The Wastelander

by Tipsy Wanderer

  “Boys!” Mad Dog lifted his glass up high. “Have fun tonight!”

  The mercenaries let out lusty cries that almost sounded like the howling of wolves and began dragging the women over rather brutishly. To these women, being able to eat and drink was like manna falling from the heavens! As for Woola, the creature seemed to be very uncomfortable with so many strangers present so it continued to roar and bark nonstop. This did not, however, put a damper on the mercenaries’ moods and they quickly began to act with fearless licentiousness.

  Seeing that Woola was no longer staring at him, Cloudhawk immediately circled around the creature and went to grab some food for himself.

  “Hey newbie! None of this is for you!”

  “Fuggoff, yeah?”

  The Tartarus mercenaries didn’t operate a charity; everyone was rewarded or punished in accordance with their deeds. Cloudhawk was not only a newbie, he was a newbie no one gave a shit about. This status naturally meant he had no right to enjoy the food alongside them.

  “Two pieces of bread and one bottle of water. That’s all you get!” Slyfox gestured towards someone. “Hey, you! What’s your face? Yeah, get over here. Find a place for the newbie to stay. The base is full.”

  He wasn’t even going to be allowed to live with the other mercenaries?

  Cloudhawk was issued a short sword and a few candles and was then led to a tattered room nearby and told to stay there. This small room was filled with dust and mold. Those tiny candles flickered and sputtered in the dark night wind, a clear reflection of the kid’s own mood. He sat there in the ugly room, rather confused and uncomfortable.

  It was now rather frighteningly quiet outside. This room was roughly two hundred meters away from the mercenary base. If anything were to happen, would the mercenaries be able to make it in time? Would they even care to? Who knew?! The only thing Cloudhawk knew for certain was that these mercenaries viewed him as an expendable newbie.

  Cloudhawk finished the remainder of his rock-hard bread and drank all of his water. He checked to make sure the beam across his door was set before lifting the short sword the mercenaries had issued him and placed it by the side of his bed. He then gently blew out the candles, plunging the entire room into darkness.

  Cloudhawk lied down upon his straw bed. The straw poked at his skin and was rather uncomfortable, but at least it was fairly warm.

  Was this how life would be for him in the future? Cloudhawk felt both nervous and lost. He had no plans, no goals anymore. He had no idea what he was going to do tomorrow, nor did he know what the future would be like.

  Cloudhawk shook his head furiously as he mentally consoled himself. “What else do you want? You not only have bread and water every day, you even have a place to stay. What do you have to complain about?”

  Although things here weren’t exactly as he had envisioned them to be, it was still much better than life as a scavenger… right? No point in over-thinking things. Staying alive and living a good life was what mattered!

  10 The Night of Death

  Cloudhawk’s sleep was not a restful one again. In his dreams, he once more returned to that tunnel leading to hell. The area around him was littered in body parts and severed limbs with blood-soaked bodies all twitching on the ground. The massacred scavengers all began rising to their feet. Some of them had acid-eaten faces that had been rendered unrecognizable, while others had their heads partially caved in from stone war hammer blows. Others had actually been bisected! All of them slowly began to gather and swarm around Cloudhawk like angry, vengeful specters.

  No. NO! Cloudhawk frantically tried to flee, but his legs seemed to be glued in place. It was as though he was stuck to the thick, congealed blood on the ground.

  Right at this moment, a scavenger clutching a short sword hobbled over in an extremely ungainly manner. His right leg had been cut off, while his neck sported a terrifying, gaping wound. The wound was so deep that his head was half falling off at the neck and his eyes were filled with viperous hate. “Why didn’t you save me?!”

  The scavenger’s voice was more dreadful than the wailing of all the wraiths of hell and he lifted his short sword to deliver a hacking blow. Terrified, Cloudhawk leaned sideways to dodge… and right in that moment, a spear suddenly flew over from somewhere and pierced through his chest!

