battle erupted in a heartbeat. He went straight for the nearest Orc, gutting it with his blade furiously. Most of the remaining invaders turned to face him, the others rushing to kill Falshan’s family. First he cut down two Gruts in one swing, one dropping a torch as it fell. Next Falshan charged a fumbling archer, slicing it before it even had time to ready an arrow. The Kyrie moved on to his next obstacle, an armored Grut who seemed to be the leader. Carrying a spear, this Orc used his longer reach to keep Falshan at bay, fire slowly crawling along the floor and seeping up the walls as the fight dragged on. Outmatched by this particular weapon, there wasn’t much Falshan could do, and he could feel his wounds catching up with him. Damn! Hang in there! He glanced over the commanding Orc’s shoulder, wishing he hadn’t a second later. His wife was still fighting the other Orcs, tangling with that scarred one, but he had already lost a son to the Gruts. The momentary glance cost him, his enemy’s lance piercing his shoulder. Blood spurted out as the rusty weapon rummaged through his flesh. “No!” Falshan sucked up the pain and lurched forth, stabbing the Orc leader through the neck. The armored Grut collapsed, the Kyrie ignoring the spear in him and stumbling over to the remaining foes, his rage subduing all the pain, “I’ll kill you soulless monsters! All of you!” The scarred Orc had cut down his wife, his eldest and remaining son picking up his mother’s blade and backing off. There wasn’t anywhere to go in here, the entire house now ablaze from the dropped torch, that scar-faced Grut approaching him as Falshan cut his way through the remaining invaders. “Come!” The scarred Orc growled, brandishing his bloody blade, “More blood for Cornak!” Falshan struck down the last Grut standing between him and the murderous attacker. Disregarding his loss of blood, the Kyrie barreled toward the final Orc. Trying, trying so hard not to be a second too late. Falshan would have the head of this one Orc, the only face he’d now recognize in a crowd of a hundred Gruts. KABOOM!!! A massive explosion ruptured right outside the home where the three of them resided, the thin wall bursting apart and the flames showering them. Falshan was knocked back, the blast enough to remind him of the severity of his wounds. The missing half of his house revealed the outside battleground, the fight still ongoing. The archers had managed to move further back, hiding in the trenches at the far side of town and punishing the remaining Orc army with more volleys. Knights on horseback rode through the streets, pushing back the Gruts and forcing them to the far wall. The remaining Orcs were starting to disperse, turning and fleeing for their lives with disorderly abandon. But none of that mattered to Falshan. “Son…?” He weakly glanced over to the wreckage of his home, searching for signs of life in the burning rubble. His only answer came when the Orc, Cornak, burst from beneath the debris and madly dashed for the outskirts of the battlefield. “Graaah!” The Grut wailed, his entire body consumed by the flames as he ran. He stumbled about, his skin burning relentlessly. He could have been shot dead by the archers, but all the Orcs were fleeing at this point, and they probably thought Cornak was dead enough already. Not to Falshan, the Kyrie struggling to get up and finish the beast off. “Cornak… Argh!” It was all he could do to sit up, his wounds finally getting the better of him. The most he could do at this point was to watch his enemy escape, already punished by the fires of Hell. It wasn’t enough. Soon the battlefield was void of enemies, the remaining soldiers hurrying about to tend to the wounded. Concan flew over, landing by Falshan and stooping down to his side, “You’re alive!” “The Orc…” Falshan muttered grimly. “I’m sorry, Falshan.” Concan turned to the nearest Sentinel, “You there! Send word to Jandar! Tell him we’ve repelled the Orcs for now, but they’ll be back.” “Sir?” The Kyrie officer replied. “We scared them off, but I could see Utgar’s forces sweeping up the stragglers. They’ll regroup and come back—tell the Alliance we’ll need more soldiers. It seems the enemy wants this position more than we anticipated.” Concan barked. “Yes sir.” The Sentinel promptly flew off. Concan returned his attention to Falshan, “Don’t you worry. We’ll defend this village with our lives.” Falshan ignored his reassurances, “Cornak… I’ll find you… Wherever you went off to…” --- A light drizzle had started during the battle, sprinkling the bloodied earth and turning the worn dirt into mud. As the fighting ended, the weather had picked up, turning the showers into downpours. The fire that had ravaged Cornak had extinguished soon after, although the Orc continued to scramble about the wilderness, shrieking in agony and pointlessness. His blade had been lost in that second boy before the explosion had gone off. Then the knights had rode in, trampling his fellow Orcs. That and the fire on him had sent him racing off; in what direction he didn’t know. Any leaderless and panicked Grut would desert without hesitation when the chips were down. He was on his own, bearing an injury from that Kyrie woman and most of his body badly burnt. “Ah… Ah… Hah…” Cornak heavily breathed, his mouth hanging open as he wandered about. He had never been separated from his troop before, and he had no idea where on the Valhallan map he was. Only the higher-ups knew about important things like positioning and placement—to the Gruts it was merely a chance to fight and kill. Now he was alone and lost, his only weapon a small knife he had tucked away in his armor. “I must find Ornak. Must find Utgar.” He reasoned to himself, unsure where to begin. The rain continued, the beautiful mountainous scenery wasted on him. He walked for a long time, finding no fellow Orcs or even enemies. Finally the strain of his wounds began to sneak up on him again, and the Orc soon collapsed onto the ground, soaking in the mud. He didn’t have the energy to get up anymore. “Gah…” Cornak muttered, discontent to die here but otherwise apathetic to his fate. He had wondered and found nothing. What else could he do? Time passed. Cornak laid there in that spot, breathing heavily and waiting. Someone was standing there before him, having come upon him when he had blinked or blacked out. It was a Kyrie woman, her magnificent wings arched out around them, shielding them from the downpour. Her dark eyes gazed down at him, her thoughts impossible to read. Like the scenery, her beauty was also wasted on Cornak. The Orc twitched, grunting, trying to move but unable to do so. Her fairness reflected the look of Utgar’s enemies, after all, not so different-looking than the Kyrie villagers he had just fought against, and he figured her to be aligned with his opponents. He would try to kill her normally, but he was unable to move. She would kill him. Those were the last of Cornak’s thoughts before his wounds caused him to lose consciousness again. As far as he was concerned, he would not reawaken, but after a seemingly endless sleep he opened his eyes again, finding himself inside a tiny dwelling, safe from the downpour. “Geh…” Cornak groaned, reaching to rub his aching head but finding it too painful. Looking down, he saw that his burns had been bandaged. His entire body hurt, but it seemed that care had been administered to him. That was the first time he could say that. Gruts didn’t receive any medical aid for injuries, all but useless once injured. For most Orcs, a wound meant death. Cornak himself had gotten off lucky once before, a nasty cut to his eye not fatal. He had to bear the pain of an untreated wound then. Here things seemed to be different, and it boggled the Orc’s mind. “You’re awake.” Cornak turned to face the voice, that same Kyrie woman kneeling right beside him, barely outside his peripheral vision. She was still giving him that indecipherable stare, seemingly unphased by his snarling expression, “You were badly scorched. Your wounds will mend, but the burns will take a long time to heal.” At that she got up and left, her large wings furling around her like a cloak. Cornak took the alone time to try to escape, but he still couldn’t get up. Where am I? Why am I still alive? He thought, the only thing he could do, Why is the enemy helping me? Why? The burning questions fired his temper, and he decided to capitalize on his foe’s foolish decision. He’d kill her as soon as he could, still hiding his knife. But for the time being there was nothing he could do but lay there, waiting for his chance. It was a lot of waiting. --- Cornak stayed in that place for a long, long time. The woman would frequent him and tend to his bandages and wounds, feed him, and keep him company. She would kneel by his side, wings draped around herself, her eyes closed meditatively. She was so calm and tranquil like that, not saying a word or moving a muscle. Cornak yearned to stab her, so foolishly keeping her defenses lowered so close to an enemy. Yet he still couldn’t move, so he had to put up with her presence. She was the only one he ever saw—probably the only one living here. She must have felt as lonely as he felt restless. Indeed, Cornak had never spent so much time alone. He’d always had his troop before, fellow Gruts to fight and march alongside throughout nearly his entire life. They’d battle and kill, some would die, and others would take their place. Orcs never really spent any time alone. Cornak felt aimless without his fellows, without anything to destroy. All he did now was stare up at the ceiling, listen to the wind or the rain. It was torture. Finally one day the woman came to him and peeled off his bandages. Cornak felt a swell of relief as his arms were freed. The Kyrie took one of them and examined it closely. “You should be able to move your upper body now.” She said. Cornak looked down at his arm, slowly moving it about. It had been so long, but it was healed up now. He hadn’t really thought about how badly he’d been injured until now, now that he had been restored. Cornak patiently waited for the Kyrie woman to look aside or close her eyes. Sure enough, she turned to a gourd by her side to give him a drink. “Grah!” Cornak grabbed the knife hidden by his leg and lashed out. Instantly the woman whirled around, seizing his wrist and holding him back. Her other hand reached his throat, a dagger of her own held tight in her palm, seemingly out of nowhere. The blade grazed his throat, Cornak grunting with surprise and strain as he struggled to overpower and stab her. The woman said nothing, continuing to hold him there, weapon at his neck. Finally Cornak relented, dropping his knife and leaning back, falling down to the ground. The Kyrie woman withdrew her blade and caught him, laying him back down gently. She rose back to her feet, gathering his dropped weapon and walking over to the door. “You haven’t walked in a long while.” She murmured, glancing over her shoulder, “It will take time for you to recover your strength.” With that she left him, Cornak laying there, panting with rage and exhaustion. He was angry for failing, confused about her insistence on keeping him alive, and that confusion in turn only made him angrier. The rage was wasted on his current state of being, however, and Cornak only became exhausted again. Why? Why!? Why…? --- The next day the woman returned, bringing Cornak food and water. The Orc was staring up at the ceiling, as usual, but at least now he could move his arms about. He held them into the air, gazing at the burns as she neared him and kneeled by his side. “Why?” Cornak asked, finally willing to talk to the puzzling woman. “You speak.” Was her simple reply. “Why, woman? Why do you feed me?” Cornak watched her pour water into a bowl. He could reach her, but he knew after yesterday’s encounter that she still probably concealed some blade within her sleeves, ready to fight him off at a moment’s notice. “Because you cannot fend for yourself.” The woman answered, holding forth the water. Cornak grunted, cautiously taking the bowl and drinking from it, glaring at her. “I am an Orc, your enemy.” He muttered after he was finished, “No need to care for Gruts.” The woman rose up, “I have no friends or enemies. There are only the living and the dead.” With that she left him, leaving him even more perplexed than he had been before. It didn’t make any sense. Everyone in Cornak’s life had friends or enemies, and those friends and enemies had friends and enemies. The village he had attacked, Utgar had made them into enemies. It wasn’t a choice, having foes. Cornak couldn’t muster the energy to become enraged at confusion anymore, though, so he merely pondered instead. “Woman!” He shouted, doing his best to sit up. She returned, “Yes?” “Who are you?” He demanded. “My name is Yrta.” She replied. She seemed to grow more beautiful with a name, but it only made Cornak frown more, for that name had no context to him, and did little to disband her ambiguous nature. “I am Cornak.” He said. As soon as he uttered the words he wondered why. He had asked for her name but she hadn’t asked for his. Why the introduction? She was no commanding officer, taking names after a scuffle to see who was responsible. “I see. Rest, Cornak. I will bring you more to eat later.” She left. Cornak nodded and stared up at that ceiling. Pondered. Time passed, and she did return. He ate with his own hands, Yrta staying by his side. She brought some kind of woodwind instrument with her, and played it softly while he ate, and afterwards. --- Many days passed, and with every 24 hours, Cornak sat up a little bit more, rose to his feet, and managed to walk. He still felt weak, but his other wounds had healed, and all he needed to do was recover his strength and reinforce his whittled muscles again. Yrta gave him a walking stick, and when she was out he leaned on it and managed to finally leave his room. He went outside, taken aback by the scenery around him. The mountains rested by the house where Yrta lived alone, a gorgeous green valley down below, surrounded by forests on two sides, and the Volcarren Wastelands in the far distance of the other. Clouds gathered around the horizon, droplets of a morning shower still littering the greenery around him. Before he had never cared for the way things around him looked, but being in that room for so long would have anyone weeping at the sight. Yrta wasn’t so far off, down below by a garden. He almost wanted to surprise her with his walking, slowly hobbling his way over to her. No, not that. He’d club her head in with his walking stick if he were better—fully better. He was still without weapons, but maybe at his full strength he’d be able to best her in combat. Right now he was handicapped and useless, like the only Orc to survive to old age. “Erk!” His strength gave out and he fell, halfway to sneaking up on the Kyrie. “Oh!” Yrta turned and came to his side, seemingly gliding across the dewy grass. She took his arms and helped him back up, “You mustn’t overdo it.” “Bah!” Cornak grunted, tearing his arm away, walking off, discontent to be helped like a toddler. He fell again, muttering to himself but not stopping her from helping him walk along the garden this time. “You farm alone?” He asked her. “Garden, yes.” “Where are other villagers?” He questioned, still unused to the loneliness. “They are all gone, off to war or fled. I am a hermit.” Yrta replied, looking about at the lonely scenery as she helped him walk, “I’ve lived here alone for many years.” He stared at the plants as Yrta helped him along. It was painful still having to rely on her, but without other options Cornak stuck to it, Yrta guiding him around outside on many occasions. They spent many hours in the garden, Yrta tending to it and Cornak staring out into the valley, waiting to see a horde of Orcs, coming in to find him here. They never came. Cornak came to know the gardens well. He’d seen gardens before in Valhalla. He’d taken their fruit or trampled them underfoot, but he’d never seen one grow. It took so long for a single fruit to grow, only to be eaten in a day. Foolish, he thought, to waste so much time tending such a fragile thing. But then, it painfully reminded him of how aggravatingly long it was taking him to mend. “Why do you garden when it takes so long?” He asked her one day, “Why not kill to eat, or take from another? It’s faster.” “Because I do not take what does not belong to me, food or life.” She answered tranquilly, not looking up from her work amongst the plants. “Why not?” Cornak asked, still finding her actions and methods utterly unknowable. “Because life is too precious to be taken.” She answered him as if he were a child. “Why is that?” “Because life is our only chance to glimpse into this world, to experience its beauty.” She said, “Everything we’ve experienced is in our time spent living. To live is such a gift, we should never waste it over petty matters.” “I don’t understand.” Cornak admitted. “Do you wish to live?” “Yes.” “Then you should not kill, if your philosophy is not to be killed.” She gathered the fruits and rose to her feet, leaving Cornak to ponder on that. “But… uh…” Cornak grumbled, confused. He supposed that everything he had enjoyed doing was in life—that was true, yes. And he had deserted, not wanting to be killed. So Yrta didn’t kill him because she wanted to live? So should he not kill her in return? But he enjoyed killing. But he didn’t want to be killed for others’ enjoyment. But, he… It hurt his brain, and he stared out into the vast valley below, unsure and still left pondering. --- One day it rained, so the two of them stayed indoors. Yrta’s house had three rooms in it, and Cornak hadn’t spent much time in the other chambers, so it was still relatively new to him. He spotted an orange and red robe hanging from one of the walls. It wasn’t her size, bigger and more masculine. “Whose is that?” Cornak nodded to it, curiously. “It belonged to a man I once loved.” Yrta replied, “He lived here.” “Where is he?” “Dead, I presume.” Her voice had a sudden hint of coldness, a breaking of emotions that Cornak had never heard from her. “Why did he leave?” “He went off to war. He thought he could make a difference with a sword in his hand and hate in his heart. He fought in a battle and died, or lived to go fight in another battle and died, or lived to go fight in another battle…” She closed her eyes, somber thoughts crossing her mind. It was also the first time Cornak had a good idea of what she was thinking. “…” Cornak couldn’t think of anything to say. “This war is pointless and endless.” Yrta continued, seeming to calm down, “People die every day, trying to take meaningless positions or gain momentary advantages, all for naught in the long run. Everyone around me is swept up and taken away, and the world falls into ruin. One day there may be nothing left to destroy, but the Valkyrie postpone that notion, and take from every corner of the universe to fuel their war. Endless… She pointed to the robe, “I intended to give that to him as a gift one day, but he left me behind when he went off to war. Now it hangs there, waiting for a man who cares about living, while the rest of the world wages its endless cycle of fighting.” Cornak glanced back up at it, slowly blinking, “Living?” “Yes. Truly living.” --- Cornak slowly recovered. He began to walk better on his own, hobbling around on his cane. He helped garden, even though he still figured it useless. He also gave up on the idea of killing Yrta, unsure what had changed his mind. He had been forced to take things slower, hadn’t run around or slaughtered something in so long. He wondered if his body was intentionally taking its time healing, because it secretly liked the different lifestyle. He even spotted a small deer close to the garden. There was a rock in the soil he could’ve thrown, and he was confident that he could hit it. But he merely watched it, letting it go on its way. He admired its graceful movements, the deep spark in its black eyes, the very way it lived. Lifeless it was cold and limp, wasted. He really had gone insane by Orc standards, walking about peacefully, tending to plants and admiring views and sunsets. Yrta even began to teach him to read. Such a useless skill for a Grut to know, yet somehow he felt that the knowledge would help him “truly live”. Yes, knowledge—that was part of it. He had broken free of the cycle of savagery that was standard on Grut, now far enough above his old ways of life to look back down on how things had once been and frown. He spent many hours with Yrta, looking over old manuscripts and maps, her teaching him every letter. He spent time drawing as well, his gruff, clumsy hands soon becoming more accustomed to a quill pen than a sword. He improved over time, even eventually drawing quite an accurate portrait of Yrta herself. He admired the skill he had developed, as well as her beauty he had managed to capture on the page, and he kept it with him always. A cultured change had come about him, and it hurt more the smarter he became. “Yrta.” He said gloomily one day as they read