The Wastelander

by Tipsy Wanderer

  “He killed my father.”

  She was weak. Her body shook. In this moment, the iron-like façade of the female warrior cracked. Her eyes were red, and in their depths he could see a seething hatred.

  The one who took her father had to pay!

  She bore the disgrace of her father’s death. It had to be her who exacted revenge. This thought was the one that consumed her when she, then only sixteen, had secretly left the Elysian lands. For an entire year, she hunted for closure.

  The Queen was an exceptionally talented but young demon hunter. She was too self-confident and arrogant so her hatred for the demon blinded her. She never even stopped to consider what sort of foe she faced.

  Cloudhawk really didn’t understand her but he couldn’t be blamed, for he had no concept of what a father was. He heaved a sigh – everyone lived their own stories, had their own views, were driven by their own motives. Who was he to tell someone that her path was wrong?

  Neither of them spoke for a long time.

  For two days and two nights, Cloudhawk hadn’t so much as closed his eyes. His nerves were frayed, leaving him anxious. He’d cut his way out from the wastelands and into the outpost, only to slaughter his way out of the outpost and back into the wastelands. At no time did he have a chance to rest. Even the most steadfast will had its limits and Cloudhawk was reaching his. Fighting his exhaustion was like trying to swim against floodwaters.

  His eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand kilograms. Eventually, they won and his eyes slipped closed.

  When he woke back up, he couldn’t tell how much time had passed. Burning thirst was what stirred him. His eyes popped open and his first instinct was to grip his exorcist rod and scan all around. The sky had dimmed as evening approached – he hadn’t thought he’d slept that long.

  Cloudhawk’s mind was clear but his throat was dry as a bone. He was dehydrated, he knew, and that was dangerous.

  The Bloodsoaked Queen huddled nearby with her long raven hair flowing free. Her eyes were closed, also asleep, but her face was painted with an unnatural blush. It sounded like every breath was a struggle. When he saw how she looked, Cloudhawk scrambled forward and pressed his hand to her forehead. Her burning skin radiated heat right through his palm.

  This was bad!

  Cloudhawk hadn’t thought the dozen or so wounds he suffered would end up so trivial, while the Queen’s few external injuries would become infected. He figured one of the arrows that hit her had to have been poisoned.

  “Hey, hey! Wake up!”

  “You can’t die!”

  Cloudhawk felt his frayed nerves tremble. The two of them were a team and by now the sweepers identified him as a demon hunter as well. If she died, they wouldn’t show him any mercy. With the mighty Queen at his side, he stood a chance. If she didn’t make it, a novice like Cloudhawk had no hope of escaping.

  The Queen’s cracked lips moved, unconsciously muttering a single word. “Water…”

  Water? I’m dying of thirst too! Where am I supposed to find water?

  Cloudhawk ran his hand through his sand-streaked hair anxiously. They’d run out of rabbit blood a long time ago, so what was he supposed to do?

  Suddenly, a calm came over him. He pulled out the knife the Bloodsoaked Queen kept in her boot and pressed the tip against his wrist. He dragged it down his skin, opening up a hole. Blood began to spill forth.

  This was the only way!

  The Queen was unconscious. Like an infant she gulped at whatever her mouth clung to. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth and it was enough to bring her back from her stupor. Her eyes snapped open and she stared at what was happening.

  Cloudhawk tried to reassure her with a less than comforting grin. “You’re finally up.”

  She was still weak but her eyes trembled with feeling. This wastelander was using his own life blood to save her? If he’d tried it at any point prior, it would have thrown her into a rage. She was a noble demon hunter! How dare his ignoble blood be used to prolong her life!

  The rage did not come. Perhaps it was because she was weak, but perhaps it was because of other, deeper reasons.

  “We have to go. We have to find water tonight or we’ll die.”

  Cloudhawk had fashioned the rabbit skin into a crude backpack and put their surplus meat inside. Next, he dug a hole and buried any trace that they’d used this place for shelter.

