“Graaawwgh!”
The lizard belched a growl in protest and stopped moving.
There was nothing for it. Cloudhawk was forced to abandon his mount and proceed on foot. He trundled off into the bogs, towards a foggy horizon that stretched beyond where he could see. It was a curse, for he was thirsty and surrounded by water that he couldn’t drink. Even his lizard didn’t dare drink the water, and it was as thirsty as he was.
It had to be toxic. He didn’t dare risk it!
He had to find a settlement or at least a place with drinkable water. If he didn’t, he wasn’t going to last the night. The fact that he was persona non grata everywhere he went made things a lot more difficult.
As though summoned by his hopes, he heard a sound coming up from behind him. It was a large group bearing torches, not normal sweepers by the looks of them but mercenaries judging by their formation. Sweepers weren’t the only ones out to kill him.
He couldn’t catch a fuckin’ break!
They had to have caught his trail already. Running wasn’t an option. He had to think of something else.
1. Speech is located in the frontal lobe of the brain, and that sits slightly above the eye socket. If he jabbed the arrow straight back, he’d hit the midbrain and medulla, which would have instantly stopped all vital functions. He’d have to angle the arrow slightly upwards and wait a minute. You crazy assholes better not use this information to murder anyone!
103 Dead End
The sun rose over the wastelands, its harsh light dispelling the shadows that clung to the marsh’s valleys. Yet, the grey haze didn’t burn away.
The marshlands were deathly still and as silent as the grave. From time to time, bubbles broke through the stagnant surface and belched fetid gas into the air. The colorless landscape was like a black and white photo, a sketch of some dead expanse filled with secrets.
A hundred or so men dressed as soldiers were lit by the pale sun, each equipped with protective masks to protect them from the toxic fumes. They stood around a pit, cautiously looking in. A large beast called the trench its final resting place.
The wastelands lizard’s corpse had been attacked by something. Its belly was torn open and what innards had not been eaten were strewn around. The acidic waters had already begun to dissolve the beast’s corpse, and in twenty-four hours, it would be no more than a skeleton.
The formation of this caustic landscape was simple. First, the valley’s natural shape prevented the wastelands’ sandy winds from encroaching. The low-lying terrain made it easier for water to collect. Second, it was being fed by some abundant underground water source, but one that had been contaminated by some ancient pollutant. Whatever it was, it made the water acidic enough to dissolve flesh. Third, that fetid water was continuously being pumped to the surface where it transformed the dead earth into an uninhabitable marsh. The excess fluid was quickly evaporated by the beating sun, but the pollutants remained until, after many years, this noxious expanse was created.
It was dangerous, a land of poison and decay.
Although the mercenaries were experienced, that experience was limited to the sandy deserts. None of them had ever experienced a place such as this and didn’t know what to expect. They were taking a risk, venturing into the unknown.
“Judging by the tracks, the kid couldn’t have gotten far.”
The mercenaries knew little, but they did know that this was not the typical habitat for a wastelands lizard. Someone had to have compelled the creature to enter, and a skilled bounty hunter could read the signs well enough to know that Cloudhawk had passed by not long ago.
“Seen enough or what?” One of the mercenaries, a man with a shotgun, muttered in irritation, “This kid’s life is worth a fortune, but there’s a buncha critters out here who’d like to take a bite out of him too. If his corpse falls in this water and we’re left with nothin’ but bone, we lose out on our payday.”
Everyone shared his worry.
There was no time to lose. They had to follow Cloudhawk’s trail. As experienced hunters, they could tell where the boy was headed by his trail of footprints and could even tell that he was injured. He was thirsty, hungry, and wounded. Easy pickings once they found him.
Yet, the revelations did not please the bounty hunters.
In his weakened state, wandering these dangerous marches put the kid in dire straits. He could be snatched up and eaten by some monster, fall into an acid pit, or slip into the bottomless marshes. They could lose his corpse and thus, the bounty any number of ways.
As the mercenaries continued on, growing ever more anxious, they were suddenly surprised by a thin figure in their path. He was clad in a tattered grey cloak that fluttered against his frail frame. A black staff was strapped to his waist, and in his hands, he clutched a crude rifle. The kid stood in the middle of the marsh. Who knew where he was heading?
“We found him!”
Who thought it’d be so easy? The mercenaries beamed with joy.
Cloudhawk’s face was covered by that white mask, a false face with a strange and ferocious smile. It was especially unsettling in this morbid backdrop.
The kid was quick. He saw them at the same time they spotted him, and he pointed his rifle their way. The mercenary veterans scattered – seasoned killers like them would not be so easily defeated.
Cloudhawk’s shot hit nothing but air. He gave up the fight and struggled deeper into the bog.
The area was covered in murky green water that bubbled suspiciously, making it look as though it were alive. Any unfortunate creature that wandered into the bog was quickly swallowed up and dragged into the depths. Cloudhawk managed to stay above it by picking his way along driftwood and other detritus, dancing along the surface to increase the distance between him and the mercenaries.
Their meal ticket was escaping!
The mercenaries didn’t have time to examine their surroundings, not with their target fleeing. They ran after him as fast as they could.
