Find the first part of this installment
here Barely a stride separated Gax from the dark knight, its sword thrusting out for the orc’s chest. Gax spun aside in a tight circle and the blade slipped by, scoring a gouge across his shoulder. He didn’t notice the pain, however, so intent was he on whirling around and bringing his axe about in a vicious swing. Fueled by his momentum and powerful arms, the battleaxe cut beneath the knight’s outstretched arm and slammed into its armored stomach.
Such a strike would have cleaved straight through a giant’s thigh and would have split steel in half. Gax expected this archaic black armor to crumble beneath the weight of the blow. Instead, the metal held strong. The knight was launched backward a few steps, but so too was Gax’s momentum stopped as surely as if he had struck a boulder.
“Gods!” he growled as painful vibrations wracked his body.
The knight quickly regained its composure, though as it straightened, brown ichor seeped from the bottom seam in its breastplate and down its armored thighs. Apparently Gax’s strike had damaged the thing.
“Try for a seam,” Dar said as she crept toward the knight.
The knight burst toward Gax again. Dar slipped toward its side and nearly lost her head to a crosscut as it came to a sudden stop and turned on her. She straightened just in time to leap over a cut for her ankles then landed with barely a breath before she was forced to move aside from a thrust.
Gax charged the knight with one hand gripping the haft of his axe near the blade and the other gripping the spike atop it. The knight swung toward him, its sword cutting the air with a whistle. Gax interposed his axe, the blow staggering him a few steps but not ruining his distance like it had done to Dar.
Fury and experience lent Gax tremendous speed as he let go of the top of his axe and reached out to grasp the underside of the knight’s helm. He shoved upward with all his formidable strength and stabbed his axe toward its throat. He expected the knight’s throat to be fully exposed. Rather, it resisted him with a neck as stiff as steel. The spike of his battleaxe found little purchase, the metal unable to get far as it was wedged between the helm and the breastplate.
A hollow groan escaped the creature as Dar appeared at its side and stabbed a saber into the underside of its arm. Brown ichor fell from that wound and from the small cut Gax had inflicted, dribbling down the axe. Before either of them could revel in the success of the strike, the knight’s sword sliced down for Gax’s thigh. He pressed himself close to the knight, but wasn’t quick enough and the blade scored a deep wound across the side of his leg.
Gax grunted from the pain, the sound becoming a bestial roar as he dipped low and wrapped his arms around the knight’s legs, letting his axe fall to the road. He lifted with all his strength, muscles straining and veins bulging, but found himself unable to lift the knight. It teetered back, nearly toppling, as it readied its sword for a downward thrust that would spear Gax through his spine.
A snarl of desperation and anger sounded. Dar leapt up and brought one saber in front of the knight’s throat, caught its blade with her free hand, then yanked back and let her feet fall to the road. The knight toppled, saving Gax as its arms flailed to keep balance.
Dar rolled free of the knight as it crashed down and Gax swiftly climbed up its body as if it were a ladder. He stapled its sword arm down with his leg, his knee and foot trapping it, and settled his weight down over its chest. “Kill it!” he bellowed to his companion.
Dar’s saber slid past Gax’s ear and into the side of the knight’s throat. A wet hiss sounded that became a bubbling gurgle. Rather than go slack from the mortal wound, the knight kicked its legs up and slammed Gax in the side of the head with its free arm. Gax’s impressive weight was no match for the knight’s power as it flung him away and summersaulted over its shoulders. Had Gax been inexperienced, he would have clung onto the knight and wound up trapped beneath it. Rather, he disengaged when he tipped over and scrambled to his feet.
The knight was soon to follow, but as Gax turned to snatch up his axe, his eyes lingered on a nearby building.
“The roof, Dar!” he snapped.
The elf followed his head nod then burst for the building without a second though. Gax quickly pursued, the dark knight only a few strides behind. They flew past nondescript furniture of earthen hues and found a set of stairs leading up to the roof. Dar bounded up them and Gax followed but knew the knight would catch him in the back as he went.
Gax cleared three steps in a single, spinning leap and landed facing the knight. Its sword would have stabbed him in his backside, but he parried the strike with a sweep of his axe then kicked the knight in its face. Both Gax and the knight were rocked backward, but the orc expected as much and used the momentum to backpedal up one step then turn and sprint the rest of the way up.
A swift turn in the stairs and he was at the roof. Dar waited at the top of the stairs, her sabers in hand. “I’ll draw its attention!”
Gax nodded then took up position to the side of the opening a half dozen strides from his companion. The sound of metal clanging together and striking the stone stairs echoed up from the house. The dark knight exploded out of the opening and charged for Dar. She evaded a thrust, her saber clanging off its breast. She ducked a side swipe, then flung herself to the side.
Gax dropped his axe and sprinted toward the knight then leapt into the air and became horizontal. He tucked his legs into his chest, then pumped them both out simultaneously. He caught the knight between its shoulder blades and it toppled over the side of the building and landed on the road below with a calamitous crash.
“That won’t be it!” Dar said grimly.
Gax surged to his feet, ignoring the urge to run his hand over the back of his head to check for blood from landing on the hard stone. “I know!” He nearly turned around to scoop up his axe but knew he wouldn’t have enough time to exploit the knight if he did so. “Your blade!” he snapped. Dar, ever quick to pick up on a plan, tossed him a saber before he could shut his mouth.
The orc caught the puny thing, then moved quickly to the edge of the roof. The knight was ten feet below, rising to unsteady feet. Its helm was askew and its shoulder drooped from Dar’s earlier stab. “Godsdamn me!” Gax growled as he leapt from the building.
Before the knight could whirl about, Gax fell upon it, the saber gripped in his meaty hand finding purchase in the space between its helm and breastplate and sinking to its hilt. Gax hit the road next and felt his right knee all but explode from the impact. He ignored the damage, instead focusing on the knight to ensure it was truly dead this time. It hit the road flat on its face and failed to move, its entire body slack and its sword free of its grasp.
Gax kicked out with his injured leg, striking the sword and sending it skidding away. He bellowed in pain from the movement.
“Is it dead?” called Dar from above.
Gax panted heavily, focused on the knight for a moment. “Aye,” he sighed.
“Gax, you alright?” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically filled with concern.
“Me knee. Turned to godsdamn jelly.” Gax straightened up and rolled off the knight to his backside.
“Don’t try to get up!” Dar snapped.
Gax lay on his back, staring up at the sky, his rage giving way to a throbbing ache. Dar appeared at his side a moment later, laying his axe down next to him. She bent down and inspected his knee tenderly. “Gods,” she breathed.
“That bad, is it?”
“Worse, I’d say.”
“Here, let me see it,” Gax grunted as he began to sit up. Dar quickly helped him and he reached out his hands to hold the ruined knee. Which was indeed ruined. “Shouldn’t there be a kneecap here?” he asked with a dark grin.
“Aye, there should be. Looks like you shattered it into pieces when it hit the road. Did you happen to pack a healing potion?”
“Don’t have the coin for a potion. You?”
“After this job, yeah. But I’m not sure how we’re going to manage it with your bum leg.”
“You go on, Dar. Get back to the others. Just make sure you take my share and spend the lot of it gambling.”
“Or I could help,” came a familiar voice. “Though I wouldn’t mind keeping your portion so long as I can spend it on debaucheries, too.”
Elbert stood beneath the stone awning where Gax and Dar had come into this other realm from. The wizard held his hands out and something miraculous happened. While Elbert was known to be able to conjure a gout of flame or a spear of sizzling lightning with the proper reagents, wizard talk, and a substantial stretch of time, there wasn’t a wizard alive who could create the destructive force with simple thought.
Crackling lightning arced between his hands and up his arms. Flames engulfed him next, but he stood unharmed in the conflagration. “The weave of magic here is different,” he said as the fire calmed to a slow flame that crawled across his forearms and shoulders. A wide and devious smile split his face. “I’m a god!”
“That’s good and all,” said Gax as he shifted on his seat, causing a bout of agony to wash over his leg. “But can’t a god easily magic a broken leg back together?”
Elbert’s smile never left his face as he nodded and snapped his fingers. Green tendrils of energy made up of a ghostly light extended from Elbert’s chest and swirled through the air to Gax’s knee. The magic engulfed Gax’s leg and a sensation of warmth and calm washed over him, akin to the feeling of lying down in a soft bed with fluffed pillows after an hour-long soak in a hot bath. Without a single pinprick of pain, Gax’s knee was knit back together, the many shards of bone reshaping into a proper kneecap, and so too were his other wounds healed.
Gax hopped to his feet, marveling at the strength running through his limbs. “Even better than before, huh?” asked Elbert.
“Godsdamned right.” Gax had felt the enhancing effects of a wizard’s spell before, but this was by far the greatest boon he’d ever received from a spell. He could lift a cart laden with steel armor with a single arm, he wagered.
“My question, though,” Elbert said, “is how in the hells did you shatter your knee so quickly? And what is that thing?” He pointed to the dark knight sprawled on the ground near the Gax and Dar. Dar was about to speak when Elbert raised a hand and said, “No matter. Let me try something.”
Elbert cocked his head to the side as though listening to the wind.
“A time paradox, then,” he said after a short time.
“A what now?” Gax asked. He had begun bouncing on his toes as vitality ran through him, and he found himself achieving a good height with those small hops. A mighty leap took him five feet off the ground. He shot an open-mouthed smile of surprise and joy at Dar, who shook her head with a grin at his childish behavior.
“How’d you figure that?” asked Dar, obviously educated about the subject enough not to need a lesson.
“I searched your minds and saw it. The fight with that thing too.” He nodded toward the corpse. “Formidable bastard, wasn’t he?”
“You read my mind?” asked Dar in a tone that portrayed her irritation. “Stop jumping, you oaf!” she snapped as Gax managed to leap high enough so that he could have sailed right over her head. He landed and kept both feet on the ground, for now.
“Just his,” Elbert said. Not even Gax believed him, but Dar didn’t press it. “Regardless, I was but an inch back from you two when you disappeared. In fact, you vanished a split second before I was transported here as well. I didn’t even have enough time to slow my gait after you blinked away. And yet, you’ve been here long enough to kill that thing.”
“So, time here is much slower than time back home,” Dar surmised.
“Precisely. Meaning if we’re quick enough, it might seem like we’ve only been gone for a few seconds before we return.”