  They had to stay hidden. The Queen’s fever was scorching, so much so that it had started to affect her consciousness. She couldn’t fight, much less summon power from relics. She could hardly walk. It was the weakest she’d ever been.

  “You’re too slow in your condition,” Cloudhawk muttered. He removed the rabbit skin bag and wrapped it around the Queen’s shoulders. “Hold this. I’ll carry you on my back!”

  Odious as the choice was, the Queen was no fool. There was no other option.

  Cloudhawk pulled her onto his bony back and the two of them set off into the dusky desert. Their dim footprints stretched out behind them.

  Light from the setting sun painted the dunes in color. The Queen’s long hair took on a burnished bronze hue. Even in her half-conscious state, she could sense that her time was fleeting, but her heart was calm.

  She never expected… never imagined… the one helping her through the end would be this wastelander youth she had always looked down on.

  Eventually, the sun dipped below the horizon and stars emerged. The broiling desert quickly dipped in temperature. Cloudhawk panted like an old ox and yet he tenaciously pushed on, one foot in front of the other, through sheer will. He was dizzy, his eyes refused to focus, but he persisted beyond the point any reasonable person could endure. And never once did they come across a single living thing, much less water.

  Whoosh!

  The sound whisked past his ears. Cloudhawk saw the shaft of an arrow race past his face, hissing through the air in its passage. It buried itself in the sand before his feet quivering. Cloudhawk blanched as he swung his head toward the arrow’s origin, where he found five figures picking their way through the dim light towards them. Two lizard riders were at the front and the three others were archers, all in pursuit. The arrow had come from one of them.

  Cloudhawk felt his heart sink.

  These five were a vanguard. Scores more dotted the desert on the other side of a nearby dune. All of them wore armor and hefted dangerous looking weapons. Cloudhawk was sure the sandstorm would have wiped away their scent and any traces of their passage. They couldn’t have caught up with them so fast. Now, it looked like he’d been too optimistic.

  “Don’t move!”

  The three archers had bows drawn and arrows nocked, but did not yet fire. A handful of wastelands riders trampled by and cut them off with a semi-circular formation.

  Cloudhawk carefully leaned down and let the Queen off of his back before hefting the exorcist rod. They weren’t getting away this time, but now that they were caught, he was going to make sure someone paid for it. Yet though he was surrounded, Cloudhawk’s enemies didn’t rush in to attack.

  Two figures separated from the pack.

  One of them was a big man, thick and muscular. His face was covered in bushy, ashen whiskers. He looked like an old, grizzled veteran dressed in typical wastelander attire. Of note was his steel armor which looked well made. Although he looked like an old, arthritic lion, he seethed with the aura of someone who wasn’t to be fucked with.

  The second fellow was brawny and not too old. Half of his face was covered in hideous scars, like caused by acid or fire. His hair was sparse and patchy, and grape-like tumors grew in patches from his throat down his chest. The growths had to be some kind of mild mutation.

  Aside from a few deformed soldiers, Cloudhawk noted that most of this group looked like normal humans. They weren’t sweepers, but then who were they?

  Cloudhawk barked a challenge. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Who we are isn’t important!” The brawny man answered with
a hideous, savage grin. He lifted his hand and waved it at the two of them. “Go, take ‘em down!”

  55 Fiends of the Desert

  “Hold!”

  The call wasn’t loud, but it was deep and commanding. Like a lion’s roar, it was stately and powerful and promised that those who dared disobey would feel teeth on their throats. Everyone lowered their weapons, forced to stand down.

  The burly, ugly man’s expression revealed his displeasure. He glared at the tall bearded man who stopped them. “Goddamnit, Leonine, what are you doin’?”

  Apparently, the lion-esque leader of this tribe had a name to match his appearance – Leonine. He grinned in a way that called to mind the image of a lion baring its fangs.

  Earning a nickname like that in the wastelands was no easy feat. Although they listened to the older man, this team seemed loosely organized, probably several groups patched together. If despite that they still jumped when Leonine spoke, that said a lot about this complicated person.