Cloudhawk looked like he was deftly bounding over the bog, but in truth, it was not so easy. One of the mercenaries stomped onto a plank of wood that quickly disintegrated beneath his feet. It’d probably been there too long and was made fragile by the caustic waters. Thus, the mercenary slipped into the muck.
“Ah-ah-ah-ahhhh!”
His shrill cries were dulled by the heavy air. In a matter of moments, his face had started to melt and he no longer looked human. He lifted a hand above the bog and the flesh bubbled sickeningly, sloughing off in sizzling chunks.
The other mercenaries could only put a bullet in their comrade to end his suffering.
Cloudhawk had already bound across the bog, headed for a cluster of grey reeds to hide in. When he slipped from view, the company’s marksmen began to fire wildly at his position.
Cloudhawk could hear the bullets coming. The telltale danger sense flooded him with adrenaline. But even if he was aware of the danger, the shooters were too skilled. The time it took for them to draw their guns and fire was less than two seconds. The hail of bullets cut off all of Cloudhawk’s possible escape paths.
All he could do was try to keep the bullets from hitting key areas. In the end, he was struck twice. One slipped past his cloak, through his bearskin armor and left a bloody hole in his back. Thankfully, the sturdy leather armor took most of the punch out of it, so the wound wasn’t too serious.
The second one hit him in the thigh and threw Cloudhawk off balance. He immediately crawled into the relative safety of the reeds.
The kid’s got nowhere to run!
The mercenaries closed in, but an ominous sense of foreboding filled them.
Moments later, the marsh erupted. Countless bubbles frothed up to the bog’s surface and popped, releasing a cloud of toxic gas into the air. Whether it was due to the sound of gunfire or something else, the mercenaries had captured the attention of the marsh’s denizens.
Bang!
The marsh began to pitch and roil.
&n
bsp; An enormous tentacle slithered out of the waters, covered in slimy purplish-black flesh. It was over thirty feet long, covered in barbs, and interspersed with something that looked like mouths. The flat area split open to reveal rows of hideous teeth that gnashed hungrily.
“What the fuck is THAT?!”
Nightmare beasts were not something they were prepared for!
Taking advantage of their sudden misfortune, Cloudhawk managed to completely hide himself in the reeds. He pulled out a piece of cloth and bound his leg to stop the bleeding. He then lifted his rifle. Ever so slowly, he aimed through the reeds, getting a bead on his target.
Crack!
One shot tore through two of the mercenaries. It finished its trek in the chest of a third. The bog monster dragged them into the murky depths moments after they hit the ground.
Now, the mercenaries knew what Cloudhawk was up to. The kid wasn’t running. He’d been waiting here for them. It was an ambush. He knew he couldn’t run, so he picked a place to make a stand – a place where he could use the bog monsters and terrain to fight back!
Those tentacle creatures were exceedingly dangerous – the whole marsh was deadly!
However, although this place was a threat, how could Cloudhawk hope to take on a hundred mercenaries with only his gun? These bounty hunters earned their living wandering the wastelands and have encountered all manner of beasts. The monstrous tentacles were fierce, but not so much that they deterred these veterans.
They lifted their guns and fired, reducing one of the tentacles to ground meat. Chunks flew off in all directions. Another one of the mercenaries rushed forward with a machete and hacked at another tentacle that was about as thick as a man’s waist, chopping it in half.
“Move up! Don’t bother with these damn things!”
The mercenary leaders kept their eyes on the prize. The tentacles killed several of their men, but fighting back didn’t earn them anything. Cloudhawk, who was more dangerous, was still sniping at them from the reeds.
A handful of more capable mercenaries were the first to act. They dashed in erratic patterns to confound Cloudhawk’s aim, hopping along planks and stones to get closer. Before long, they reached the other side.
“Die!”
The one with the shotgun blasted a round of pellets into the bush Cloudhawk had slipped into. Bits of plant matter was blasted in all directions. Another one swiped at the reeds like he was harvesting them, cutting the foliage away.
Cloudhawk was gone. The hunters’ eyes went first to the pool of blood where Cloudhawk had bound his wounds. They knew right away that he’d fled, and the bleeding from his leg hadn’t completely stopped. He’d have a hard time moving. There was no way he was going to give them the slip.
Mercenaries continued to pick their way across the acidic bog. They’d suffered significant losses, but most of their crew was still breathing. Besides, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like Cloudhawk had the strength to fight back. Even if he were at full strength, they were more than he could handle.
“Get after him!”
The hunters continued to follow the trail.
Things were not going well for Cloudhawk, but he kept moving forward. His superhuman will and tenacious desire to live was astonishing to his pursuers. Not shocked enough to give up the chase, though.
How long would his perseverance sustain him when he was losing so much blood? How long would his desire to live stave off the inevitable? This kid was only marching towards a dead end!
104 Seekers
Shouts and cries echoed through the mist-covered marshland. There were countless terrors hidden in this deadly place. What concerned Cloudhawk the most, though, were the sounds of footsteps getting closer. He had to move faster, but his wounded leg made that difficult.
If it’d been Mantis in this situation, things would be different.