“Which’ll be quick enough to stop anyone else from going through, hopefully.”
“Exactly.”
“Where do we start?”
“I saw a big fight happening at that palace,” Gax said, raising an eyebrow at Dar. “Thanks to my jumping, I did.”
“And?” asked Dar.
“And, wherever there’s a big fight, there’s someone there who knows things. We get in the palace, we find someone who can tell us how to get back home, we get Vesik’s convoy through Erstov and collect our gold. It’s like none of this happened.”
A hollow moan that quickly became a harrowing scream of rage sounded from behind Elbert. The tramp of swift footfalls came next, and the wizard whirled around. Gax, with the enhanced physical attributes provided him from Elbert’s spell of mending, was quickly at the wizard’s side, axe in hand. Down the thin, paved road that ran alongside the building he’d just minutes ago leapt off, sprinted another knight clad in the same dark, spiked armor. This one, however, held a double-bladed battleaxe that rivaled Gax’s in length and width.
Elbert thrust his hands toward the threat and frowned in concentration. Dust shot up from the road in a small circle, the odd shape causing Gax’s eyes to pop wide with confusion. The stone vibrated, sending up more gouts of dust. Small cracks appeared in a spiderweb lattice outward from a perfectly circular cut in the stone. The stone within the circle suddenly vanished as though the hand of a god had reached down and carved it with as much ease as if the material were warm clay, the stone becoming fine sand and flitting away.
The dark knight stepped over the spike buried in the road and Gax nearly let out a sigh, thinking it was meant to step on the spike and suffer some kind of damage. Rather, as soon as the knight’s body was directly over the spike, Elbert raised his hand and it shot upward from the ground like a bolt from a crossbow. Only, it was half a foot in diameter and several feet long. The spear went clean through the creature and out the top of its skull, shattering the helm like an eggshell.
The corpse dropped and Elbert relinquished control of the stone spear, letting it crash to the ground. “I might be tempted to stay here,” the wizard said, a wide smile splitting his face as he stared at the dead knight.
Gax ignored him as he held out his axe to Elbert. “Hold my battleaxe,” he said, his eyes fixed on the dark weapon near the dead knight. Elbert held the weapon steady, though his arms remained folded, his magic simply keeping the axe aloft.
Dar’s voice sounded, admonishing Elbert for thinking of staying in this dreadful place. Gax scooped up the massive axe and he gasped. It was larger than his own weapon by a substantial amount, yet the material was lighter. With its tarnished look, he wondered if it would shatter from a strike, explaining its lesser weight. He took a stance and slammed the axe down atop the corpse, brown ichor seeping from the top of its skull and from between its legs. The blade cleaved through the armor and cut the thing in two before carving through the stone ground, retaining its integrity completely.
“Gods above and devils below,” he whispered. The ground suddenly dropped out from beneath Gax’s feet. He cried out in alarm, waving his arms like some fledgling bird. “Blight and damnation!”
“Relax,” Dar said.
Gax attempted to spin toward her voice and found himself capable of doing so, despite not having pushed off anything.
Elbert was grinning at him, Gax’s battleaxe floating alongside him. “This will be much faster and more direct than walking.”
The trio shot through the air like a volley of arrows. Wind whipped past them, making it difficult to keep their eyes open for long. Still, Gax saw a titanic creature raging on the other side of the city. It was a tall, bipedal thing, with gangly limbs and a featureless face, void of a mouth even. Large veins stuck out across its pale, naked body, wiry muscles bulging as it smashed away at defenders clad in dark steel. Purple accents ran along its body and up its neck to its oblong yet perfectly shaped head in geometric patterns, giving it an unnatural look.
“Godsdamn this cursed place,” Gax cursed.
The palace loomed ever closer as they flew toward it. A mass of creatures had piled up at the base of the palace, writhing over one another as they tried to advance only for their progress to be halted by some invisible force. Elbert thrust his hand out as they neared the palace and the air shimmered before the trio in a wavering circle. They careened through that portal without being hindered like those below.
A behemoth of a man clad in rust-colored armor rushed out from the palace gate and crashed into the invaders, its gargantuan sword cleaving ten at a time. Flaming arrows arced down from the top of the wall, shot by skeletons with twisted horns of bone spiraling from their skulls. Gax looked up from the macabre melee to see a dozen undead archers arrayed on a balcony near them. They nocked as a unit and their wickedly pronged arrows suddenly burst into flame, their aim trained on Gax and his companions.
“Elbert!” Gax wailed as the skeletons loosed their arrows.
With a wave of his hand, the wizard turned the arrows around and propelled them with deadly force back into the faces of the archers. Skulls exploded in a glorious display of bone shards and sparks.
The trio swooped upward along the side of the palace’s main spire, reaching the top with miraculous speed. They landed on a sweeping balcony with a tall stone rail inlaid with decorative copper swirls. The bone-white marble floor displayed a pattern of grey wavering tendrils reaching out from a central circle of red. Dragon head statues jutted out of the smooth stone wall to either side of the wide opening that led into the palace, the threshold molded with copper.
“If not for all that down there,” said Elbert, hitching his thumb over his shoulder, “I might be tempted to stay here for good.”
“My guess is that most things here are dead,” said Dar. “While you may be able to harness the power of the magic here like a god, I’m sure you’d quickly follow suit.”
“Axrom’s balls,” Gax breathed, squinting at something inside the palace. “Do you two see that?”
Within the palace spire were two statues of immaculate detail. Candelabra and torches blazed around the statue at the far end of the chamber, raised up on a platform with a copper grate stretched in front of it, the thin metal woven into a floral pattern that partially obscured the construct. The other sat before the erect statue, a polearm twice as long as Gax was tall gripped in one hand, the butt of it against the floor. While both had been cast from solid, gleaming silver, this one also had a cape of crimson cloth draping from its shoulders.
“I’ve a feeling that’s the way we need to go,” Gax said, “though my gut tells me we’re going to regret it.”
“Your gut forgets things,” Elbert said arrogantly as he strode forward, walking on the air with his boots three inches from the floor in a show of power.
The pang of dread in Gax’s stomach failed to dissipate.
Vaulted ceilings and sweeping beams drew Gax’s gaze upward as they entered, demonic creatures of copper with draconic heads perched against the concave wall near its top. Archaic stonework and gold fixtures decorated the interior, masterfully crafted with exquisite detail.
A chill wind blew through the opening and ruffled the cape of the statue posed before the construct of silver behind the copper grate. The rest of the seated statue seemed to waver as well, silver armor plates trimmed in gold and copper shifting. The illusion quickly melted away as Gax realized the statue was not at all an inanimate thing. The creature rose to its full ten-foot height silently and fluidly with all the grace of a master dancer giving their best performance.
The trio halted as surely as if they had slammed into a wall, Elbert’s bravado dying as he sank back to the floor. The armored figure resembled one of the dark knights they had encountered before, though this one’s armor was pristine and shone like the sun from the many flames flickering within the palace. Its helm was a sleek thing with twisting horns of smooth metal that transitioned from silver to black so seamlessly that Gax couldn’t tell where one color ended and the other began.
It pivoted toward the trio, barely a rustle sounding. Gax noticed another figure behind the creature as it spun.
“You mind killing that thing?” Dar asked with gritted teeth.
“No need to be hasty,” Elbert said with a confidence he didn’t truly feel.
Pitch black eyeholes stared the trio down. Gax would have preferred to see glowing red snake eyes to the empty voids that pierced him. The creature standing behind the impeccable knight glided around it to peer at them as well.
It was humanoid as far as Gax could tell, though its flowing, white dress hid its lower half, making its oddly smooth movements all the more intriguing. It stood as tall as Gax and seemed female from its facial features, though its chest was flat. Black tendrils, reminding Gax of thin vines, sprouted from the thing’s skull then stretched backward and floated in the air, ending in a point. Emerald eyes flashed as it raised a rail-thin arm toward them and pointed with slender fingers tipped in black talons.
Words poured from its open mouth, but the language was alien. It was clear, though, that it pointed at Elbert.
“How about now?” asked Dar, her voice dripping with condescension.
“Aye,” agreed Gax.
“Well met,” Elbert began, the octave of his voice deeper but hollow with fear.
Before he could utter another word, the silver statue behind the copper grate crumbled as surely as if it was sand. The knight blocked much of his view of the spectacle, but Gax saw the silver give way to flesh that looked all too familiar. The human's eyes seemed alive for a moment, stricken with terror as they darted around the chamber. Then the flesh melted away as well, muscle and bone and blood cascading down to splatter on the floor.
“Okay, now,” Elbert said, his voice returned to its normal tenor.
...to be continued FUBAR. It’s a term my old bitter squad leader told me when we were pinned down on a thin road back in
Kandahar. This was when I was just a private, barely my first chevron, crouched behind an armored vehicle as my team leader laid between us with a Tourniquet strapped to his arm.
“Fucked Up Beyond Actual Repair, Nolan...”. You know, I’ve hit a lot of situations so far that can be classified like that. Here, mostly, in this, semi southern woodland town, having taken a contract in the hopes of seeing some work. Guess I never expected my blood to be pumping it’s highest in my mid thirties- and at a time when the bullets stopped flying past my head.
I remember nearly falling back over my computer chair when the lights went out, bathing us in darkness. Now, normally, your eyes have a natural ‘cat eye’ ability to them, where they’ll adjust to darkness, usually helped by ambient light. It’s how after a black out, you’re able to quickly get a sense of where you are.
But considering I stood there, gazing around, not even able to find my own damn hand. There was no light, not anymore. FUBAR.
This wasn’t the time to panic, not now, we were in an
ALAMO situation; The compound has been severely breached, and whatever the hell could be classified as an enemy combatant, was now probably within the walls… lurking. Hunting.
I opened the middle drawer, right side, it had matches, lithium batteries, double As, triple As,- and a headlamp. Can't see,
can't fight. I flicked it onto the white light setting and glanced around, the pit in my stomach started to decrease a bit, at least now we had light-
“OH SHIT!!!-”, Isaac’s words bounced off the walls of the small room, as he stumbled and fell onto his tent inside of the office quickly reminded me that we still weren't, a fully professional fighting force.
Isaac threw the plastic lining off him as I scanned behind me, and I breathed a sign of relief; my plate carrier and ‘15 were still here, propped up against the wall.