together, “I hurt people. Killed even.” “Everyone makes mistakes.” Yrta replied. “But that doesn’t absolve me of them.” Cornak muttered (his vocabulary had also improved). “Do you think that makes you unworthy of this way of life?” She asked. “I don’t know. Maybe, probably.” “You cannot let your past dictate your future. Learn from your past, don’t be held back by it.” “I don’t deserve to live.” Cornak stared at the ground, “Maybe I never did.” “If ignorance were a crime we would all deserve death from the day we were born. The question isn’t what you did before. It’s what you do now, with the knowledge you’ve gained.” “…” Cornak closed his eyes, thinking of home, What I do now? --- One morning Cornak awoke to the sound of Yrta stepping through the house. He opened his eyes, seeing the faint rays of morning light grazing the windows, and Yrta walking past the door. She glanced outside and then over at him, then back outside. Finally she walked over to him, stooping down by his side and taking his cane. She left, Cornak sitting up, confused, “Yrta?” He heard voices outside, the Orc struggling to get up. Without his cane he couldn’t quite walk about. He wormed his way over to one of the windows, clamoring up the wall and peeking out. Yrta was outside, her wings up amidst the drizzle. Three others stood about near her, dressed in rags and carrying bags full of supplies and weapons, one kicking at the garden bushes carelessly. Fellow deserters? Thieves? Cornak couldn’t say, but he didn’t like the looks of them. Yrta spoke briefly with them, casting a glance back at her house, at him. “No, Yrta!” Cornak stumbled at the window, falling down and struggling to get back up, “Send them away! Wait for me!” He crawled to the door, slowly and painfully, looking out. The strangers looked like they were getting violent. Cornak had probably been in their position before, but now he was on the other side, and he wanted nothing to do with them. One of them had drawn a sword, and the other had pushed Yrta back, the Kyrie woman doing nothing to fight them. What did they want? Why were they here? It didn’t matter, did it? Still violent, the bandits seemed to be seeking trouble around such tranquil parts, but Yrta wouldn’t give it to them. Cornak cursed her lack of activity, “No, Yrta! Why!? Why did you take my cane? Why!? Why, dammit!?” He begged her to slay them. Why didn’t she take out her hidden blade and repel them? Why did she leave him hidden in her house, useless? Finally one of the attackers seemingly got fed up, lunging forth and stabbing Yrta through, quite suddenly. Still not resisting, she collapsed onto the ground. The others shouted at each other, quickly grabbing as much from the gardens as they could and running for it. “No!” Cornak crawled out, making his way over to Yrta when they were gone. She lay there on her back in the drizzle, as he had done so long ago, surrounded by the fruits torn from the gardens around her. “Why?” He clasped her hands in his, staring down at her, sorrow in his eyes. She stared back at him, still looking peaceful as ever, perhaps even more so now. “Cornak…” She murmured. “No, no, nonono…” The Orc shook his head, “Don’t die on me! You can’t die, not like this!” “Do not fear death, my friend.” Yrta replied, “I can die without regrets…” “Why!? What’s the point in living if it comes to this?” Cornak wailed despairingly. “I have a point.” Yrta whispered, “It’s you, Cornak. I can see now why I’ve lived.” “No!” “It’s you, Cornak. You’re my gift to the world.” She smiled faintly, slowly closing her eyes. “No… why… why…?” He held her close to him, and when her breathing stopped, he looked at the sky and howled with rage and purposelessness. He clutched her body, finally glaring in the direction the attackers went off to. So sudden and random to him, their lives forcing their way into his and taking what mattered most to him. “Gah!” He gutturally muttered, laying Yrta’s body down onto the ground and scrambling back to the house. He tore through the rooms violently, finally unearthing his taken weapons, along with a number of others: a Kyrie sword and a hunting bow with arrows, perhaps once belonging to Yrta. Cornak took the weapons and tore off, rushingly leaning on the sword as he pursued the ones who had wronged him. It was a far travel, but merely a blink of an eye in Cornak’s enraged eyes. He was an Orc once again, on the hunt for prey to slaughter. He found them out in the fields down by the valley, eating as they strolled. “Geh,” Cornak grunted as he crawled up onto a rock jutting out of the pasture, lying on his gut and stringing the bow. It was a fine make, much better than the clumsy stuck-together sticks the Arrow Gruts had. He aimed his shot and fired without hesitation. Twang! Thwack! The bandit was struck in the back, the arrowhead punching through his chest. He fell to the ground. The other two looked around, surprised and panicked. Cornak drew and fired again. Twang! Thok! The second one fell just as swiftly as the first, the last of the two squabblers. Now for the murderer. Cornak ditched the bow, taking up his sword instead and clumsily racing down to meet his enemy. Still panicked, the final foe looked around, expecting an entire ambush rather than a lone attacker. He drew his weapon, still bloodied, and backed up as the Orc charged him. He was no match for the Grut’s brute strength and anger, Cornak swinging down and smashing the bandit’s sword out of his hand. “Die! You don’t deserve to live!” Cornak bellowed, tackling the man. The bandit struggled in vain, raising his arms, but his bare hands offered no protection. Cornak stabbed him through, tearing his sword out and stabbing forth once again, over and over. “Die! Die! Die!” The Orc continued stabbing even after the man died, hoping beyond hope that it would somehow bring him solace. Why didn’t it help? Why didn’t it bring him the joy it used to? Why did Yrta have to die? Finally Cornak’s Orc rage subsided, and he looked down at his own bloodied hands, disgusted with himself. Not too long ago he had sought to kill Yrta, and likely would have felt no guilt in doing so. She had led him all this way, and here he was again, killing. It had brought him no joy. Not anymore. Cornak took the sword and used it to prop himself up, walking back to Yrta’s house. He stooped down next to her, lightly stroking her cold cheek, “Forgive me, Yrta. I’ve failed twice now.” --- He buried her by the garden, staying inside for the next few days, purposeless. Even as his legs recovered and he abandoned the need for a walking stick, he still remained. Again he was left pondering her final words to him, thanking him, him, for all the trouble she had to go through. Why do I exist? He thought, What made me worth saving? The question isn’t what you did before. It’s what you do now. Cornak rose to his feet, glancing out of one of the windows to Valhalla beyond, “I see now. Every life is worth saving. I’ll do it, or die trying, like you did.” He went into the room where Yrta kept her manuscripts, where he had found the weapons. Rooting through the papers and hidden objects, he found a map of Valhalla, unraveling it and looking close, able to decipher the words on it. “So I’m here, and Utgar’s fortress is… here. So it’s reading that finally gets me home.” He tapped the spots on the map, rolling it up and taking it with him. He gathered up everything he could carry and headed for the door, stopping on the way and glancing at the robe hanging from the wall. He took it and put it on, finding it unusual wear for an Orc, but somehow fitting nonetheless. He left, finally leaving Yrta’s home behind, after that long, long time. --- It was a lengthy journey, but Cornak had become used to quiet and solitude over long periods of time. He travelled in silence, his thoughts constantly full of memories and anticipation. He kept those thoughts to himself, moving in silence. He had only crossed the border into Jutanguard for a few miles when Utgar’s Minions flew overhead, circling his position and landing around him, weapons drawn. Cornak recognized these elite soldiers, the first he’d seen of Utgar’s troops in a while. They were both nostalgic and frightening, and they clearly weren’t friendly. “You there! Identify yourself!” They barked furiously, ready to lop his head off at a moment’s notice. “I am Cornak.” The Orc identified, “I was separated from my battalion, wounded, and have been trying to return home for some time.” “Looking awfully sagely, Grut.” The Minion snorted, stomping forth and grabbing Cornak’s head, carefully eyeing him, “Eh, you’re an Orc, all right.” “You’re gonna let him through on just that!?” Another of the soldiers complained. “We don’t got the time or resources to get all the Gruts papers, rook.” The first Minion retorted, “C’mon, let’s get back to base.” He grabbed Cornak and took off into the air, lifting the Orc with ease. “Ya shoulda stayed out when you had the chance!” One of the soldiers howled, “They’ll be flinging you back into the fight before you know it!” The group sailed off to Utgar’s castle, a massive fortress surrounded by other fortresses on all sides, still only barely big enough to contain all the Valkyrie’s many hordes. Every faction got its own castle, save for one… “You recognize the Orcs’ quarters?” The Minion carrying Cornak shouted, nodding to a mess of campsites littered around the fortresses, “Home, sweet home!” “I wish to speak to Utgar.” Cornak replied sharply. “Ha!” The Minion chortled, “What makes you think he wants to talk to you, lowly Grut!?” “I’ve got a big offer for him.” Cornak answered. “Heh, you’ve got gusto for a deserter-come-home. But it’ll be your head rollin’ if he don’t like what you’ve got to say!” The Minion swerved through the air, taking Cornak toward the main castle. They landed upon the fortresses ramparts, the group surrounding Cornak and leading him onward down into the great big halls of the castle’s inners. --- Utgar’s chambers were bigger and grander than any single room Cornak had ever seen. The entire area was blood red, the Valkyrie’s throne like if the massive skeleton of a dragon had kneeled before him. Guards lined the walls, Minions wielding axes and spears, each one motionless like a statue. Utgar sat upon his throne, surrounded by advisors and commanders of every species. “Hold there.” Utgar shooed them away as the Minions and Cornak approached, “What is it?” “Sir!” The lead Minion announced, “We found this Grut at the border, wishing to rejoin and speak with you, sir!” “Stand aside so I may see him!” Utgar got up from his seat, his massive wings fanning out, “This bold Orc shall have his death wish fulfilled!” Cornak walked forward, finally seeing him face-to-face for the first time, “My name is Cornak, sir.” “What is it you want, Cornak?” Utgar demanded. “I wish to be made an Orc commander, sir.” Cornak replied. “Ha! A commander! Slim pickings is what you are!” Utgar bellowed, “What exactly makes you commander material!?” “I can read.” Cornak answered, unshaken by the Valkyrie’s demeanor. “Ha! I’ll bet!” Utgar roared, “We’ll see about that! Follow me.” The Valkyrie turned and walked down a hall, his posse of advisors right behind him. Cornak and the escort of Minions followed suite. The way led to a magnificent library, a giant multileveled chamber filled with rows of books at every wall. It seemed unlike Utgar to possess so many, but Cornak figured that just because those at the bottom of the ladder were dumb didn’t mean those at the top rung were too. “Slate! C’mere!” Utgar commanded. A sound like the brush of wind filled the library, the faint outline of a cloaked man floating down to their level—a ghost of Bleakewood. “Yes, milord?” The shade’s form became more opaque, bowing before Utgar. “This is Cornak, a Grut who says he can read.” Utgar explained, “Fetch us a book.” “Will you kill him if he fails?” Slate replied. “Yes.” “Oh good. I could use an assistant, dimwitted or not.” The shade floated back up, disappearing into the wall of books. After a few seconds one of the texts slid out from the shelves, floating down before them as Slate’s form slowly reappeared, carrying the manuscript in his ghastly hands, “Here. It’s one of my favorites.” Cornak took the dusty book in his hands and read aloud: “‘Basic game guide: object: create a battlefield, choose your Army, then wage war against your opponent. To win, be first to achieve your victory objective. Get ready to play. Set up your battlefield and your army. To do this, use the Battlefield & Game Scenario Section starting on page 17. It features five Battlefields with step-by-step instructions for building them. It also provides 3 Basic Game Scenarios with their own victory conditions.’” “Hmph.” Utgar grunted, motioning to one of his own, “Taelord, see if that’s correct.” A black-winged Kyrie walked over and peered over Cornak’s shoulder, “Uh, it, uh, looks about right. I mean, maybe someone else should check too. Just to be, triple sure, right?” “Oh, move over.” Slate floated down, “Yup, he’s got it.” “Whew!” Taelord wiped his brow, “I knew it!” “Well well well.” Utgar applauded, but only for a second, “Seems you’re up to snuff. I’ll make you chief Orc Commander of communications and infrastructures. That means you relay the orders from my other armies to the Orc factions. Got that?” “Yes sir.” Cornak bowed. “Good. Slate, show ‘im the Orcs’ camp.” Utgar motioned to the Minions surrounding him, and the group escorted Cornak strait down to the ground floor, Slate leading the way. “You’ve got my approval.” Utgar smirked as they left the library, “But we’ll see if your fellow Orcs are so impressed by your intellect.” --- “You’ve good timing, showing up and proving your worth to Lord Utgar.” Slate said as the group headed down the fortress, a long winding trek of halls and stairs leading down to the campgrounds outside, “Our last Orc commander in Orders Relays died not long ago.” “Fate, perhaps.” Cornak mused, following the ghost down each and very corridor, “Honestly, I’m surprised Utgar took the time to put up with a mere Grut.” The shade snorted, “Don’t think it has anything to do with you. Utgar’s been using his Orc army as a crutch ever since his Marro legions were crippled in the Ticalla campaigns. With their forces weakened, he’s been relying on Grut manpower for some time now. Utgar’s gonna need every Orc he can get to fight for him.” “How long has that been the case?” Cornak inquired. “You have been gone awhile.” Slate floated over to the castle exit, whirling around and facing the Orc, “Here we are. The Minions’ll introduce you to your regiment, but after that, it’s your job to whip them into shape and make sure they follow our orders.” “Very well.” Cornak stepped out into the faded light, gazing out at the sea of tents before him. “Listen, Cornak.” Slate warned, “I know you’re probably well aware of it already, but you seem awfully different for a Grut so I’ll say it anyway: these Orcs only respect one thing: power. You go out there and look like a wormy pansy and they’ll tear you apart.” “Don’t worry about me.” “All right, all right.” The ghost floated back into the recesses of the fortress, “I’m just saying. You’re not a bonehead like most of the others around this place, so I wouldn’t want you to die for nothing. You oughta come by the library sometime if you manage to keep your head.” “Hm.” Cornak nodded in gratitude, “Thank you, Slate.” “Right, right. See ya around.” The Minions led the way, taking Cornak down to the main campsite, an entire town of tents and makeshift dwellings making up the area. Gruts swarmed about in the squalor, sharpening their blunt weapons, huddling around fires, or otherwise fighting each other over anything that could be fought over. Cornak looked out at them from between the hulking bodies of the Minions, flooded with memories of acting in such a way himself. They neared what one would call the “center of town” of this place, the Minions heading over to a large tent and stopping in front of an armored Orc resting in front of it. “You there! Commander!” The Minion barked, the Orc jumping up and saluting in a dazed hurry, “Yes, you. This is Cornak, your new Communications and Infrastructure Officer. You work for him now.” “What!?” The Grut hissed, slouching down and strafing back in forth in place, trying to get a good look at Cornak, “This runt? Why do I gotta take orders from him!? If he’s so great, let me at ‘im!” He lurched forward, the Minion batting him back and puffing out his chest, glaring down at the riled up Grut. Like most Orcs, the armored commander valued his life over his pride, quickly backing down, intimidated by the bigger foe. “You can’t be the Order Relay Officer ‘cause you can’t read!” The Minion roared, taking out a parchment and dangling it in front of the belittled Grut, “If you can’t read, then you can’t tell what your Generals’re saying! Do you wanna tell Utgar you botched a battle ‘cause you couldn’t read your orders? Huh!?” “No… no…” The Grut continued backing away. “Then you do what Cornak here tells you!” The Minion pocketed the papers, turning and leaving. The rest of the squad did the same, leaving Cornak standing there alone with the Orc. “Gah!” The subordinate snorted, turning and hissing at Cornak, “Just because they say you’re important! That’s the only reason I don’t kill you and take your place right now!” “Whatever you say.” Cornak walked past him into the tent. It was a big open area inside, tables clumsily set up along the sides, covered with papers and maps. It seemed that Cornak would have his hands full, by himself at least. He’d need to know the network better. “You there,” He turned back to the armored Orc, “What’s your name?” “Me?” The Grut muttered, “I’m Trelnac.” “Ha!” Cornak was a little taken aback. “What’s so funny!?” “It’s just ghastly.” Cornak explained, “I remember once, a friend of mine joked that eventually Utgar would run out of Orcs with ‘—ak’ names and start summoning Orcs with ‘—ac’ names. I just never thought it’d actually come to that.” “Yeah, so what?” Trelnac snorted, frowning. “It means that Utgar’s summoned all those Orcs from Grut, like he’s taking our entire population from our entire history and beyond, just to fuel his armies. I guess you must be new.” “Me?” Trelnac hissed, “Everybody around here’s got ‘—ac’ names. You’re the new one!” “Oh.” Cornak stopped and looked around him, suddenly feeling like he wasn’t at home anymore, but rather in a ghost town. Did that mean everyone he knew in his battalion had been killed in the time he’d been with Yrta? All for the war? Trelnac was right; he was the odd one out. Cornak hadn’t known what he would do once he met his old friends, but he had figured he’d meet them nonetheless. Now they were all gone, devoured by the Valhallan war machine. He was alone. --- That night Cornak was instructed to go to a meeting of the Orc Commanders, taking his lieutenant Trelnac with him. Trelnac made his disdain of Cornak as clear as possible while they were together, but he knew that he had to obey Cornak if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulders, so he didn’t try anything. That didn’t make Cornak the commander of the entire Orc army, however, and now he’d have to deal with some superior officers of his own. The commanders’ tent was the biggest in the entire Orc campsite, the inside filled with Gruts from every division, all of them leaders over something: the Blades, the Heavies, the Arrows, the Swogs, and so on. They were all about as rowdy as Trelnac had been, all of them screeching and squabbling when Cornak came in. Many of them turned and hissed at him as he entered, mocking his sagely robe and un-Orcish appearance. Finally the main commander made order, banging his weapon on a table loudly and bellowing, his roars outmatching all the others, the tent falling silent. “Listen!!!” The commander shouted, making his way to a table in the middle of the area, covered with maps. He slammed his fist down onto it, “Heshnac speaks!” With the silence onset and all eyes on him, Heshnac went on, “Tomorrow we move to strike the Alliance. Gruts at the front. We make for Laur, through Upper Bleakewoode.” The Orcs cheered and howled at the prospect of battle. Cornak watched them, turning his attention to the maps of Valhalla. He’d studied such maps when Yrta taught him to read, and he walked forward, nearing Heshnac and closely examining it now. The other leaders gasped as the lone Orc walked over to their commander, and Heshnac made his disdain clear. “Who are you and what are you doing here!?” He snarled, reaching for a large battle-axe he kept on his back. “I’m Cornak, the new Chief in Communications and Infrastructures.” Cornak replied calmly, looking at the map of Valhalla, “From my understanding, sir, taking an entire army through Upper Bleakewoode seems like a bad idea.” “What!?” Heshnac shouted. “Well,” Cornak explained, “Bleakewoode is a contested area, and trying to get such a large army through there could be disastrous. Why not take the northern route through Elswin? It’s much clearer, and marching an army through that territory wouldn’t be a problem