Otherworld Soldiers- Rise of the Apocalypse

by Fox Lancet

  Syler watched with rapture as she conjured another blade from beneath her tank-top. She glanced over her shoulder at Hunter’s turned back. He was on a stool, hunched over a steel counter pushed against part of the wall, fiddling with a sniper rifle. A small puddle of blood collected on the floor beneath his seated form from the wounds she had inflicted that he neglected to attend.

  “Do you mind?” She waved the blade in Hunter’s direction. Syler smiled.

  “I would say I do not, just for the entertainment, but I think it would be wise to avoid setting off his temper again.”

  Hunter stopped and shot a glare over his shoulder between strands of black hair.

  “What is she petitioning for over there?” His eyes ticked back and forth between the pair. Syler shook his head.

  “Nothing of concern, Hunter, return to your firearm.” Hunter’s brows crinkled and he watched them for another minute before turning back to his work.

  “If what you say is true of Nefarion, you will be able to harass Hunter all that you wish when you are with him.”

  Saliea smiled fanatically. “Can’t fucking wait.” She sighed.

  “What was it like for you to be in Kaleb’s control?”

  “Sickening. I was nauseas any time he was close, the complete opposite of how I feel around you two and even further down the scale with Nefarion.”

  Syler chewed on the inside of his bottom lip. “Did Kaleb voice any aversion to you?”

  “Yeah, but he said he had conditioned himself to it for the sake of battle.”

  Syler nodded, but continued to chew on his lip. That the key was attracted to them and not the enemy caused imbalance. Either something was missing or the female was lying. He walked away from her and stood in front of his map again.

  “Hunter, come here. I want to make you aware of something.” He pulled his desk chair to the base of the puzzle and seated himself, resting his elbows on his knees. Hunter meandered over, staring at Saliea a majority of the way.

  “What do you have here?”

  “A model of this world.”

  “What is the scale?”

  Syler sighed deeply and did not respond directly. He pointed to a dot on the map in the western hemisphere.

  “See that tiny mark.” Hunter gave a curt nod. “That is our current location. In that tiny spot, there are three hundred thousand humans.” Hunter’s brows arched slowly. “Within that square alone, where our dot is located, there are one and half million humans. Across this entire planet there are seven billion.” He leaned back in his chair and looked up at Hunter to gauge his expression.

  “That is mildly discouraging.”

  “Only mildly?”

  Hunter shrugged his broad shoulders. “They are a pliable race as they are arrogant. Like you told me on the first day of our arrival. They deny anything more powerful than themselves, making them unaware.”

  “This is true.” Syler set his hands in his lap, twining his fingers together. “The main populations each have structured powers, or governments. If we can inflict severe damage to each of these as well as impede or override their armies, we may be able to conquer this race.”

  “Your preferred tactic will be required. Stealth.” Hunter sighed. “Though, after we have succeeded, my preferred tactic may be employed. Annihilation by any means.” Hunter smiled wickedly and chuckled. Syler agreed with a subtle smile.

  A few days passed with Syler coming and going on short treks in search of Nefarion. Hunter was determined to stay with the key at all times; Syler had no qualms with that decision, seeing that a sketch of Hunter’s face was rampant on the news.

  Often, while Syler was out, he received many suspicious stares. Originally he would have attributed this to his abnormal eyes. When they had first come to this world and had seen a fair share of the dominant race, Syler started to fear being overrun by judgment. Humans’ eyes were white accompanied by a colored iris with a flexible black pupil that contracted or expanded to allow the proper amount of light in. Syler and Hunter had no white in their eyes, just black balls where an inner red light acted as a pupil, though it reacted to passion and darkness.

  However, after researching the race for some time, he found that humans had created contacts to enhance impaired vision. The invention eventually led to cinematic use to depict paranormal creatures in movies, in turn being available to the general public. So the two had not been deemed evil by their eyes, rather they had been shrugged off as men wearing black contacts.