I slipped the lamp onto my head, pulling the vest over my head and strapping it onto myself. Isaac grumbled as he stood up. “This is bad man-”, yeah, it was. I felt around the backside of my jeans, feeling a small ring of keyes i’d kept S clipped onto a belt loop, pulling off a small master lock key.
“Isaac… pop open that crate….” I tossed him the key, I was referring to one of the tough boxes propped up just beside where his tent once stood. I saw him hold it in his hand, feeling it with his finger tips, “busting out the big guns, sarge?”.
“Something like that”. It’s a good thing that Isaac spent all seventeen thousand dollars on pure, unadulterated american firepower that day, oh so many weeks ago. Right now we were trapped in a small security room, while god knows what could have already secured most of the compound, let alone the dark, close quarters building we were in.
We had a term back on small J - Camps, I already mentioned it:
‘ALAMO’. In the event of a breach of compound, we retreat back to the deepest, most secure part of our fortifications, load up, and hold out. That’s probably what they wanted, us to stay here, wait out the storm, while they gathered strength outside, waiting to drown Isaac and I in whatever darkness they currently had Rosanne in…
No, not today. We had come too far, fought too hard, for it to end like that...
I filled whatever magazines we hadn’t with all of the surplus 5.56, shoving them into pouches on my kit, in my pockets, hell, I even went old school and clipped on a condor gun belt.
Isaac’s carrier was outside on the couch in the living room, along with his Benelli deathcannon…. In another time, I probably would’ve given him all kinds of
hell for leaving his weapon, but that’s when I was a pitbull, about ten years younger, and hadn't worn down my temper like I had my knees.
This also wasn’t a trained american soldier we were talking about. Although, that just sounds rude. Isaac might not be trained, he might not even know how to fight well- but god damn if he hasn’t stood by my side and fought with me so far…
“Whatchyah got for me?” Isaac asked giddly as he pulled on a gunbelt of his own, it was lined with pouches upon pouches of 12 gauge. Buckshot, Slugs, with an additional pouch strapped to the very back, marked in red and black.
I tossed him a short barrelled member of the shotgun family, the Mossberg 590. It was stocky, to the point, might not’ve had range… but I kept it here with the express purpose of being able to fight in the tight corridors of the house. And by god, if it wasn’t needed now more than ever.
I slung to my front, as Isaac loaded a handful of slugs into the mossberg, and tried for the door. Locked. I tried it from our side, but it wasn’t budging. No good. I backed up, taking aim at the door.
“You ready?” I asked Isaac, he nodded. I tapped the upside of my fist against my head, to Isaac’s confusion. “Uh, you got a
headache?”. I sighed, though I really shouldn’t have, should of known better.
“Breach-”, “What?”
“It means,
breach”
“With what?”,
“The 12 gauge boomstick in your hand, now put it against the lock and blow it”. All of the action movies he must’ve seen probably came flooding back, because Isaac ran forward, shoving the muzzle of the gun against the door.
With an explosion of sparks, and wooden fragments, I saw the brass cover of the door’s knob and lock fall off. Thankfully this time, I put on a pair of electronic ear protectors. Three times the charm.
Isaac pulled the door open, and I went charging forwards. The hallway opened into a T, so I’d go and cover the living room while Isaac…. Wait.
This wasn’t the hallway. My headlamp saw that the area really opened up into…. Something that made me groan with pure dread.
It was a library,
the library Isaac and I had stumbled into on our last adventure into this haunted fucking house.
Same rectangular design, same old, dim orange candelabras lining each of the corners…. Same dusty filled air that hung, like a light snowfall. As I dropped my muzzle, Isaac came rushing in behind me, shaking the carpet so wildly It telegraphed everyone of his steps.
“ALRIGHT LETS-..... Oh now,
THIS AGAIN?!”.
Took the words right out of my mouth.
I reached up and pulled my left muff off my ear ever slightly, allowing me to hear the natural sounds around us. Isaac and I were staring down either end of one of the isles alongside the library’s longer side… and I don’t know whether it was the walls, or the dust, but all sound seemed… muffled.
Like, there was no ambient noise, just a pure void, where either Isaac’s or my own shuffling and breathing broke it.
“I don’t think we solved our basement problem Dwight…”, “You think?! Now the whole damn house is gone…”. My left hand shot back to the fore grip on my rifle, as I scanned in front of me. Normally, with a proper team, I’d have this entire room cleared by now.
But we weren’t a proper team, it was just us, and we stood there. Complacent, waiting, stood still like two fucking goats waiting to get cut down.
“What’s the play?” Isaac asked, he now backed up, pressing up to the back of my kit. what
was the play? I thought about it, my cheek welded to the butt stock.
No sounds, meaning we were alone, but were we? Did the ghouls and creatures hunting us create sound here? Was the sound just high blood pressure fucking with our eardrums? Was it at all detrimental that in a combat situation, my mind rushed to menial fucking questions? No, yes. I mean, Yes, but no, not unnatural…
Then, that’s when we heard it. From the isle to my right, just behind the bookcase, I could hear a set of heavy, and fast footsteps, cutting the trail from Isaac’s end to mine. I didn’t know what it was, who it was, it could have been Rosanne, but all I know is, it was coming towards the opening near me. Fast-
One flick downwards,
Semi. With quick and calculated precision I took aim for a spot on the bookcase I knew it was at- and I slammed down on the trigger. All of the training I had acquired suddenly flooded back as I fired into the bookcase in large, fast groups, tearing up the novels and dictionaries and whatever else on the shelf.
Isaac joined in, spinning around he fired off a slug that cut right through a wooden divider, causing the entire shelf to sag in the middle.
Then, silence. I peered over my holographic sight, peering into the now settling fall of torn up paper and wooden shards. Through my right ear, I could hear Isaac breathing heavily, a metallic klink told me he’d slam fired all his ammo- and the clicking afterwards told me he was reloading…
My left ear…. Was ringing. I guess I had forgotten to put that muff back over my ear before I decided to light up the shelf like it was a Tango at 3’oclock. I mean, in this circumstance, I guess it was, regardless.
Isaac slammed his shotgun's fore-end home, scanning the shelf up and down.
"Think we got it?"
"If we didn't Isaac, we've got bigger fucking problems. Cover me"
I “pied” the corner of the shelf as I approached, using whatever was left of the end of it to provide a slow, but steady cover point that I was able to clear it from. My mind raced as to what might greet me? The creature from the backyard, back to seek it’s revenge? John? Rosanne?....
As I rounded the corner, quickly clearing all openings, the ball in my throat cleared. “Dwight?! What is it? See anything?” my throat cleared with a frustrated sigh, “No, nothing…-”.
Another set of footsteps, this time, on Isaac’s side, running along the short side of the rectangle. Isaac was the first to fire, through the dim light of the library I could see an explosion, and a slug rip through two shelves as it hit the far wall. As paper and leatherback covers of books flew across the room, I squinted to see what it was…
I saw…. Something? Someone? A humanoid, small, running…. It was too dark, the air was too polluted, I couldn’t see who…. But I saw something that gave me enough reason to pick up and run to the far end to beat it.
I remember trying to yell at it, as if whatever was in the woods gave a rats ass about my word or wants, “Stop!!”. As I hit the far isle, I pivoted on my right foot and raised my rifle…. Only to be staring down at Isaac, who held the mossberg at his hips….
Isaac dipped his gun back, holding the barrel in the air.
What the
hell was going on?
I scanned both sides of the isle, and that’s when I saw it. Embedded in a spot where another bookcase should be, was a wooden door. Plywood, with old yellow paint peeling off at it’s edges. I pied the three inch indent it made, as if something were to be hiding there waiting to kill me- probably just nerves.
Isaac shook his head.
“I guess there’s no hope of seeing any of the regular house now?”,
I shook my head, reaching in with my off hand, “Not unless we keep going, I guess that’s the play”. Was what I was saying even making sense? Did any of this make sense? Shit was spiraling out of control, was what we were seeing, shooting, running through- even real? I tried to believe it was, if anything, just to keep myself grounded.
Locked. I backed off, shouldering my rifle.
I tapped the front side of my head, and Isaac came in close with his shotgun.
Another explosion of wood and metal shards, and the door shook wildly. This time, I didn’t wait for him to pull it open, I charged forward, raising my boot, and kicking the door in. Isaac followed close behind-
and both him and I nearly tripped over a small, long, pink piece of furniture that laid across just before the door. A bed, a child’s bed. Age, like the chipped walls where it seemed like blue and white wallpaper once was plastered across, had sunk in. A white and pink quilt was now old, torn up, and rotted.
The room was almost as small as the security room, maybe a couple of meters long, a few across. I pulled my rifle up against me, backing up to gain space, that’s when my back hit a wall, the wall. The door we came into was no longer there, just more peeling wallpaper with chipped wood furnishings…
No going back.
I instead brought my left foot to the edge of the bed, feeling the frame, and kicked it against the wall to my left, out of the way. The bed must've collided with some sort of dresser, because I noticed a wave of papers flew off into the center of the room. Out of my peripherals, I noticed they were drawings, colorful ones.
I walked up to the far side of the room, a window. Turning off my headlamp to avoid any glare or reflection, I gazed out. It was, darkness, the void. Maybe one or two inches of space, and then it seemed like it hid a sea of literal, physical darkness. No trees, lights, ghouls, monsters, people…. Just, darkness.
The sounds of objects falling onto the wooden floor caused me to spin around, and I saw it was just Isaac… but, something was off.
“Isaac…. You alright?”. He stood there, shaking his head, and had this glassy filter over his eye. “Yeah…. Yeah man just….” His right hand holding his gun, dropped, as his left hand pinched his temple. “It’s gotta be all this stuff in the air…. I just…. I think it’s giving me a headache….”.
He took a few steps forward, nearly slipping on one of the papers on the floor, causing him to brace against the wall.
“Jesus! What the hell’s with all this stuff anyways….”.
Something also clicked in my head, a few seconds ago one of the drawings fell right across the light of my headlamp, it was colorful, fresh, new, like someone had just went to down on a stack of sheets. unlike all of the walls and furniture where the colors were faded and old, and looked like they'd been put through the dark age.
I pulled my rifle into it’s “work space”, close to my shoulder with the muzzle in the air, and grabbed one of the drawings…. It was
off, strange, surreal, I guess.
A small girl in a white and pink dress was in a field, surrounded by trees. A blue sky messily colored in above, with flowers on the ground. Although, it seemed intentional, the edge of the trees were curved- a clearing? And a house stood tall in the background. Several pointed edges of it’s rooftops….
