Index: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Destroy and Liberate
The battle was joined and not by mere soldiers of flesh and blood.
Flying above their heads, roared the plasma-bellowing engines of one Cartel troop transport. The starship, armed not only with simple point defense turrets, fired its everything at the ground. Armored casemates fitted with heavy missile launchers, turrets sporting anti-ship beam guns, and even the vessel’s single torpedo tube, bellowed a hail of fire and death.
Their targets were not of the living, but ancient, mummified Terran warriors. Those who offered their very lives and pledged their souls to a cause eternal, they were showered by a relentless, withering barrage.
Until now, the holy guardians have been holding their own against Bawmordah’s magicks, Mogran’s cautious attacks, while at the same time carving a bloody path through their lehta. Even with the aid of their armed with space age weaponry narco soldiers, these otherwise fearsome underlings, failed. Only a handful of leht and two cartel enforcers were still alive and breathing, only mere seconds from breaking a running away, surrounded by the gored cadavers of their comrades.
Indeed, what was left of Mogran’s elite Temple lehta arrived on time, the other five narco soldiers at their heels.
With fanatical zeal, the chosen and blessed by Rot, they charged forth, yet not to glory, but death. Cleaved their enhanced with space-age alloy armor was, easily pierced by ancient Egyptian armaments. Cut, stabbed, and bashed by shields, the otherwise proud and believing themselves to be the superior warriors, fell. In but counted star-minutes, the mummified, armor-clad Guardians prevailed.
Arrows rained down upon particle-beam armed narcos.
Instead of easily besting ancient and otherwise thin-looking armor, their beams bounced off. Repelled by some otherworldly force, a slick Terr’aan devilry, these cartel enforcers fell one after another, their bodies impaled by long arrows. Not the engines, which they immediately and skillfully used to dodge, nor their creative employment of grapplers saved them from the blood-seeking arrowheads.
Indeed, their beams did a lot of damage, though these disgusting order-followers were no longer breathing, not alive to see.
Combined efforts of leht and narcos, with some fiery assistance provided by Bawmordah, resulted in the doom of five Guardians. Though, as previously avowed, these stalwart warriors of old fell and singing hymns, praising their second deaths. Not a shred of fear or hesitation shown, their brothers in arms kept fighting, unrelenting. Mogran, previously advised by his mistress, did not overextend himself and used the bodies of their underlings as shields.
True to their miserable, vile nature, both he and Bawmordah survived the Guardians’ noble onslaught. Long enough, for the Narco starship to arrive and deliver death from the sky, ultimately dispatching the holy Terr’aan warriors. Out of the belly of this star chariot and down to the shaking, twisting in protest earth, descended an entire company. Before their space boots touched the ground, they’ve established a perimeter around the two VIPs, heavy particle-beam guns ready to fire.
Their commander, a low level exec wearing the colors of the Star Diamond cartel, aimed his scanner at the two Lothorians.
“Identity confirmed.” – Said the soldier and made a sign pointing at the low-flying transport ship – “This area is unstable, therefore I would advise your immediate extraction.”
Bawmordah’s eye twitched; her face was no longer a emotionless mask, but instead a picture of rage.
“There is one important artifact contained within the space inside space,” – screeched she, her stave aimed at the shaking construction underneath – “over there!”
Faceplate made transparent, the stupefied alien trooper glared at her. He graced Mogran with the same look, before shrugging in his suit, hand scanner pointed at the rapidly collapsing around them hill.
“None of our orbital scans indicated anything of the sort. There isn’t even a hyperspace anomaly in this part of the planetoid, if your ‘inside space’ is another term for this. We have precious little time until everything collapses around and, perhaps even burying us alive! Cartel regulations dictate an immediate Exfil, one of the speedy kind.” – Slight annoyance felt in his voice, argued the military professional.
“We don’t care! Only furthering the power of our Lord matters now.” – Bellowed Mogran, and after eliciting another, this time laden with disbelief look from the cartel officer, continued:
“Stabilize it, do something with the star chariot’s machines! I am told one as big as this can project its walking aura and focus it upon a specific area.”
