Velin The Lothorian

Book 1, The Rifle's Song

Index:

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

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Chapter 10

The Rifle’s Song

Before dawn broke, a stealthy band of fleet of foot characters descended upon one large encampment.

This perimeter was not supposed to be breached, nor for that matter, the camp even approached by the likes of them. The Emperors would otherwise easily catch sight of any intruder and with their many grav-vehicles, quickly overwhelm them. Then the unfortunate survivors would join all those who now lingered in shackles, chained to the walls of ruined buildings, or slept in cages like stock beasts.

All who foolishly ventured in these parts were captured by the road bandits and sold into bondage.

Yet, this night, the sprawling, dotted with guard towers camp was nigh void of raiders. Only a mere handful of them remained and most were techs, scavengers who fixed damaged vehicles or modified them. Others, those who had been wounded during one or another raid, also populated the tents; a few of their medically inclined comrades tending to their wounds.

Guards were left to protect the great hoard which the Emperors had amassed. Piles of crates, all of them overflowing with riches and covered by thick tarps to save them from the elements, towered at the center of their camp. Crystal credit chits, cultural artifacts shaped from precious metals and rare stone, intricate holo-art, exquisite clothing from many alien worlds; everything was cataloged and awaited its buyer.

Patrolling the camp were more that a few dozen older raiders. Veterans, whose knowledge now far outweighed their value in battle. To compensate for their low numbers, the Overlord activated one company of olden combat drones. Indeed, these metallic humanoids were a thing of the past, and rarely if ever deployed on any modern galactic battlefield, yet quite suitable for a task like this.

The master of this place left specific instructions – his and his underlings’ hoard was to be guarded at all times. The slaves, although numbering a few hundred strong, weren’t as valuable as the piles of treasure-filled crates. While the former carried a probable future profit, the latter’s value was already set in data-crystal.

As a consequence, very few raiders were left guarding the slave pens. Built at the furthermost northern part of the camp, these “housed” close to four hundred freshly captured sentients, most of whom Avern’a. Chained or caged alongside these unfortunate men and women were a number of outworlders.

Unfortunate to have stumbled into an ambush; these aliens soldiers were captured by the Emperors.

These mercenaries were the advance element of a battalion which was soon-to-be-deployed on the planet. Fifty strong, they were already planning their escape, when a towering figure emerged from the darkish shadows.

With snake-like agility, the mountain of a man preyed upon their guards. One he butchered with his long and brutishly-efficient bayonet. He snapped the second raider’s back and then quietly disposed of him, tucking the corpse in a nearby ditch.

Effortlessly, the mysterious soldier then pried the lock open with his bare hands, beckoning the mercenaries to follow. Skulking in the quickly dying shadows, the troop found his stealthy allies – a squad-sized force of child soldiers. There, the mercs were given a number of bloodied beam rifles and vibroblades, spare power packs, even meds.

Miraculously, these Avern’a youths and their hulkish leader had infiltrated the camp, murdered many a guard and this without sounding any alarms. ‘Twas as if they could not only see in the dark, but knew exactly where each and everyone of the guards were.

Soon the flabbergasted mercenaries discovered that this wasn’t the full extent of their luck. No, there was a force of heavily armed battle trucks, ready to sweep through this camp and speed them and the rest of the slaves away. They could even join their rescuers and strike the Emperors’ main force – from behind.

Most benevolent the mercenaries’ employers were. They’d spared no expense in training, outfitting, and paying them. These volunteers were sent here to help save as many Avern’a as possible. Join and fight shoulder to shoulder with local resistance forces in a battle against the Jaern. Perhaps even become the core of a mass-uprising, if it was in the cards.

Given a second chance to follow their original intent, the entire troop wholeheartedly joined their rescuers, fingers on the triggers. The giant of a man and his band of stealthy youths did not intend to fight the entire camp. Instead they’d snuck inside; sabotaged equipment, slew only those guards they could without raising an alarm, and then freed slaves.

It was a bold raid; planned, led, and executed by someone learned in the Terr’aan Ways. Instead of outright freeing every single captive, the stealthy attackers picked those who were best capable to fight. Moreover, those battle drones, whose numbers so well complemented the camp’s token defenders, they’d soon switch sides so to speak.