I tossed it aside, and picked up another,
This time, a much darker version of the forest. Bodies of tries, devoid of leaves with gray bark filled the area. In the distance, bathed in light, was the cazamoth estate. I knew it was because, it was a splitting image of it. A grey concrete wall with curled barbed wire, and a large brown wooden building in the middle. Though, at the edges of the trees, in the dark patches…. Eyes watched. Not cartoonishly red or evil eyes. Plaine, white eyes, with no irises, surrounded by dark patches of dead skin, staring down from all angles… the eyes I knew, I had seen in the storm.
Whatever drew these knew what was going on, and wanted me to see them… I felt a drop of sweat run down the side of my head as a chill shot up my spine. Was it probably from all the running and gunning? Probably, yes, but…. I have to admit, this was all getting under my skin…
The sweat on my hand sunk into the paper as I turned over another…
It was…. Us, the gang, the small trio I had assembled, in the parking lot just before we pulled out this morning. Last morning- was it even the same day? Forget about it. Rosanne sat inside, while I leaned on the front bumper, smoking a cigarette…. And Isaac sat up against the rear bumper, head down. They were exact portraits of us, albeit, drawn in crayon. Me, beard, black hair, leather jacket, jeans. Rosanne, purple beanie, white coat, green hardback journal. Isaac, truckers flex cap, hawaiian shirt, cargo pants, and….
No.
Some sort of dark strand coming out of his back, the black crayola line edged deep into the paper, intently, as it lead back to the woods.
I dropped the paper and stood up, flipping on my headlamp, as I gazed at Isaac. His head was hung low, his breathing, heavy. Slight shivers in his shoulders as he leaned up against a shelf, his right hand barely hanging onto the pistol grip of the mossberg.
“Isaac….”.
No response.
“Isaac!!”, My voice shook a bit, my thumb plastered against the selector switch, as I waited, praying what my gut told me was going on, wasn’t going on. “Isaac you better come clean right now, if that ain’t just a headache or flu….”.
A series of heavy pants and coughs came from him, his head still hung low, obscuring his eyes. I took a step forward,
KRACK-
A large impact into the window behind me caused me to spin around, Something had hit the window, from within that dark void, and had caused a large break in the glass to form. I aimed my rifle at the window, now there was two threats; One external, one internal. God don’t let the internal be true.
Another thud from an unseeable force caused the glass to crack, the spiderwebbing break widened even more. “ISAAC WE NEED TO GO!!”. He instead just stood there, now shivering. Great, just fucking great Dwight.
I gazed around, the door we had entered from was gone, the window was now becoming a breach point for something else…. The back left corner. A door, that, for some reason, I didn’t see in my initial sweep of the room, had appeared. A large toy box lid infront, with a chair propped up beside it, in an attempt to hide it.
I let my rifle drop, slung to my front, as I grabbed the box, and heaved it to the other side of the room.
KRACK-
I tried the handle, locked, god damn it. I raced over to Isaac, reaching for his shotgun. Except, his previously limp, sweaty fingers now clung onto the trigger well like it was a pot of fucking gold. He stood there still, head down, sickly, but wouldn’t let go.
I cursed under my breath, and reached for a drop holster on my right leg. My Glock 19 wasn’t a preferable breaching tool-
KRACK-
But under current circumstances, it would have to do. I shoved the barrely nearly down the damn keyhole before yanking on that trigger more times than I can count. The door shuddered and shook, but after enough shots and yanking on the handle…. The bolt inside broke, and I pushed it open.
KRACK- Another impact, followed by the sound of glass falling onto the wooden floor caused my hairs to stand up at fucking attention. I grabbed Isaac by his shoulder and pulled him after me. “Isaac! We- Are- LEAVING!!!”. As I shoved him into the hall, and reached the door. The sound of the glass shattering, following by a horrifying growl and roar, caused me to kick the damn door back into place.
Isaac began to mutter at this point, hysterically, as I nearly pulled a muscle shoving a gigantic cabinet in front of the door. Just as it eclipsed the door to the bedroom- it shook violently. More growls and roars like before emanated from within.
This wasn’t the Cazamoth estate, we weren’t the protectors, this wasn’t our home, we were being hunted. I pulled Isaac along with my free arm, as he now began to sound like a fucking asylum patient. The hallway was old, weathered, like a victorian style house had been put through seventy years and two hurricanes.
Rugs and floor boards torn up, plaster littering the floor… and all of the fucking doors locked. Except for one. “INFIRMARY”.
I shoved Isaac inside as I swung the door closed. It had six damn locks, why do you even need to many? For an aid room? Well, not any infirmary I’d ever seen. I turned back to the room in front of me, it was probably seven meters across, foot long. Just big enough for some cabinets, a sink, counters… and a metal operating table along the far wall.
Important to note was the room was split, the bottom half, along with the entirety of the floor, was littered with old, cracked tiles you’d find in a shower. The top was white paint that had seen better days.
I looked around for Isaac, who now sat in one of the back corners, hands grabbing his face, sobbing hysterically. Something, deep down inside, sunk seeing this. For a person who had been so chipper, so positive throughout all of this, especially after that pep talk we had in the kitchen…. Crumbling to this….
I smothered it, He’d be fine, if- he was even fine with to begin with. I went through my basic checks. All my mags and gear was still on me, the door was secure…. The loud, drumming sounds of the bedroom door down the hallway told me something was still trying to get in. isaac was possible a threat, and I don’t know how much ammo I had wasted.
I quickly loaded a fresh mag into my glock, shoving it back into it’s holster. The one I had loaded into my rifle was windowed and showed 11 round left. Yeah, I guess we were taking the suppressive part of suppressive fire very literally.
I slapped a fresh mag into the rifle, and thought to myself.
‘Alright, green on ammo, next-’.
“D-d-D-Dwiht…” Isaac mumbled, for the first time in what seemed like forever, he spoke. I gazed up, my right hand tight on the rifle’s grip as I looked him over. He sat knees in arms, eyes buried into his kneecaps, with his left arm extended, pointing at the operating table.
“Isaac what’s wrong?”, He said nothing, just his shaky finger pointing at the operating table. The booming sounds of whatever was trying to enter the hall continued as I glanced across it. It’s chrome finish was still surprisingly intact and reflective, albeit with several spots showing age and rust. A black cushion on top, with straps for…. I don’t want to think about it.
And on top laid, another paper, drawing side up. I walked over, my boots squeaking and crunching off the tile floor as I approached the table.
It was a picture of this room, at a different time, in a different place, facing from the back wall outwards, towards the door. The girl was strapped into the operating table, crying, with cuts and stitches all over her face. In the back corner of the room, there was a figure…. The way it was drawn… it looked like TV static, but, not, at the same time. Blurry, but I could make out it was a man, and it just stood there, in the far corner, facing her.
I ran my thumb along the corner of the paper, and I realized, through my light bleeding through it, there was another drawing on the other side.
Me. I stood there, facing the now empty, torn up operating table, my rifle crudely drawn across my chest, headlamp illuminating the area around me in a triangle. I could see Isaac in the fetal position, like he was, in one of the corners…. And that staticy, smeared, blurry man peering just over my shoulder.
I then realized….
The banging on the door in the hallway had stopped.
Before my synapses could even comprehend, the drawing was dropped, my selector switch was on semi, and I had spun around to see….. Her. Although this time, it wasn’t out of the corner of my eye in the basement, she stood there. Dress now a dirty white and torn, staring me down.
A smile was pulled across her dread, cracked lips, as she raised her head to look at me, with white, beady eyes surrounded by black sunken rings.
The last words I remember as my headlamp flickered off.
“Gotchyah…”.
….
I awoke to a cool breeze across my face, my head was pounding as I pulled a black fleece beanie from in front of my eyes. “Hey, Sarn’t Noles…. Sarn’t…”.
I rubbed my eyes, black, oil and dirty coated mechanix gloves that I’d worn for probably my entire tenure gripped the steering wheel of the truck I was in. I looked out the windshield, we were inside the wire of a large camp, and around the truck. Why we were here, started to leak back in from a long forgotten memory.
A near 500 mile patrol, that had taken almost two days across the province. We were low on everything, from rounds, to fuel, to water, to MRES… so we were bedded down in the motorpool of our “halfway point” compound for the night.
But ... that was almost a decade ago, why was I here?
“Sarn’t?”, My eyes shot to just outside of the door, a kid in grey digital camo gear, with a worn shemagh scarf wrapped around his neck, stood there. I remember this kid, five foot five, stocky, my bravo team leader had a sick sense of humor and made him a SAW gunner.
“What is it Daveys?”.
“Sarn’t Walker wanted to speak with you, he’s by the tower”. Sergeant Walker… my old Platoon Sergeant. “Alright…. Go get some sleep”.
He shuffled back to his ruck and woobie, and was passed out before I had grabbed my M16 and dropped out of the truck. Around us, beige armored vehicles laid silent, and still, and the entire area was coated in a thick layer of frost, not unusual to afghanistan, if I was right, it was the middle of winter.
Sergeant Walker was up on a catwalk, positioned by a cylinder guard tower on the northern side of the compound. The entire area was maybe 100 x 100 meters, tucked on the edge of a mountain, made a great target for snipers and RPGs….
Which showed the size of Walker’s brass balls, I guess. When he was just standing there, M16 slung to his front, staring off into the distant mountains with a pair of Binoculars. He barely gave me any word as I stomped up the metal stairs, and stood alongside him.
“Sergeant….”,
“Nolan…. Mornin’ “ He had a thick ‘Geojan’ accent, from the deep south. Man was taller than men, built like a brick shit house. The kind of man you needed to lead a group of soldiers in a warzone.
A puff of hot air escaped my lips as I exhaled, gazing out at the dark horizon. “Playing chicken with the snipers again, Sergeant?”. A small huff, a chuckle, very rare from him. “We been’ doin’ that for months now Nolan…. It catches us all”.
I looked at my watch, 0135 22DEC10
Seven Months into my fourth deployment, Three months after…
“You wanted to see me?”.
I watched as hot air seemed to spew from beneath Sergeant Walker’s kevlar like smoke coming from a dragon’s nostrils. “We nearly got hit on that bend coming in…. Second Squad alright?”.