at all.” “Questioning my decision!? My authority!?” Heshnac demanded, stomping up to Cornak and glaring down at him. “I’m not questioning anybody’s authority. I’d just like to know why you’re taking the hard way to get to Laur, that’s all.” “This is why!” Heshnac explained, immediately punching Cornak in the face. He toppled over in an instant, the Orc commander hopping on top of him and beating him down ruthlessly. The other Orc leaders found this most amusing, cheering Heshnac’s name as he demonstrated his authority. Finally the Orc commander rose back to his feet, turning and snapping at Trelnac, “You there! What division is this lowly Grut in charge of?” “What?” Trelnac stammered, “Uh, twelfth division, sir.” “Good.” Heshnac turned to the crowd of Orcs before him, “Twelfth division will stay behind for this campaign! They need time to learn their place!” “No!” Trelnac shouted, “I want to go fight too! Take me, Heshnac!” “An Orc can only be as strong as his leader.” Heshnac dismissed him, “You stay behind too.” With that, the Orc commander disbanded the meeting, leaving Cornak there bloodied, and Trelnac there devastated. The remaining Orcs went back to their respective campgrounds and prepared to leave for battle, all but Cornak’s division. --- Trelnac only helped Cornak limp back to their campgrounds, after they reached their tent he threw the Orc down onto the ground, roaring with rage, “You’ve made fools of us all! Now our entire division is shamed!” Cornak sat up, wiping blood from his mouth. Trelnac continued. “You call yourself an Orc? You’re not fit to be leader!” He threw up his fists, “Now fight me for your position! Fight!” Many of the Orcs surrounding the tents closed in, hollering and roaring with approval of the scrap. Cornak rose to his feet, dusting off his robes only to have Trelnac punch him back down. The angry Grut jumped on him, pounding and beating him into submission. Cornak spat up more blood, refusing to fight back. This must have been how Yrta felt back then, attacked but refusing to give her opponents what they wanted most. It was harder to resist the urge to fight than it was to endure the constant punches. But he held firm, refusing to give in, and as Trelnac continued his assault, his resolve began to waver. There was no thrill. “Why don’t you fight back! C’mon!” Trelnac bellowed, hitting him again and again, “Fight, Cornak! Fight me!” The roar of the crowd soon died down, the Orcs finding no enjoyment in such a one-sided battle. Trelnac looked around as he lost the crowd’s approval, quickly getting to his feet and pointing an accusing finger at his beaten opponent, “You’re no Orc, and you’re no leader of mine! I will not be your subordinate, to be humiliated at our leaders’ gatherings!” With that, he stormed off, even more furious than before he had attacked Cornak. The other Gruts dispersed as well, looking for other sources of entertainment. The lone Orc struggled to his feet, breathing heavily. His soul burned with primal rage at Trelnac, but he knew better than to give in to its urges. His anger no longer gave him comfort, and he knew that harming Trelnac would not help his cause. After all, perhaps Yrta saw no good in him either, that day she first found him. Surely she could have seen the smoke billowing from the distant battle at the village, known that he was one of Utgar’s bloodthirsty pawns. Yet she had shown him endless kindness. Cornak vowed never to leave anyone he knew like those bandits he had slain. He would treat them as Yrta had treated him, whether they deserved it or not. Because he hadn’t. --- “You look terrible,” Slate greeted, floating down to Cornak’s side as the Orc entered the library. “I’m afraid I didn’t heed your warnings,” Cornak replied, limping his way in and having a seat. “Can I getcha something to read?” Slate persisted, following him closely, taking off into the upper levels at the Orc’s nodding reply. Cornak sighed and reached into his cloak, withdrawing the picture of Yrta he had drawn before. It was dirtied and torn at the edges, but still intact. He stared at it longingly, thinking of and missing her every second he was alone. “This should be up your alley.” Slate returned, carrying a large book stuffed full of papers, “It’s a history of the war. Could be useful for you, Order Relayer and all.” “Thank you.” Cornak took it and opened it up. He was curious about the war, knowing next to nothing during his service. He wanted to know why it happened, and what had led up until this point. He read about the wellsprings and the Valkyrie, and the early years of the war. Cornak spent many hours in the library, turning through those pages while the Orcs down below scuffled and trained for battle. Slate made for good company, but Cornak still preferred solitude, like the old days in that house, looking up at the ceiling. It was awfully quiet in the library too. Sometimes Cornak wondered if he was the only one who liked the quiet, who liked to read. He wished the other Orcs shared the same interests, but they knew nothing of such pursuits. In those pages of Valhallan history Cornak finally found the place where his regiment had waged their battle at that village. Utgar’s armies had later taken the position, used it to supply an assault in the area north of there. That campaign had failed, and the Alliance had pushed Utgar’s forces back out, shifting the lines of battle back to where they had been before Cornak’s troop had attacked the town. So really everyone there had died for nothing. Cornak sighed and closed the book, wondering if the same fate would befall the new Orcs outside. They all wanted to live, yet they stayed out there, willingly training themselves for death. He had read all about the war, and yet even after all these years nothing much had really changed. Villagers had died, summoned troops had died, but the Valkyrie filled in the gaps with new armies, and the cycle continued. Endless. --- One day, while Cornak sat in his tent scribing orders in his book, a voice called out to him. Cornak looked over his shoulder. It was Trelnac. The Orc strode in, staring down at his leader, spotting another black eye on his face. “Yes?” Cornak asked, seeing a strange and curious look in the subordinate’s eyes. “Well, you… it’s…” The Orc began, “Why do you not fight? Why are you so different?” He hadn’t expected it from Trelnac, but Cornak saw a bit of himself in him nonetheless. He smiled a bit, “I do not fight because I value life.” “Not your own, apparently.” “I value all life.” Cornak replied. “Why!?” “It’s too precious for me to take it.” “I don’t understand!” Trelnac growled, “You make no sense!” “You wish to live, yes?” Cornak asked. “Of course!” “Then why do you fight in such a war? Why do you allow yourself to be a pawn in someone else’s conflict? Do you not wish to truly live your own life?” Cornak demanded. “What? Of course I’ll live my own life!” Trelnac shouted. “Will you? When your friends and family have all disappeared into this endless war?” Cornak replied, “Did you know your father, or your friends’ fathers on Grut?” “…No.” Trelnac suddenly got quiet, “They were already here, weren’t they?” “Here once, with me, and dead.” Cornak answered, “And Utgar would take your children if he could too.” “…” “I wish to break this cycle. And we cannot do it with violence and hate, as we have done for countless generations. Even if it means going against my ancestors’ teachings or Utgar’s orders.” “I still don’t understand.” Trelnac admitted. “Follow me then, and you will.” Cornak answered. --- Heshnac returned with Utgar’s legions soon after, many of them wounded. It seemed that Cornak’s predictions had come true, and it looked like Utgar’s other factions would have a bone to pick with the Orcs for bungling their latest campaign. Cornak joined the Orc leaders at their main camp, most of them resting out in the open, surrounded by Gruts. Trelnac followed closely behind him, looking about at the damaged legions with concern. Cornak appreciated that he had seemingly won over his subordinate, his beatings finally paying off with the Orc’s curiosity. Many of the other Gruts in his camp had taken notice of his strange lifestyle too, having nothing better to do other than watch their commander read and meditate with the utmost inquisitiveness. It was foreign to them, and that piqued their interests. Everyone had bigger problems right now, though. A wounded Cyprien Esenwein crashed down into the clearing, making a desperate go for the nearest Grut and sucking him dry with his bare hands, leeching the Orc’s life into his own. “You there!” He snapped coldly, turning to Heshnac and boldly stomping forward, draining the life from every Orc soldier in his way, “You owe Utgar and I an explanation for that disaster!” Heshnac, equally hotheaded and not intimidated by the vampire, rose to his feet and stormed forth to meet him, “Stop killing my men!” Angry Orcs swarmed around the vampire. Cyprien easily killed those around him, healing up completely, and slipping his way through the crowd until he reached Heshnac. The two clashed blades, the Orc swinging his great axe through the air and meeting the vampire’s twin swords. Clang! “I am Heshnac! The greatest of the Orcs!” The Grut commander howled. “Know your place!” Cyprien snarled, easily outmaneuvering Heshnac and slicing his sides. The Orc roared with pain, rising up and making another attack, only to miss and receive more punishment. The crowd of Orcs roared with rage and defeat as they watched their commander fall. Cyprien slashed him across once more, Heshnac dropping his weapon and falling to one knee, breathing heavily. “No!” Cornak rushed in, standing between his commander and the vampire, “Enough!” Cyprien put a blade to his throat, “Do you honestly think you’ve got a better chance against me, Grut? What do you think will happen if you try and kill me, huh?” Cornak was unphased, “I will not fight you, and you will not kill Heshnac or me.” “Oh? Or else what?” The vampire was clearly still angry over the battle, itching to cut them both down. “We are both important Orc commanders. If you kill us, Utgar will be furious at you for further dismantling the chain of command for his biggest army. You will be demoted.” Cyprien’s eye twitched. Cornak had found what the vampire valued. “There’s no need for further violence. You’ve healed yourself, now please go.” Cornak insisted. “Hmph.” Cyprien growled, reluctantly sheathing his swords and taking off into the air, “Fine. So be it.” Heshnac watched him go, struggling up to his feet and looking over at Cornak with awe, “You defeated him… with your tongue?” Cornak helped him up, noticing that bewildered look coming not only from his commander but also from all the Orc witnesses around him. Heshnac looked down at his injured but spared life, turning to Cornak and then to the crowd. “Cornak defeated Cyprien Esenwein without lifting a finger!” He shouted victoriously. The Orcs cheered wildly, their leader turning back to Cornak, “You did what I could not, and you have earned my respect.” “Cornak has found a new kind of power!” Trelnac declared, kneeling alongside all the other Orc leaders, every Grut in the clearing soon bending a knee to Cornak. Cornak looked around at them all, turning his gaze up to the sky and closing his eyes. At long last he was truly with his people. --- “Tell us,” Heshnac questioned Cornak soon after, the two of them sitting in the leaders’ tent alongside all the other commanders, “What is your secret?” “Secret?” Cornak asked. “You dispersed Cyprien, even in his rage.” Heshnac answered, “How is it that a scrawny Grut dispatches such a foe, who even I cannot defeat? Mighty as we are, Utgar’s higher-ups have always looked down upon us, mocked us from their tall towers. Do you hail from there?” “Not quite,” Cornak replied, “I am merely one of you. A Grut, plain and simple.” “No! You are different!” “In a way, if you are willing to listen to my tale…” Cornak said. “If it means we can become more than Utgar’s dumb muscle, disrespected in his community.” “Yes, I will help you achieve that.” Cornak sat back, “I am truly no different than any other Orc, born and raised on Grut, bred in blood and taught the ways of violence. I fought my fellow Gruts, and waged war against the terrible Varkaanans, same as any other.” “Then what makes you unique?” Heshnac seemed confused. “Culture.” “What?” The Orc leaders didn’t understand. “When I was injured, a Kyrie woman came to me and healed me.” Cornak explained, “She taught me her way of life, of peace, quiet. She taught me to read and write, how to think beyond my old mindset, how to love the world and every creature in it.” Many of the foot soldiers standing in the back of the tent laughed at the notion, but most of the Orc Commanders took his words seriously, willing to do anything to be like the Orc that had stood up to the vampire and lived without even needing a weapon. “I don’t understand.” Heshnac replied. “We Gruts are not inferior to the higher-ups in Utgar’s army.” Cornak continued, “They think we are dumb brutes, to be outwitted and used to achieve their ends. I used my ability to read to make myself a commander. I stood up to Cyprien and reasoned with him. You can do the same, and through peace you can rule the world. Or do you all wish to die fighting another man’s war?” Heshnac looked around at the other leaders, nodding to them and returning his attention to Cornak, “And I thought you the fool at first glance. You have earned my respect, Grut. My strength has failed me twice now, as it failed my father and my mother.” This caught the attention of the common soldiers, their eyes turning to their greatest warrior in astonishment. The Orc Commander continued, “I cannot speak for the others, but I will join you. Teach me, as this woman you spoke of taught you.” Now all the other Gruts were really mind-boggled. Many of the other Orc leaders followed suit, doing as their commander did and pledging their loyalty to Cornak’s ways. They had seen what he had done, and they too wanted to ascend above Utgar’s control and his war. --- “So,” Slate commented as he floated about the library, shelving various battle reports, “I hear you’re climbing the Orc ranks rather rapidly.” “Indeed,” Cornak replied, looking through a manuscript while he chatted, “I knew Cyprien was practically Utgar’s right-hand man, but I never knew the others feared him so much. I’ve earned the respect of practically the entire army.” “Essentially the leader already.” Slate mused, “That’s a lot of Orcs under your belt.” “So it is.” “Hmm, looks like another defeat in the southeast.” The shade reported, looking through his papers, “The DeathWalker faction suffered some heavy losses. That’s unfortunate; well, maybe not for you. Utgar’s going to be relying on the Orc army even more now.” “The more we are worth to that Valkyrie, the more power we have over him.” Cornak replied, “Perhaps one day we’ll be strong enough to defy him, separate ourselves from him.” “That’s crazy talk!” Slate floated down to the Orc’s level, “Why on earth would you attempt such a thing?” “Why else? To defang him.” Cornak closed his book, “To be free, to make our own way in the world. To have peace, the kind our people have never had the luxury of getting to know, the kind our stubborn ways and Utgar have kept from us for far too long. The kind every living thing deserves.” --- Cornak’s popularity amongst the Orc ranks skyrocketed in the coming weeks. Word of his standoff with Cyprien spread like wildfire, and Gruts of every kind came to see him. Cornak felt like an Orc again, never alone, surrounded by friendly troops, but he never forgot his time with Yrta. He took the opportunity to show the army his philosophy. Many were intrigued at first, many more refusing to accept such ideals, but as time passed it slowly caught on, just like it had for Cornak in the beginning. He spent the most time with Trelnac, the two becoming close friends faster than expected. The Orc subordinate caught on to the idea of pacifism faster than Cornak had, and before long he too was teaching other Orcs to do the same. It was if a cycle of war and savagery that had spanned countless generations had suddenly stopped, this strange concept foreign to planet Grut halting the old ways in its tracks. These Orcs had lost their appetite for battle, sickened by their last defeat. They wanted to learn how to read and write. Countless Orcs came from all over to listen to Cornak or watch him. Cornak repeated to them everything Yrta had told him, his audience growing with each sermon. They assembled in the shadow of Utgar’s castle, where the Valkyrie and his advisors glared down at them with caution, suspicious about this sudden gathering of the Orcs below. “They’re afraid of you.” Trelnac told Cornak, “They think you’re dangerous.” “One who takes a killer’s means of destruction is dangerous.” Cornak answered, “He’s angry that I’ve convinced you all not to die for him. You won’t shed blood for him anymore.” “Aren’t you afraid he’ll kill you?” Heshnac asked. “I do not fear death. My legacy would live on in all of you. We are all one now.” Sure enough, one day a swarm of Minions flew down, shooing away the Orcs clamoring around it. They entered and pointed at Cornak, “You there. Lord Utgar wishes to see you!” “Why?” Trelnac stood in the way, “What did he do?” “None of your concern.” The Minions brandished their weapons, “C’mon, let’s go, Cornak.” Cornak motioned for his friends to move out of the way, going and meeting the Minions. They took him, leaving the tent and flying up to Utgar’s fortress. Already it felt like déjà vu, once again going to meet Utgar, not as a deserter this time but as a leader and possibly a threat. Utgar waited in his throne room, glaring down at Cornak as he entered, “You again, huh? I thought I’d heard it all, and then I’m told a week before one of our biggest battles that our Orc army has become infested with pacifists. I must say that’s a new one.” “I merely taught them my way of life.” Cornak calmly replied, “If that is a death sentence, then so be it.” “Don’t tempt me.” Utgar replied, “Pacifists are peaceful, at least until their leader dies. Then they’re revolutionaries. Just look at that village you helped destroy.” Cornak looked up, suddenly alarmed. “Oh yes, I did my research.” Utgar grinned, “Don’t try and act all sagely to me—you know exactly what I’m talking about. Those villagers tried to stay out of the war, and now they’ve cast their lot in with the Alliance, because of Gruts like you. Not a difference, your so-called peaceful cause and them.” “I…” Cornak clutched his gut, feeling sick at the mere memories. “I can’t have the bulk of my army getting mutinous at this desperate hour.” Utgar continued, “The only thing keeping Gruts in line is their leaders, and the leaders all follow you now. So you tell them to gear up for war. Got that?” “…” “I know you don’t fear death.” Utgar said, “But don’t think that gives you any power over me. You do your job, and we will win this war. Then you can have all the peace you want.” “Yes sir.” Cornak muttered, rising to his feet and bowing. “Good. Now go, prepare the army for battle. Your battalions will be on the front lines. I’ll check on your progress often.” The Valkyrie smiled, “So don’t try anything funny.” --- “What are we to do?” Heshnac asked Cornak the following day, all the Orc leaders gathered in their tent whilst the Grut army prepared for battle outside, “We cannot defy Lord Utgar’s orders. Not now.” “He won’t hesitate to slaughter us if we stand against him peacefully.” Another of the Orc leaders said, “We shouldn’t put up with him any longer. We should fight him off.” “No,” Trelnac snapped, “We mustn’t fight. We only need to render him powerless at the right moment to gain our freedom.” “But how? He’s watching us, and he wants us suited up for battle in a week’s time!” Heshnac shrugged, “What should we do, Cornak?” “I have a plan.” Cornak replied, “We face the Alliance in a week, all-out war on the open field. We prepare for battle, and make our stand on the front lines, for all of Valhalla to see. Utgar will have no choice but to surrender without us, with the entire Alliance before him.” “But what of the enemy? What if they intend to kill us?” “Then so be it, but I’d sooner take my chances with them.” Cornak rose to his feet, “In the meantime, prepare for battle. We drop our weapons on the battlefield.” It was quiet for awhile, some of the Orcs casting doubtful glances at each other. Cornak looked down at the ground and continued, “My ways have backed us into a corner. I alone am forced to make my stand. If you do not wish to follow in my footsteps, then by no means do so.” Trelnac stood, “I will.” Heshnac stood, “As will I.” All the other Orcs present stood as well. Cornak looked around at them all. This time he was the astonished one, and at that moment he was more than willing to die for each and every one of them. And he knew they all felt the same. They would make their stand. --- “Hail, Falshan!” The Elven regiment halted its march, joining Jandar’s forces at the Jutanguard border. At