Another attacker joined them; the gorgeous young Avern’a woman guided them deeper into the camp. There was a central command building of sorts; a big tent, where all communication and scanning equipment was housed. Indeed, had the camp been on full alert and the Emperors all here, this small team of assailants would stand little to no chance of even laying their eyes upon it.

At dawn, bolstered by the mercs, the youths fell upon what guards patrolled around this command center. Shooting from their hiding places, the barrages of subsonic needles killed most, if not all of their intended targets. Whoever was left alive, fell under the towering soldier’s bayonet, and the mercenaries’ hissing particle-beams.

While he and most of his team took cover around the command tent, everyone with apt computer skill followed the woman inside. Quickly, as their comrades now exchanged fire with alerted to their presence camp guards, these specialists aided her.

She hacked and then replaced the battle drones’ friend and foe settings, while the mercenaries downloaded every bit of useful information. Then, all computers were sabotaged, leaving the Emperors without any means of long-range communication.

Dawn was upon them.

Grav-engines booming, a force of twelve, heavily-armed trucks descended upon the camp. Plowing through the already compromised defenses, laying an absolute hail of machinegun and beam fire, their crews soon reached the slave pens. Busting out the captives was a quick affair since most of their guards were already, and quite efficiently, disposed of.

Bombs, planted earlier by the young soldiers and their leader, detonated. Vehicles, storage facilities full of ammunition and spare gear all went up in flames. Guard towers toppled, oftentimes burying tents filled with wounded bandits. Special care was taken to destroy all grav-bikes, so no one could possibly send a missive to the Overlord.

Experienced fighters, the veterans left in charge of the camp by their Overlord, failed him. While they were caught up in a pointless fight with reprogrammed battle drones, the entire raiding force, a few hundred freed slaves in tow, vanished into the wasteland.

Eventually, veteran raiders would fell the drones, yet were left without any means to warn their boss of what was to come. Most of them did not even wait to see what would occur, for they had to choose, and choose quickly. Not a star-hour had passed, and they’d all speedily evacuated the premises.

Those vehicles which survived the sabotage were immediately loaded to the brim with treasure, food, and water. Soon the smoldering camp was nigh empty; the otherwise vicious raiders were desperate to leave these lands. The audacious and worst of all, successfully pulled out attack on their main camp fully eroded their trust in the Overlord’s leadership.

A mysterious, little-known Taz’aran weapons merchant, landed there soon after. He was the one, whose extensive military connections allowed the Emperors to be so well outfitted with Taz’aran battle gear. It was under his advice that the Overlord implemented new strategies, adopted brainy tactics, and made important decisions.

The double-dealing merchant and his men were not at the camp during the attack. When they arrived and witnessed it utterly devastated, their master was quick to abandon the Overlord. Even though the Taz’aran was in possession of a starship, he swiftly flew off in space, his cargo hold filled with every bit of gear he could carry.

‘Twas his gear!; he’d be damned if some Terr’aan upstarts looted all of it.

* * *

“Dewy-eyed whelps, abandon your doomed resistance! You are surrounded on all sides by the mighty Emperors. My superior forces outnumber you ten to one!” – Roared the Overlord’s voice, for a moment overpowering even the constant hiss of automatic beam fire.

A staccato of multiple consecutive explosions followed his words. More and heavy weapons fire conquered the air; it came from the southernmost end of the Oasis. Echoes of many desperate cries and pleas for mercy, immediately silenced by beam fire.

“Not so superior now!” – Shouted his response Bloker, after machine-gunning one war car with his heavy weapon.

“These defenses, as strong as they are, they cannot save you forever!” – Bellowed the Overlord and sent another band of his raiders to try and breach the booby trapped ruins.

He then instructed his heavily-armored trucks to attempt another assault on the closest gate. The wall, which he and his underlings assumed to be flimsy at best, and of moderate quality at worst, proved to be a nightmarish obstacle. Charging it on foot cost the Emperors one hundred plus dead during their very fist assault alone.

Only three were his covered with heavy armor breaching machines, and they slowly lumbered forward. Each was fitted with a PPG taken from a Jaern starfighter. From up close, they needed to fire only a few dozen shots to breach the gate, and devastate its guardians. So thick was the armorplating, that these machines were virtually impervious to small arms fire, and the Overlord expected success.

