Index: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Olden Doom
“Then it is true! That presence I felt earlier, ‘twas a filthy Terr’aan warlock and his footling.” – Raved the sorceress, one hand still wrapped around her battle stave.
The Lothorian woman was haggard and not for want of food or lack of medical care. This crone’s fancy robes and soft, comfortable shoes, even the layers of alien makeup could not hide her inner vileness. Crooked nose and sunken eyes, her irises glittered with ill-concealed hate. Her wrinkle-scoured face had never seen an honest smile, only the manic grins of the sadist. Bawmordah was, in all her glowing power, a monster.
A beast, not that different than the one which she, despite her claims of wielding overpowering magicks, could not detect the presence of.
“Mistress, after besting the fool and his leht in that miserable excuse of a village, we followed your orders to the letter. Though, as you could clearly see yourself, our numbers are too thin to successfully surround this pitiful assortment of shit-covered hovels. We could’ve set everything on fire, though... ” – Boomed an answer with his angry voice her brutish-looking companion.
Shoulders broad and stature tall, this otherwise stalwart-looking leht emitted an aura of dread. One, which, those who’d lay eyes upon his thick, reinforced with space-age alloys suit of armor would most definitely feel, right before his powerful zhatarn dismembers them. The full helm kept his terrifying face hidden; those who’d seen it and lived were few, his powerful mistress among them.
Rumors, hushed between temple leht, alluded of Mogran’s epic clash with some unknown, alien warrior. It was said that this man nearly bested the dreaded leht, leaving his visage disfigured and ego, mauled. The latter their muscular commander had in spades, and after the fall of Rot’s holy order, he made sure to recover by murdering an ever-increasing number of people.
The fact that those were vastly inferior to him fighters and, in most cases, unarmed, made no difference to Mogran.
“Attaining that ancient artifact for the glory of our Lord was infinitely more important than disposing of these useless weaklings. However,” – the crone stomped her gnarled staff, a nasty grin forming on her wrinkled mug – “even if I agree with your proposition now, we couldn’t have known that they would follow us here.”
“The trooper spotted them from afar with his magnification device, Mistress. He immediately reported it and attempted to follow, but the two heretics vanished even from his tech-enhanced sight!” – Continued the leht, noticing the sorceress’s ever increasing ire.
“That means they are already inside! If that wannabe conjurer gets his grubby little hands on my artifact, who knows what trouble might visit us.” – Bawmordah’s screeching became ever so annoying to behold; notes of worry slowly seeping into her voice.
Ever so terrified of their mistress, the leht needed not more, but less headache.
“Our narco allies report that their comms system achieved temporary connection. They say one of their star chariots shall come with haste; pick us up or provide armed assistance, shall my Mistress wishes it.” – Quickly bellowed Mogran, and this time his words carried barely concealed satisfaction.
Five of the ten remaining Narco soldiers stood guard nearby, beam guns ready to fire, had the hated Terr’aans dare rear their ugly heads.
“Finally some good news, Mogran! That General Nedal, did our allies confirm he has possession of the Crystal?”
“The link was interrupted before they could ask, my Mistress. Since our own safety and eventual extraction was of the highest priority, the soldier called for aid, as he should.”
Bawmordah’s eye twitched; her haggard face dead and feelings once more impossible for mere leht to discern.
“Nevermind... we shall soon discover what he has or has not! Mogran, order all leht back here, the filthy peons will meet their deserving doom, later. I shall focus my magicks and tore open a path inside the Vault... soon.”
The leht commander bowed and turned around, ordering his narco troops to use their comms. Each was linked to another trooper, who was attached to a group of leht. The temple warriors would now run back here with their best speed since the heretical Terr’aan and his thrall could attack any moment.
Whatever magicks could Bawmordah weave and tactics Mogran plot, they had no rule over time or, by that matter, fate.