“You are actually serious...” – With grave tone stated the obvious their reinforcement, before tapping his helm once, fingers forming some combat sign.
His troopers fanned out; split into three different fire teams and after reporting taking cover, he ordered in his comms:
“Bridge, you are to fly lower, bypass the recommended safety parameters. Modify lower deck floor-plating to project a focused gravity field centered upon this area.”
The response in his comms was so fiery, that both Bawmordah and Mogran heard it. Unfortunately, said words were spoken is special lingo, none of them could translate.
“There is no problem, I hope?” – Hissed with her gravelly voice the crone, both hands wrapped around her gnarled stave.
“We are going against our orders, ally. You were to be evacuated with haste and, delivered to the closest Coalition base of operations. A delay means that Lord General Nedal will be unhappy which translates to no monetary bonuses for me and my troops.”
Mogran, even in his calmest of moods the leht commander was not known for his mercy. However, at a mere glance from his mistress, the brute calmly addressed their narco ally, a small box in hand.
“Open it.” – The warrior ordered, when this one stashed his hand scanner.
Within the elaborately inlaid with gold and silver platinum box, their ally found more than a few handfuls of precious stones. He placed the small treasure in his combat backpack, and, face plastered with a huge smirk, spat something on the comm link. Immediately, the vessel flew lower and to the side of them, a projected field stabilizing the ground beneath their feet.
“Now I can focus my magicks! Get ready to face a duo of filthy Terr’aans, had they not succumbed to whatever traps lurk inside that Vault. The artifact is not to be harmed under pain of death!” – Murmured the angry crone, while waiving her stave in the air.
“Squad three, assume assault formation and equip your stun guns!” – Bellowed with audible enthusiasm the cartel officer.
Under his direction, one of the groups abandoned their cover, lethal weapons holstered or shouldered. They hastily fitted themselves with various in size and debilitating in function armaments. Raging from simple stun pistols, carbines, heavy rifles, sonic guns, and cracking with voltage long batons. That the narcos came prepared also to subdue did not escape Mogran’s eye and he threw a questioning look at the officer.
“Coalition battle directives are pretty flexible, ally. Back in the day, when I received my officer commission, not one of our execs would even think of deploying specialist capture squads as part of a combat unit.”
The two observed how Bawmordah performed something much akin to a madwoman’s dance. To the alien trooper and his soldiers that is exactly what her sorcery looked like. It did not take the crone long, perhaps a minute, to focus her powers and project them once more at the Vault’s defenses. Hopping around her standing erect stave, waving her crooked fingers in the air, snorting and wallowing, the dance ended with a nasty spittle. Cackling, the wrinkled hag again held her staff, its head smeared with saliva.
Transformed into a cloud of violet miasma, her second spit slammed into something invisible, yet the effect was easily observable with the naked eye. A tear in something was open, the insides of a marvelous hall clearly seen through the wavering energies. Yet, no matter the ground around them was stabilized and a portal was forged, something did not feel quite right.
For the common troopers, there was no choice but to walk forward.
They have been folded through hyperspace many a time on the battlefield. Modern galactic denizens did not consider flying through a wormhole for example, to be some sort of a novel or mind-shattering experience. Their starships performed such feats daily, therefore, the squad charged through.
A cracking, bellowing sound followed and what was left of these troopers, mangled weapons and armor included, spewed out from the portal!
Two men, one of whom an obvious Terr’aan warlock, emerged from said fold. The warrior appeared heavily wounded, his blood-soaked armor damaged, torn in many places. He held his shield up, yet it was evident that whatever strength carried him, ‘twas at an end. The crone and her bodyguard noticed a moderately sized book made of strange, white metal, tied with a rope around that leht’s waist.
This was the artifact, that what they longed so much to conquer for their Lord!