  The second attacker was a mutant that looked fairly young. One of his eyes had been pierced, leaving only one good eye remaining on his smiling, savage, and terrifying face.

  Cloudhawk fell to the ground, completely unable to move as blood surged out of him in a geyser, draining his strength away with it.

  The scavengers and sweepers all disappeared. Moments later, a chubby white man and muscular black man led a group of chatting and laughing mercenaries over. They didn’t seem to even see the youth who fought for his life on the ground.

  Cloudhawk reached out towards them. “Save me!”

  Their gazes were filled with disdain. “Useless piece of crap.”

  A mercenary hawked and spat, looking disdainful. It was as though he had stepped onto a pile of excrement and wanted to give vent to his annoyance. All of the mercenaries cursed as they moved to circle around Cloudhawk.

  Cloudhawk just lay there on the ground, powerless. His eyes slowly began to turn blank as he felt his body growing colder and colder. He wanted to reach out and grab something, anything, but his determination and will both slipped away from him. It was a terrifying feeling, a feeling of utter despair.

  His body became ice cold and started to decay and emanate an aura of foulness. Countless bugs and worms began to bore through his corpse, which eventually became a feast for rats.

  But even when nothing was left of Cloudhawk besides a skeleton, his will and mind remained intact. Endless despair and grief filled every single bone, surrounding his corpse as it sank deeper and deeper into an endless darkness…

  Creak! Creaaak!

  Cloudhawk was suddenly able to make out a faint sound. It was like a bucket of cold water had been poured over him and he instantly jolted awake from that terrifying nightmare.

  His entire body was covered with cold sweat. He had died such a miserable, meaningless death. That feeling of utter despair, of slipping into that eternal darkness… that sorrowful feeling of utter powerlessness… even now, his heart pounded. What a terrifying nightmare that had been!

  It was not yet dawn. The night was so dark that everything seemed to blur together. The entire outpost had been securely locked down and everything was so stiflingly silent that he felt as though he could barely breathe.

  Creak. Creaaak!

  That sound rang out again. It was a tiny, almost imperceptible sound that nonetheless stabbed against his psyche like a dagger. It was this very sound which had startled Cloudhawk awake and at this moment, goose bumps began to appear throughout his body once more. He could sense that danger was enveloping him!

  Something appeared in the cracks of the bolted door, something that sparkled with cold metallic light within the darkness. It was the thin edge of a knife!

  The knife slowly, silently extended its way through the seams of the door and then slid upwards until it hit the wooden bolt. The knife stayed there for two brief seconds before slowly rising upwards once more to lift the bolt up.

  Was it one of the mercenaries? No way! Why would one of them come at a time like this and use such a stealthy method to open the door?

  Cloudhawk’s heart was pounding so hard that he felt as if it were about to burst out of his chest. He hastily gripped the short sword lying next to the bed, his hand still slick with cold sweat from the nightmare. He hid the short sword underneath him and curled around it.

  He breathed deeply, forcing himself to relax. His muscles, however, remained taut, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

  This midnight intruder was clearly quite practiced in his movements. His knife easily lifted the wooden bolt up without making much sound. He pushed the door open by just a crack, but did no
t immediately charge inside.

  This predator was extremely experienced! Without a doubt, he was currently scanning the insides of the room to assess the situation.

  Cloudhawk didn’t want to expose the fact that he was awake so he just lay there on the bed without moving, maintaining an even breathing pattern as though he were still asleep.

  After four or five moments of silence, a long blade reached through the crack and pushed the door open, letting in the moonlight. This midnight trespasser was fairly tall and muscular and had a head full of tousled hair. He held a knife in his left hand while gripping a long machete in his right. The blade of the machete seemed to be covered with many dark-red splotches, radiating a faint but sickening stench of blood. The machete’s edge was extremely sharp, flashing with a cold light that warned of impending danger and death.

  He’s here to kill me! Cloudhawk’s mind was in a state of chaos right now. He was filled with horror, fear, rage, but mostly confusion. Oh, fuck. Who is this guy? This is my first day in the outpost. Why did someone choose to attack me like this?