No sooner had the crone launched her attack against the Vault’s immaterial walls, and the sickly earth beneath their feet shook. Instead of splitting open and allowing Bawmordah and her leht passage, said walls emanated scintillation beyond the hag’s wildest imaginings. Immediately, she summoned a sphere of darkness to shield herself and her underlings. Not out of love for them or some noble notion she did that. Expendable, the lehts’ lives could be thrown away and exchanged for her own, wrinkled skin.
The hallowed light vanished and her eye noticed twelve figures.
Standing before Bawmordah and Mogran were the mummified, armor-clad guardians of this mysterious Terr’aan Vault. These large humans were shrouded not only in magnificent to behold, golden armor, but an aura of shining white flame.
Six of them held broad shields up; their ancient and yet, untouched by the passage of time khopesh swords raised high, ready to strike. Four had already notched arrows on their magnificent, made from enchanted wood and metal Egyptian recurve bows. The last two guardians wielded long spears with wide and heavy blades, forged from gold-like alloy.
“Hath thee win and slay us, our souls shalt ascend. Thine are lost, for thou hast committed sins against Life Eternal, unforgivable.” – The glowing warriors’ roaring words were charged with most powerful, undeniable truths.
Bawmordah and Mogran had their five, armed with beam guns troopers, and ten leht, who stood ready to do battle. The elite temple Lehta, mainly the fourteen crossbowmen and the other five narco soldiers could arrive any time. Now, leht arms blessed by Holy Rot and guided by Temple training, were to face Terr’aan warriors of old. Those who served some demented Earth entity, should not be able to withstand Bawmordah’s magicks, and her bodyguard’s mighty blade.
In case they faltered, the crone gave Mogran a sign; do not charge in the thickest of battle, let thine minions suffer instead...
* * *
Inside the Vault, a much more vicious and, brutal battle ensued.
Charged as boldly as they did, the Terran and his Lothorian brother in arms, were aiming to achieve more goals than just battling the Daemon. Not only did they engage the monstrum in combat, the two positioned themselves within reach of the Book Of Herons. Had the thing had any hopes of simply snatching the hallowed artifact with its filthy claws, the Daemon had another thing coming.
At first, the leht was successful at blocking their enemy and even glanced off a few vicious swipes with his shield. Varen’s primary goal was to keep the monstrum occupied, shove the Wraithbane as close to his gob as possible. Thought the two, via their mind link, that the olden Bulgarian blade might seep off some of the Daemon’s strength, and restrict its movements.
Thought they were correct, it wasn’t to the extent that they had hoped.
While Varen was taking hit after hit, anticipating the monstrum’s movement with his strained to the maximum body, the Egyptian-made shield did its duty. It was, in fact, capable of glancing off brutal and swift attacks; neither the Daemon’s otherworldly magicks or claws capable of outright piercing it. Yes, the shield bent and buckled in few places, yet that crafty bulwark remained steadfast.
Kanefer had already summoned much of his telepathic might, just in order to protect both of them from the monstrum’s powers.
Out of his eyes, the priest unleashed a blazing hot ball of lightning. This sphere arced around Varen, and even though the Daemon attempted to evade it, he was hit. Hurt, the beast roared, yet it was too early for cheer. The gory wound upon his chest regenerated, its edges emanating blackish, eerie glow. Again, the monstrum attempted to seep their strength away, just as it did before.
Something had to be done, and Varen, remembering the strange sword melody they heard earlier, clanged Wraithbane upon his shield. It took him twice to fully replicate that hammering sound. The beast writhed in pain after each clang, red smoke puffed from what appeared to be his eyes and ears. The unnaturally thick blackish fog, which once more appeared from the beast’s maw, vanished. It was as if, an invisible broom swiped it away and to the last speck, nonetheless.
Floating even closer to the podium, Kanefer aimed his golden dagger at the beast. Unspoken words prepared brave Varen for what the priest was about to attempt, and he charged the beast once more. Blade finally biting daemon flesh, not blood, but red dust fell on the ancient floor. Screeching, the phasing monstrum was there and yet, no longer occupied the same space.
Instead, a literal wall of bony spikes was erect from the nothing, aimed at the Lothorian!