His Terr’aan companion carried a shortish railgun rifle, though from the looks of him, he too had a near-death experience. The belt around his waist was nigh void of spare gear, all of the power pack holding boxes rattled empty. Even the otherwise powerful glow of star fire in his eye waned with every passing second.
“Kill the Terr’aans this instant!” – shouted an order the narco officer, yet he was immediately countermanded by the crone:
“Do not dare harm the book or I will do to you such things, that not even your closest friends will recognize your body!”
Not holding back, the Terr’aan and his footling ignored their wounds and attacked. With what was now well known barbarity, an affliction which infected everyone “liberated” by the Humans and their war beast slaves, the two fought. It was as if they’ve suffered nothing to obtain the prized book; that their flesh felt no tire, and their bones withered not.
“I will subdue this Terr’aan footpad and recover the book!” – Roared Mogran, as he himself charged forth, zhatarn raised high.
“The pitiful wretch of a warlock is mine!” – Screeched and cackled the crone, yet moved not from her spot.
“Surround and press them from the flanks, troopers! No beam guns; be careful not to hit that book.” – Bellowed a new set of orders the cartel officer to what was left of his second squad.
“The rest of you, fan out and keep our perimeter safe.” – He added, before prudently stepping as far away from the crone as he could.
They were under orders to evacuate her and her bodyguard, but even the Lord General wouldn’t mind if these two ended themselves. See, the Coalition troops had their own goals and this officer received secret orders, just in case something like this occurred. Protected by a psychic nullifier, these special directives were well-hidden in his mind. While he calculated his allies’ odds, the officer noticed that everything around him had settled.
Quickly, he gave another order to his low-hovering starship... one which he kept secret.
Meanwhile, the two Lothorian warriors clashed and a brutal, yet nigh predestined battle ensued. Mogran was fresh, unharmed, and his armor sturdy. Fighting his wounded opponent was to be a short and, bloody affair, the heretic’s doom sealed before they crossed blades. Though tired and bloodied, the young leht was determined to slay the monster standing before him.
“Mogran, you will not live to spread your poisonous evil across the stars!”
The temple leht, who once walked around with a living shield made of pregnant women, he laughed:
“The time of your bootlicking is at an end, Terr’aan underling.”
With a confident swing, the temple warrior attacked again, aiming for his enemy’s shield. The strategy which those leht trained to use long zhatarn employed, was to hook and pull their opponent’s bulwark. Of course, after this they’d immediately push even harder, relying on their more powerful sword to overcome defenses, armor, and finally kill the heretic.
Which would’ve happened, had Mogran stood against a simpler, less trained and mentally conditioned leht. Just how it happened during bouts between heavily armed, strong warriors, it took only one mistake to seal one’s doom. In this case, the temple leht’s powerful blow not only hit the shield and hooked it, but staggered the man who held it. Pulling with all his might, Mogran achieved two things. One, his enemy no longer had a bulwark to protect himself with.
The second...
Well, the overzealous temple leht discovered that in those few moments he was pulling the shield, he opened himself. Torso twisted to the side, so he was harder to hit, nevertheless Mogran’s zhatarn holding hands, head, and neck were exposed.
With a quick step and even faster jab, Varen’s sword pierced the temple warrior. Stabbed in the throat, the brutish man attempted to swing again, this time hit his enemy’s head. That did not work since the young leht stabbed again... and again. Quite a sticky proper end for someone as vile as Mogran; the temple warrior soon fell, gargling, choking on his own blue blood.
While Varen attempted to recover his balance and pick up the shield, Kanefer and Bawmordah exchanged magicks.
She did try to do something, attempted to steal his breath with her best power. The Egyptian, who already suffered much during his fight with the Daemon, he almost fell. Though, no matter the damage, this man denied losing against someone like her. With an unexpected move, he emptied the entire power pack of his railgun, aimed at the crone. True, her defenses prevented him from ending the battle, but it purchased him a few seconds of time.