the front of the blue army was an armored Kyrie mounted on a horse, still wearing the same weary, determined look on his face that he had bore for the last three years. Three years he had spent fighting for Jandar, trying to take back Valhalla from the evil that had overrun it, and most of all find the one who had wronged him. “Any news from the scouts?” Falshan asked as the elves dismounted. “Aye, sir. Orcs helming the front lines all across every front.” The elf explained, Falshan spitting at the O-word, “Utgar’s Gruts have grown more numerous as of late.” “And?” The Kyrie queried. “And Aquilla sends her answer.” The elves stood aside, letting a legion of tall humanoid wolves pass through their ranks, “Varkaanans, sir.” The biggest and baddest wolf made his way up to Falshan, “I am Bahadur, leader of the Varkaanans. We hail from the planet Grut; dealing with Orcs is our forte.” He heaved up a large battle-axe over his shoulder, showing a toothy grin, “We’ll clear a path of filthy Grut bodies for you to go through.” “Good. When this is over, I will give Aquilla Jandar’s thanks myself.” Falshan nodded, “Come, let’s get moving. We’ll travel as one group from here.” The armies merged together and headed west, straight toward the front lines. During the entire ride Falshan stared at the distant horizon, his sword feeling restless in its sheath. He had spent the last three years training for war, no longer hiding in the ignorance of his village’s neutrality. He would wipe the Orc vermin off the face of Valhalla himself, even beating the ferocious Varkaanan to it if he had to. As the days past, Falshan came to learn that the Varkaanans were quite beastly themselves, but their bloodlust was savored for his enemy, so he let it go. He saved his disdain for a single opponent, not bothering to question the moral standing of his allies. After all, he too had lost much of his innocence over the last few years, killing many foes and offering little mercy to those who would not show any in return. He had at the very least become an efficient killer, even at the cost of his empathy. Finally in the days before combat, the elven scouts again returned, with more news. “The Orcs are gathering,” One said, “We believe we’ve found their leader.” “Yes?” Falshan replied, pressing for more information, “Any distinct features?” “He does not ride a dinosaur.” The scouts answered, “And he wears a robe of red and orange, like a human monk.” “Ridiculous!” Bahadur roared, stomping up to the scout and looking him in the eye, sending the elf backing off aways, “Never in all my years! Are you sure it was an Orc?!” “Y—yes sir.” The elf stammered. “What’d he look like? Not clothes or mounts, he himself!” The Varkaanan barked. “He appeared to have been burnt at some time, much of his upper body was scarred. And he had another scar across one eye. Those were the only unique features we caught a glimpse of.” “What!?” Falshan rode over, dismounting and grabbing the scout by the collar, “Burns and a scar across the eye! Are you sure!?” “Uh, yes.” “Are you positive!?!” Falshan demanded. The elf’s frightened eyes darted from the Kyrie to Bahadur, unsure who to be more afraid of, “Y—yes sir! P—positive!” Falshan dropped him, standing upright and glaring off into the distance, “I can’t believe it… after all these years. Cornak, and leading the entire Orc army, no less.” “You know this Orc?” Bahadur stared over at him, bewildered at the concept of someone coming to know a Grut by name. Falshan returned the look, no longer intimidated by the beast. He was daunted by nothing right now: he’d face death and more for the chance to get to that single Orc. “I know him all too well. We ride out tonight—I want to be the first one on the front lines.” “Hey now,” The elf got back to his feet, “No need to rush into a battle of this scale! Almost all the Valkyrie armies will be there! Let’s not get in over our heads!” “Right you are, elf.” Bahadur growled, “The Valkyrie will be there. Let’s give them a display the likes of which they’ll have never seen!” “Aye! Let’s make Jandar proud!” One of Falshan’s knights agreed, the others cheering. “Ah, jeez…” The elf scout put his head in his hands, “We’re doomed.” “You’ll be in the back, runt!” Bahadur shoved him aside, getting on all fours as he prepared to lead the way, “Let’s move out! My fangs thirst for Orc blood.” “Move out!” Falshan reiterated, mounting his horse and leading his men out, to the battlefield in the distance. --- The armies gathered at the borders of Jutanguard. Fields of soldiers littered the grounds. Every Valkyrie and their army was well represented, all forming a big circle around the battleground-to-be. In the very center was a giant mass of Orcs, Utgar’s first and biggest wave of soldiers. While the scouts moved out from all sides to probe the situation, Falshan’s troop closed in, heading straight toward the middle of the Grut army awaiting him. The Orcs were as hideous as ever, bearing their savage weapons and their armor in tatters over their vile bodies. But Falshan knew what to look for: a Grut at the front of the army, wearing a distinct orange-red cloak. The Orc army had stopped its advance, everything coming to a standstill. The Alliance’s forces kept at a distance, waiting for the battle to break out. The Gruts were expected to make the first move, charging into the Alliance’s fire and starting the battle. Cornak stepped out, Trelnac to his right and Heshnac to his left. He held out his hands, taking out a sword Utgar had given him for battle. He gazed at the finely crafted weapon, finally stepping out into the open for all eyes to see and dropping the sword onto the ground. The Orcs all stepped out as well, throwing their weapons down onto the dirt and stepping back into the crowd. “What are they doing?” One of Falshan’s knights asked. “They’re… ditching their weapons?” An elf answered, sounding unsure himself. “Forget it.” Falshan growled, drawing his sword, “We ride.” “But they’re weaponless!” The elf protested. “Then you may just survive after all.” Falshan replied, “Now move!” He raised his weapon into the air, his horse galloping out ahead of his troops, who slowly advanced behind him, suspicious but mostly confused. The Kyrie warrior rode straight for Cornak, still at the front of the Orc army. Falshan’s regiment stayed a good distance behind, weapons drawn but unwilling to commit to combat just yet. He didn’t share their sentiments. “CORNAK!!!” He screamed, riding up and taking to the air, crashing down on top of the Orc with a vengeance, blade instantly at the Grut’s burnt throat. His flailing wings buffeted all others away, quickly forming a clearing around him. Cornak did not resist. “No! Cornak!” Trelnac shouted, “Get off of him!” “Cornak!” Heshnac yelled, “Don’t kill him!” Cornak merely held out his arms to signal them to stay away, “No, do not interfere.” “They can interfere all they like,” Falshan snarled, “I’ll gladly die to kill you.” “Why?!” Trelnac wailed. “No, this is what I deserve.” Cornak said, staring Falshan in the eyes, “This man has every right to kill me. How can I deny him?” “Cornak!” Heshnac shouted, all of the surrounding Orcs voicing the same concerns for their pinned leader. Falshan looked over at them, surprised by the amount of concern and not rage in their voices, returning his attention to the Grut under him. The scarred Orc looked so different, so strange. The Kyrie noticed his blade had started shaking in his hand, and he tried to smother his doubt under his anger, “You can hide behind a new personality, a new morality, but deep down inside you’re still you. That same Orc still needs to die, by my hand.” “I will not stop you. I can never return what I took from you, and because of that, I’ll never be truly innocent.” Cornak replied calmly, “I can only pray that others will never make the same mistakes that I did.” He had guilt in his eyes, and as he closed them he seemed to be at peace, awaiting execution. In spite of their protests, none of the other Orcs had taken up arms to save their comrade, although they all crowded around, begging for their leader’s life to be spared. Falshan glared at them, his confusion causing the shaking in his hand to return. The Kyrie looked back down at Cornak, all eyes from everyone present on him, waiting for him to make the kill. He longed to slay the demon who had killed his family, and yet in that moment, he suddenly couldn’t do it. Why? Why couldn’t he do it!? He’d waited three years to kill Cornak, and yet now he lacked the ability to carry out the task. He felt conflicted, felt bad for being the one to murder this pacifist. But he wasn’t bad—Cornak was! Cornak had wronged him, so why couldn’t he wrong the Orc in return? It’s what he deserved. Why couldn’t he bring himself to do it? Because it was Utgar’s war he really hated. “Grah!” Falshan threw his sword to the ground, getting to his feet and leaving Cornak lying there, “You don’t deserve to live, but I can’t kill you.” “You…” Cornak sat up. “It’s not for your sake!” Falshan snapped, “It’s because all these people around you… they care about you. And I won’t take your life in front of them.” As he spoke, tears began to run down his cheeks, the Kyrie staring skyward to hide it, “Because… I’m the bigger man… I’ll always be the bigger man…” “…You are.” Cornak replied, “Thank you…” Suddenly a roar erupted from Falshan’s regiment, “WHAT!? You never had the gall to kill, Jandarian!” Bahadur burst from the ranks, stomping forward and brandishing his axe, “You’ve been duped by a simple trick! We wolves and the Gruts have made trophies of each other’s skulls for countless generations! And you think they can ‘turn their life around’ like this!?” The giant Varkaanan pointed an accusing finger at Cornak as he approached, “You think you can change, Grut? I’ve killed Orcs for DECADES! Your kind will never change! You’ll always be the same savage, mindless, worthless scum you’ve always been!” “No, Bahadur!” Falshan ordered, “Stand down! They’ve all laid down their weapons!” Bahadur snorted and shoved the Kyrie away, “Out of my way, you toothless fool! Orcs don’t surrender! It’s a trick, and I’m not falling for it!” Cornak and the other Orcs stepped back as the behemoth beast advanced, but the Varkaanan’s agility proved to be more than expected. Grasping his axe, Bahadur stepped forth in an instant and ferociously cut down Cornak. The blade cleaved straight across the Orc’s torso, Cornak collapsing to the ground and blood beginning to soak his torn robe instantly. “No!” The Orcs cried, rushing to his side. “Come at me!” Bahadur shouted, “I’ll kill your precious leader, and all of you with him!” “Cornak!” Trelnac stooped down to his leader’s side. He was still alive, but gravely injured and bleeding out. “Protect Cornak!” Heshnac yelled. Countless Orcs ran and formed a wall between their wounded leader and the Varkaanan. They refused to pick up their discarded weapons, instead defiantly standing there, more than willing to use their body as a shield. “I won’t fall for it! Not for a second!” Bahadur lunged forth, cutting down many Orcs with another swing, more taking their places. The wolf kept on swinging away at the crowd, the Gruts refusing to fight back or yield to his attacks. More and more Orcs fell to the Varkaanan’s axe, the Alliance scouts watching the whole thing unfold, horrified as they watched the wolf butcher them all. “Protect Cornak!” The Orcs shouted, bunching together and keeping Bahadur’s axe busy. Each and every one of them rushed to meet their end, more than willing to do so for Cornak’s sake. “Bahadur, stop!” Falshan cried, “Stop it! Stop!” Bahadur ignored him, cutting down Orc after Orc without a hint of guilt crossing his face. Falshan rushed to his side, trying to pry him away from the Grut crowd with little success. “Get back, whelp!” The Varkaanan snarled at him menacingly, “I won’t let them win! I’ll kill every last one of them!” “Stop!!” Falshan insisted, looking at all the bodies piling up around the wolf. Increasingly panicked, he kept trying to pull the Varkaanan away, finally grabbing his sword and rushing to the beast, stopping him the only way he knew how: thrusting the blade clean through the wolf’s back. “Gah!” Bahadur dropped his weapon and backed up, gawking at the sword sticking out of his chest. He stumbled back, falling down onto the bloodied ground, “You…damned Orcs… damn you for eternity…” The bloodthirsty Varkaanan downed, the Orcs and Alliance soldiers closed in, all circling around Cornak, who laid there surrounded by his friends, slowly dying. “Cornak, no…” Heshnac muttered, “Why, Cornak, why…?” “Fear not,” Cornak replied, “It was the final sacrifice I had to make, the retribution of generations of bloodshed.” “You’ll never get to see the peace you worked so hard to achieve.” Trelnac mourned. “No… I’ve already seen it in all of you.” Cornak smiled, “You are all my peace.” “I swear, on my life,” Trelnac promised, “We’ll make our way in this world, live in this very spot. It’ll be a place of peace, of love and learning. We’ll build the first Valhallan College of Literacy, and people will come from all over to study your wisdom. I’ll construct a monument to you right in the very center, big and grand for everyone to marvel at!” “Heh, thank you… but I’m not the one who should have a monument…” “Huh?” Cornak shakily reached into his robes, withdrawing the crumpled-up portrait of Yrta and handing it to Trelnac, “Build it to her, Trelnac… She deserves all the credit, the appreciation, everything… dedicate it all to her…” Trelnac took the picture and eyed it curiously, “This woman? Very well. It will be done.” “Thank you. Thank you all…” Cornak closed his eyes, “I’m going to her now.” “No! Don’t go!” Heshnac cried, “You can’t die!” “But I can. I’ll never fear death, not with her waiting for me. Goodbye, friends…” With that, the wounded Orc finally relaxed and stopped breathing, going limp. The Orcs all bowed, silently mourning his passing. Falshan stared down at the deceased Orc, feeling a pang of sorrow for the one he had hated more than anything not an hour earlier, “You were wrong, Bahadur—I was wrong. Anyone can change, anyone can become anything. Perhaps that’s why life is so sacred… perhaps…” The Alliance scouts decided not to engage the enemy, returning to their Generals and reporting what they had seen unfold. The Generals agreed to accept the Orc’s succession from Utgar, leaving them in peace to do what they willed. Utgar’s army was near-crippled without his Orcs, and he had no choice but to surrender once they had left him. The Alliance disbanded his armies, many of whom began to wonder if there was anything better they themselves could’ve been doing all this time. The Orcs settled on the border of Jutanguard and Elswin, where they carved out their own living. Trelnac dedicated himself to constructing the first Valhallan College of Literature, aided greatly by a generous donation of books and reading lessons from Slate, who had no use for them at Utgar’s abandoned castle. It soon became a place not only for Orcs, but for anyone who wanted more out of life. Countless species came to attend, bustling about the place or loitering around the center of the school, by the statue depicting Yrta, reading a book to Cornak. -THE END- |
#67
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Re: Fan Fic Contest Archive
Challenge 64 - December 20th, 2015
Quote:
Spoiler Alert!
"Control to Anderson."
"Go ahead." "Ape Gang uprising outside of Rowdy Yates Bloc. Proceed there immediately." "Rowdy Yates? That's Dredd's building." "Yes. Judge Dredd is currently undergoing a mandatory evaluation." "Right. Enroute." "Grud on a greenie." excaimed Psi-Judge Anderson. "It's going to be a bad day." Indeed it was. The day Cassandra Anderson dies. But, she already knew that. Psi-Judge Anderson guns her Lawmaster through the endless streets of Mega-City One. MC1, 500 million citizens, everyone a potential criminal. A telepath and a Judge, Anderson feels the suffering of the Cits of MC1 through an empathic connection that can never be turned off. The Ape Gang. After the release of their leader after 25 years in an Iso-Cube, the Judges knew there would be activity. Full surveliance was invoked. Undercover Judges known as the Wally Squad tried to get close but only Simians were trusted. They laid low. Stayed quiet. Then Cits started disappearing. Not long after a new drug hit the street. Bliss. The euphoric effect was unmatched, as the reports state and the addiction rate is nearly 100%. It did not take long for the Judges to implicate the Ape Gang. Strange as it was, the Apes had never delved into the drug market, they had to be shut down. The reality of the matter was that the Judges were spread thin. The return of Judge Death and the genocidal events of the Nercromancer had left not only the Judges but the entire planet in a precarious state. When the Ape Gang was brought down, more than a dozen Judges were on the scene. Today Anderson goes in alone. Rowdy Yates. Lowest precentage of crime for any Bloc in Mega-City One and the home of Judge Dredd. The scene is chaos. Cits running in all directions. Fear and blood. Anderson sets her Lawmaster for crowd control and wades in. The motorcycle android was effective at keeping the curious at bay. The psychic aura is impressive. Her senses are nearly overwhelmed. Through the madness she hones in on useful information. Gang War. The Judged, a gang who dresses like Judges were controlling the area around Rowdy Yates and did not take kindly to the Ape Gang's monkey business. All out conflict. Blood for blood. "Where is Dredd when you need him?" Anderson goes automatic. Letting her Psi-Flashes guide her, she bobs and weaves through a hail of bullets seeing the attack before it happens. Only one way to end this, take out a leader and watch the rats scurry. Not long now, everything is familiar. Move and shoot. Dodge and kick. Cassandra knows where the attacks are coming from and where to shoot before the target appears. What she does not account for is another Telepath. A Simian, lying in wait. It all played out in a dream the night before, but dreams were not always prophetic. This one was. Long shot. Rifle, silenced. A moment of pain, a flash of light. Floating in dry liquid. A voice. "Cassandra, welcome. I am Jandar. I have brought you through the WellSprings to Valhalla to the Battle of All Time. With your help we may defeat the evil forces of Utgar and Valkril and you may return to your Earth. " It was all so disorientating. The voices from MC1 replaced by the ones of Valhalla. The numbers were fewer but the volume was louder. Her powers had been magnified and that did not make for an easy life. "No more." "Please Cassandra, your visions are vital to our survival.." "No. So much pain. I see their battles, feel their deaths. I cannot continue." Cassandra Anderson, former Psi-Judge of MC-1 her role in Valhalla was one of seer. She suffered as pain and sorrow filled her days. She had been regulated to prophecy, determining the results of wars before they occurred at the expense of suffering that experience upon herself. "Please Cassandra. One more vision. The tipping point is nigh. We must know where to send our forces.", pleaded Jandar. "Very well." Cassandra Anderson opens her mind to the cosmos. Open to what is and what can be. Darkness. Black. Inky thick. The smell of decay. The stench of....Death. Judge Death. They genocidal fiend from Deadworld that slaughtered all beings on his world, for crime was only committed by the living. He was here, in Valhalla. Valkril has brought him. "Anders-s-s-son, I come for you." "Nooo." The stress causes a blackout and severs the telepathic link. In time, Judge Anderson recovers and takes her battle to the streets or in the case of Valhalla, the fields of war. With some effort she erects a mental wall to shield herself from premonitions and the influence of Judge Death. Jandar is winning but there is a consequence. The dead are rising. Good or evil, the fallen arise and only desire the brains of the living. Time was short. Judge Death must be defeated before he could summon the other three Dark Judges to Valhalla. Here they would be unstoppable. Through Soulborgs and Wolves and Zombies, Judge Anderson fought valiantly with the Knights of Weston by her side. They had made her their Joan of Arc and fought with veracity in her presence. There in the lands of Morindan, inside a crumbling temple lay a glyph of the undead. Judge Death at its center welcomes Anderson and exalts her beauty. "Anders-s-s-son, my greates-s-st enemy. We meet again." "One last time Death. I am stronger here, you will never escape the prison of my mind." "I can only be impris-s-soned by the mind of a living being." "What? What are you saying?" "S-S-S-Something you have denied from the beginning. Valhalla is the land of the dead. Your journey ends-s-s here. With the help of Vydar, I will be returning to finis-s-sh judgement on Mega-City One." Judge Death displays a dimensional teleporter in his bony hand. A toothy grin fades into oblivion. Second Place - jesus20456
Spoiler Alert!