I scratched the back of my neck, between my helmet straps. “Yeah… I sent the guys to bed early, did all the SI and vehicle checks myself…”. We stood in silence for minutes, but it felt like hours, just staring out, watching the mountains. Walker sighed, shaking his head, and looked back into the Binos.
“I’m sorry about Clancy….”. I raised an eyebrow, this wasn’t something he usually talked about. Straight to the point, no dillydallying about past losses or events… “No rest for the wicked” as he said, but-
“We’ve been losing guys, and it’s not our fault. Just a bad hand Nolan…. First they won’t give us the Rhino to protect against forward IEDS…. Then it's bad intel leading us into fucking contact after contact….”. Walker shook his head, “But Clancy was on me…. I should’ve done better scanning after we got hit…. I know I don’t usually talk like this but, that’s been burning in my mind for months now….”.
I buried my hands in my pockets, an act, vilified in garrison, but out here, not so much.
“Like you said Sergeant… Bad Hand…”.
A bad hand. A platoon fed into a meat grinder for months on end, with the seeming intent to get us all killed.
“Bad Hand, yeah. Gotta make do with what you got. Maybe when this is all over, we can move on, hopefully. But right now…. You need play your hand and wake up Dwight”.
Dwight. He’s never called me by my first name before.
“What did you say, Sergeant?”.
Walker dropped his binoculars, his hazel eyes staring me down as he let them hang around his neck.
“Dwight, Wake up…”.
…..
The past faded away, as I woke up face first on a metal floor, my head pounding. The area around me had a sort of orange glow, as I opened my eyes, I noticed strange, ornate candelabras standing in rows against the far metal walls . The ground tasted like dirt and iron, from the red rust covering it…. At least, I hope to got it was red rust.
“Dwight!!~” Rosanne’s voice, distance, and wavey, shouted from behind me.
“DWIGHT!!!~”. I drove my right hand into the ground, pushing myself onto a knee. My rifle laid on the ground in front of me, and my kid hung, ragged and disheveled, as if something tried to pull it off.
Rosanne stood there, with her. The girl with sunken eyes, held an iron grip, so tight, that Rosanne, a fully grown woman, much taller than her, struggled to get out of her grip.
“DWIGHT!!!~” Rosanne shouted, waving at me with her free hand. I gritted my teeth, raising my right hand, as my left hand grasped my temple, trying to ease the pain.
Rosanne waved her hand, and pointed behind her.
“THE EFFIGEY!!!~ SHOOT IT!~”. I blinked my eyes, trying to focus on what laid behind her.
The operating table from before, but now, at the back of a wide room, the size of a small gymnasium. Where we were? I don’t know, but I could see it had some sort of object, on it. Made of twigs, twine, and her own ripped up, and bloodied pink and white dress wrapped around it.
I haven't asked Rosanne, but I wondered, still wonder, what kind of voodoo shit is this? Paganism, something from the middle east? Witchcraft? My soldier calculus didn't ask this though, it just knew what it had to do...
“SHOOT IT DWIGHT!!!!~~”. Shoot. Somewhere deep down, I laughed, hearing how she needed my way of doing things. But laughing would have to wait, My right hand shot to my thigh, pulling out my glock, and I took aim.
Three shots, aimed with precision at the operating table that was maybe twenty meters away- barely got ten meters as they hit some sort of invisible field, crushing as if they’d hit an abrams head on, and fell straight down against the floor. The barrier now rippled like the surface of a lake, but even through the murky, wavy field, I could see her.
Smiling, laughing. Gripping Rosanne’s hand tight, knowing we’ve been duped. I fired again, the slide shot back, a 9mm round shot out- and was crushed against the barrier.
Rounds couldn’t get through, so, what could? I gazed around, looking for something, anything-
That’s when a set of footsteps running at me, caused me to turn. It was Isaac, up until now, I hadn’t thought about where he’d been, but there he was. Running full force at me, armed outstretched…. Eyes sunken, white, and beady.
His growl was inhuman and rabid as he rammed into me, still on a knee, and feeling, I barely knew what was happening. But he still managed to force me, a man who had not only size, but probably weight, and fighting skill on him, into the barrier,
And god, did it sting.
It felt like touching the surface of a grill, but instead of only just the metal bars, it was an entire flat surface, burning through my skin, my clothes, my hair. I yelled out, for the first time in a long time, out of instinct, “Isaac”, or whatever had taken hold, now digging his heels to shove me into it.
My mind raced, under siege by pain, by anxiety, by fear, by anger, by adrenaline, searching for an order, for a goal. My mind raced. 16 years of fighting, of combat, of being a soldier, then a soldier for hire, then a civil servant. All coming to an end…. Here? Overwhelmed by darkness, failing to protect those I signed and swore to, allowing the darkness to overtake an entire family, dragging friends down with me…
I searched for my name. Dwight Nolan, former US Army Staff Sergeant, Four tours in the middle east, having seen more of Afghanistan than my own home….
No, No, No. I was not going down like this. Too many battles, too much fighting, to succumb to
this.
“Dwight!!~~ FIGHT BACK!!!~~” Rosanne’s voice bellowed from beyond the barrier.
All the training, all the animalistic instinct to fight the evils of my country, now to fight the evils of
fucking existence itself, came rushing to the surface. I roared, meeting Isaac’s own rabid state of mind with that of my own will to
not fucking die. I grappled, scrambled, shoving his arms from my shoulders, and slamming my goddamn head into his, forcing him back. My hand reached for my glock- it wasn’t there. It was on the floor, a quick dive, two shots right to his- No, I stopped myself...
Isaac is my goddamn friend, He's been with me for this entire ordeal... I'm not gonna stab him in the back, leave him to this, no matter how fucked up this was getting.
No time for sentiment as Isaac came lunging in again, if he was gonna go high, fine. I ducked down and grabbed Isaac around his waist, picking him up, and Matt Hughes style running, and slamming him into the ground.
Forcing him on his back, I gazed into his eyes. Wide, full of rage, of a rabid frenzy, his mouth foamed, and black ooze leaked from beneath his makeshift eyepatch. “KHhh- KILL YOU!!!!” Isaac roared as he clawed at my face, his fingers digging into the scar on my right cheek. Anger rose to the surface as my fist balled up, and slammed right into his nose. His head bounced off the floor, but whatever possessed him obviously gave two single fucks about concussions, as he just sat up again.
Our scrap continued as Isaac forced us both back to his feet, now trying to bite down onto my shoulder, I shoved him off, kicking out one of his legs, and seeing we were now nearing one of the walls, I ran in, and this time, tackled Isaac into the steel surface.
Our probably collective 350+lbs caused the metal in whatever labyrinth we were in to groan as we connected. I kicked out one of Isaac’s legs, and shoved him into a row of the Candelabras. Oil and wax splashed out as they dominoed down with him, towards the barrier, I backed off, shielding my face.
Then, I saw it. As the fiery oil splashed out, it passed right through the barrier, seemingly untouched. Rounds couldn’t go through, but, fire did? Was that it? Fucking fire? I stood there, baffled, not even caring about Isaac as he riffed.
But how was I gonna use fire… I looked down at Isaac, and then, it hit me. On his gunbelt, aside from all the pouches of slugs and buckshot… the one on the back, marked in red and black.
“KKKh-KILL YOU!!!!” Isaac scrambled to his feet, stumbling over candelabra stands as he lunged at me. I underhooker him, an inhuman level of strength allowed Isaac to battle me, but I had a few tricks up my sleeve that his feral mind didn’t.
Slipping around to his back, I kicked out one of his knees, and wrapped my left arm around his neck, allowing me to control him- for now. We were now both on our knees.
I quickly looked him up and down, thank god, his mossberg was on it’s sling- The size of the horseshoe up my ass I must’ve had, to not have it go off in the scuffle. I pulled it off, and slipped it between the bent part of my right leg, a tactic used to reload rifles, but I think I could be forgiven for this makeshift use of the tactic given the circumstances.
My right hand fumbled with the clip on the molle pouch, Isaac’s hand dug into my arm, with just a T shirt on, he scratched at the skin. I bit down the pain, Anxiety and the will to push on. I opened the pouch, and dug out a very specific shotgun slug.
A golden brass top with a bright orange body,
DANG-INC 12 GAUGE “Dragon’s Breath”. Isaac growls and screamed through his foamed over mouth, as I fumbled with the mossberg. With all of Isaac’s thrashing, simply shoving it into the weapon was a thousand times harder. Once it clicked in, In pulled the gun up by it’s fore-end, and shook it up and down, racking the slug.
Holding Isaac close in that hold, I raised the shotgun up with my right hand, feeling like a bad action hero, but hell, given the circumstances, the laws of conventional tactics are now out the window. I took aim. I guesstimated 20 meters, Dragon’s Breath should have a minimum range of thirty. Let’s hope I was right.
I pulled the trigger, even if it has no real recoil, a pillar of fire and sparks spewed from the muzzle of the shotgun. The entire center of the back wall, where the operating table was, became engulfed in hellfire unlike anything these demons had probably ever seen.
The Mossberg dropped from my right hand as I underhooked Isaac’s right arm, and gazed over at Rosanne at the girl. Rosanne had successfully escaped her grasp, mostly because, she had let go. She stared at the operating table, and then back at me in horror. Her sunken, lifeless, evil eyes now showing a very lively, very fearful stare.
Fear, on the face of those that are supposed to go bump in the night. The creatures that have plagued this place for a while. This was more definitive than the backyard, it felt right, pure, like an actual victory. The Effigy began to hiss and spark, and as I held onto Isaac, all I could mouth to the entity, the girl, was one word.
“Gotchyah”.
….
As quick as I blinked my eyes, I found myself seated in the rolling chair in my security room. Immediately, I jumped up, and looked around. Everything was just as it had been. My leather jacket over the back of the chair, rifle and plate carrier against the wall. All the monitors showing their proper views.
I swung open the door, this time, no power outages or mysterious fucking libraries barring me. “ISAAC!! ROSANNE!!! JOHN?!”.
I looked around, Isaac was passed out on the couch, hat over his face. Rosanne turned in her chair towards me, a confused expression on her face. “Dwight?.... Are you alright?”. I was speechless, I looked up, the afternoon sunlight was pouring through the windows, heavy snow built up at the edges.
Something in me finally clicked I stormed over to the couch, Knocking Isaac’s cap off with my left hand, it then slapped him across the face as my right hand gripped my glock.