Moments, which the priest of Ptah used to shake off her enchantment, then project his last speck of power at her. Hand holding his djed amulet, he hurled numerous bolts of pure, psychic energy at the crone. She, on the other hand, stomped with her stave and screeched defiantly, gnarled fingers reaching for his chest. Again, the hag attempted to kill him, this time by boiling his blood; though to successfully defend from his attack and pull of her own, she could not.
Out of five psychic bolts, Bawmordah managed to stop four.
The fifth caused her stave to splinter and then she simply vanished! There was no cry leaving her blood-soaked lips, nor a hate-filled words promising the Egyptian’s inevitable doom. No, only a small pile of dust remained where the crone stood and it, along her beautiful robes, was blown away by a sudden gust of wind.
“Activate the gravity field, now!” – Shouted in his comms the narco officer, seeing the two VIPs fall before him, counted moments after they’ve so confidently engaged in battle.
He was not taking any chances!
The two companions suddenly fell on the ground, pushed by an intense and focused field of heavy gravity. Writhing with pain, Terr’aan and Lothorian nevertheless attempted to fight, even rose to their knees. Though, after suffering much pain, they’ve been drained of their stamina, not to mention life blood. Such was the force of this field, because the starship which projected it flew so low, that some of their bones snapped. Blood vessels ripped open, more of their noble blood seeped into the sickly earth.
Approaching them from all sides, those soldiers who were still left alive from the second squad, prepared to take the two captive. They’d lob a few stun grenades and then, shackle warrior and priest, by use of metal chains. For them to do that, however, their starship had to deactivate its already tasked above safety parameters grav-plating. The vessel itself was overheating, and her captain forced to turn off many other systems.
One such system, which the Narcos deemed unnecessary right now, was their shield generator.
Five missiles, their plasma trails shining bright in the air, streaked towards the small starship. Hitting it and piercing her hull without much resistance, their warheads detonated. Blown from the inside out, the starship careened to one side and, shrouded in multi-colored flames, crashed behind the hill. The narcos attempted to react, the third squad still in cover the rest of their comrades opened fire at someone. Though, after this initial volley of particle-beams, they were charged with most brutal efficiency by armor-clad Samurai and their soldiers.
Overwhelmed by the Vault’s energy barriers, the Narcos were unable to focus their scanning equipment properly. Apt in deception and excellent Ops specialists, the Shimazu made themselves invisible to enemy scanners, long enough so they could come close. With excellent aim, their accurate railgun rifles fell most of the Narco enforcers. The long vibro bayonets and the katana of their officer ended those who were left, stabbed or cut them down to pieces.
Now under the care of their allies, the two companions exchanged tired looks.
“Commander, did you find that widow?” – Varen addressed the Shimazu officer.
“Yes she pointed us here, to this village. We also discovered a tiny group of refugees, led by one man who claimed you tasked him with getting them out.” – Answered the samurai after sheathing his sword, a blade which ended the cunning narco officer.
“Excellent! Then our quest is successful, my Lothorian friend.” – Smiling, stated Kanefer, somehow managing the regeneration pains from the medigel he was injected with.
“I look for studying the Book Of Herons, together with you, oh humble priest of Ptah!” – Said Varen with a painful smirk of his own, while the medic treated his wounds.
“What do you... cough... think we will read inside?”
The Egyptian looked at him, then the book, and stated:
“We will learn great many truths, though I assume that among these wise lessons, there’ll be one I already know well.”
“Which one would that be, Prince Kanefer?” – Asked the samurai, who apparently knew more about Varen’s companion that the leht was told.
The Lothorian’s face was plastered with extreme surprise, though his Terr’aan friend simply shrugged:
“We, Egyptians know that the most important thing is what life-saving deeds you accomplish during your life. Who is a noble or a prince, this only matters if one makes something good out of it.”
The priest again winced from the pain, but smirked and stated:
“That lesson, I learned it long ago. Just like all Herons before us, we are to train ourselves how to protect those, whom we love...”
***
You can find this and many more stories in my 2nd Anthology collection, The Blood Of Tyrants.