by Matt Dawson
“You never like anything.” A perky voice shouted out. She bore a pointed purple hat and half cape with black bars on her shoulder.
“Solara.” Matas nodded to the girl before turning to look at the Hawks.
Acara turned around, observing the Hawks as well, “I see you’ve recovered from your recent escapade.”
Solara laughed, “Something like that.” She looked between the two, who had their backs to each other. She glanced at the ground, searching for nothing, then cleared her throat.
“I’m afraid I bring bad news.”
Chapter 3
Plesik wedged a long metal pipe between the seized flood doors. Behind him, several sphere bots stood idle, sputtering as he yanked. As they inched along, oil extruded from the seams, thoroughly coating him in the substance. “Shim!” he shouted as he locked the door in place by slamming the pole into the ground. The sphere bots launched into action, stuffing bits of material into the door guides.
The orbs resurfaced and returned to their starting positions, idle. He looked over their oiled frames. The superstructure must have sank into an oil field deep underground. He had no choice, and carefully picked up the pole that had bore itself in the ground from the weight of the door.
The gateway shuddered and shook. Its immense weight looking to overpower the debris that blocked its path, but there was just enough of a space to get through. Plesik had no choice but to descend if he wanted to reach the machine in time. He tucked the Manus Dei into a compartment in his arm, latching it shut tight. He figured he had about 3 body lengths to get through to the other side, which had a chance of opening if it wasn’t also blocked by sludge. It was a risk he had to take.
He waded up to his waist in the oil, closed his eyes, and dove. It almost immediately locked him in place. The only thing saving him was his arm, which he used like a corkscrew to pull him through the viscous substance. He got to the small side door with air to spare. Plesik yanked on the door as hard as he could. It didn’t budge. He pushed with all of his might, using the tilt of the environment to his advantage. It still didn’t budge. His lungs started to ache. He banged against the door and got spun around. He was disoriented. He heard thuds and smacking through the viscosity. He started nod off, the air in his lungs begged to be exhaled. His arm started curling up against his body. What felt like a warm pillow brushed against his back. He was suddenly launched backwards and extruded through a small hole in the door, the oil splattering all over him as he lay there, gasping for air through the layer of sludge covering him.
He struggled to get up, slipping around on the metal rail right next to him. Below, the oil dripped through the grated floor into the void. He hung his arms over the edge, desperate to keep himself upright. Lights sparkled to life, filling the space with a dancing red glow.
Below, he could see the skittering of orbs activating. In the distance, a deep growl could be heard resonating against the cement walls. Spheres began slowly climbing the walls. The wide, otherwise empty space was pierced through, all the way down into the depths of darkness, by a central spiral ramp.
Plesik hurried down the ramp. He staggered as he walked, his foot occasionally dropping through the metal where it had rusted and weakened. His descent slowed as bots began assaulting him from every angle, clawing at him and latching on. He tore the machines off, taking bits of flesh with them as they peeled away. He gripped the rail in desperation, trying to keep his pace up as more attackers emerged from the shadows.
A deep rumbling filled the space as an array of red and yellow lights began pulsating at the bottom of the shaft. The bots had latched on to every limb. The weight made his knees buckle with each step. He could barely move. The sweet sound of a woman humming could be heard echoing throughout the shaft. It was familiar to him. His weariness lifted as the humming became more pronounced. The fear he felt washed away as his pain eased.
The bots ceased their assault and fell away. The darkness of the shaft lit up, revealing his old farmland home to him. A calm breeze greeted him as he walked through the field of adolescent wheat. On the far hill, his home stood intact. He basked in the warm sunlight as he strolled through the field, eyes closed.
“Plesik...”
The humming continued. A woman appeared from behind a curtain of grain. He opened his eyes to see his wife, dressed in a gray dress and sun cap, waving to him, a bright smile on her face while she walked over to him. His pain was gone. The dread that burned in his core was gone. She embraced him. He closed his eyes again, and a wave of happiness flood over him.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, pulling away and holding him by the shoulders. He looked down at her grasping him. It was at that moment Plesik realized his arm was healed. He looked back up at her, shaking his head. “Everything is better now.”
He took her by the hand and started walking towards the house on the hill. The sky had big fluffy clouds. The air was neither too hot nor too cold. They climbed the gentle slope. His son was running around the dirt path higher up the gentle mountain. When they crested the slope, he rushed down to greet them.
“Papa, you came back!” the boy said, hopping in excitement.
Plesik smiled, kneeling down and giving him a great big hug. “I have waited so long to see you again.” He stood up, his ecstatic expression melting away. “And we’ll see each other again, real soon. He looked from his son to his wife, “But, I need your help.”
His wife nodded, a concerned look on her face. “Of course, what’s the matter?”
Plesik drove his newly found natural arm directly into her chest. A wave of panic washed over her face. Tears welled up in his eyes.
Simulation error, unauthorized interruption detected.
“I’m sorry, I need this to be real. Please help me.” Plesik said softly.
She began convulsing. The wheat in the wind began convulsing. The humming stopped in a short looping pattern, almost as if it were ticking the same note over and over again.