“W-Wha- Dwight?!” Isaac asked confused, rubbing his face. He let out a dry burp as he stood up, and I backed off.
“You possessed?” I asked, though my words seem to not click with him.
“What?”. I stared down at him with a vengeance.
“Are. You.
Possessed?”.
Isaac noticed my hand on my gun, and held his hands up in surrender. “Jesus man I know I might have demons, you know, alcoholism and shit, but they ain’t gonna kill you? Although some liquid courage might ease your nerves….”.
A hand on my left shoulder caused me to jump, backing up against the stairwell bannister. Rosanne, held her hands up, “Dwight. It’s over, alright…”.
However, I'm sad to say, it’s not. We regrouped, reassessed, went over what the hell happened. About 23 hours have passed, and while Rosanne and I know what happened, Isaac barely does. No burn marks on my back, none on Isaac....
John, however, is still gone. I searched every god damn nook and cranny, but the kid is gone. However, Rosanne says she might have a solution, after spending time with, that thing, wherever we were for those short 23 hours. She’s gone outside, says she needs to be in tune with the earth.
I guess that explains her fucking conservatory level of plants in her house. We’ve been gone for a few days so, I hope she fed and watered them in advance. Isaac says he doesn’t know what happened, but I’m not gonna be so quick to let him off the hook. Whether intentional or not, I don’t know the full extent of what happened.
I’ve barely had an hour or so to process everything. From those weird ass rooms, to the things to…. The dream. Barely enough time to really get a grasp-
It doesn’t look like it will be getting it anytime soon either, a van just pulled up to the gate. And a very familiar, stocky european man waddled out of the snow up to the intercom.
“Uh- Helo? Is ‘vis Cazamoth Estate? We got order for you, you order small armory!! Come!! Let us in!!”.
I’ve got to go…. Sort out however much gulf war lend lease Isaac purchased from these guys. Afterwards, we need to regroup with Rosanne and decide what to do next. John is still missing, and he’s out there, with whatever the source.
It’s time to end this. This is Dwight Nolan, signing off. We'll be back.
Read the story so far... Alongside the rotation in constructed, if the pattern holds true we'll be getting a rotation in Take Two as well. Take Two's rotation is, of course, a set ahead of the constructed format so it already lost Rise of Bahamut, and will instead be losing Tempest of the Gods this time around. I figured it's worth looking at the cards we'll be losing here for any Take Two aficionados. Word of warning, I'm no Take Two expert (if I win my first 3 games, I inevitably lose my fourth somehow, every time!) so my opinions aren't necessarily very good. It's still worthwhile to have the list and more expert users comment though, I think.
A quick note, since specific cards were already removed from Take Two last December, they won't be included. Unfortunately, the news archive on the Shadowverse site is, for lack of a better term, terrible. So I had to do some digging and I think I found the full list. Now with that said, let's look at the neutrals first...
Neutral
Full list: Owlcat; Wandering Bard Elta; Axe Fighter; Grimnir, War Cyclone; Test of Strength; Goblin Princess; Arriet, Soothing Harpist; Earthshock Ogre; Israfil; Zeus (Wise Merman, Frozen Mammoth and Impartial Strix were removed in December)
Some solid cards here, though mostly in the gold and legendary tiers. Earthshock Ogre is a massive pain to me personally so I guess I'm glad to see that gone. Israfil and Zeus are also incredibly solid, especially in a format with no neutral hard removal. The only real clunker I see in the neutrals list is Test of Strength, since the others were already pruned. I guess this means the overall power level of Take Two decks might be slightly lower.
Forestcraft
Full list: Dryad; Sukuna, Brave and Small; Cybele; Beetle Warrior; Ivy Spellbomb; Vist, Elf Butler; Fairy Cage; Jungle Warden; Crystalia Aerin; Mighty Dwarf; Elf Queen; Deepwood Anomaly (Man-Eating Mangrove was removed in December)
I for one can't wait for Aerin to leave constructed. As it is, leaving Take Two is also a decent consolation. I don't pick Forest nearly enough to know what's actually good so looking at a tier list... nearly everything is at least a decent pick, with Fairy Cage being the only true clunker. The golds and legendaries are all B grade or above, other than the aforementioned Fairy Cage, and everything else is a C. So, a lot of decent stuff lost for Forest here.
Swordcraft
Full list: Naval Guard Simone; Captain Lecia; Vagabond Frog; Shrouded Assassin; Gawain of the Round Table; Tristan of the Round Table; Luminous Mage; Support Cannon; Roland the Incorruptible; Captain Walfrid (Spring Cleaning, Luminous Standard, and Jolly Rogers were removed in December)
Once again another collection of decent to great cards. Luminous Mage is an outstanding card of course, free evolutions are incredible in Take Two. Vagabond Frog is also a pretty good card, and on the legendary side Roland and Gawain are both fine cards, Gawain especially if he does actually manage to reduce the cost of anything. Support Cannon is meh, but clearly not as meh as Spring Cleaning was since that was taken out for being so bad!
Runecraft
Full list: Freshman Lou; Magic Illusionist; Enchanted Library; Dazzling Healer; Mage of Nightfall; Halo Golem; Magic Girl Melvie; Hulking Giant; Mutagenic Bolt; Elder Mage of Dragonlore; Chimera; Wordwielder Ginger (Enchanted Sword was removed in December)
Poor Rune, always a bit too reliant on synergy for the draft format. And this set of cards just proves it, with about half (Illusionist, Nightfall, Halo Golem, Elder Mage) being Earth Rite based, and the other half (Lou, Chimera, Enchanted Sword if it was still in the format) being spellboost based. Still, for those times you could get sigils, the set here uses them quite well, so that type of deck definitely suffers from the loss. Chimera is also a good tempo tool if you can boost it enough, so that's a potential loss. At least Ginger isn't a huge loss I guess.
Dragoncraft
Full list: Dragon's Nest; Aqua Nereid; Dragoon Scyther; Wind Reader Zell; Rahab; Dragonslayer's Price; Hippocampus; Wrath Drake; Sibyl of the Waterwyrm; Phoenix Rider Aina; Lightning Blast; Ouroboros (Venomous Pucewyrm was removed in December)
Sibyl, gone. Scyther, gone. Wrath Drake, gone. Ouroboros, gone. This set hits Dragon quite hard, some of their best cards are here across the rarity spectrum. Heck even Rahab, which apparently only merits a C on the tier list, I'd consider a pretty good card. Not much else to say here, Dragon took a setback here.
Shadowcraft
Full list: Little Soulsquasher; Zombie Party; Grave Desecration; Goblin Zombie; Orthrus; Prince Catacomb; Minthe of the Underworld; Death's Ledger; Dolorblade Warrior; Ebon Reaper; Demonlord Eachtar; Immortal Thane (Deadmoon Disciple was removed in December)
I might have to take the honor of "most affected by this set leaving" from Dragon already. Eachtar is enough, but Soulsquasher, Thane, Ebon Reaper, Zombie Party, Orthrus, Shadow loses so much here. Even Dolorblade Warrior isn't the worst pick in the world. Death's Ledger is the only below average card here, the rest are almost entirely outstanding. The card quality is still high in the remaining sets, but this is nonetheless a hard hit for Shadow.
Bloodcraft
Full list: Spiderweb Imp; Baphomet; Galretto, Devil of Love; Mask of the Black Death; Frogbat; Blood Moon; Belphegor; Dark Airjammer; Stolen Life; Soul Dominator; Maelstrom Serpent (Assault Werewolf and Vlad were removed in December)
Nothing spectacular here, but not much disappointing either. Blood Moon is another one of those amulets you don't really want in Take Two, otherwise I'd be ok taking pretty much any of the rest. Three 2-drops from Blood could hurt a lot though, more than any other class so far.
Havencraft
Full list: Mist Shaman; Holy Bowman Kel; Zoe, Queen of Goldenia; Octobishop; Iron Maiden; Gravekeeper Sonia; Calydonian Boar; Judge of Retribution; Dark Jeanne; Tarnished Grail; Heavenly Aegis (Candelabra of Prayers and Pure Healer were removed in December)
Huzzah, I no longer have to seriously consider Moonman when he's up against something actually good, on the off chance I come up against Aegis! A lot of other good cards here too, including Dark Jeanne, Judge of Retribution, and Octobishop. I always thought of Haven as a sub-standard class for Take Two, and since this appears to be their best set then it becomes even worse unless DBNE can introduce some stunning cards for them.
And there's my sub-par analysis of the Take Two landscape. I really don't play the mode enough, but having the full list I thought might help those who play it more. I'd definitely like to hear your analysis of these losses, and what classes you want to play once the rotation hits.
Part One Part Two Part Three The chapel. The chapel in the basement. Could there have been a more fitting place? Would we find my grandmother's own personal collection of crucified men down there? Or maybe the ten commandments written in blood on the wall? Laughter and vomit fought to burst out of my mouth.
My father and I left through the backdoor.
This is the perfect time. Spill the beans, Cole. Just gush like you’ve wanted to this whole time. Thinking of how to start, I tried to keep pace with Dad. He walked with long strides, always moving with purpose. Before I could formulate a plan of action, The two wide doors of the cellar stood angled against the side of the house. It looked like a cellar you might see someone run into in one of those twister movies. My dad produced a thick key and bent to open the padlock. It snapped open and he simply tossed it and the key into the patchy grass.
“She used to hold services down here,” said as he pulled the two doors open.
“Like mass?”
“Yeah. Something like that. I was never allowed to attend, not that I would if they offered.”
Ancient, moldy air wafted up into my face, like a giant creature exhaling in the dark. Steep wooden stairs faded into the inky black. It was fitting, all things considered. The sun was still high above us, and our shadows bent forward and disappeared into the cellar. My father, hands on his hips, looked solmn, hiding away anything he might have been feeling. But there was hesitation there. An angle in his brow, a distance in his eyes.
The doors fell from his hands and slammed down. I jumped and looked at him. “Listen Cole. Thank you for coming with us.”
“Of course, Dad. It’s no big deal.”
“Yes it is. You and I both know it is.”
Now. Now’s your chance. Come on man let it loose, blow up, cry, just get it out. Tell him everything! “Whatever you need Dad.”
He smiled, old and weary. “I love you, bud.”
“You too, Dad.”
“I promise, I’ll tell you all about her. Just...when we’re done here. Deal?”
“Deal.”