  Leonine shot Cloudhawk and the Bloodsoaked Queen a piercing gaze. They were small, seemingly weak, but the grizzled warrior could see the signs of battle writ in wounds all over Cloudhawk’s body. It told him that these children had seen vicious fighting. For someone to suffer that many wounds and still make it out alive meant they were real wastelanders.

  “Who are you? What are you doing wandering around out here?”

  “We’re from Blackflag Outpost.” Cloudhawk didn’t know if these men were friends or foes, but he gave them a straight answer anyway. “We were attacked by sweepers and managed to get away. We got separated from the others and now we’re here.”

  “Blackflag Outpost? I’ve heard of it, they say it was a big settlement. I’m surprised to hear a group of sweepers could break through.” Curiosity was thick in Leonine’s rumbling voice. The others tightened their grips on their weapons for they knew his next command was probably going to decide whether these kids lived or died. After a few moments of thought, Leonine continued. “We’re headed towards the Greenland Outpost. The road’s dangerous and we can always use another arm to swing a weapon. If you’ve got nowhere else to go, you can follow us – but just follow, you stay behind the group.”

  Leonine’s decision was unexpected. Cloudhawk was desperate to survive and death seemed inevitable unless they followed these people. What choice did he have?

  Whatever kind of place this Greenland Outpost was wasn’t important. All he heard was “outpost,” and the two of them needed a safe haven where they could nurse their wounds.

  Leonine nodded. “Then you’re coming with us.”

  The bearded warrior turned and made to leave. His companions relaxed their weapons. No one gave the two any more trouble, because going against Leonine’s decision would make him seem weak – and that would have consequences.

  Cloudhawk blurted out. “Can you give us water?”

  “Are you fuckin’ deaf? He said you can follow. That’s it!” The brutish man barked. “You think we’re a goddamn charity?!”

  A raspy thud sounded as a dagger buried itself in the sand. The weapon was from the Elysium fields, brought here by the Bloodsoaked Queen. It wasn’t a relic but one could tell at a glance that it was made from a special metal. It was keen and straight, and even decent wasteland weapons couldn’t compare to it. When the Queen opened her mouth, she spoke with a quiet tenacity, concealing her weakness. “Take this dagger in trade!”

  The brute snatched the dagger from the ground and turned it over in his hands in appreciation. Water was precious out here in the wastelands, but her dagger was more than worthy payment.

  Cloudhawk added his own impatient voice. “Well? Are you gonna take it or not?!”

  “A shitty broken dagger isn’t enough.” The brute drew his eyes over the Queen’s body. Her face was covered by the hideous demon mask but it couldn’t hide her full chest, round backside and long slender legs. She was still getting a lot of unsavory attention and the evil look in the brute’s eyes left no question as to his intent. “It’s your lucky day, woman. My boys and I have suffered a bit of a dry spell ourselves. You show us a good time, and we’ll give you water!”

  How could the Bloodsoaked Queen ignore such an insult? If she’d even been able to walk unaided, this reckless idiot would have turned into a carcass left to rot in the desert sun.

  Everyone’s eyes were on the Queen now, hungry and violent. None of them made an effort to hide their wild, lascivious desires. Out in these wicked badlands, a woman of her caliber was like a sheep among wolves. It didn’t require much imagination to know what would happen to her.

  Cloudhawk moved forward to block them, but two burly men grabbed him tight.

  The brute and a dozen other men surrounded the Queen and she stumbled back to try and avoid them. Reaching out with her will to summon her relic’s power only earned her a tearing pain in her skull. She couldn’t achieve resonance. She was too weak.

  One of the men lunged at her ravenously.

  She managed to sidestep his assault. Her right leg whipped out and caught the man between his. He let out a piteous whine and collapsed to the ground, rolling in agony. When the other men saw their friend’s plight, they broke out in raucous laughter. A few of them saw it as their chance to cause trouble.

  A bestial yell erupted from behind the Queen and suddenly her hands were caught in a vice-like grip. Struggled as she might, she couldn’t get free. Her only response was to yell, “If you dare try anything I’ll make you regret being born!”