Interfering with pacification is punishable by death.
The fields of wheat dimmed from view. Plesik’s extended arm returned to its artificial state. The pain returned, coursing through his body. Dancing red lights, blurred in his vision, returned to the cement walls. More orbs could be heard clicking against the metal grating below.
Still unable to focus his vision, he pushed his body, with what strength he had left, up and over the railing. He tumbled, landing flat on his back. The vibrations of his metal arm dazed him. His eyes focused. Dozens of bots launched themselves from the rafters and rained down upon him.
“Stop this at once!” He shouted.
The rain of machines ceased. The array of red and yellow lights turned to green. Still flat on his back, a small hatch opened up over his head.
Chapter 4
“Fox company, tighten it up on the left!” Acara shouted from a raised dirt platform. “Yeah, I can’t turn back time, where do you need us?”
“You will watch your tongue, or you will lose…” the standard bearer said before being silenced by the raised hand of the general.
“The Samnians have been thrashing us on our left flank. Our javelin can’t punch through their new cavalry armor, and repeated charges have worn us down. If we can’t stop them, we will lose this position.
Acara’s second in command, Cenaeus, unfolded a jig-sawed wooden table and placed it before her. He took out a small leather pouch and placed it on top of the unfolded table. Acara counted out the standards on the field, pulling out pieces as she did and placing them on the surface. “Our men are ready.” She placed the final piece roughly as they stood on the plains.
She pulled three intricately carved pieces from a small pocket within the purse, placing them on the very side edge of the table. They were intricate designs: gold feathers, silver leaves, and bronze fur pieces. She lined them up in a row. Then, next to them, she lined up several black dyed wooden pieces. Acara stood looking over the field, with pinned shoulders, and hands held behind her back.
The general nodded to his second in command. Horn players blared short bursts followed by long, drawn out melodies. The Etruscan formations on the field raised their standards, and the leading centurions each drew their swords and held them out. The center and right heavy infantry cohorts coalesced into a weak center, with the bulk of their army forming a strong left flying V.
“General, I recommend you leave the left flank to me.” Acara said, still looking out over the battlefield.
With a flick of the wrist, the commander ordered his men to shift right. Horns blared. In short order, the entire army composition shifted to a strong right position. The Rangers nor the Myrmidon anywhere to be found on the left. A deep base drum and shrill wind instruments played on the far end of the field. Contrasting against the red and gold standards of the Etruscan army, purple and silver fabric flags danced in the breeze on the opposite side of the field.
“Huntress, if you have an answer to that cavalry charge barreling towards us, now would be the time to do so.” The general said, pointing at the charging lancers headed right towards them.
Acara retained one hand behind her back as she organized the black pieces opposite the red pieces. She placed the pieces carefully, looking to the field for reference as she adjusted their positions to accurately represent the field in play. The hooves beating against the plains start to overpower the shouting, the vibrations shifting the pieces around.
The general and his second looked at each other. The general scowled. “You were paid for a job, now do it!”
Acara moved the cavalry much closer to her side, just past the middle line. She looked up at the field, returning her other hand behind her. “With all due respect, general, worry about your side of the field.” she picked up the golden feathered piece and placed them in front of the black horse piece. She then moved the bronze fur piece and placed it behind the gold. Finally, she placed the silver leaves just to the left of the black horse.
Acara came around the table, her arms still placed behind her back and watched the approaching cavalry. She could make out the color of each of the horse’s manes. The clatter of hooves grew even louder still. She raised her hand in the air, fingers together and straight up.
She dropped her hand.
From behind the tall grass, a massive curved long blade slashed at the riders head on, sending a fountain of blood everywhere. Just to their side, a single mass of metal smashed into the formation, sending them everywhere. Myrmidon stood up and charged the now toppled riders. Behind them, Fox company stood up and took a running leap into the fallen horses, bearing down upon them from the air, axes and swords drawn in each hand.
As Fox and the Myrmidon dog-piled the downed heavy cavalry formation, a second light cavalry formation rushed up from the left flank, behind the trees. Acara looked shocked at the sudden appearance of a second cavalry force side-by-side. She stepped back, over to the table and placed another horse piece in the back corner, placing her hand on her chin in thought.
“Get your men in order, they’re doing nothing to hold their end of the flank!” the general shouted at Acara.
She looked up as both cohorts were butchering unmoving bodies, a volcano of blood shooting into the air as they thrashed their weapons. She looked over the field, moving each of the pieces on both sides as the tides of battle moved. “You are about to lose your right flank, you should pay more attention to what you’re doing than what I’m doing.” She slid multiple black pieces down the right side of the board, and flicked two red pieces down upon their sides.
The commander opened his mouth when he spotted two of his heavy infantry units routing. He stepped forward. “Get back in position!”
She looked up to see arrows taking out the light riders. A lone Hawk had pulled himself up on a horse and began boxing them in, shooting any who made it past as he circled around them. The rest of his cohort followed suit, jumping on horses, wrangling them and getting mounted.