  Since his discovery, Syler no longer heeded the stares, though he knew the ones he received now were for his uncanny similarities to his villainous counterpart. Fortunately, some of Hunter’s tattoos and piercings were what identified him, otherwise Syler probably would have been accosted in place of his cohort. The only natural difference between them was their nose. Hunter had what the humans considered a Roman nose while Syler’s was sloped and smooth. Besides that they both had strong square jaws, defined cheek bones, and thick black brows shadowing their telling black eyes. Telling for after seeing the Apathy regiment soldiers, he knew that black eyes would be an indicative sign of their true natures. Contacts would no longer be a consideration once the human race was aware of what they truly were.

  Syler was on his initial excursion of the second week after Hunter had retained the key. He had just parked his car at a train station on the east side of town and was averting the stare of a young woman with one of his insidious glares.

  To make his inkless skin evident, he had worn a sleeveless shirt that also revealed the profile of his torso. Canvas pants bagged around the ankles of his boots, the ripped hems flopping around the soles as he trudged casually toward the large concrete steps leading to the pedestrian tunnel over the ten-lane highway. His chain was hidden under his black shirt, hooked to a belt loop and strung through the remaining loops, out of sight.

  The undisturbed sun soaked into his black threads, warming the flesh beneath. He grumbled insults at the detested heat and hesitated at the base of the steps. A nearby security guard kept a rapt eye on him from a good distance, his fingers tapping at the strap buttoned over his firearm. Syler gave the man no direct acknowledgment and kept his eyes restless on the immediate vicinity.

  After a brief moment of hesitation, he bounded up the many steps before continuing down the tunnel toward the train station at an easy pace. All the while he remained hyper-aware, constantly pushing his senses out for the slightest hint of Nefarion. Or Seraphs.

  Syler only rode the train eight miles before he exited. There was no apparent security guard from what he gathered at first glance, only four humans gallivanting toward their vehicles, having dismounted the same train. Syler followed the tracks away from the station in the direction the train had been carrying him. He brushed along the concrete wall that loomed above him, concealing him from traffic’s view.

  A train came gliding from the other direction and Syler sunk into a gap in the stone wall to avoid attracting attention, well aware he would be considered a trespasser if seen. When he emerged from the solid pocket after the train had passed, he froze. A feeling of anxiousness washed over him, tightening his muscles. He ground his teeth, glancing around spasmodically. Finally he caught sight of a white figure solidifying at the top of the thick, ten foot wall barring the neighborhood. The Seraph’s eyes locked on Syler, a fiendish smile infecting its face.

  “Syler,” the name fell gracefully from his small mouth. Syler’s upper lip curled in disgust and he growled. The Seraph spilled from the wall onto the gravel, landing lightly. The slight shift in distance sent a wave of malice through Syler, replacing the anxiety. The Seraph did not need to cross the tracks for him to deduce that it was Kaleb. Only Kaleb could have known it was Syler at such a distance without having seen him in this form before.

  As the Seraph Prince neared, his aura affirmed Syler’s conclusion.

  “Kaleb.” Adrenaline pumped into Syler’s veins and he did not attempt to repress the red he felt bleeding
into his eyes. The enemy prince wore a thin white button-up shirt and faded blue jeans. His white sneakers looked brand new.

  “Wandering in solitude?” Kaleb continued toward him.

  Syler’s muscles clenched, ready to snap in attack at any moment. He knew Kaleb’s speed surpassed his, but all he needed was to get a grip on the Seraph and he could take full control. The true feat was in dodging him. “It is necessary,” he grumbled his reply. “You have failed to find your own?” He shifted a foot, placing him in a more solid position.

  Kaleb’s smile grew. “Oh no, I have.”

  A muscle ticked under Syler’s eye and the presence of two more Seraphs trickled across his skin. He grimaced. Both appeared a few moments later and perched themselves with ease on the wall, looking down at Syler with contempt.

  “I do not wish to engage in any confrontation.” Syler despised uttering the words, but knew he could not contend with three Seraphs as well as maintain his clandestine profile. If both he and Hunter had to stay in hiding, they would never find Nefarion. And returning to the gate without him was not an option.