  “It’s a wild place, girlie!”

  “What the fuck are you wearin’ woman?”

  “This bitch is feisty! I’m gonna like this one!”

  “What the fuck are you in such a hurry for, huh? I haven’t had my turn yet!” He kicked the man who was still curled up on the ground and prepared to take off his pants. “Get in line boys, I’m first.”

  The brute thought of something and turned his head to the two men holding Cloudhawk back. “Bring that punk over here. I’m gonna make him watch me take his woman!”

  As the rowdy group prepared for their fun, Leonine watched with an indifferent expression.

  Out here in the wastes, women were tools, a way for men to vent. Now that the girl was here, she had to understand that. If she wasn’t strong enough to protect herself, then she would be used as they liked. It was true for the men, too. If they weren’t strong enough to protect their women, then they had to deal with losing them.

  These were the rules out here in this wretched place. Without power, you had to resign yourself to your fate!

  A bloody red hue crept into Cloudhawk’s eyes. Suddenly, he felt a deluge of energy burst through his exhausted body, like an erupting volcano. He wrenched himself free from his captors. “You’re fuckin DEAD!”

  His voice was wild, ferocious, and murderous. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at him. Cloudhawk snatched up his inconspicuous staff and charged through the group of men like a rabid rhinoceros. The brute who was fumbling with his pants felt a crazed and lethal sensation wash over him. His face curled into a savage scowl.

  “Don’t blame me for this shit, Leonine. This fuck brought it on himself!”

  The brute hefted a long heavy knife. If Leonine was their leader, then this man was certainly their number two. Any man who could order a dozen degenerates like these around wasn’t your typical wastelander. He wasn’t as strong as say, Mad Dog, but he would definitely have been comparable to the strongest fighters of the Tartarus mercenaries!

  The brute’s short sword was thick and sturdy but he wielded it like it weighed nothing, bringing it down in a chopping motion towards Cloudhawk with pinpoint accuracy. He wielded it masterfully.

  Cloudhawk’s will suddenly burst out! The exorcist rod started to spin rapidly.

  Before the other men could react, Cloudhawk brought the staff down in a crushing strike. Like glass, the brute’s sword shattered into a million pieces while Cloudhawk’s staff didn’t seem t
o slow at all. It collided with the brute’s chest, hitting him so hard that blood and flesh exploded everywhere like a pummeled rotten tomato.

  The brute didn’t have a chance to make a sound. He was flung back three or four meters, bent backwards and nearly broken in half. He fell to the ground in a grotesque pile and only the bones of his spine and a few strips of flesh kept the two halves of his body connected.

  His eyes were wide as saucers as blood sputtered from his mouth in a torrent. Any air that had been in his lungs was replaced with thick, fresh blood. For a few seconds, his arms twitched before he stopped moving entirely.

  Cloudhawk was caked in gore. He didn’t even look at what was left of the brute as, like a crazed demon, he howled at the others. “Get your hands off her!”

  “Ahhh!”

  “Monster! He’s a fuckin’ monster!”

  The brawny man holding the Queen was scared stiff. Half a moment later, enough of his wits returned for him to let her go and tear off into the distance.

  Cloudhawk pulled the weakened Queen behind him. He pointed his exorcist rod at the slack-jawed miscreants, his face a deranged mask. “Anyone else want to try their fuckin luck?!”

  It was a bluff. He’d only had enough energy to use the staff once. There was no way he’d be able to protect himself or the Queen from the rest of these outlaws. But his terrifying display had completely scared them. They’d seen him break the brute nearly in half with a stick and were absolutely terrified that they might be next.

  The brute’s subordinates kept about ten meters between them and the demonic kid. No one dared step forward to challenge him.

  Cloudhawk’s lithe frame was reflected in the Queen’s shimmering eyes. Like a feral beast, he’d put himself, small as he was, between her and a group of vile and vicious men.

  He was young and weak, but he threw himself at the others and risked his life to protect me. Again… I owe him again.