He bent and opened the doors again, then descended. As I stepped down after him, it was dark for a moment before he flipped on a long fluorescent bulb that sputtered and skipped to life. It hung in the center of the ceiling, grey cement all around. The walls were bare, and sickly from the unnatural light. It was a large box, really. An oversized prison cell. At my feet a long purple and white runner stretched down the aisle and was flanked by two rows of pews. They looked like they were pulled straight from a real church. As I looked up and down the rug my father obscured some sort of altar at the end of the hall. He stood between two tall bronze candelabras. The far right corner of the room was sectioned off by two heavy purple drapes.
I came up behind him and looked at the pews. Staring at the old wooden things, I realized that some of the pictures in the photoalbum were taken here. A chill ran through me at the thought of those people hiding out in this bunker, smiling like mad, taking pictures in the harsh fluorescents. All so sure of their love of God or whoever else.
The candelabras held tall white candles. The floor around them was pockmarked with dried wax, but the candles themselves looked fairly new. Stepping beside my father, I could now see the wide altar before him. It was wood, with large clawed legs, like those old bathtubs. It had a cabinet beneath it, and a purple cloth covering it’s surface.
A large chalice sat in the center, surrounded by a henge of small rocks. The chalice was dingy bronze and tarnished, and the rocks were all oval in shape. It was a pretty simple display, but creepy as hell, none the less.
My dad put his hands on the corners of the altar and leaned forward, sagging his head. If I didn't know better I’d have said he was praying. The harsh fluorescents washed over his back, and the muscles of his shoulders worked. He drew in a deep breath and let it out, long and fading. It echoed off the concrete walls.
I stepped back and sat down in the middle pew, to the left of my father. There was a certain gravity to the silence that hung over the chapel. There was a weight to it that I couldn't put my finger on. I looked at my dad, bent over the altar, lost in thought or in memories too painful to speak of--as they all seemed to be. It didn't feel right to disturb him. Like I would have interrupted some sort of much needed time to reflect, or
time to put ghosts to rest, as he had said earlier. A rush of desire to hug him swam through me.
What would happen if I did? There was a barrier there. There always has been. Unspoken and invisible, but it was there. He was not unloving, no, but our interactions always seemed formal, calculated. Restrained. And as always, I sat and thought, instead of acting. Dad stood before me, seemingly in the center of it all. Of everything he’d come to face, and I sat back and watched.
Then he spoke quietly, under his breath. “I wish you could have told me how it ended.”
The pew moaned as I shifted in my seat.
“You tried so hard to avoid going to hell, and then when you died, nothing happened. No angels, no chariots or trumpets. Just a phone call, like everyone else.” He turned his head slightly toward me and part of his profile could be seen. Furrowed brow and cold eyes. “I’m too old to have expected more, but…” He trailed off, turning back to the alter." “I just hope all this bought you a ticket in. I don’t think it did, but I hope.” He stood up, straightening his back and shoving his hands into his pockets.
I stood up too, and stepped beside him, the soft purple runner hushing beneath my feet.
“I don’t hate her, Cole. I don’t want you to think I hated my mother.”
“I know you don’t.” Simply agreeing was easier to manage. Wouldn't say anything stupid that way.
“This. This is what I hated.” He waved a hand over the altar. “I hate what he came into, what she became. I hate what she brought back with her most of all.”
Those words seemed to ring in my head. I watched as his eyes darted over the display before us.
“I was too young to understand, but I knew it was bad. I knew she was a different woman the day she came back, holding that goddamned statue in her arms like a baby. Cradling the thing. She walked up the driveway through the pouring rain, and right on passed me. Upstairs and into her room. I heard her crying all night long.” His large throat clicked and dropped. “Next morning...she was just different. And that was it. I lost my dad, then, maybe two months later, my mom too.”
“What happened, Dad?” I tested, hoping.
He looked at me, green eyes heavy and faintly watery. “I don’t know, kid. And I don’t think I ever will. ”
I tried to smile, a consoling look. I felt a slight tremble on my lip.
“You know, Cole. I was unimportant to her. I was replaced, I guess. That’s not the way it should be, but that’s the way it was, and I can forgive that. But above it all, above everything about my mother...I just wish she would have treated me warmly.”
The tears came suddenly. So unexpectedly that I couldn't even pull my eyes away before they spilled over. They were tears of stress and of fear brought on by the sudden insight to my dad’s troubles. I had lost it completely. I sobbed and sobbed, and my dad pulled me against him. I cried into his shirt. There was a comfort in his arms, a sureness in the strong hands that patted my back and hair.
“Hey, Cole, it’s all right.” He said softly.
“I don’t think it is Dad.” It came through in sharp gasps. That was the most honest thing I’ve said since he showed me the statue back home.
“Everything is fine, Son. I’ve lived my whole life making sure that what happened in this house stayed here. I love you, Cole. You, your brother and your mom are what make everything all right. Do you understand?”
I nodded against his chest, feeling comforted, safe, and ashamed above all else. We stood for a moment, hugging in the hard fluorescent light, the centerpiece of a dead chaple. No doubt the ghost of my grandmother floated around us. Just briefly, lost in the post breakdown exhaustion, the Lady of the Hall left my mind.
The moment passed and he pulled away, holding my shoulders and looking sad and old. “Let's get this place torn down, huh?”
I nodded, sniffling and wiping my nose on my sleeve. Dad cleared his throat and looked around the room. “Okay. Let’s start hauling these pews up. We might even be able to sell these to an antique shop.”
“You got it.” A little less gaspy, now.
Such was my dad, it was kindly and curty dealt with, before quickly moving on. He was sincere and honest, caring and considerate, but not for one second longer than necessary. Everything I had been feeling had just bubbled up. It just spilled out. Not all of it, but most. Two deep breaths and I began working.
We hauled the pew up without much effort. My arms felt weak and I tried my best to keep the sniffling quiet. It slid into the empty U-haul and rested against the back. It was the first thing to have been packed away, and the sight of the empty truck reminded me of just how much work we had left to do. It reminded me of just how long we’d be stuck in this rotting old house. I felt like crying all over again.
As we headed back to the chapel, Eddie opened up the front door and stuck his head out. “Hey Dad?”
“Yeah Kiddo?”
“Mom needs your help in the kitchen quick. We found rats in the cupboard and there’s a big fat dead one in a pot.
“Can’t you just throw it out?”
“Are you kidding? I’m not touching that thing! I’ll get the plague or something.”
“Eddie, just throw the whole pot out.”
“Will you just do it? It’s pretty gross and mom is freaking out.” Eddie always took on such a whiney tone when he didn't want to do something. He could really be a little shit when he wanted.
My dad shot me a look that said,
Jesus, this kid of mine, and started towards the house. Over his shoulder he said, “Go ahead and keep tearing down the cellar, I’ll be right there.”
I wanted to protest the idea of being alone down there, but instead I watched the two disappear into the house and thought of how badly I wanted to leave this place.
Faster we work, the faster we go home. It was as good of a compromise as I was likely to make. Back in the cellar, it helped to keep my mind as blank as possible. Thinking about nothing other than the work my hands were doing, I rolled up the purple cloth with the rocks and chalice inside of it, and set it on the floor. It felt odd dismantling the thing. Like treading on sacred ground, or something. But wasn't that what this whole place was like? Like ancient ground that being disturbed by unwelcome guests. I shrugged it off as best I could.
I snatched the candles from the tall candelabras and set them next to the rolled up cloth. As I kneeled to open the cabinet beneath the altar, I heard my father descend the steps behind me. The cabinet door wouldn't budge, but there was no lock.
Trying to tug the thing open I said, “That was fast. Do we have a rat problem?” He didn't answer, and just as I turned to look, the cabinet finally swung open and I slipped back onto the seat of my pants. Inside on the only shelf were two fat books that looked like bibles, and a single framed picture. It was of my grandmother and my Dad. He was a young man in this one. Maybe my age, if not slightly older. He held a distant, old expression on his youthful face. My grandmother was stern and cold. Sharp eyes focused on the camera. She wore a smock that looked almost like a priest's garb. They stood in this very chapel.
I turned my head. “Hey Dad, whe-?”
The man from behind the fence stood in the aisle between the pews.
Burt Grand.
Scrambling to my feet I made no attempt to hide my shock. The picture fell my from my hands and clattered to the floor, shattering the glass. With a quick glance I noticed
Giving life, was written in pen on the back.
“I took that photo, you know.” He said, whisper thin. His smile everlasting “He’s in the house, isn’t he?”
I nodded. “Should be right back though.” The tremble in my voice betrayed any confidence I had hoped would come through.
His smile remained. “Just as well.” He moved down the aisle, black velcro shoes shuffling. The walk of man who won’t be walking much longer.
He came closer and I stepped back, holding the side of the altar. Stepping over the broken frame, he approached the front, bowed his head and made the sign of the cross. “Father, Son and Holy Spirit.” Then he looked at me.
“What do you want? Maybe you should talk to my dad.”
He waved a knotted hand. “No need, boy. No need.” He knelt and picked the frame up from the ground. His knees popped and cracked. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep this photo. Fond memories, though the day was soured.”
“Go ahead.” I shoved my hands in my pockets to hide their shaking.
“Your father was so close. This was to be his day. His cloudy eyes drifted over the picture and he sighed. “But that boy was a fighter, all right! Always a pill to his mother, he was.”
Then he turned his gaze to the draped off corner of the room, and began to shuffle over.
Now’s my chance. His back was turned, the path to the steps was free. Bolt. Run. Leave, now! “What do you want?” I forced the words out. Feeling hot and cold at the same time.
“Yes, your father was quite the fighter,” He repeated. “But I don’t think you inherited that trait.” Then he reached up to the small divide in the curtains and pulled them wide, his huge yellow grin spread ear to ear.
All the people in the Garden will shake your hand. Distant echoes ringing in my head. A cold draft from somewhere far away.
All the people in the Garden will shake your hand, Cole. There she was. Her. It was really Her. A soft pounding in my chest told me that it was really, really her. All the others were fragments. Small parts of a bigger whole. I knew in the instant that those curtains parted, that it was the complete Lady. Standing on a podium, she was sheathed in a shawl and hood of beautiful crimson red. It draped to her bare toes that peeked out.