  The two subsequent Seraphs joined their leader by the tracks. Syler did not recognize them, to his mild relief. He had met Jacob on this plane of existence before, but he was not with his leader now. However, Syler was aware Kaleb had been alone when he had stolen Saliea from Nefarion, so these unidentifiable Seraphs must have been the ones he had seen with Jacob at the Gothic Theater. Knowing Nefarion had crossed eased him into believing no other Seraph had been able to cross behind him.

  His relief at the absence of Jacob was resigned to the fact that facing both the prince and his high commander alone would have been nearly impossible. With the two unnamed Seraphs, he at least had a chance to escape.

  When Jacob and Kaleb fought together they moved as one, almost in the same fashion as Nefarion and his Elite. The difference being that the Demon Elite were expert at reading each other’s movements and just as expert at anticipating each other’s impending attacks on an enemy while the Seraph Prince and his right-hand Seraph could become like a single predator, moving as if they were of one mind, making their smaller physique an obsolete deterrent.

  “Your second half has become quite notorious. I figured he would neglect to make further appearances if he were wise. This leaves you alone to search for your wretched Lord.”

  Syler glowered at him, but remained silent while surveying his surroundings from his peripheral vision.

  Kaleb’s vague brows arched at his lack of answer. “Not as vocal as your comrades?”

  “I have nothing I wish to discourse with you, Seraph.”

  Kaleb’s eyes puckered and without a verbal retaliation, he dove suddenly at Syler. Syler’s muscles burst into flames in response, assisting him in twisting out of the way, bringing up a booted foot in the same instance. It snagged Kaleb’s ankle. The Seraph Prince faltered slightly, landing on his knees. Syler’s head whipped around to confirm the position of the other two enemies. Just as he affirmed their location, another train came drifting down the tracks and the nameless Seraphs lunged at him.

  Before Syler could react, they each had him by an arm and were throwing him into the passing train. Syler snarled as he crashed, back first, into one of the white cars. Sparks sprayed and interrupted steel screeched as the preternatural strength derailed it, rending the train car in the center.

  Syler peeled himself from the folded metal, his eyes humming a deep purple and his teeth sharpening. In his rage he found he could move quicker, but, unlike his counterpart, Hunter, he thought all the more clear. He bounded across the tracks towards the wall dividing the train tracks and the neighborhood. In one leap, he cleared the wall like it had lowered to lift and propel him over its ledge toward the houses. Now, out of sight of any human witnesses from the train wreck, he led his enemy from the scene.

  Houses filed past him, watching with disinterest. After a couple of blocks, the Seraphs gained, one on his right and Kaleb and the other on his left.

  The loner on his right began to close the distance between them, but before the Seraph could execute his intent, Syler twisted at the hips and lashed out with a resolute grip. He dragged the Seraph toward him by the arm, closing the small distance between them, and with his other hand he ripped his trachea from the thin flesh taut across his enemy’s throat.

  His eyes cooled back to red in the satiation of revenge. As the blood sprayed across his face, a hysterical scream distracted him from reveling in the death. A woman had been kneeling over a small garden in front of her house when the chase had turned lethal.

  The Seraph’s body collapsed in her jade yard and she continued to scream. Syler cursed and averted his face, but not before he caught sight of the other nameless Seraph dashing in to retrieve the corpse of his comrade. He glanced back, assuming the woman was too panicked to register anything clearly. The Seraph was blurring through the side yard and up over the wood planked fence.

  Syler rounded the corner at the next block, out of sight of the human. Now it was only him and Kaleb. Just as the fact passed through his thoughts, Syler found the ground smashing up to meet him. He roared, feeling the Seraph’s knees digging into his back. Instinctively, he threw back an elbow with all his might. Kaleb grunted when the hard bone contacted with his ribs, the sound of breaking bones cracking in both their ears. The action threw Kaleb from his captive. Syler flopped over and kicked out in case his prior attack had not thrown his enemy a satisfying distance away. His boot found only air. Kaleb was several feet away, holding his side, his breathing labored and his eyes consumed by white luster.