First Place - Dysole
Spoiler Alert!
Legend of the Holy Sword 4 - A Trip Through a Wellspring?
Greetings and welcome to #452 of the 1000 provisions, the 5 hour story telling party. Today you shall hear my heroic doings in the land of Valhalla. As most of you may believe, Valhalla is a land where the heroes of the North go on to live in eternal battle after they die. Such an old wives tale is fine fodder for lesser ears but you shall hear of the truth of this noble land today from me. My legend begins in the 12th century but this part of the legend begins somewhere in the 14th. Or maybe in the 15th. It might be the 13th. Or possibly the 14th. No, the 15th sounds right. Although the 16th has a nice ring to it. But the 13th is lovely as well. I found myself in the castle of the great kyrie Jandar. He was fending off the hordes of Utgar and he needed a great blade. However, he was found to be lacking in valor. Most importantly, he refused Provision #452, the 5 hour storytelling party which you are now participating in. It was a brisk evening and he required my services which were very great indeed. The time was grim and our fate could be even grimmer. "I'm afraid I don't see how we'll be able to defeat Utgar without you." Jandar spoke. "FOOL!" I responded. "The answer is simple. You won't. Therefore you must find a great warrior, one who is worthy to wield the great Excalibur." Jandar was distraught and swore he would send his swiftest steeds to search the land for someone who was truly worthy. Which leads me to the importance of afternoon tea. A refreshing cup of tea in the afternoon does wonders for the constitution and you will often find your mind and body rejuvenated as well as your soul. It was a fine afternoon when I first introduced Major Q9 to the joys of tea. Major Q9 was a sight different than you imagine. For starters, he was a robot. They preferred the term soulborg and would get touchy about being referred to as robot or android. I took great care in proper sensitivity. "The tea is delicious." Major Q9 said with incredible gusto, "I do thank you Excalibur for teaching me how refreshing it can be." "Anything, old friend." I replied with the proper decorum due a major, "The tea truly does create a warm tingly feeling within your feet. Do you feel it?" "Indeed. Truly you are a connoisseur, Excalibur." "It is settled then, Major?" "Soon it shall be." We said nothing more after that leaving the evening to slowly pass us by on its journey to future evenings. But this evening was a quiet one. And that is why a hero must always look within oneself to find the greatest strength and inner peace. Why, I was once a reckless lad. As with most people in their youth, they find themselves taken by urges which they can not explain and which tempt their young minds. I was no exception to this rule and Valhalla brought out some of my more foolish impulses. Her name was Kelda. It was said she could heal with but a touch. These rumors were in fact true, although it was rare that a weapon such as myself would require her healing hand. My heart on the other hand was a different matter. "Oh, Excalibur. What shall we do? Utgar is nearly upon our doorstep." Kelda cried as she threw herself into my bosom. I raised a comforting hand and placed it on her head. "There, there, Kelda. We must not fret about tomorrow. It will be here tomorrow. Let us simply enjoy this night." Tears had begun to dab at the corners of her eyes and she wiped them away before speaking."We might die tomorrow. What if I can't heal the soldiers in time?" I did not know what to say, so I resorted to empty philosophy. Such was the manner of a young heart."Many possibilities lie before us, dear Kelda. You must know that we can not measure the sands of time before they are meted out to us." She brought her face close to mine and looked deep into my eyes."What if this is our last night together?" "Then we shall make it a good one." It was our last night together, but not because she or I died. We grew apart as couples do when they are older. You may think you are the exception but sooner or later, time will separate you. For some it is the release of death which ends their joy, but most will find themselves drifting apart like islands slowly bobbing off into the distance. Which is why you must always be sure to look both ways before crossing the street. Such actions are necessary for one's survival. Failure to do so can result in dismemberment or other fatal body injuries. Fortunately, you have been granted with eyes and you may use them to look left and right and also up, down, forwards, and behind you. For you never know who is sneaking up behind you. Like a stealthy ninja, life can come upon you. Which reminds me of my time with a particular member of Ullar's camp. Chardris. The fire elf. He had a daughter Jorhdawn. Like any loving father, his affection for his daughter showed in his every action and I in my infinite wisdom made sure to give him the proper instructions for raising one's rebellious teenage daughter. You must know that elvish lifespans are long, not nearly as long as mine, but certainly longer than humans. While humans spend merely a few brief years as teenagers, elves spend decades. Jorhdawn, like most girls her age, felt stifled and constrained by her father and was presently in her room crying. "I don't know what to do with her, Excalibur." he bemoaned with the tone of an elf nearly at his wits end, "She says she hates me." I took a sip of coffee and let the silence brew in the air before speaking, "You know she does not Chardris. Speak to her not as her guardian, not as her friend, but as her father. Is not your experience greater than hers?" "Yes. But I can't make her see that." "And what would you have done in her situation?" I inquired, raising my cane to his face. "At her age, I would have become sullen and complained about my parents to my friends." he replied, as if overcome by a sudden realization. "Would it be so bad if she chooses her own path?" I asked. "See, I'm not sure. It would go against centuries of tradition. It could truly be a bad thing." "Let history be the judge of that." "Are you saying that history will prove me to be in the wrong?" I took another long pause. "What I am saying is that history is long. Our actions in one moment dictate the next and we do not know where they may end. An action which seems to be good in one moment may be disastrous years later and the same is true of one which seems bad." "So I should let her do as she wishes?" "FOOL! That would be a terrible use of her time." Chardris nodded in agreement. "Very well then. It is decided. I shall speak with her." There was a lovely bonfire that evening. ... ... ... ... ... LISTEN YOUNG ONES! My tale is nearly at a close. For you see, we are now at the climax, the great and dangerous moment where my adventure in Valhalla comes to a close. I shall set the scene for you. It is a castle. It is dark. I had come alone to this castle to vanquish Cyprien Esenwein, the dastardly vampire who siphoned the life from those around him. "So, the Legendary Sword deems me worthy to grace its presence?" "FOOL! You are but a shell of what you once were. I am as much of a man as you will ever lay your cold dead eyes upon." "But you have nothing. No one." the vampire cackled at me. "What use is a weapon without a wielder? And it's not like you're a wooden stake." "FOOL! An ordinary weapon would stand no chance against you, but I am no ordinary weapon. I am EXCALIBUR! The sword that tears the air and shakes the very ground. I am the most powerful weapon in the world!" The vampire hissed at me and charged but I was too fast. "FOOL! Do you not know that you must watch your enemy closely?" We parried back and forth for hours. Him lunging at me before finally in the cold moonlight he shouted at me for the last time, "Why won't you die?" "FOOL! Dying is for other people. Like you." And with that, he perished struck by my holy majesty radiating the very dawn itself. And thus Valhalla was saved. That is all. I look forward to your appearance at next week's five hour storytelling session. Last edited by Lazy Orang; February 6th, 2016 at 03:25 PM. Reason: Next updater: start at page 259, post 3099. |
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Re: Fan Fic Contest Archive
Challenge 65 - February 3rd, 2016
Quote:
Spoiler Alert!
Undying Love
In the field, under the trees, By the bushes, flowering in spring, I sit, watching, always waiting. You loved me; you told me so; You hugged me when you left, Shield on back, sword at hip. I promised I would wait, always Wait for your return to me. On that last day, I swore to you: Come peace or war, Come beginning or end, For you, I’ll wait. Always wait. It’s been many days, passing by. Storms wash over me, raging. I sit still, and wait, always waiting. Fire has burned about me, Consuming the trees and flowers. I do not move; always waiting. War has come, with Jandar of light. Joy from his camp has spread to me, But I remain still, always waiting. Einar has taken our fields, men of order Marching by in united step, unwavering lines. But they pass me by, always waiting. Autumn comes; I ache with hunger. All about me dies with decay, But I do not move, always waiting. Winter finds me, winds of ice. The cold sears my bones, deadly chill, But I do not move, always waiting. For one day you will come, One day you will return to me And lie by my side, always waiting. Where I sit, unmoving beneath stone, Where they laid me to rest, before you could come, Under the trees, by the bushes. Come peace or war, Come beginning or end, For you, I’ll wait. Always waiting. First Place - TAF (Executive Win) Part 1 (submitted)
Spoiler Alert!
PART 1
Braunglayde had always been one of the quieter provinces of Valhalla, even during the war. Still, as the war aged, every corner of the continent saw battles, and Braunglayde was certainly no exception. With the added strength of his ally Valkrill, Utgar strong-armed a permanent position for his Marro forces in the southeast by Ticalla. He sent swarms of Orcs and Undead down to Lindesfarme, Einar’s kingdom, from one end. Marro armies swarmed to the adjacent province Braunglayde to encircle Einar and deal a crippling blow to the Alliance. Tensions were high as the Alliance stretched its resources thin aiding their ally, and Einar split his forces to defend both borders. Troops were deployed to countless villages across the provinces, telling the normally lax fellows there to lend any aid possible to the cause, be it soldiers or supplies. But none of that really mattered to Yumi Redfeather. What mattered most to her was that she had lost her doll. --- “Hiroma! Hiromaaa!” Yumi called as she raced down the stairs of her house, her small Kyrie wings flapping with unchecked childlike energy, “Have you seen my doll?” Her older sister was by the door, “No I haven’t.” “Do you know where it is?” Yumi hurried over. Hiroma rolled her eyes, “I don’t know—you take that stupid thing everywhere. Where’d you have it last?” “By the woods I guess.” “Well there you go.” Hiroma turned as another Kyrie shouldered his way into the room, “There you are, Valin!” Valin was the eldest sibling in the family, and essentially the father of the house. He was big and broad and ugly, but simple and kind. “Sorry. I, uh, needed to talk to the captain to sign up. I’ve got training to do and you’ve got a, uh, garden to tend to. They’re stationed here for two days and they’ll need any extra food we can get them.” He apologized, glancing over at Yumi, “Why the long face?” “She lost her doll.” Hiroma answered, “Why do you still let her play with that thing anyway? She’s ten years old, she’s not a baby anymore!” “Can I go get it?” Yumi pestered, turning to her brother. Valin shrugged, “Uh, why not?” “Thanks!” Yumi raced out the door immediately. “Hey!” Hiroma stamped her foot as her sister left, “How come I have to pick the whole garden by myself while she gets off scot-free!?” “Um, there’s more.” Valin walked over to the far wall, where several swords were mounted, “I need you to train with me afterwards.” “What? Why? That’s no fair! Why don’t you get stupid Yumi to train with you? How come she’s allowed to still be playing with dolls and reading those dumb fairy tales while I have to grow into your shoes so fast!?” Her brother chuckled, “Now you’re the one not acting your age. Listen, Pop trained me to look after the house before he went to war. It’s the eldest’s job to protect the family, from Pop to Mom to me to you. Family first!” Hiroma suddenly paused, biting her lip, “Please don’t talk like that. I don’t want your job. I’m not ready.” Valin slung the sword over his back between his large wings, turning and walking back over to his sister, “It’s okay. I’m sorry. Just, uh, take care of the garden, okay?” “…Okay.” --- Yumi raced down the hill and across the houses, hands holding her skirt tightly, wings fluttering needlessly. She bustled through villagers and squirmed between passing soldiers, making her way towards the forest at the north end of town. The tree line was at the far end of a large open field, littered with soldiers busy setting up tents and quarters. Yumi paid them no heed, dashing straight ahead toward their camp. “Wait! Watch out!” A Human raced up to the tiny Kyrie from behind and yanked her back, just as a horse-drawn carriage trampled by directly in her would-be path. The man pulled Yumi aside. He was tall and lean, clothed entirely in black. He had two swords sheathed on his back and a number of deadly-looking knives lining his belt. Yumi turned pale at the sight of the strange man, staring at her from behind a fearsome black mask. “Oh!” Yumi squirmed in his grasp, “You’re scary!!” “Wait.” The man released her, stooping down and removing his mask. Underneath was the face of a handsome young man, his kind eyes and warm smile completely juxtaposing his guise, “Sorry to frighten you. It’s just that it’s a bit dangerous here while we set up camp. No children allowed, I’m afraid.” “Oh…” Yumi repeated, but it was a different “oh” this time, “I—I’m not a kid!” “I know.” The man replied in stride, “But if any of the village kids see you playing around here, they’ll want to come play here too, right? You want to set a good example.” “R-Right!” Yumi stammered, “Well, I wasn’t playing! I lost something!” “Over here?” The man gestured, “Hmm… Well, I can try to find it for you if you wait here. What’d you lose?” Suddenly Yumi did feel far too old for a doll, her cheeks flushing with nervous embarrassment. The man’s earnest look seemed far more piercing than any scorning look might. She clutched her dress tighter, “Um, well…” “Well?” “…It’s a doll…” “A doll?” The man rose to his feet, “Shouldn’t be too hard to find around here. I’ll be right back, Miss…?” His handsome gaze again made Yumi feel flustered, and she avoided eye contact, “It’s Hiroma.” “Well then, Miss Hiroma. I’ll find that doll for you. I promise.” The warrior turned to leave, Yumi suddenly feeling the need to speak up again. “W-Wait!” He stopped and turned, “Yes?” “My name is a-actually Yumi.” The Kyrie child admitted, “It’s Yumi Redfeather!” “Miss Yumi.” He eyed her wings, “Redfeather, indeed. I’ve never seen a Kyrie with crimson in her wings before.” “I, well… They’re rare. I’ve only got a couple, but my big brother says our grandmother had a full set of red feathers.” Yumi realized she was rambling and stopped, blushing. “Well they certainly are unique! Ah, I’m getting ahead of myself. My name is Masato. One of Lord Einar’s finest assassins, at your service! Not to worry, Miss Redfeather, I shall find that doll in a jiffy!” With that, the man bowed and dashed off, seemingly gone in an instant. Yumi sighed and sat down on the grass, staring at the busy campgrounds bustling with soldiers. She didn’t quite understand why they were here, but such matters were lost on her with Masato now on the mind. Sure enough, the assassin returned with surprising timing, a small raggedy doll in hand. Again he stooped down to her height, holding the toy forth, “Is this her?” “It’s her!” Yumi rushed forth, taking the doll and hugging it tightly to her chest. Instantly she felt childish for doing so, blushing and hiding the doll behind her back, “It’s—It’s not my doll though. It’s my little sister’s. It’s not mine!” Masato smiled warmly and gave her a knowing wink, “Of course it isn’t! Now you’d best get home. Your sister will be happy to have her doll back!” Yumi nodded sheepishly and ran away, back toward her house. Suddenly the doll didn’t seem to matter much anymore, the Kyrie surprised with herself with how much Masato had managed to enamor her. He seemed like someone from her old fairy tale books leapt right off the page. Now the soldiers coming to her boring little town had real purpose: they had brought the dashing assassin straight to her. What an exceedingly childish thought. But Yumi brushed the notion aside, already daydreaming even on the way home. Oh Masato… I’ll see you again! Hiroma was waiting for her at home, a pouty look on her face already, “What took you so long!?” “I’m sorry!” Yumi squeaked, “A soldier named Masato had to go get it for me! You should have seen him! He was so dreamy!” “Who cares!?” Hiroma snapped, giving Yumi a shove, “Don’t talk to any of those guys!” “Oof!” Yumi fell back, “Why not?” “Because they’re here for war, stupid!” Her sister stopped and sighed, seeming to calm down, “Don’t you get it? They’re here to take everyone away to help fight for them. Valin’s got to go with them, just like Daddy…” “Valin has to go to war too? Why?” “It’s complicated, sis.” Hiroma helped her back to her feet, “Look, I’m sorry. You hungry?” “Uh-huh.” Yumi followed her sister inside, Masato already gone from her mind. --- The assassin didn’t stray from Yumi’s thoughts for long. All that evening the young Kyrie stayed locked in her room, on her bed poring over her old story books, doll clutched tight under her arm. The books contained all sorts of tales rife with magic and fantasy, princesses and brave warriors. Hiroma used to read them to her before bed every night, and Valin used to read to both of them before that, long ago. Such romanticized tales seemed to have lost their appeal on her siblings with the war, but who cared what they thought? Why shouldn’t the world be like in the books? Yumi sighed and turned a page, only bothering to read through the pictures. She swapped the winged knight with Masato and watched him fight Moltarn and giant Spiders. He