No sooner the “Devastators”, as his underlings labeled them, closed the distance and came into firing range of the gate, they were shot at by hand-held antitank weaponry.

One caught fire, and after being hit by no less than thirty missiles, detonated. The second fared a bit better, but managed to fire only thrice before a hail of heavy particle-beam guns bore through its armor. The last was pummeled by some type of alien heavy mortar, multiple high-explosive warheads splintered its thinly armored top. Its crew turned into mush, the guide-less vehicle stopped dead, mere feet before the gate.

More, in his anger the Overlord pushed the raiders even more!

Rushed to assault across the Oasis’ entire defensive perimeter, in the beginning, the numerous and well-equipped raiders did so in high spirits. They were met not by sporadic, weak small arms weapons fire, but an accurate hail of death. Instead of what they thought to be pistols, carbines, and perhaps the occasional rifle, their enemy was supremely well armed for a mere gaggle of ex-slaves.

Vicious sprays of machine gun fire, automatic beam guns, an avalanche of grenades, and even flamethrowers hit them, inflicting a death toll most devastating. A hundred dead in the very first hour, at first the Emperors angrily doubled down.

Indeed, they outnumbered these wimpy fools at least ten to one. They had top-of-the-line Taz’aran beam weaponry, brand new armored suits, and so many war vehicles it wasn’t even a contest. Yet, it would seem that they’d severely miscalculated not only their enemies’ defenses, but their resolve too.

Possessed by some sort of otherworldly resolution, the guardians of the Oasis fought. They kept firing accurate shots and even employed advanced tactics, something which most raiders had rarely witnessed.

Preying upon barely capable of defending themselves caravans on the open wastelands or dilapidated Avern’a roads was easy. Trying to conquer thick walls, climbing them under blistering and quite accurate beam fire, another thing altogether.

The longer this battle raged, the more raiders realized that they’d win... eventually. However, a huge number of them would die, their mowed by various armaments cadavers rot here and until the end of time. Rest forgotten in the thick carpet of wasteland trash, buried by the debris of their blasted apart war vehicles.

This wasn’t what they signed up for.

At the height of his power, the Overlord couldn’t even imagine any of his underlings deserting him. Even those who otherwise loved him so much and praised his might, even they looked aback, sought a way out. That they did, quietly and in small groups at first – a car here, a bike there. After three hours of bloody fighting, more than one hundred of his less reliable men were nowhere to be seen.

Fully engaged in battle himself, the Overlord noticed this egregious sin of his followers way too late. He and his handpicked warriors had already charged the damaged gate, aboard the most powerful war truck. They only had to finish what the “Devastators” had began and blast straight trough.

Once the hundreds of raiders poured inside, speeding on their war vehicles, the Oasis’ defenders were doomed.

Indeed, hundreds of his raiders followed him in this final assault, yet no sooner had the breach been achieved, his machine was hit... from behind!

Grav-engine heatsinks red hot, twelve war trucks plowed straight into the Emperors’ rear. Indeed, the raiders were hundreds and with their vehicles so well-armed, in theory they should be able to deflect even that attack. To the Overlord’s dismay, however, from the trucks’ cargo holds spilt off hundreds of armed people.

His augmented faceplate did not lie – this was his property, his slaves!

Confused and enraged beyond measure, the Overlord called forth every single raider of his, ordering them to surround this force and annihilate it without mercy. That meant breaking the siege altogether, yet his survival and the existence of his gang meant more than some mere setback.

With a thunderous clang, something landed atop one of his ruined Devastators. It was a mech and not just any other machine, but olden Avern’a tactical armor! Armed with a two-handed axe, the mecha began cleaving one war car after another. Armorplating quickly being riddled with particle-beam hits and anti-tank rockers, the mech nevertheless kept fighting.

Its fists and legs able to crush grav-bikes with ease, the machine’s frame ate torrents of enemy beams, which gave the Oasis’s guardians a much needed respite. Time to mend the worst of their wounds, reload their weapons and reform their ranks.

Then, led by their Taksian commander, those who embraced death instead of bondage, poured out from the gate, guns blazing.

When only a fraction of the otherwise numerous beyond measure Emperors answered his call, the gang boss discovered what had happened. He was being abandoned! The rage slowly turned into fear, when he, for the first time in many years, realized that this battle could be his last.