Acara whistled, catching the attention of the riders. She used hand signals to communicate: Right flank down, shift to cover.
The mounted formation burst into action, cutting through the open center between both the Etruscans and Samnians. They formed a wide circle and began firing at the backs of the Samnian infantry that had claimed the right side. The formations immediately halted their advance on the flank of the center and started chasing after the circling riders. Before they had made three steps, half of the front formation was down on the ground.
Acara looked up at the bloodsoaked cohorts emerging from the lake of blood on the left flank. She flicked over the horse piece and stepped out to the birm. “Right side is gone, hold the center!” she shouted.
Matas looked up at her, covered in crimson, and gave a lazy salute, blood flicking off his arm as he did so. The Myrmidon and Fox company were already in full sprint rushing up to the advancing Samnian heavy infantry lines. The Etruscans broke off and shifted to guard against the fallen right side.
More wind instruments and drums. The Samnian infantry on the right routed, rushing off to the foothills to the east. The rest of the Samnian forces retreated back, sprinting. The mounted Hawks fell back to the command platform.
“Wind’s changed, something’s up.” Galen, the lead Hawk, said atop his horse to Acara.
Acara looked out over the plains, examining the stillness as the Samnians rushed to clear the field. The army had largely bunched up in the center, the left non-existent. The right weak. “Get them back here.” She turned around, finding Leiel tending to the wounded at the rear of the camp, the boy in tow.
“General, I don’t believe for a second that broke them. I recommend you rally your men and get ready for a secondary…” a dull pulsing hum could be heard resonating in the air, coming from the direction of the Samnians. Acara turned around to see a massive shadow grow over the battlefield, slamming down on top of the Etruscan command platform. Acara got launched from the air blast, falling head-over-heels and rolling a distance. She tried getting to her feet, but the spinning ground kept her firmly planted flat on the soil. Seeing what was before her, Acara jumped to her feet.
Chapter 5
Acara looked up, massive light grey metal legs stretched up high, a solid navy stripe going from the machine’s massive tri-toe up to its oversized head before splitting off and going around it in a circle. Acara looked around, the rest of command nowhere to be found. “Retreat! Get out of here!” She shouted as loud as she could over the intense whirring the titan was emitting.
Garen motioned towards the trees as he staggered up to his feet. The majority of Hawks blown from horseback sprinted away. They made it about five steps before the whirring ceased. Collectively, the entire group fell to one knee, their heads dipping low. Leiel grabbed Acara by the collar, dragging her away. Gessich looked at her with worry. Her head slumped over, limp legs dragging in the dirt.
Alert issued, multiple objectives at risk.
Fenek yipped at the machine from the rear of the command platform, most of the dirt caved in under the giant machine. Its head was at least five men tall, and its legs were more than two of its own head in length.
Matas and Rex looked at the entirety of the Myrmidon and Fox company brought to their knees, unmoving. “We need to get them out of here.” Matas said as he sheathed his blade and picked up a Ranger and a Myrmidon in each arm, making for the tree line.
“We can’t, there’s not enough time.” Rex said, pointing at the machine.
“What in the hell is a Manta Ray doing on the surface?” Matas said, placing down the two he picked up.
He drew his long blade again, and sprinted back towards command. The machine squatted down deep. Its knees up against what would be it’s chin. Its head was shaped like a bowl, with a small notch that hung down from the front of it. Two vertical red eyes search in various patterns independently. It let out a belch of steam into the air from above each side of its legs. Two small rails fell to the ground from where the steam escaped.
Matas charged in, kicking the machines up before cutting them in fours with a cross slash. Rex just behind him, picking them up with both hands and crushing them in his palm. Leiel, encircled by the bots, pulled the thin sword from her blade, cutting down the assault with one fell swoop.
Matas slashed wildly with his long sword. Rex grabbed two at a time, smashing them against his chest plate, against themselves, and crushed them against the ground. The torrent of metal falling from the hulking machine kept up with them.
“Keep them busy!” Matas shouted to Rex. He charged up the burm and began climbing up the legs, opposite the rail. Bots tried climbing back up, and began stacking around the feet.
Matas dug his feet into the rungs on the underbelly of the machine, climbing up with a sword in one hand. The titan shook and bucked. Matas lost his footing and whipped around with the great force the machine exerted. He recovered, and clinged to the top of its head.
He dug the sword into the crease of the hatch and pried as hard as he could while still gripping the inset rungs. The metal gave way, revealing Plesik seated within. The machine bucked, smashing Matas in the face with the torn hatch. He lost his footing and tumbled from the head of the titan.
Matas, still winded from the fall, rolled over and got on all four hands and knees. He dug his sword into the ground and used it to prop him up. It took him all he had left to catch his breath. “Rex!” he shouted between gasps. “We are leaving!”
The sphere bots had retreated, but the damage was extensive. Rangers, Myrmidon, and Etruscans were still unconscious, many of them badly thrashed. Leiel checked over Acara before turning to Gessich to make sure he was still fine. Fenek sat next to Matas who clung to his sword in desperation. Both looking out over the battlefield in silence.