cut through them with ease and swept the princess off her feet, wearing that same effortless warm smile all the while. Maybe he had already been on adventures just like that. Yumi had never seen soldiers from the war before. She didn’t have a clue what sort of things happened outside of her little village. Maybe. The next afternoon Yumi volunteered to take the vegetables Hiroma had picked into town. She crammed all the veggies into one basket, tossing her doll on top and picking it up, nearly falling over with it all as she stumbled toward the door. “Woah, watch your step!” Valin called to her as he came in, sweaty and sword in hand, “Uh, want me to take those?” “Nope!” Yumi squirmed past him, “Giving the scarecrow a run for its money?” Her brother eyed his blade, smiling “Ol’ Buckethead is a fearsome opponent, but, um,” Yumi didn’t bother to listen, scurrying outside and running to the village. There were still countless soldiers marching and lounging around. They were nearly all Humans, essentially wingless Kyrie, most of them gruff and somewhat scary-looking to her. But she had heard tales of worse creatures over the course of the war, simply hugging the basket close and moving on. The marketplace was filled with food and supplies, every last thing the townsfolk had to donate taken and tallied. Yumi spotted a Kyrie captain supervising and raced over, dropping the basket at his feet and tugging at this hand until he looked down at her. He merely glanced at her and nodded, picking up the basket and handing it off to one of the passing soldiers to be sorted. Yumi stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, finding these soldiers cold, before turning to leave. The Kyrie glanced down at her again, calling out, “Hey, wait! There was a Kyrie here yesterday with red feathers. Mumbly-Bumbly. Are you related to him?” “You mean Valin?” Yumi replied curiously, “Yeah, he’s my brother.” “He signed up but forgot his papers.” The captain handed her a small parchment, “Give this to him, got it?” “Y-Yes sir!” Yumi nodded, holding the paper in the same hand as her doll and running off. The recruitment paper almost made her forget about why she had come here in the first place, the Kyrie nearly missing Masato on the run home, “Oh!” He was near the army’s camp, sitting around a fire chatting with a number of other soldiers. Yumi raced over, “Masato! H-Hi!” The black-clothed assassin glanced over, “Oh, hey there, Redfeather. Was your sister happy to have her doll back?” “E-Ecstatic!” She answered without thinking, glancing down at the toy tucked in her arm and instantly turning red, “Um, listen! Since you’re staying here…” “Yes?” “Maybe—maybe you’d like to come over to my house. For dinner?” Masato glanced over at his comrades, shrugging, “Sure. I don’t see why not?” “Yes!” Yumi moved to his side and tugged at his hand, “C’mon, I’ll show you my house!” “Alright, alright! Lead on, Miss Yumi!” Masato let her lead him away from the group, looking over his shoulder as he went, “I’ll be back in time for the war council, guys. Enjoy your delicious rations!” They responded with envious groans and lighthearted jeers about what a ladies’ man he was, but Yumi paid them little heed. Her new friend’s hand held tight, the little Kyrie raced straight back home talking all the while, “That’s my house on the hill! It’s pretty big since we used to be a family of five, but after my parents died in the war it’s just the three of us, my brother and sister that is. I’ll introduce you to them!” Hiroma groaned upon seeing the two, “You brought one of them home?” “It’s not ‘one of them’—it’s Masato!” Yumi pestered her, “I promised he could stay for dinner. Can he, please? Please, please!” Her sister glanced at the assassin, “Masato? Oh yes, the ‘dreamy’ one, right?” “Shut up!” Yumi whined. Valin walked over, wiping his brow, “Made a new friend?” Masato offered his hand, “Masato. Pleased to meet you.” “Valin. I suppose we’ll be fighting together soon.” “Can he stay for dinner? Please?” Yumi asked, tugging at her brother’s tunic. “Yes, let’s give more food to the soldiers, why don’t we?” Hiroma chimed in. Masato bowed, “If I’m at all an inconvenience…” Valin shook his head, “No, no. The Marro are the inconvenience. We’d be honored to have you. Besides, uh, I should probably get acquainted with you fellows. My Mom and Pop were soldiers, but I’ve never been to battle before.” “By the way, bro.” Yumi held up the parchment, “You forgot your paper.” “Huh? Oh…” Valin took the paper, scratching his head. Yumi ran back to Masato, “Let me show you inside!” --- “So,” Valin said over supper, “You’re dressed quite differently from the other, uh, Humans. Do you mind me asking why that is?” “Not at all.” Masato replied coolly, “I’m one of Einar’s Elite Assassins.” “Ah, I had no idea my kid sister had, uh, befriended such a high-ranking warrior.” Masato chuckled, “No need for such flattery. I’ve just been around for a long time.” Normally Yumi would zone out during war-talk, but right now it was more interesting. She sat as close to Masato as she could, playing with her food and staring at him as he chatted. She didn’t really know what they were talking about much, but she still wanted to partake in the conversation, “Have you been all over Valhalla?” He smiled at her, “Not all over, but I’ve seen a lot of things you wouldn’t believe.” Valin sighed, “I’m, um, sorry we’ve burdened your kind and so many others with our war. I wish we could deal with our problems alone, but then, I’m not the one calling the shots.” “Don’t fret over it.” Masato sipped from his drink, “It’s true I’ve seen some terrible things… but you Kyrie aren’t so different from us Humans. You’ve got your fair share of good and bad. I’ll gladly fight to preserve what innocence there is left in this world, for the sake of people like you.” “You sound like Daddy.” Hiroma spoke up. She was also playing with her food, but unlike Yumi she didn’t seem so interested in the conversation. Both Masato and Valin looked over at her. “I’m told your parents went to war too.” The assassin said. “Yeah, Mom and Pop loved to fight.” Valin answered, glancing nostalgically at the swords on the far wall, “They, uh, volunteered to join the cause. They wanted to be together, even then.” Masato nodded, “I’m sorry. You should all be together. Few things in this world are as important as family, especially in times like this.” “That’s what Pop told me. All we’ve got is each other, and that’s all we need.” Valin looked at his siblings. Hiroma managed a slight smile back at him. “Do you have any family?” Yumi asked. “I have five brothers.” Masato reminisced, “One died in battle back home. Two died in Valhalla. But we stay strong. We’ll finish this war if it takes all five of us.” “I’m sure you will…” Yumi assured him. The assassin smiled again and rose to his feet, bowing, “Well, I cannot thank you enough for the delicious meal and company. I would love to stay, but it’s getting late and we have a war council tonight. We leave tomorrow, after all.” “Aye. Uh, thank you for helping defend our little village.” Valin bowed as well. Yumi pouted, “You can’t leave already!” Masato faced her, and then her siblings, “I’m afraid I must, milady. Until we meet again. Master Valin, I look forward to fighting alongside you. Miss Hiroma, your family is lucky to have you. Farewell.” With that he took his leave. Yumi watched him go sadly, suddenly having an epiphany and getting up, chasing after him, “Masato, wait! Wait!” The assassin was silhouetted against the setting sun, walking back to town. He turned, stooping to one knee as she neared him, “Yes?” “Here,” Yumi withdrew a small silver amulet from around her neck, “A going-away present.” “Oh?” Masato gently took the necklace, holding it up and examining it in the sunlight, “It’s beautiful, Yumi. Where’d you get this?” “It was Father’s. It’s a good luck charm to keep you safe in battle. Mother gave it to Father when he went to war. He gave it to me before he left the last time. Valin says Father never was very bright.” The warrior chuckled, “No. I understand him perfectly. He wanted you to be safe, even if it meant he would go without it. People do crazy things for the ones they love. He turned and handed it back, “He wanted you to have this. I can’t take it. It belongs to your family.” Yumi shook her head, pushing it back into his hands, “No! Father gave it to me and I’m giving it to you. I don’t want you to die too. Please.” Masato mused on it, “…Very well. I can’t refuse you.” As he slipped the amulet around his neck, the assassin reached out with his other arm and pulled a small dagger from his boot. The shiny and sleek blade gleamed in the sunlight as he handed it over to the Kyrie. “It’s only natural that I should give you a gift too. It’s not much, I’m afraid, but if you’re without your amulet I pray this might keep you safe in its stead. It was my mother’s: Hātobīto.” “It’s beautiful…” Yumi accepted the weapon, cautiously turning it in her hands. “I pray you’ll never have to use it.” “Yeah… But, in the meantime, it’s still very pretty!” Masato laughed, rising to his feet, “That it is. Poor Mother always wanted a daughter, but I’m afraid she was stuck with us rascals. I think she’d be happy to see you with it.” “Masato…” Yumi stared up at him. He gave her a small sheath to go with the dagger, then took out his mask and put it on, “Thank you Yumi. I will keep your village safe. I promise.” With that he left, leaving Yumi alone. --- Masato and the army were gone the next morning. Yumi waited at the edge of town day after day for the soldiers to return from battle, even the night right after Masato departed. She knew waiting so diligently didn’t do anyone any good. She knew it’d be better if she found something to do. It’d make time go by faster, but she didn’t care. She wanted to be there the second the army returned. It’d be worth all the waiting for that instant gratification. She was alone, left waiting and worrying. She was too young to remember her parents’ deaths all that well, so this was new to her. Maybe this is how her siblings had felt. Her sister didn’t talk to her much either, making the loneliness feel all the more isolating. For some reason it felt like Hiroma wanted to be alone. Yumi couldn’t understand the feeling. Her interactions with Masato had been brief, but now his presence was all she wanted. Yumi had traded the constant company of her doll with Hātobīto, keeping the weapon with her always. She wanted to show Masato how much she valued it when he returned. If he returned. No, he was experienced. He’d seen countless battles just like this. Surely a simple scrap with the Marro was easy for him? No matter how much she told herself that made sense, her body still shook with dread. On the night of the second week the army finally returned. Yumi spotted their spears coming over the horizon and instantly took to the skies, flying about town crying out, “They’re back! They’re back!” She was giddy with excitement and relief at the very sight of any remnants of an army returning at all, but inside the dread still remained. Even with a victory, what about Masato? The very thought grounded Yumi instantly, and she turned and ran off to meet the soldiers and see for herself. The curious townsfolk went out to greet the weary soldiers, Yumi leading the way. The warriors marched past her, the villagers coming to the aid of the wounded and the others beginning to set up camp already. The Kyrie child turned and looked and looked, suddenly lost in a swarm of strangers, “Masato? Masato?” She wandered and wandered, asking again out loud, clutching her dress and tearing up as the adults ignored her, “Masato…?” Finally Yumi just stopped walking and slumped to the ground, wiping her eyes. “Yumi!” The familiar voice called out, Yumi instantly turning and seeing the assassin stride out of the crowd and over to her. “M-Masato!!” She leapt up into his open arms, “You’re alive!!” “Alive and well, milady.” He smiled, “Don’t you worry. We got them good.” “I was so w-worried!” Yumi hugged him tight. “I’m okay, thanks to your amulet.” He took the charm out and handed it to her. “No, no, keep it! I want it to protect you forever!” The Kyrie captain called out loudly, “Listen all! Today we struck the Marro hard. Our job is far from over: we move out to further expel them from Braunglayde tomorrow. But in the meantime, we will have a feast to celebrate halting their offensive! To Lord Einar!” “To Lord Einar!” Masato and the soldiers shouted, the assassin grinning at Yumi, “We’re in for a treat tonight, milady. Lord Einar never goes cheap with his feasts.” --- Yumi was both overjoyed with Masato’s triumphant return and saddened at the thought of him leaving so soon already, so she wanted tonight to count. She stayed by the assassin’s side all night. He didn’t seem to mind being burdened with a child while most of the others drank and danced. That only seemed to make him all the more admirable, and as Yumi stayed close to him she felt like the happiest Kyrie in the world. People danced and drank and joked and laughed. The fires were bright and roaring and the food was good. Yumi watched the whole thing with awe and excitement, unused to such festivities in her boring quiet little town. Even that grumpy old Kyrie captain danced around with a pint in one hand and a dumb grin on his face. He stumbled over to Masato, toasting clumsily, “Ya did good today, kid. Chances are the both of us’re gonna get promotions out of this.” “I’ll drink to that, sir.” Masato replied, raising a glass of his own, “Don’t ever drink this stuff, Yumi. It’ll turn you into a bumbling fool like this guy.” Yumi giggled, the Kyrie captain pointing an accusing but very shaky finger at Masato, “I’m too drunk to consider that talking back to a superior officer. Consider yourself lucky! *Hic!*” All good things had to come to an end, of course, and as the festivities came to a close Yumi still didn’t feel like saying goodbye. She stayed up as late as she could, but finally even Masato had to call it quits. “It’s best you go home now, Yumi.” He stooped down to her as the other soldiers packed up to leave, “I’d love to stay longer, but I’m afraid the Marro won’t give up that easily. We have a lot more work to do.” It hurt to hear, Yumi practically wincing at the words, “How long will you be gone?” “As long as it takes. We can’t give up until the war is over, but I promise it will be over. One day. I’ll see to it myself. Whatever it takes. When that happens, I will return, but until then.” Yumi teared up again, “P-Please don’t go…” Masato took her hands, “Listen to me. Before I came here, I was starting to doubt I could really do any good in this endless war. I didn’t think innocence like yours still existed in this ravaged land.” “Really?” “Really. War is ugly, Yumi. It’s so ugly that I almost forgot that there was some beauty left in this world. And what you’ve got here is a truly beautiful thing. You changed me Yumi, and I’ll do anything to protect that. I have to go, but I will come back. If anything happens, I’ll be there to protect you. I promise.” “P-Promise?” “Cross my heart.” The assassin rose back up, “You can count on me.” “I will!” Yumi watched him turn to leave, “I love you, Masato!!” He chuckled and smiled over his shoulder, “Give it a few years, kid.” Just like that, he was gone again. Yumi sighed and smiled. She really was part of a story book. --- Hiroma was still up when Yumi skipped into the home. She sat at the dinner table in silence, clutching one of the family blades in her arms. Yumi walked over, “Why weren’t you at the feast, sis? I’ve never seen so much food! Everyone was—” “Go to your room!” Hiroma snapped. Yumi froze up, the high of Masato’s return and promise wearing off and the slow realization coming to her as she stared at the blood-covered blade in her sister’s arms, “Hiroma?” “I said room! Now!” Hiroma got up and grabbed Yumi’s wrist, fiercely yanking her and leading her up the stairs. “Ow! I’m sorry!” Yumi cried, struggling and breaking free once they reached the top of the steps, “What’d I do!?” “Don’t you get it!?” Hiroma yelled, stomping down the hall, “Valin’s dead! He’s dead and you’re skipping around singing about parties!” Her stinging tone brought tears back to Yumi’s eyes. Again she froze up, shaking and stammering, “I—I’m s-sorry, sis. I was just happy ‘cause the army w-won, and—and Masato came back. I g-gave him my amulet and he gave me this d-dagger, see—” “You idiot!” Hiroma stormed down the hall, flaring her wings up into the air angrily. Yumi turned, frightened, stumbling in place a bit, nearly slipping down the stairs. Her sister did it for her, forcefully shoving her down the stairwell. Yumi shrieked and tumbled down, her small wings twisting on the steps as she fell. “I hate you!!” Hiroma shouted, following her down. She dropped to her knees over her sister’s body and began to pound away at her head, “I hate you! I hate you!” “Stop!! Why!?” Yumi wailed, flailing around on the floor and trying to defend herself. “Why’d Daddy have to give Mom’s amulet to you, you spoiled brat!? Why’d you give it to that stupid Human!? Just because he’s pretty, you brat!” “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Yumi rolled onto her other side, curling up and clutching the sides of her throbbing head. She could feel blood dripping from her nose. “I bet if you’d given it to Valin he’d still be alive right now! He didn’t have to die! It’s all your fault! I hate you!” Hiroma continued hitting Yumi, ceaselessly pounding her side with her fists, shouting all the while, “You’re so spoiled and naïve! Why’d I have to be the middle child?! I never got any special favors to waste on pretty soldiers!” Finally she relented, leaning back against the steps and covering her face in her hands, breaking down into tears. The two Kyrie sat there and sobbed for quite a while, until finally Hiroma mustered up the will to speak again. “I’m sorry, Yumi…” She crawled over to her sister and hugged her tightly, “I’m so sorry. It’s just… you’re all I have anymore, and I’m so scared. Please forgive me.” Yumi merely nodded silently, turning and clinging to her older sister, still crying. “Shhh… I’m sorry. I’ll never hurt you again, I promise. I’ll protect this family, just like Daddy and Mommy and Valin. I promise…” Hiroma held her tight, rocking back and forth. The two sisters clung to each other and laid there, at the bottom of the stairs. -Concluded in Part 2- Part 2
Spoiler Alert!