Nevertheless, the Overlord was still alive, his chosen guards fresh, and with hundreds of loyal raiders surrounding him, the boss faced his would-be vanquishers weapons in hand.

* * *

The vicious battle had been raging for a few long and bloody hours, before Sam’s truckers finally arrived. Deploying their armed and ready to fight cargo of hundreds strong ex-slaves, the overheating grav-trucks were forced to stop. Transformed into immobile, thickly armored and heavily-armed bunkers, his machines began picking up enemy war vehicles first.

Velin, Reia, the Avern’a child soldiers, accompanied by the mercenaries, quickly advanced in the direction of the Oasis. Their aim was to best the Overlord, and in effect, collapse the Emperors’ will to fight. The rest of the now freed slaves took defensive positions around each truck, and aided by their firepower, mowed down any advancing raider.

The Lothorian knew that the success of everything he’d so far planned and executed, hanged by a thread. Moreover, with the Oasis’s defenses breached, he had to act quickly or some raiders might slip past the gate. These parasites would do anything to save their miserable lives.

Fighting his way through the enemy, Velin shot and bayoneted every rider in sight. This was the thickest of fighting he’d ever been into in his life. To face a numerous, determined to end you foe and come out unscathed, was a feat nigh impossible, even with most of the advantages on his side and a band of well-armed allies fighting beside him. Velin’s uniform was a charred, torn mess, when he finally bested that wall of bodies.

Many of his followers were heavily wounded; some lie on the ravaged by beam fire and explosions battlefield, the reaper’s bony hand reaching for their souls. Before Velin could clash with the Overlord, Reia was hit in the torso by an overpowered beam. Though the suit saved her life, the Loresinger was left on her knees, reeling from the hit.

The Overlord took cover behind a ruined car, a pistol in each hand. It was him who’d nearly killed Reia and soon, the Lothorian felt first hand the power of these weapons. Overcharged, the custom-made handguns unleashed pinkish particle-beams, which blasted Velin’s cover with ease. The scorching rays further ravaged his armored uniform, causing him terrible pain.

Blood from his wounded head dripped into Velin’s eyes.

Head heavy and sight darkening, the Rifleman nearly collapsed to the ground. Breath uneven and bleeding from many a wound, Velin felt as if he was at the end of his strength. Everything that happened around him he saw slowed to a mere crawl, and even his mind was getting numb.

First, he heard the shouts of the Avern’a child soldiers, who bravely fought off an attack, killed many raiders. Wounded, they and the mercenaries battled the enemy with everything they had. Shooting barrages of megasteel needles, lobbing grenades and firing particle-beams, even while severely wounded, they managed to keep the Overlord’s personal guard at bay.

Unrelenting, Reia stood up on one knee behind him. Hair flowing on the wind, she grabbed her needler and shoot the bandits who tried to flank them. He could hear her sing a song most enthralling about a rifle, and the man who wielded it.

Velin’s hands grasped his rifle and even though he barely saw through the blood, with his fingers he read the words stamped on its receiver:

“Never relent!”

He pulled a fresh power pack from his belt and reloaded the rifle. Finding his aching mind’s center, the Lothorian sought to draw strength not from his bleeding, scorched body, but the hallowed Terr’aan railgun instead.

Velin somehow rose from the ground, and before the eyes of his struck with disbelief foe, aimed the rifle true. His covered in blood finger pulled the trigger, firing railgun pellets which found the Overlord without fail.

Hit multiple times, his cover pierced through and through, Taz’aran-made armorplating bent and torn, the powerful boss reeled aback. Blood dripped from his blasted apart suit and colored the ground beneath his feet. Screaming profanities he fired his last shots at Velin, and even though most of those hit, the monster of a man, this Revenant did not die.

Face twisted and barely able to draw breath, the Lothorian kept walking forward. Bayonet affixed, the long and heavy rifle was aimed at the Overlord’s torso. With measured steps, the soldier walked, every move just as excruciating as all the whips his Leht masters had given him.

Velin charged through that pain, he drew from a pool of resolve unyielding.

With ears of the spirit, the Lothorian heard Reia’s song and in a star-second, his entire being shook.

Forged from megasteel and wood,

by those intent on doing good.

Form and function made as one,

a trigger pull and your enemy is gone.