Clutching his djed amulet, the Egyptian thought a warning, before he himself was assailed. The beast appeared behind him, both clawed limbs swiping and with brutish, vicious strength. For a moment, one long, stretched out star-second, it appeared that Varen’s armored chest was soon to be impaled through and through. That Kanefer would end up dead on the Hall’s floor sliced in gory chunks, his blood splattered all over the pedestal.
Yet, the Daemon did his math... wrong.
Varen engaged in an elaborate parry; a flurry of sword strikes and shield bashes.
When Wraithbane’s blade hit any of the bone spikes, they did not snap, but immediately turned into red dust. The small forest of pseudo spears aimed at the Lothorian were unable to breach his guard. Only a few spikes actually went past his bulwark and blade; though, the Daemon’s hopes that these would pierce the leht’s armor were barren. Scratches and clanks echoed across the Hall, yet not a single drop of noble Lothorian blood graced the floor.
The monstrum’s attack wouldn’t reach Kanefer either.
With a sudden move, more akin to the stance of a trained warrior and not some recluse priest, the Egyptian swirled his golden dagger and attacked. Erupting from his djed, one thick wall of lightning surrounded the man. Even though the Daemon’s segmented limbs moved unnaturally swift, and dodged most of these bolts, many struck him. Under such blinding light, the beast’s alien eyes blinked for just a second, long enough for Kanefer’s hits to connect.
Empowered with more lightning, the blade of his telepathic artifact found the Daemon’s belly, and more than once. These wounds, however shallow they appeared, brought the beast much suffering and, in stark difference with his regenerating lightning burns, did not heal. Kanefer, after doing what he’d planned, gracefully floated under the Daemon’s follow up, angry swipes.
The forest of bony spikes all over the monstrum’s body emerged anew.
Leaping away, the beast lunged once more, but this time at Varen’s back. So blinding fast and full of roaring anger was this dash, that the leht barely had any second to raise his shield. Kanefer’s voice echoed in his head, yet it was far too late – a bony spike emerged from the nothingness behind his friend. This time, it lodged itself between the plates made from star chariot armor, and piercing the masterfully crafted mail, stabbed his shoulder.
Incapable of holding his shield high, the man was only able to parry one of the Daemon’s attacks. The other clawed his chest, yet, armor plates and mail repelled the blow, saved the leht’s life. His entire body shook from the pain and even though he did not scream, Varen’s shield arm was numb. He was forced to drop the bulwark, pull the spike and, unable to move that hand well, his trusty shield hindered him now.
The Daemon aimed his head at Varen, and screeched. It was a most vile, red spittle, which stank of many deaths, oozing through the beast’s teeth. The leht readied to leap away and almost successfully did so, yet the noxious goo split mid air. Not only was his boot partially covered and stuck to the floor, but Kanefer nearly hit by the spittle.
In this case, the otherwise powerful lightning shield which surrounded the priest proved to be a hindrance. Colliding with one of the electric bolts, the ooze... detonated. Surprised, the Egyptian was wounded and pushed by the explosion, his body slammed into the pedestal. The beast’s low, painful growls, turned into loud, malevolent laughter. It did not gloat, that Daemon, no more prideful words left its maw.
Ichorous blood seeped on the ancient floor from his stabbed belly, and many of the wounds inflicted by lighting had only partially healed. Part of his bodily fluids transformed into red dust, yet some burned upon touching the hallowed floors of this Hall. It would seem that the monstrum grew weak, suffered anguish unimagined and by the hands of mere mortals. Ones, whom he’d mocked so happily, mere minute earlier.
In a battle between warriors of great power, it took but a few ill-thought moves to lose, or one careful strike to win.
Kanefer thought his predicament to Varen and both steeled themselves. The Lothorian wriggled his foot, shifted his weight and held Wraithbane with two hands. Nevermind the fact that he could not move and his wound bled profusely, the leht could still make use of his hand.