PART 2
True to her word, Hiroma took to the sword the very next dawn, rigorously hacking and slashing away at the scarecrow Valin had trained on not two weeks earlier. She was frail compared to her big brother, the blade weighing upon her thin arms. Still, she stuck to it. Yumi watched from her bedroom window. Only a day had gone by, but her older sister already looked more mature. There was a fierce determination in her eyes, the kind that was not easily dispersed. Yumi sighed and looked down at her dagger. Hātobīto was her only physical reminder of Masato’s presence and promise. Yumi already wanted to have him back, she wanted her brother back, but both were gone. She and her sister would have to carry on alone. Things were going to change around here. Hiroma continued to train herself every single day, determined to live up to Valin. Slowly her frailty waned and her strength grew. Her hands became familiar with the blade, and before long the young woman’s painstaking efforts led her to outpace even her brother’s skills. Her parents had been fighters, but they had raised docile and slack children. No more. Their daughter was a warrior. Yumi too found herself growing. In the absence of her brother Hiroma couldn’t do everything alone. Yumi’s chores doubled, her free time was severed, and her story books were increasingly shelved, the young Kyrie not having the time to wistfully pore over them and daydream. Masato had come and gone, and in his wake real life had punched her in the gut. It was time to grow up. Still, she often found herself thinking about him, especially whenever the sun set. Any time she got the chance she would sit on the hill and stare at the melting sun, marveling at Hātobīto’s silver blade glowing in the light, and think of their brief time together. Older or not, his promise was still a promise, and even when the assassin was at the far back of her thoughts she still never forgot him. Even as she aged none of the village boys interested Yumi in the slightest, and she patiently waited for Masato to return, his shoulders finally free from the burden of war and limitless time on their side to really, truly get to know each other. The war itself continued to loom as time went by, and ever since its short-lived brush with her village Yumi was unable to expel it from her mind. Whenever word came carrying reports of the war’s progress, Yumi was always first in line to read about it. Sometimes the news was good, sometimes it was bad. Either way it continued to march on endlessly. Sometimes Yumi felt like it would be that way forever. At the very least it kept its direct presence away from her town. At the very least it did for eight years. --- “The Marro threat looms!” The messenger declared to the gathered townspeople. He clutched a official parchment tight in his hands, reading aloud boldly, “Continued Marro victories in the east have put increased pressure on General Einar’s borders once again. The Valkyrie has declared a state of emergency. All able-bodied Kyrie must prepare to defend their villages from Marro attacks, by order of the General, and all spare rations must be stockpiled. It is likely Braunglayde will fall under attack in the near future.” Yumi’s heart skipped a beat at the news. As usual she was at the very front of the crowd, expecting a typical war report, but nothing like this. She stepped forward to voice her concerns, “Defend our villages ourselves? Like a militia? Isn’t Einar going to send troops here?” The messenger shook his head, “The General’s forces are spread thin as it is, ma’am. It would take too long to pull troops from the front lines of Lindesfarme and Bleakewoode to get here in time.” Panicked yet hushed whispers floated amongst the worried crowd. The messenger continued, “Until then, I suggest you all do everything in your power to prepare for any Marro attacks. It is entirely possible they might try to come through here.” With that he left, leaving them all scared and confused. Their village had gone from average peaceful town to the point of a looming Marro invasion in just a single day, and with no standing army to defend them no less. One of the elders turned to Yumi, “Redfeather! Your sister is a fighter, right? All she ever does is practice!” “Hiroma?” Yumi replied, “I suppose so. She’s never been in a real battle, though.” “And those of us who have are long since rusty!” The elder refuted, “We should put her in charge of assembling a militia! I bet we’d stand a chance against the Marro then!” The other townsfolk nodded in agreement. Yumi paused, not doubting her sister for a moment but nonetheless frozen with fear at the very idea of having another sibling go out to battle. Still, it was true. Many had gone out to fight last time and returned, but like Valin they weren’t real warriors and didn’t consistently train. Hiroma on the other hand had kept to that rigid lifestyle ever since she had made that promise eight years ago. “I…I’ll go tell her.” Yumi turned and headed back home. She glanced down at her leg, where she kept Hātobīto hidden under her skirt. She still had never been forced to use it, and she hoped to keep it that way even with the Marro threat on the horizon. Oh please, Masato. Please come back and spare my sister from having to go out to war too! A tiny part of her still kept to that childlike ideal, truly hopefully believing that at the last second her hero would come riding in with an army at his back to stop the Marro and absolve her sister of the heavy responsibility awaiting her. She could practically see him, his warm smile saved for her and his deadly blades reserved for their enemies. She still believed in his promise. Hiroma was home, calmly sharpening one of her swords as if she already knew what the news was going to be. Yumi rushed to her, expelling Masato from her mind, “Sis! The war report said that Marro were coming to Braunglayde!” Hiroma looked up, “Coming here?” “Y-Yes! And the Alliance army won’t be here in time. T-They say we’ve got to defend ourselves, and the e-elders want you to do it!” Her sister’s eyes widened. She set the weapon aside and got up, taking Yumi’s shoulders and looking her in the eyes, “Listen. Everything’s going to be fine.” “B-but!” Yumi teared up, “V-V-Valin! W-why can’t the army come help us?” Hiroma smiled, “Chin up, sis. You’re still such a kid. Our family didn’t come all this way and make so much sacrifice just to be squashed by those Marro scum now. I’ll whip these lazy village boys into fighting shape, you’ll see.” “I’m sure you will.” Yumi sighed, “I just can’t shake this feeling of dread.” “We all get scared at times like this. The only thing we can do is just keep moving forward.” Hiroma walked back over to the table and picked up her sword, “C’mon. We’ve got work to do.” --- “Alright everyone,” Hiroma announced to the Kyrie gathered around her in the middle of town, “Time for some sparring. Grab a weapon that suits you and show me what you’ve got. One at a time.” Yumi watched from a distance. It was a small town, so there were only thirty or so warriors for her sister to work with. Better yet, none of them were soldiers, skilled with tools but not weapons. Every Kyrie walked up to bat one at a time, timidly holding their swords, spears, and axes, and fought with Hiroma. She parried each attack, easily disarming her opponents without much effort. Only a single Kyrie posed a challenge, a big brute of a man parrying her counter with his axe. The two fought for a short while, Hiroma finally slipping her blade under her opponent’s weapon and heaving it out of his hands. A single red feather floated through the air, Hiroma’s wing nearly clipped by her attacker. She smiled, wiping her brow, “You’re not bad, big guy. What’s your name?” “Kredun.” The big Kyrie replied, picking up his weapon. “I don’t know you. Do you live around here?” Hiroma asked. Kredun frowned, “I was discharged from the army. Then I received word that my brother had died and left me his farm in eastern Kinsland. When I got there, the Marro had already blown it up.” “That’s terrible.” Hiroma replied, “But you are a soldier. The Marro are headed this way, and we could certainly use the help. Can you lend us a hand?” “Sure. My other brother has a farm in Crumland, so I don’t want the Marro getting that far either.” Kredun replied, “At the very least I could help teach these Kyrie how to fight.” “Wow, that’d be great. Consider yourself my second-in-command!” Hiroma paused, “Um, if you don’t mind me asking, why were you discharged from the army?” “I swung a bit too hard at an orc and accidently lopped my C.O.’s head off.” “Oh… Um… Well anyway, let’s hop to it. We’ve got a lot of preparation to do and not much time to do it.” Hiroma changed the subject. Kredun nodded and asked all axe-wielding Kyrie to follow him. Hiroma turned to Yumi, “Sis, can you round up everyone else and see what other supplies we can use? Food, water, leather, wood, metal, stuff like that?” Yumi sheepishly nodded, “O-Of course. I want to help too!” She didn’t quite mean it. She really wanted to run far away and hide from the problem. Still, Yumi mustered the courage to keep her feet firmly on the ground. She believed her sister’s words: everyone here was scared, but they all stayed strong. She’d have to do the same, for the sake of her village. For the sake of her family. It was time to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. Over the next several days things were busy at the village. Everyone banded together, giving everything they could give to help stockpile supplies and make food and weapons. The local blacksmith melted down pots and pans and forged them into armor. Kredun helped them build a small watchtower to help foresee any incoming invaders. Their town didn’t have any tall buildings before, and Yumi liked to fly up there and watch the soldiers train from a good vantage point. Her sister was doing a good job, or at least Yumi thought she was—she didn’t really know how to tell. The normally relaxed and bumbly Kyrie looked so professional in armor, moving in unison. While Hiroma taught them how to fight, Kredun taught them what to expect on the battlefield. He told them about battle formations, how to take cover from the enemy’s weapons, and about the Marro themselves. He talked about the different types of Marro foot soldiers: the Drones, Dividers, Drudge, and Stingers, and about the different ranks of Marro: Hivelords, Warlords, Overlords, and the Hives themselves. They sounded terrifying and dangerous, Yumi growing increasingly nervous about the coming battle. She only hoped that they had enough time to prepare for such an enemy. They didn’t. --- “Marro! Marro approaching!!” The watchman called out from the tower, ringing the bell quite unexpectedly not three days into the village’s training. It was only midday, nobody expecting the sudden call to arms. “Damn, so soon?” Hiroma muttered, grabbing her sword and racing outside, “Civilians get back! Soldiers up front!” Panicked and rushed, the villagers scrambled about town. The warriors raced out to meet the Marro, standing there with hastily grabbed weapons and incomplete armor. Everyone else stood not far behind or watched from the windows of their homes, morbidly curious. Yumi herself couldn’t hide, unable to take her eyes off her sister all the way up front. Yumi had only heard stories about the Marro, her parents recounting them in the faintest of her memories. The descriptions had sent her scurrying up to her room and hiding under the bedcovers, and when the monstrous creatures finally rode into sight she felt that same feeling. They were orange and sinewy, like entire beings crafted from the grisly wounds of soldiers. They all had soulless eyes and wicked grins on their skinless faces, their hideous appearance seemingly matching their vile nature. There were only a few of them however, most riding upon equally hideous reptilian beasts. Others on foot carried giant green weapons that glowed and churned. The warriors backed up in fear whenever the barrel was pointed directly at them. Only Hiroma stood in brave unshaking defiance. One Marro, seemingly the leader, dismounted and strode forth. This one was taller and even uglier than the others, metallic spikes grafted all along his arms and sides. Two bladelike appendages stuck out of his back, the Marro reaching up and yanking one of them out, holding it like a sword. He grinned at the Kyrie, sticking the blade into the earth before speaking, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ma-Xel-Sa, one of the Hive’s Warlords.” His voice sounded strangely soft for such a disgusting creature, the other Marro speaking in alien clicking noises. Still, it had an unsettling echo to it, like the sound of an inhale through chattering teeth. It sent shivers crawling up Yumi’s spine. “You are not welcome on Einar’s borders.” Hiroma defiantly replied, “Leave at once or be destroyed. We will not show mercy to such vile beings as yourself.” Ma-Xel-Sa grinned, “You speak as if you know the Hive personally. We are kinder than you have been led to believe. That is why I have come in advance of our army, to allow your village the chance to peacefully surrender. The Warlord scanned the Kyrie crowd, speaking to all of them now, “For years the Alliance has fought against our creeping influence, to no avail. Their obstinacy has caused great suffering for countless people all across the continent. Spare yourselves of such pain and give in to the Hive.” “As if Marro spare their prisoners.” Hiroma denied. Ma-Xel-Sa frowned, “Other species are always so clingy to their lives. True, we will not spare you, but we will let you join us. We will make you all into willing Marro—we have our ways. Then you will know the bliss of the Hivemind.” Hiroma fiercely stuck her sword into the ground, shouting, “Your Hivemind has brought nothing but suffering and death to Valhalla. We will fight to the bitter end to eradicate it from our world! Now leave!” The Warlord picked up his blade and reinserted it into his back, turning and climbing back onto his mount. Again he smiled as he addressed Yumi’s sister, “Very well. Consider my warning unheeded. But if you will not hear me out on surrender, hear me out on this instead: meet our army in the open field. Things always get so needlessly, tragically messy when there are civilians around.” Hiroma said nothing. After a moment of silence the Marro turned and made their leave. Ma-Xel-Sa remained, gazing at the villagers with contempt. His soulless eyes rested upon Yumi, the Warlord staring at her for a moment. Yumi felt increasingly uncomfortable, breaking eye contact and trying to hide in the crowd. The Marro Warlord smirked and finally left. Hiroma sighed and rubbed her temples, a wave of panicked whispers already audible behind her. Kredun walked up alongside her, “What should we do?” Hiroma glanced back at him and then looked to Yumi, “We’ll take the fight to them.” “You can’t!” Yumi cried, “Don’t listen to that monster!” “I won’t risk you or the other villagers’ lives to collateral damage.” Hiroma replied. Kredun smirked, “Besides, this run down old place wouldn’t provide much defense anyway. Don’t worry, Hiroma. This just shows how cocky they are. We’ll get ‘em.” “I hope you’re right,” Hiroma turned and made her way back through the crowd, “At the very least they’ve given away one thing. Send word to the nearest villages! Tell them to send their troops here! The Marro are going to try to break through this spot.” Yumi watched several scouts immediately take to the skies, sighing and hurrying after her sister. Hiroma and Kredun were already back home, looking over a map of the surrounding territories to pick out a good spot to battle. Yumi stood awkwardly in the doorframe, unable to bear the sight of Hiroma pointing to a spot on the map so far from home. “H-Hiroma,” Yumi quietly asked, “Can I talk to you?” Her sister glanced up, then nodded to Kredun. The big Kyrie got up and walked out, leaving the two sisters alone together. Hiroma frowned at Yumi, “What is it, sis? My day just got a lot busier.” “I…” Yumi stared at the ground, “Please don’t do this. Don’t go out there.” Hiroma sighed, “I know. Big brother… This is bigger than us, Yumi. I have to fight.” “No you don’t!” Yumi pleaded, “It’s too dangerous! I don’t want another battle tearing our family apart! Let’s run! Run far away from this place!” “Where?” Hiroma countered, “Einar’s lands are surrounded on both sides. We can’t just run and hide from this conflict.” “Why not? I don’t want to lose my only sister!” “That’s exactly the reason why I’m taking the fight outside the town!” Hiroma retorted, “To protect you!” “Just because you’re supposed to protect me doesn’t mean you have to throw away your life! Protect me by leaving this place behind!” “And leave all those people out there leaderless and the border undefended!?” “That’s not your job! Protecting the family is!” “I didn’t ask for this!” Hiroma shouted, “Maybe I wanted a life of my own, outside of this family! This responsibility was never meant for me! Just because you can run and hide and pretend your prince will come and save you doesn’t mean I can!” Yumi winced, the words stinging, “Hiroma, I’m—” Her sister rolled up the map and picked up her sword, shouldering her way past her sister, “I’ve got things to do.” Hiroma slammed the door shut, Yumi jumping again. Instantly she was flooded with regret, wanting to run after her sister and apologize. But she couldn’t muster the will to move, frozen in horrible hesitancy. Out of the window Yumi could see Hiroma storming off. She paused, staring at the ground and seeming to suffer the same guilt-ridden feelings Yumi had just felt. Yumi wanted to go after her, but her sister picked up the pace and vanished from sight. --- Yumi never got her chance to apologize. The next time she even saw Hiroma she was already leaving. The other villages had sent forces of their own to help repel the Marro threat, giving the Kyrie a sizable force. Hiroma led the way, Kredun at her side, the Kyrie marching on foot to avoid detection. Yumi watched them go sadly, Hiroma glancing at her over her shoulder for a brief moment before she was gone. Yumi was alone. Again Yumi was forced to wait, and it was just as agonizing as before. She sat atop the watchtower, staring out at the empty fields beyond the village, waiting and waiting for her sister to return. Unlike with Masato though, she didn’t want to see her sister just for the sake of having her alive. She wanted to say she was sorry. What if she never got the chance? What if that was the last time she’d ever see Hiroma again? The very thought tore her up inside. So much dread. Yumi stared down at Hātobīto, slowly turning the dagger in her hands. Masato had said he wished she never had to use it, but now Yumi longed for the chance to. Why hadn’t she picked up a sword in all these years and learned to fight so she could stay with her sister? She could protect Hiroma in battle, but instead she was just sitting here, worried and frail and useless. Valin had trained Hiroma somewhat before leaving, but she had never done the same to Yumi. Even after all this time Hiroma had still allowed her to never grow up. The dread and regret continued to cloud around her like a relentless storm, lasting day after day. Her time was wasted on waiting, but what else could she do? Yumi sighed a thousand sighs, spending hour after hour watching that awful horizon, waiting for something to come over it, anything. Even confirmation of loss would alleviate the dreadfulness of simply not knowing. Yumi felt like the suspense was literally killing her. A slow and painful death. One day the suspense was finally severed. Yumi sat atop the watchtower as usual, staring out into the fields, when something finally came into sight. She jumped at the sight, leaping to her feet, her heart already beating out of her chest. She squinted and looked closely at the fast-approaching silhouettes. Marro. And lots of them, riding in fast. Again Yumi’s heart simultaneously jumped and sank at the sight. She slowly backed away, slipping and falling from the tower, her flapping wings easing her fall. Her mouth opened but the shock smothered her words, “M-M-M-M…” She only managed to eek out a whisper at first, “Marro… Marro… Marro… MARRO!!!” The townspeople stared wide-eyed at her, some turning and running into their homes and others taking to the skies and fleeing right there on the spot. Yumi struggled to her feet, immediately ducking as the first Marro rider galloped past her, the Grok taking a swing at her head. Other Marro rode in, Stingers and Drones dismounting and running into battle. They attacked villagers with blades or shot them out of the sky and blasted apart the buildings indiscriminately, several already spotting Yumi and rushing toward her. Yumi turned and fled, racing back to her house. “No, no, no!” She cried as she ran, looking over her shoulder and seeing Ma-Xel-Sa riding into the town and heading straight for her. “This is what happens when you do not bend to the will of the Hive!” The Warlord shouted, looking around at all the destruction, “How many deaths will it take for Valhalla to understand that there can be no victory!? Destroy everything you see!” Green energy bolts whizzed past Yumi, exploding violently as they struck the earth around her. As the Kyrie ran to her home several more shot past her and sunk into it, the house bursting apart in a fiery explosion. “No!” Yumi fell over, turning and staring wide-eyed at the Stingers catching up to her. Already their terrifying weapons were charging up for another shot. Not knowing where else to go, the Kyrie spread her wings and took to the skies. Zap! Zap! More energy bolts flew past