A tool of Peace your rifle is,

Doom to foe and Life to Friend.

Guardian, discard all timid intent,

for not even in death does your duty end!

Evil does not sleep,

its minions exist to make you weep.

Your future is what they want to vend,

unless you shoot them dead.

A tool of Peace your rifle is,

Doom to foe and Life to Friend.

Guardian, discard all timid intend,

for not even in death does your duty end!

Sharpen the mind and reforge your soul,

being one with your rifle is the goal.

Ancestral spirits guideth thine aim,

invader’s life you will claim.

A tool of Peace your rifle is,

Doom to foe and Life to Friend.

Guardian, discard all timid intend,

for not even in death does your duty end!

The rifle sings her wholesome song,

you mind, body, and soul now chime along.

Ascension cometh, yet your rifle still chants.

A tale of dents and kill notches,

teach your son the Way of Peace she will!

In his mind he opened his eyes, looked upon the flesh of the Universe, and smiled.

The rifle was he and it, him.

One of the wisdoms bestowed upon him for selfless duty, service rendered to those in need, this knowing became golden light. For another second, Velin felt that he was back on Lothoria, his fatherly teacher learning him the ways of bayonet combat.

He took one deep breath with his spirit and assumed the perfect form. Hands steady, arms ready to move and eyes aiming the bayonet’s tip. Charging towards him sword in hand was a bulky, burning in achromatic flames figure.

Ears ringing with pristine, beautiful tones, Velin advanced forward and with speed. He was broken and yet ran swiftly, not an ounce of tire in his step. The sword descended upon Velin’s head, diagonally and with precision, but he’d moved under the swing.

Feet steady and his grip iron, the Lothorian stabbed with strength of the soul. The vibroblade pierced through the Overlord’s torso with such ease, that it not only emerged from his back, but ravaged him on its way out. Gargling, the dying, terrified beyond measure road bandit, raised his hand.

“Mercy...” – Barely was able to spit out the Overlord.

Not from Velin’s lips roared the answer, but his Lothorian’s spirit:

“I hath no mercy for thou, parasite.”

His bleeding hands moved and form changed, soon the rifle’s plated stock descended down, aimed at the Overlord’s head.

Taz’aran-made helmet caved in before Terr’aan armament of Peace. There he lay dead, right before Velin’s feet; the mighty Overlord was headless, broken, and riddled with railgun projectiles.

Every bandit in sight of this brutal display of Terr’aan soldiering was shook to their core. Inside their now terrified minds, these vermin heard a voice charged with overwhelming might, one who shouted a single word:

“Corpses!”

True to their vows, the guardians of the Oasis, Bloker ahead, managed to encircle the bandits. In the ensuing slaughter, many of those who deemed themselves Emperors, those who profited from the lives of others, died in their droves.

Velin, the mighty soldier, he awoke many days later, beautiful Reia by his bed. True to his namesake, the Revenant channeled pure, relentless iron will, the breath of his soul even, and stood victorious over his enemy. Empowered by his Loresinger, this peerless man had become a symbol for everyone who witnessed his feats.

For now, the Oasis and its surrounding, much-suffered lands were made safe, yet for how long, no one knew. No one, except perhaps the mysterious Cowled One. The lines on his magick-imbued mask changed and his yellow, glowing crystal eyes flickered sunnily.

The Mage looked upon the swiftly growing Nekhtu plants. Gloved hands gently touched their budding flowers and he nodded happily. Then, after surveying the healthy denizens of his place of power, the Sciencer chuckled mysteriously:

“One down, seven more to go.”

* * *

I, Reia, a humble Avern’a Loresinger, am Velin’s chronicler and loving wife. Many a glorious deed did my matchless husband achieve. Through his valor and merciless ferocity in life-saving battle, thousands of innocent lives were secured.

Much pain did he deliver to the vile reprobates, who aimed to ensure their degenerate dreams of eternal slavery. These debased wretches, giddy with excitement at our eminent demise – they laugh no longer.

These were times of grand adventure! Days of hallowed deeds, unmatched bravery, and the triumph of Life Eternal. Before Avern’a could finally breathe free, her rusted, bloody chains shattered, he, Velin, would demonstrate his true quality.

This, however, is a story for another day...

* * *

You can find The Rifle’s Song and the second novella, Velin And The Bunker Of Death here.