Burt Grand faded away, a distant blur on some far away land. I think I heard laughing, a plunging, gasping sound as his shape began to slide away. All unimportant white noise. The woman was like the others, one beckoning hand and another clasped above her breast. Her eyes were small planets of ice. Piercing. Freezing. Fixing. An ageless, blank face hid beneath her cowl. Soft, pale and round, her expression called on the deepest fear and sadness known. A face that’s seen it all and wishes to tell.
A dim, fading voice screamed to me. A guttural plea, deep inside.
“Who are you?” I heard the words in my head, my mouth a numb mass below my nose.
Inside you can be rid of your fear. Of your loneliness. I can tell you of my ways. You will be welcomed. “I just want to know who you are.” My head was crushing. A thunderous hot-white pain began clouding my eyes.
I deal in sleep. I am the cure to what ails you. I am the company that you wish to keep. You will be welcomed into our Garden. Take my hand. Enjoy my bread and games. Drink from my fountain and be full. Only if you come will you know my name. The woman looked at me with stone eyes. Unmoving yet filled with ancient...something. The painted blue seemed to swim with passion. My heart was beating ice cold in my chest. A mixture of searing pain in my temples and frozen numbness in the muscles behind my eyes. Distantly, I thought this is what dying must feel like.
“I don’t want to.” The words flowed like thick tar.
You do. You need me. The table is waiting. An empty seat of naught but ashes. You will rekindle and join. Reside in my court. Share in my throne, Cole. A step. Her gaze held me. A look of a mother who’s found her wayward boy. There was fullness in those endless pools of blue. Her eyes welcomed, and her hand beckoned, In her arms was relief. Peace and love, contentment in all things. My bones screamed in protest but muscles worked, moving slowly.
Yes, my son. The fire burns eternal among us. Never be cold at my side, never be hungry. “I don’t want to.” I repeated, Scribbling in my mind, the only thing I had left.
You do, you do. A deep folding. An ancient
craaack. A finger separated from her stone-bound hand. It pointed at me and bent. Something beneath the breaking stone. Skin or pink sinew.
Draw closer, my love. Come and rest your head at my bosom. Be whole. My body was thundering pain hammering through numbness. A deep pressure trying to break through. The finger folded out and in, layers of skin-paint and chipped mortar falling to the non-existent floor.
You need, and I can give. I can give so much, Cole. “No.” Yes Another dull, effortless motion. I walked closer. She was peace and completion. A longing--a desire that had never presented itself before. She called with such allure that I could only accept, despite the ever growing, spreading churning in my gut.
Then, sitting in the center of the growing, gnawing void that surrounded us, her eyes blinked. They chafed on stone lids that rubbed together like grinding teeth. They blinked and pulsed and flicked about, darting like mad over me as I drew closer. Those crystal eyes covered me head to toe. Something growing there, something primeval. Something
primordial. The eyes of something waking from a long, long sleep. Above all, they were the eyes of a predator.
The desire began to blend with terror. The soft, knowing face became haunted. I moved closer and a schism grew inside me. A lust and longing, a need to be with her, to know her and join her. And a fear of all those things. They mixed and swam and fought, and I was powerless to stop walking.
All the people in the Garden will shake your hand. “Please stop.” Another step. Passed the altar now. My feet were not my own. Each step was effortless and terrifying.
Come and give life, Cole. Be welcomed with hands and hearts. I have so much love to give, Cole. Do not tarnish this. Share my throne. Closer now. So close I could feel Her. The white hot burning pain spiderwebbed down my neck, across my chest and back. It was a crushing weight that I couldn’t escape. I could hear her heart. Thumping and pounding against a stone cage. It was sick and dying, uneven and kicking.
Stop this, Cole. Just come and take part. Culled from many, this chance is not lasting and will not be offered again. Her voice wavered. A quiver of excitement, of anticipation. It was full of venom, dripping in my head. I couldn't think. I couldn't respond. But the schism that had developed had now gone, and what remained was horror beyond all things. A primal fear of the darkness. The fear of your plane going down and being able to do nothing but look out your window and watch the ground get closer. It was sitting behind your eyes and watching your life support being switched off. Another step. Arms extended to meet hers.
With every ounce of will I had left. I begged.
“Please. Let me go. I don’t...I can’t.” A tremble on her chin. A blurred vibration, the gritty yawn of earth moving.
So close now. Take part in the terminal play. Hurry, hurry. Reap what I have sown. Share my throne, Cole. Share my sepulcher. The ground was completely gone from beneath me. Falling. A muddy emptiness that was stretching, pulling on every inch of my being. Still she remained in the center, eyes glazing over me, hungry, molesting. Her lips split. Her jaw shook, rolling out timeless knots. Something sharp behind her crumbling stone maw. Daggers of rot, kept hidden for eons and ready to snap.
Gone. Drifting so close. Fading so quickly. The pain began to slip away in a dull waves. Leaving in its place a growing ease. An effortless comfort that came with acceptance. Fingers about to touch now.
“The hour grows late. You have been chosen. Hurry, now. Come and know me, know my hands, my mouth, my TEETH.”
A snapping cord. A twisting, twanging recoil. A taut rope gone slack. Something hard cut my face as the feeling dripped back in. Another numb thumping on the back of my head. I wriggled my toes and fingers and blinked hard. Then, looking up at the blaring fluorescent bulb I realized I was on the floor. The hot flashing pain drained away, leaving only dull thuds behind my eyes. It was release in it’s purest form.
Memories came flooding in. My family, my old friends, everything that’s ever happened to me. It would have been gone. I knew it in that moment, that I would have been completely and utterly gone. I would have been
gone.
To weep would have cost me more energy than I had. With more effort than I thought possible, I raised my head. My vision focused in and out, but the Lady was there, and she was shattered. Her head and neck were gone, and only jagged razors remained. The floor around me was covered in blood. No, no not blood, only crimson fragments. Rough painted stone beads. Pieces of Her.
My head fell back, and this time the thud of my skull on the cement hurt a little more. A loud clamour rang out beside me, and through the corner of my eye I saw a large rock roll across the floor. It was all so uninteresting. In that moment I existed with just enough capacity to lie there as feeling slowly came back to me. Nothing more. All I could do was rest on the floor and wait for the fluorescent light to become too bright to stare at. Then a shape clouded it. Blocked it out.
Words. Someone speaking. A rough, old voice cutting through the fog.
Dad. He closed in. A knee bent down by my head, and suddenly I was lifted. I floated down the aisle, A passing motion of grey walls and a purple smears. One last far-away glance at the Lady. Normal. Whole. Headless, but whole. Who was she now? The Lady of the Cellar, the Chapel? The Void? No. All she was now was a headless statue. Her stone brains splattered across the floor.
I was set down again, more feeling now. Itchy, dry grass against my neck and arms. The dull orb above quickly grew too bright and I closed my eyes. My dad’s voice was stronger now. A lighthouse at the shore.
“...us Cole, I’m so s...”
Then I was in his arms. A limp sack, my hands dangling down onto hot, dry earth. He squeezed me so tight it hurt. We sat on the ground, my father rocking and speaking to me in rising-and-falling tones. “...ouldn't have…”
I was slowly coming back to life. The thudding behind my eyes began to take form as a crippling headache, the dirt between my fingers became gritty and solid. I could smell the deodorant he wore, the sweat on his chest. He pulled me away and looked at me with watery eyes, nearly brimming over. It was the first thing that came into perfect focus. That face of pure, complete regret.
“I didn't think it chose you. I can’t believe I was so stupid. Jesus Christ Cole, this whole time.”
“What happened, Dad?” The words were breathy and fleeting. Still not enough energy to cry, and I was thankful for that.
“I fucked everything up, that's what happened. I should never have brought you. I should have came alone. I just...I thought you were safe.”
“It’s okay, Dad.”
“Stop it, no it’s not Cole. Not it’s not. But it’s over now. Just one more statue and this will be over.”
“Who is she?” I opened my eyes and winced at the relentless sun. My father let me down I propped myself up on my elbows, trying to keep from shaking.
Dad sat back and rested his arms on his knees. “I don’t know. But I’ve known about her for a long time.”
“I thought...I thought I-”
My father cut in. “You thought you were dying.”
“Yeah.”
He hung his head. “She stopped pulling me when I was around your age. I thought you were safe. And Eddie showed no signs…” He trailed off, rubbing his head.
“What would have happened?” It was all out now. I was too exhausted and in too much pain to be afraid of asking.
“I don’t know. But if I was any later...I wish I had answers, Cole. I really do.”
“But you killed her, right?”
“No. I think that might have stopped her, for a while. She can...
move through statues. But I think that was most of her. As far as I know, the only other one is in the upstairs hall. I lost count of how many I smashed growing up.”
We sat quietly for a time. No birds chirped, no cars drove by. I laid back and rolled onto my side. The beige grass rubbed against my nose. Now mostly back to consciousness, I felt great, all things considered. I mean, I felt horrible, terrified and stuck beneath a hurricane of a headache, but I felt safe.
Then, filling the air, my dad spoke. “At the end, she tried to give me to her.”
I rolled to face him. “Why?”
He shrugged. “I don’t want to know.”
“How did you get away?”
“By then I think I had built up a kind of resistance to her. Her affect on me was...duller by then. I just fought it and ran. The next day I moved in with your mother and her family.”
That was incredibly fitting for my dad. He just fought her off. That's just the way he is. Or maybe he is the way he is, because of her. That seemed more likely. “Does Mom know?”
“No. I’ve never told her. I had hoped I’d never have to tell anyone.”
“That guy Burt, he came down. He opened the curtains. He knew.”
“Goddamn him. If I thought I could get away with murder I’d go over and break his neck. He’s been a part of this since it started.”
“What are we going to do about him? Can we even do anything?”
“No, we can’t. He’s been on his way out for years now. He won’t be around much longer. We leave today.”
“I think that’s a good idea.” The headache was quickly becoming too much.
My dad looked at me, regret, sadness, anger and maybe even pride, all swimming in his eyes. “I think so too. Just let me take care of that last statue and we’re out of here.”
“Okay.”
“This ends with you, me, and that statue. Deal?”
“Deal.”
I got the idea of getting a thigh piece done of a clock, candelabra, tea pot and teacup - as though the Beast never found true love and his servants became the objects permanently. I'd like a wilted rose in the foreground and am unsure as to whether I'd like the mirror in with the objects cracked and covered in spiderwebs or if the objects would be reflected in the mirror. I'm not sure which would look better and am FAR from artistically talented so just looking for some creative executions :)