  Cloudhawk’s keen sense for danger screamed to him that this midnight trespasser was a dangerous man. If he tried to fight the man head-on, he’d probably fail. He had to seize a chance to counter and kill him.

  Five meters. Four meters. Three meters…

  The midnight trespasser walked as silently as a cat, making no sound as he slowly, steadily inched his way forward. He slowly, steadily raised his right arm up high and brought his machete down in a vicious chop that flashed through the darkness of the night. This entire time, he didn’t display even the slightest hint of anger or hatred. It was as though he were chopping down at a wooden puppet rather than a human being.

  Whoosh! Cloudhawk instantly rolled aside and the machete nearly nicked his face as it hacked into his bed. If he’d been just a second slower, it would’ve cost him his head! Cloudhawk then launched himself off his bed with his two legs, bursting forth with all his strength!

  Faced with Cloudhawk’s sudden spring-assault, the man didn’t hesitate for even a second. He decisively let go of his machete and managed to dodge Cloudhawk’s surprise attack with almost supernatural agility. In the exact same instant that he dodged, he sent the knife in his right hand towards Cloudhawk, which flashed like a streak of cold light.

  He was simply much too fast! Not only was he an experienced hunter, he was also an experienced killer. His strength, speed, agility, response time, combat experience, mental fortitude… all of these things had clearly been honed through much experience. How could a half-grown kid who grew up in the ruins and subsisted on garbage possibly be a match for him? Cloudhawk knew from the minute he missed his attack that he was finished.

  That cold streak of light shot straight towards Cloudhawk’s throat. There was no wasted motion, no flowery flourishes; it was a strike that was both fast and vicious while also incredibly accurate. The knife was sharp enough to easily tear through skin and flesh alike before sawing through his arteries as easily as sawing through noodles.

  Cloudhawk felt as though everything began to move in slow motion!

  Although he had faced death on numerous occasions in the past, each time he’d been in a state of utter terror and panic. He had never faced death with such alertness and mental clarity as he was doing so right now. He could literally see death coming for him but was unable to do anything about it.

  He had finally been able to escape his status as a lowly scavenger and the ruins. He hadn’t yet had the chance to grow strong, to gain freedom and independence, or to take control over his own destiny. Was it going to be like the dream? Was he really going to die a meaningless and despair-filled death?

  No. He couldn’t die! Not like this!

  Cloudhawk let out a bestial growl, a growl filled with untamed wildness and rage. A powerful desire to survive burst forth from his breast and as it did, it seemed to form a resonance with something else in his chest. Instantly, a surge of fiery strength and frenzied determination filled his entire body, almost as though some invisible power were lending Cloudhawk a hand. With it, Cloudhawk dodged the incoming knife with preternatural agility, suffering just a slight nick in the skin that left only the tiniest of marks.

  The trespasser was rendered speechless. How did his target, this kid, suddenly seem to transform into someone else entirely? However, he remained a calm, composed, and highly experienced hunter; he was able to compartmentalize his surprise and prevent it from affecting his movements. His knife didn’t pause at all and in his hands, it seemed like a living thing as it curved backwards and snaked out a beautiful but deadly butterfly-strike that flashed in the dark night.

  It didn’t matter how agile or nimble his prey was. In the end, he was nothing more than a weak little kid! These few brief exchanges immediately let the trespasser know just how weak Cloudhawk was so he held the kid in no regard at all. He decided to finish things with his next attack by just cutting the kid’s throat and his movements grew faster and faster.

  Just as the sharp knife was about to kiss the kid’s throat… whap! A clear sound rang out, and the dancing light of the knife suddenly vanished. A deceptively delicate hand had reached out with lightning speed and clamped around the trespasser’s wrist with far more speed and power than it had a right to have. The trespasser felt as though his wrist were caught in a metal vise. He was actually unable to shake free of that skinny little hand’s grip.