The priest was not stunned by the explosion, though he’d temporarily lost his sight. Summoning his last reserves of telepathic might and after yet another feat of concentration, the Egyptian lowered the mind shield, leaving both of them naked before the beast’s rage. Just before they got hit by another torrent of anger, they could clearly feel the Daemon’s surprise.
Writhing in pain, Terran and Lothorian grit their teeth, but did not relent no matter their wounds. Blood seeped on the polished, cracked floor; one dark red and the other, blue. In all of its malevolent might, the creature who now aimed to devour their very essence, this Daemon assumed victory was his.
Blind and his lightning shield losing power, Kanefer could not rely on the immobilized Lothorian to come to his aid. The beast overcame its own pain and charged the priest, clawed hands ready to tear the man in two. Leap the Daemon did, a gory trail behind him, yet he could not finish his victorious attack. Holding Wraithbane with both hands, Varen slammed the flat part of its blade upon his covered with star chariot armor, chest.
Thunderous clang echoed across the Hall.
The Daemon fell mid jump, his maw bellowed another vile screech, spittle gathering upon his tongue once again.
Kanefer held the golden dagger leveled before his eyes and they, unseeing or not, shone with white hot light. Another thunderous clang made the beast squirm in agony.
What the Egyptian focused through his dagger was a mighty stream of lighting. Coinciding with the third sword clang, it stormed forth and blasted the Daemon straight into his chest. The otherworldly creature received a terrible wound, but was able to spit once more. Significantly smaller, the blob exploded mid air, before reaching Kanefer, yet that was enough to knock him unconscious.
Blasted by the lightning stream, the Daemon staggered straight into the leht’s reach. To achieve what he should, the Lothorian twisted his ankle, but managed a swing. Ten inches of Wraithbane’s blade, its tip perforated the beast’s skull. Hungrily, the sword contorted and pulled itself from Varen’s grip, delving ever deeper into the creature.
There was no more screeching, no waves of brutish rage smashing at the two wounded men. Silence conquered the Hall when their otherworldly enemy fell apart. His brittle bones clattered on the floor, blackened, covered in sharp spikes flesh turned into red dust. Soon, the skeleton, bone after bone, snapped and joined the red pile. Wraithbane fell upon it and, whispering another melody in their heads, the olden blade consumed whatever remained.
Their breaths raspy and bodies tired from blood loss, the men had nevertheless succeeded. They’ve upheld their vows, their hearts measured up to that monstrous challenge, they could now call themselves Herons. Most importantly, they were alive, and had some supplies left, which ensured their survival.
Kanefer was awakened by his friend, who removed his boot and crawled across the floor. Varen speedily searched the priest’s medical bag, and only the second medispray he produced from it, the Lothorian used on himself.
“What... cough... what are we going to do about our... cough... enemies outside?” – With pain in his voice asked Varen, fighting with the effects of quick healing.
“I trust the Guardians made quick work of them.” – Mumbled the tired priest, closed his right eye and tied a bandage over it, before he followed up:
“If not, then we shall do our duty!”
The Lothorian helped him up, left Kanefer leaned up against the pedestal, while he limped back to collect his boot. Unpleasant as it was, the stagger that he felt would not hinder him that much, and Varen sheathed the Wraithbane. His shoulder hurt like a stab from epes horns, but he defeated his pain and lifted the bulwark as high as he could. He felt nauseous, and some of that numbness still lingered.
“I am a free Lothorian and a leht of yore. I must fulfill my duty, and execute the oppressors of my people! They shall not draw a single breath more, sully the air of this land.”
“Well said, my friend.” – Said the priest and reached for the still closed shut box laying upon the pedestal.
“Now, let us reclaim the Book Of Herons for your kin. Reach for and pick it up, leht of old...”
Will the two be able to defeat Bawmordah and Mogran? Were the Guardians able to survive? Whose reinforcements would arrive first – the Narcos or the brave samurai of clan Shimazu? This and more, in the next exciting episode titled ’Destroy and Liberate’!
***
You can find this and many more stories in my 2nd Anthology collection, The Blood Of Tyrants.