  A car rolled toward them on the road, reminding Syler that he had not been out to make a scene. Rather than attack Kaleb, he jerked himself from the sidewalk and darted off again.

  He knew Kaleb would heal in a matter of minutes, but should give him ample time to devise a crude escape plan. Though, just two blocks, away he was assailed from behind again. Too soon to be Kaleb, he immediately knew it was not. It was Jacob. This time Syler only fell to his knees, the attack had been meant to halt him while also keeping him out of attack range. Syler shot an irritated glare at his nemesis and without deliberation, he lunged at him.

  Jacob had not been anticipating an instant attack and fell beneath the heavy Demon. A smile lurched onto Syler’s mouth when he found Jacob’s delicate neck in his two large hands.

  “At last, I will break you, Seraph.” His voice had become guttural in his utter excitement, sounding eerily similar to his true Demonic dialect. His tongue caught between his teeth as he began to squeeze. Jacob gagged, clawing desperately at Syler’s muscular forearms.

  “Hey, what the hell is going on here?” Syler’s face bent in rage at the interruption and his head jerked in the direction of the new voice. A Caucasian man of a generous stature had put his car in park and was approaching the confrontation. Syler did not release Jacob, though he ceased strangling him, not wanting to miss the life drain from his enemy’s face.

  The disruption needed to be eliminated before he could continue. He growled and snapped his sharpened teeth at the man, who stopped and gave him a perplexed look.

  “You outta get off that young man, ya hear me?” The man pulled a pistol from under his shirt, but did not yet point it at Syler.

  “This is none of your business. Fuck off.” His voice was still consumed by passion and this time came out echoing a second underlying voice. The man’s eyes widened with fear. Syler sneered at him and covertly liberated his wallet chain from his belt loop with one hand while the other held Jacob in place.

  He snaked the weapon from the set of loops and immediately threw it into a twirl. It made three rotations before Syler released it at the man’s armed hand. The man shouted when Syler jerked the chain so forcefully it broke the man’s wrist and sent the gun flying into the air. The pistol smacked the pavement a few feet from Syler, well away from the intruder. Syler barely regarded it before returning to his original task. His hands constricted
again and the gagging renewed.

  While Syler paid the man no heed, the human returned to his vehicle to extricate another handgun from his glove compartment. As he re-approached the adversaries, he froze, tumbled to his knees, and fell face-first into the street.

  Syler glanced curiously over to find blood pooling about the man’s down-turned face. His senses had been preoccupied. At the sight of the dead stranger, he pushed them back out to find that Kaleb was near, too near.

  Just as he was about to hastily finish the job and crush his enemy’s trachea into his spinal cord, he was propelled off. Syler snarled. He did not wait for the newly-released Jacob to retaliate and sprinted away.

  He had hardly gone a block when the Seraphs had run him down and tackled him to the concrete. The chime of a dagger being alleviated of its sheathe rang in his ears. He squirmed violently, one of his arms momentarily escaping to only be re-secured.

  “At last, I will drain you, Demon.” Jacob’s gentle voice mocked him and Syler roared in response, twisting and pulling, nearly loosening himself several times to no final avail.

  Suddenly a powerful wave surged through him and left a relieving tingle in its wake. Accompanying it was a dull thud and one of his assailants hissed behind him.

  Nefarion had arrived.

  The pressure of the Seraphs’ lithe hands and fingers vanished and he instantly flopped over. They were inching backwards, but made no moves that indicated complete retreat. A bloody slot gushed just below Jacob’s neck where he had removed Nefarion’s assaulting weapon.

  Syler stood hastily and turned to witness his Lord’s approach. The Demon Lord was crossing the street diagonally, his eyes pinpointed red. Syler noted several additions to Nefarion’s new human body similar to Hunter’s: tattoos and piercings.

  His hair stood like skewers down the middle of his head and three angled tattoos ran one above the other on either side of his head. His dark eyes fell on his second-in-command and he smiled a silent greeting. Syler bowed his head in acknowledgement, neglecting a smile, aggravated by the state in which his Lord had found him.