her, the Stingers continuing to fire. Yumi was only in the air for a second before one shot pierced her wing clean through and another struck her leg. Yumi screamed and fell back down to earth, landing on the unforgiving ground hard. “No! No!” Yumi cried, unable to believe that it was going to end like this. The Stingers rushed to her side, weapons charging up to finish her off. Ma-Xel-Sa was fast approaching not far behind them. Yumi reached for Hātobīto, her last resort, only to have one of the Stingers butt her in the chest with its rifle, knocking her back down. “No! No!” Yumi continued crying, “Masato! Save me! Save me, Masato! Please, please!” The Stinger raised its weapon, pointing it directly at her. Ma-Xel-Sa suddenly stepped in the way, putting his misshapen hand on the gun’s barrel and lowering it. “No. This one lives.” The Warlord commanded, staring at Yumi. The Stinger stopped and stared blankly forward for a second, as if it were telepathically confirming the order with its hivemind, then nodded and leaned forward, opting to knock Yumi out with its weapon instead. --- “Ugh…” Yumi eventually awoke, feeling dizzy and exhausted. She found herself in some sort of sick flesh-colored tent. It reeked of the Marro. She figured she must be in their camp, if you could call it a camp. Yumi could barely see outside from here, and it seemed as if the Marro presence was literally overgrowing the surrounding territory. Their disgusting eggs were already budding out of the remnants of the forest around them. It made her sick. Yumi tried to get up, finding herself tied to a pole, her wrists bound behind her back. Quietly weeping in her defeat and capture, Yumi struggled in place to no avail. Her leg and wing were still shot and useless, both covered in dried blood, and it hurt to move. She still had Hātobīto hidden away on her thigh, but she was unable to reach it as is. Right now there was nothing she could do but pray for Masato to come. A sudden voice made her jump, “In all my years on the field, I’ve never once seen a single army accept its fate and give in to the Marro. No matter the odds or consequences, they always want to go down in flames, as if there is any honor to it.” Ma-Xel-Sa entered the tent, walking over to Yumi and stooping down to her level. Up close he was even uglier, and Yumi could hardly bear to look at him. He reached out and held her chin so she’d have to maintain eye contact. “This war is over a decade old by now, a long, ugly and needlessly drawn-out affair.” The Warlord continued, “The Alliance has been fighting a losing battle to us for the entirety of it. It is only a matter of time before we consume them. So why make it so complicated?” Yumi struggled and shrieked and spat in Ma-Xel-Sa’s face. The Marro let her go and rose to his feet, wiping the spit and blood off calmly. Yumi stared defiantly up at him, “Because everything I love you M-Marro have destroyed! Y-You took everything from my family!!” “The Marro didn’t destroy your family.” Ma-Xel-Sa replied, “Conflict did. If there was no war none of this would’ve happened, but that blood is on the hands of you Kyrie. It is the Alliance’s refusal to accept defeat that has caused so much needless pain across Valhalla! Again the Marro stooped back down, facing Yumi, “All I want is to end this war, no matter the cost.” “‘No matter the cost’?” Yumi retorted, “You k-killed my family, you monster.” “You should have known your sister would be no match for me.” Ma-Xel-Sa said, “Of course we defeated your citizen army with ease.” Yumi teared up at the thought of her sister lying dead in a battlefield somewhere, “Y-You’re a m-monster! You won’t get away with this! M-Masato will stop you and save me!” The Warlord paused, “Masato? Save you…?” Slowly the Marro reached up, his hand sinking into his torso as he pressed against it. Yumi watched, horrified, as he rummaged through his own flesh. Her expression only became more terrified as he slowly pulled his hand out, holding her silver amulet. Ma-Xel-Sa leaned closer, holding the amulet up to Yumi, “…He has, Yumi.” Yumi stared at him, practically unable to speak, “M-M-M-Masato…?!” “Your amulet kept me safe through all these years,” Ma-Xel-Sa eyed the gleaming necklace, “but my hope for the future only continued to dwindle as the war dragged on. I spent years trudging through snow, hiding in trenches, wading through the bodies of comrades and enemies. For over a decade I fought a losing battle to Utgar. The Warlord sighed and stared at Yumi, “I was on the verge of giving up when I found you. It was as if the war had never happened at all. You were so carefree, so happy, so pure... I was reinvigorated to fight on, to protect your precious innocence.” “Masato…” Yumi whispered, “Then why are you like this?” “Out there ideals can only take you so far, Yumi.” Ma-Xel-Sa replied, putting the necklace back on, “My will to succeed was no match against this endless war. No matter my successes it continued to drag on. The longer it took the more I was filled with dread. The thought of coming back to find this place destroyed was more than I could bear. I came to realize that all I was doing was postponing the inevitable. He looked down at his skinless Marro body, “I wouldn’t let you become another needless casualty. Victory didn’t matter anymore. I stopped caring who won the war, I only wanted it to end. So I gave myself to the Marro. I made my way to their Hive and threw myself into it, not caring for the consequences. A million Marro voices assaulted my thoughts, trying to absorb my consciousness into theirs. In the end only one thought held out: you.” “W-Why would you do that?” Yumi asked. “As long as you were safe, they could have every last bit of me.” Ma-Xel-Sa answered, gently stroking Yumi’s cheek, “Every ounce of my flesh, every military secret in my head, all of it. I don’t care if the Marro consume everything in Valhalla as long as this awful war never lays a finger on you. You can always be happy…” “Don’t touch me!” Yumi cried. Ma-Xel-Sa stood up and backed off, staring at his hand, “…I didn’t expect you to understand. I’m one of them now, hideous. I will die alone. But that’s okay, because I love you more than I love myself. As long as you’re free from the pain of this war, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I’ll trade my life, the lives of my loyalty-blinded brothers, and the lives of every victory-hungry Alliance soldier for the sake of preserving your innocence. The Warlord walked over to the tent’s exit, looking over his shoulder, “The Marro have all the information they need to conquer Lindesfarme, and I have their guarantee for your safety. You don’t have to be scared anymore. All we have to do is crush the Alliance once and for all, and we’ll have the peace we always wanted, Yumi. Forever…” --- Yumi sat there, helpless, feeling sick to her stomach. Before she had wanted to hide from the incoming destruction, but now she felt responsible for it. Worse yet, she still just wanted to hide from the pain. She wanted her home back, her peace back, and most of all her family back. But peace was exactly what Masato was inevitably trying to give her through the Marro, and she hated herself for wanting it. Her family had died fighting it. Conflicted, hesitant, shaky and stammering, unable to come to a conclusion. Useless as always. Yumi wept, wishing she had died and her family had lived. A Marro Stinger stood guard, looking apathetic and lifeless. Marro were vicious when on the warpath, but when the hivemind had no use for the soldiers they just stood there, still like dolls. Yumi could relate to the analogy, feeling like nothing more than a pretty plaything. Suddenly the sound of flapping wings cut her thoughts short. The Marro Stinger looked around, confused, only to have a giant axe cut through the tent and cleave it in two. In barged Kredun, covered in Marro blood and breathing heavily. Outside Yumi could hear the sounds of battle. “Kredun!” She exclaimed, “I thought you were all defeated!” “Scattered, not defeated.” Kredun replied, stooping down and untying her, “Go on, get out of here!” Yumi struggled to her feet, instantly falling back down, “I can’t! My wing and leg…” Kredun glanced at the wound and helped her up, “Okay. Lean on me. Let’s go.” The two trudged out of the tent. The camp was ablaze, the fires illuminating Marro and Kyrie fighting all over in the night. Kredun nodded towards the woods and began making his way in that direction. Yumi clung to his side, slowly limping along. She heard Ma-Xel-Sa shouting behind her, “Wait! Come back!” Terrified, Yumi looked over her shoulder. The other Marro were too busy fighting Kyrie, but the Warlord was still after them, sprinting far faster than the two of them could move. Kredun grimaced, laying Yumi down and taking a swing with his axe at the fast-approaching enemy. “You can’t take her from me!” Ma-Xel-Sa easily dodged the blow, taking the two blades from his back and sticking them into Kredun’s chest. The big Kyrie winced, his leather armor keeping the wounds from being too deep. He backed off, taking another swing as he looked back at Yumi, “Get out of here!” Yumi nodded and began crawling away. Pain shot up her leg with every move, but she kept at it anyway. Kredun continued trying to fight Ma-Xel-Sa off, to no avail. The Marro was as skilled in battle as Yumi had dreamt Masato of being, Kredun clearly no match for him. The Warlord dodged each and every attack, cutting up the Kyrie with increased ferocity. “Out of my way!” Finally Ma-Xel-Sa parried one blow too many, darting forth and cramming his weapons straight into Kredun’s stomach. Bloodied and battered enough already, the Kyrie soldier dropped his weapon and collapsed, glancing over at Yumi before falling to the ground. Yumi watched him fall, wincing at the sight of it. She turned and continued crawling away, Ma-Xel-Sa’s swift approach fast outpacing her. Numerous Stingers and Drones emerged from the Marro camp, heading in her direction as well. “No, no, no!” Yumi cursed, struggling to move away, “Don’t come near me.” “It’s okay.” Ma-Xel-Sa caught up to her, sliding his blades back into himself “The Marro will protect you. It’s mingling with these stubborn Kyrie that will get you hurt.” He stooped down to her, reaching to pick her up, “Let’s get you back to camp. It’s safe there.” “No!” Yumi shrieked. Ma-Xel-Sa ignored her pleas. Suddenly another voice screamed out, “Get away from my sister!!” Hiroma burst out of the dark forest, flying in and tackling Ma-Xel-Sa head-on. The two reeled away from Yumi, the Warlord bucking the Kyrie off and rising to his feet. The other Marro raised their weapons at Hiroma only to have another wave of Kyrie fly into battle, interrupting them. More fighting broke out, Ma-Xel-Sa and Hiroma standing in the center of it all. “Hiroma!!” Yumi cried, a tsunami of relief washing over her. “Don’t worry, Yumi.” Hiroma gave her an apologetic smile, “Big Sis is gonna take care of everything.” “Your family’s arrogance has caused little Yumi enough grief already.” Ma-Xel-Sa said, not even bothering to draw his blades, “Don’t make me kill her sister in front of her.” “Don’t even dare talk about my family, Marro!” Hiroma drew her sword and slashed straight for Ma-Xel-Sa’s neck. The Marro grinned, ducking down in an instant and dodging the swipe. His fist shot out equally fast, punching Hiroma’s stomach. Gasping, she backed off, Ma-Xel-Sa taking the opportunity to take out his swords and lunge straight for her. Quickly recollecting herself, Hiroma held up her blade, parrying the Marro’s rapid attacks. The two continued to fight, both giving it their all. Yumi watched in equal parts amazement and horror. She had never seen her sister fight like this before, forced to input more speed and ferocity than any amount of training could prepare her for. Still, she kept to it, fighting with every ounce of energy she had to protect her sister. She was incredible, but Ma-Xel-Sa was a force of his own. The Marro was unbelievably fast, and with two swords to Hiroma’s one, the Kyrie was struggling to keep up at each and every turn of the fight. Both were fighting with everything they had. Ma-Xel-Sa caught her blade in his, leaning in close, “You can’t compete with me. I would hate to kill you, but don’t think I won’t.” “Don’t think I can’t!” Hiroma lunged forth, punching the Warlord in the face with her free hand. Ma-Xel-Sa stumbled back, surprised and staggered from the blow. Hiroma didn’t let his dropped guard go to waste. With a powerful swing, Hiroma struck the Marro’s side with her sword, the blade sinking about halfway into his gut. Like most Marro, Ma-Xel-Sa was incredibly thin at the waist, and Hiroma took full advantage of this. She ripped her sword out of him and with a mighty swing struck again right in the same severed spot, cleaving the Warlord clean in two. Screaming in agony, Ma-Xel-Sa’s torso fell from his legs, collapsing onto the ground. Yumi lit up with joy at the sight. She knew who she had really been waiting for all these years now. She had always been there. Hiroma turned her back to the defeated Warlord, flicking some Marro blood from her blade, “You’re just another drone, no different from the others.” As she walked back to Yumi, Ma-Xel-Sa suddenly started chortling. He glared over at her, a sick grin on his hideous face, “No, not a Drone. A Divider.” “Huh?” Hiroma looked back. Ma-Xel-Sa’s severed body was beginning to rapidly regrow with unbelievable speed. Legs were sprouting from his torso and a torso was sprouting from his legs. Hiroma grimaced, a shocked look on her face. Instantly she turned and, flaring out her wings, rushed to Yumi's side. She picked her sister up as best she could, beating her wings and fleeing from the Marro on foot, unable to fly while carrying Yumi. By now both halves Ma-Xel-Sa had fully regrown, two of them now getting to their feet, identical. The Warlord tossed one of his swords to the replica, and they instantly began pursuing the Kyrie. Unfortunately they were much faster than Hiroma, running her down and slashing her wings. "Argh!" Hiroma fell, dropping her sister. She leapt to her feet, facing her attackers, "Get out of here, Yumi! Go!" "Hiroma!" Yumi protested, struggling to get up but still unable to do so. "Now!" Hiroma shouted, unable to debate further as Ma-Xel-Sa's two forms began to quickly advance, trying to encircle her. One was moving directly towards Yumi, Hiroma raising her blade and lunging toward him. “Don’t touch her!” She shouted, Ma-Xel-Sa’s two bodies instantly engaging her in a second round of combat. Yumi watched with horror, backing up along the ground as fast as she could. Still unable to walk, she couldn’t cover much ground, at least not without something to prop herself up with. As she moved, searching the ground in panic, Yumi could still see her sister fighting the Warlord. Before Hiroma had managed to keep up with Ma-Xel-Sa’s speed, but now there were two of them. She was impossibly outmatched, constant quick cuts to her wings and sides wearing her down. “Enough!” Ma-Xel-Sa rushed Hiroma from both sides. She turned and stabbed one through the neck, the other racing up to her from behind and stabbing her through the back. Everything suddenly got quiet, Ma-Xel-Sa stepping back and yanking the blade out of her. Hiroma staggered for a bit, quickly turning and slashing at Ma-Xel-Sa before collapsing to the ground. The Warlord leapt back, the blade cutting his leg as he swiftly dodged. “Hiroma!!” Yumi screamed. Her sister didn’t get up, blood welling up in her stab wound. Ma-Xel-Sa put his weapon into his back, the blade sinking into his flesh. The Warlord turned and began walking toward her, grunting with pain as his leg bled. Yumi turned pale at the sight, turning and crawling away as fast as she could. “Don’t run from me, Yumi!” Ma-Xel-Sa limped after her, “It’s so painful out there. I can keep you safe!” Yumi crawled along the dirt, leg and wing still useless. The Warlord caught up to her, picking her up off the ground. He stared intently into her eyes, pleading earnestly to her, “You can be free from war! You can live without a worry in the world. You can be that innocent kid I knew all those years ago, forever! He leaned close, “You’ll never have to grow up.” Yumi stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless. In that brief moment, he looked like his old self, handsome and dashing and pure and kind. Yumi gazed at him, not with relief or happiness but with horror. She pushed through the terror and finally summoned the courage to speak, clearly and confidently: “You traded your hope, your life, your soul to the very evil that you promised me you would destroy. I will not be the willing hostage of the hivemind that killed my family!” With that, Yumi yanked Hātobīto out and plunged it straight into Ma-Xel-Sa’s heart. “Aaagh!!!” The Warlord cried, dropping Yumi and falling back. Yumi grabbed the amulet around his neck, the necklace snapping off as he fell over. Ma-Xel-Sa stumbled back and collapsed, mud splashing up from the ground as he landed, the silver dagger sticking out of his chest. He stared at the handle of the weapon in him, looking over to Yumi in shock, “Why? Why won’t you listen? The Marro will never stop coming. They’ll kill you if you fight them, Yumi!” Yumi stared back at him, looking at him in a way she never had as a child, “I’d rather be killed than become what you’ve become, Masato.” Masato reached out for her, “I did it all for you, Yumi. I love you.” “You killed my sister.” Yumi replied quietly, “Die alone.” With that she left him, pushing through the pain and crawling back to Hiroma’s side. Her sister was still lying there, bleeding out but still alive for now. The blood was starting to soak all her feathers red. Yumi crawled up to Hiroma and draped herself over her, hugging her tightly, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It’s all my fault!” Hiroma weakly wrapped her arms around Yumi, “You’re always so quick to blame yourself.” “Hiroma…” Yumi cried. “You know, I used to hate you so much.” Hiroma murmured, “I was so jealous… I hated everyone for giving you special treatment. I’m the one who should apologize. I hated my whole family because of that. I was immature and irresponsible. I’m so sorry, sis. I love you. I wouldn’t trade you for the whole world. Her breathing suddenly sharpened, more blood welling up in her wound. She winced and then looked calm again, “I’m so glad I got to see you one last time to tell you that.” “No, no, no…” Yumi shook her head, shakily taking her amulet and placing it on Hiroma’s chest, “T-This’ll keep you safe! Don’t die! Don’t leave me!” “Ha… I don’t think that amulet is going to do any good, sis.” Hiroma weakly pushed it back, “Take it… Daddy gave it to you for a reason. And take this too. It’s yours now.” She reached over and picked up her sword, slowly sheathing it and giving it to Yumi. Yumi wiped her eyes, taking the weapon and clutching it tightly in her arms, “D-Don’t. I’m not ready. I’m not strong like you are.” “Yes you are.” Hiroma smiled, “In your own way. You’re a Redfeather. Strength is in your blood. It’s your turn to carry the family sword now. Your family’s proud of you. I’m proud of you.” “They’re proud of you too.” Yumi replied, sniffling, “I love you, sis.” Hiroma hugged her again, “I love you too. And I’m sorry. I love you…” Her embrace slowly weakened, Yumi shakily letting go and laying her back down. She was gone. Yumi clutched the sword tightly, looking down at it. It was hers now. --- Yumi propped herself up with the sword, limping her way through the woods. It was deathly quiet, the lifeless bodies of Kyrie and Marro littering the ground. She had only taken the time to bury her sister. The last of the fires fizzled out as the sun started to rise, and orange glow illuminating the woods. Yumi walked alone. She made her way back to the remnants of her old village. It was still destroyed, all the buildings blasted apart and singed. It was quiet here too. Yumi walked to the center of town, looking around and just listening to the sound of the wind blowing. Purposeless. It wasn’t completely quiet. Yumi could faintly hear the sound of someone crying in the distance. Curious, she followed the noise. It was coming from her house, or what was left of it. Walking through where the door used to be, Yumi glanced around the wreckage. The crying was gone now, replaced by hushed sniffling. “Who’s there?” Yumi followed the sound, walking over to where the stairs once were. Reaching out and removing some of the collapsed floor, she found a small Kyrie child hiding amidst the wreckage. Yumi looked down at him with curiosity and concern, “What are you doing hiding here?” The kid sniffled again, “Everything’s gone. I didn’t know where to go. I-I thought you were a Marro.” Yumi glanced around the empty, ruined town, “Are you alone?” “Yes…” The child stared at the ground. Yumi was quiet for a moment, then smiled softly, “Well, not anymore, you’re not. C’mere.” With some effort she slung the sword over her back and picked the child up. It put a great amount of pressure on her leg but she pushed past it, not letting any pain show on her face. She turned and walked out, stopping and picking up a half-burnt old doll off the floor and giving it to the child. “Everything’s going to be okay.” She said, “I’ll protect you. I promise.” -The End- Note that executive results are not counted in an author's competitive rating. Executive results occur when the judge is delinquent and executive action is required to move the contest forwards. Last edited by TGRF; September 28th, 2017 at 01:15 PM. Reason: Start at page 265, post #3180 |
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