  “You want to kill me?” The kid’s irises were completely bloodshot, making them look like the eyes of a demon. He looked completely possessed, his gaze without even a hint of anything which could be described as rational thought!

  The trespasser suddenly began to feel a hint of fear. This boy was no weak youth. This boy was a berserk animal!

  “You want to KILL ME!?” The first time the youth said these words, it had been in the form of a question. This time, it came in the form of a furious, declarative shout. The youth’s handsome face was already twisted into a mask of terrifying rage and he suddenly tightened his grip. CRACK! The youth broke the visitor’s wrist.

  The trespasser howled in agony, but the sound only lasted for half a second. The same instant that Cloudhawk broke the trespasser’s wrist, he also stabbed out with his short sword at several times his previous speed and with ten times his previous savagery. The blade of the short sword tore into the trespasser’s skin and dug into his lungs. It felt as though a block of ice had penetrated the trespasser’s body, causing it to instantly turn as cold as ice.

  Cloudhawk immediately pulled the short sword out and as he did so, he tore through a beating, pulsating organ. When the sword came out, with it came the hunter’s blood, vitality, and strength. Cloudhawk's face was bathed in the trespasser’s spurting blood and the blood was both warm and had a foul scent. And yet, Cloudhawk wasn’t nauseated at all; in fact, he actually felt more excited than anything else. A single wild, frenzied thought filled every corner of his mind.

  Kill him! Kill him! KILL HIM!

  The short sword was of fairly low quality. As a result, on Cloudhawk’s fifth stab, it was no longer able to endure the violent force its master was applying to it, and snapped off inside the target’s body. As for the hilt, it fell straight to the ground.

  Cloudhawk’s entire body felt so hot, it was like he was being burned alive. It was like the eruption of a volcano that had slumbered for a million years. His mind was filled with nothing save the desire to kill and destroy. He was completely unable to suppress those feelings in his heart. He wanted to bellow, to howl, to ruin and destroy everything he could see!

  What is going on? What the hell is wrong with me? Cloudhawk knew that he was at the very brink of madness. With the last bit of clarity left to him, he tore off the strange stone and tossed it to one side. As soon as the stone left him, he immediately regained his normal faculties.

  There really was something wrong with that rock!

  By now, Cloudhawk had a rough idea as to what was going on.
Within the rock, there seemed to reside an ancient mind or will, one which had most likely been left behind by its previous master. Through methods Cloudhawk could not understand or even imagine, the stone’s former master had imprinted his own will, mind, and possibly even energy inside that stone. The reason he had done so was to ensure that, in certain special circumstances, the stone would have a major impact on Cloudhawk’s life.

  This was what had happened the previous night. That was what had happened just now as well.

  The seemingly ordinary rock once more returned to its ordinary, dull appearance. It seemed to possess no extraordinary attributes at all and looked as plain as plain could be. Cloudhawk picked the stone up, focusing on it several times but still gaining no insight as to how he was supposed to use it.

  Where exactly did it come from? What exactly was it? And what sort of a person had left that brutal, terrifying, and powerful will behind in the stone?

  This stone was definitely an extraordinary item. Perhaps, in the future, it would once more be of assistance to him. In the end, Cloudhawk decided to keep it in his possession but also decided that he couldn’t let anyone else learn about it.

  11 Training

  Dawn. Finally, the long-awaited mercenaries came looking for him.

  “Motherfucker, what’s he doing here? That’s Skinner! I was just drinking with him the other week! Skinner’s the owner of a butcher shop. Hm… his store was probably running low again, so he came out last night to try and find a few piggies to butcher to replenish his stock.” Mad Dog eyed the corpse on the ground. Although they were old acquaintances, Mad Dog didn’t show the slightest bit of grief or pity. It was as though he were looking at a dead rat that had invaded his property. “Your luck sure is shit, kid. Who would’ve thought something like this would happen to you on your first day? By my count, at least eighty little piggies like you have ended up dead by Skinner’s hands.”