He was out of his depth. Still, in the three months since he left the ruins as a scavenger, he’d become a hardened wastelander. A warrior. His quick transformation was something to be proud of, but his overall capabilities were still limited. He was neither an expert like Mantis nor a mighty fighter like Hydra.
What could he do now?
Cloudhawk had bandaged his wounded leg, but while that stopped most of the bleeding, his wound still continued to leak fresh blood. Droplets of bright crimson were left behind, leading right to him. To skilled hunters, they were as clear as signposts, but he had no time to try and hide them.
To summarize his failure, Cloudhawk had underestimated his foes.
He had refused to give in when his lizard proved useless, but his condition had been quickly deteriorating. When he found the spot where the tentacles haunted, he had formed a good plan. His point of failure was his understanding of just how tenacious his enemies were. The tentacles hadn’t stopped them. Instead, it was Cloudhawk who had been hurt.
There were still several dozen mercenaries left.
What could he do?
Getting out of the marsh didn’t seem possible. So what was he supposed to do? Die while nursing his grudges? No! That was unacceptable!
Reeds lining the path in front of him sudden parted, and a dark figure darted out from within. The stranger had a machete aimed for his heart, and Cloudhawk reacted by lifting his staff in defense. The force of the impact knocked his staff away.
“You think you can make a clean escape after killing so many of our brothers?”
The mercenary idly slapped the flat of his machete against the palm of his hand. He looked at Cloudhawk with cruel eyes, like a hunter watching his prey struggle. But he never dropped his guard, for he could smell the danger posed by his target.
The boy was like a wild animal, and an animal was most dangerous when wounded and cornered.
Cloudhawk threw himself towards the reeds and rolled into cover. He disappeared.
A disdainful grin split the mercenary’s face. A flash of his blade and a large swath of foliage was cut away. However, even though his chop cut away the kid’s hiding place, the hunter was surprised to find that he was gone. He leaned over, looking for any trace.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Two streaks of cold light flit by. Two throwing daggers hit the mercenary: one in the chest and the other in his neck.
He stared in shock and horror as Cloudhawk reappeared, unable to understand what had happened. Indeed, the young man had managed to recover a little of his mental energy but used it up again by employing the invisibility cloak. He snatched the dead mercenary’s canteen of water and poured its contents down his dry throat. It was clean and refreshing, and he drank down half of it before he stopped.
He continued to fish around in the corpse’s pockets, look for anything he could use like bandages or astringents.
Before he could, though, things got noisy. Guns started to peek out of the reeds, all aimed his way.
The mercenaries stepped into the open, their faces twisted and angry. The kid had killed many of their companions, good men, but now he was surrounded. He’d run out of chances. One of the mercenaries called out to him, “He’s got special powers. We should start by cutting off his arms and legs!”
“Yeah!”
None of them had ever met a demon hunter. None of them knew what unique abilities one possessed! If they cut off his limbs, though, it wouldn’t matter what skills he had. He wouldn’t be able to do shit.
Cloudhawk’s hands curled into fists, a murderous glint sweeping across his eyes. If this was it, he was gonna take a few of them with him. The mercenaries could feel it too. They sensed how dangerous he was. The kid looked scrawny, but the threatening sense that wafted from him was akin to that of a feral wastelands beast.
But so what? If they shot his limbs full of bullets, they’d be useless, and it wouldn’t matter how much willpower he had. They aimed their guns at his arms and legs while Cloudhawk’s tightly gripped hands shook. Death was staring him in the face.
“Hold your fire!”
A voice shouted at them
from the mist.
The voice was gruff and unpleasant, like the growl of some beast whose vocal cords had been wounded. A group of shadows split from the mist, armed to the teeth – something rarely seen in the sparse wastelands. Most items, defensive or offensive, were cobbled together on one’s own from components picked up through one’s adventures. As such, equipment differed in a thousand ways from person to person.
But for these men, their equipment all looked of the same type. Each of them wore waterproof clothing and breathing masks that covered their faces. As opposed to many in the wastelands, they looked slick. Each of them had the same weapon too – a strange gun without a magazine. Tubes connected the guns to apparatuses on their backs.
The one in front wore a large grey cloak. Under the shadows of his hood, one could see half a man’s face. It looked as though he’d been burned with something that had left him covered in heinous scars. His slightly raised lips made him look feral.
The leader of the mercenary company was a large bald man. He fixed the newcomers with a cold glare. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Who we are doesn’t concern you. This one belongs to us.” The mysterious stranger swept his eyes towards Cloudhawk. “Now, you all fuck off!”
The mercenaries had suffered and labored for this prize, going through significant danger to capture Cloudhawk alive. Now, this guy just shows up, and with a word, expects them to leave? Ballsy! A company half their size wouldn’t put up with bullshit like this, much less wastelands veterans like themselves. Did these scrubs think they were pushovers?
Those were fighting words!
But the mercenary leader’s face remained calm.
The others in his company slowly lifted their weapons but didn’t fire. The mysterious group of men reacted first. Their guns came alive, but they didn’t fire bullets. Instead, they exploded with bolts of what looked like lightning – lethal streams of electricity that could fry a bull!
The Wastelander Page 72
