Michael glared at this woman, trying to muster up whatever anger he could with her, but he couldn't even stir his rage. Every time anger boiled in his gut, something about her reduced it to a simmer. She was only trying to help, doing what she thought best.
But why? Michael thought. For what reason did she pull a stranger out of dangerous territory that may result in getting herself killed? There were a hundred reasons, and one solid way to find out.
"Come, let me bring you back to my village. Your wounds must be treated."
Right then, Michael pulled his arm off of her shoulder, shoving the Neko forward into the ground as he drew his sidearm. When she flipped over about to stand up, he flashed the gun before her face.
"Hold it right there."
Mila gazed in shock as Michael backed up a step, stumbling on his injured leg.
"What is this?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"I'm asking you the same damn thing," Michael barked. "You show up the second I split up with Galen, next thing I know, we're fleeing a hungry pack of your own kind that seems mighty keen on ending our lives. I have no idea who you are, what you are, or why the fuck you are playing nice. But if you plan on dragging me into some Charlie's booby trap or into some tribal cauldron to be cooked up into stew, let me know so I can save myself the trouble and kill you right now."
"I would never!"
"Then start talking!" Michael ordered. "Starting with why you showed up in the damn first place!"
Mila swallowed hard as his eyes burned brighter than the sun, his hand tightening up around his weapon. "I was tracking game in this part of the woods when a metal beast fell from the sky, cutting open the forest before it stopped in a clearing on the valley floor. I investigated the monster, and found a man crawling from the wreckage. Before I could get to him, he had already succumbed to his wounds. That was when your friend awoke. I did not know of how he would react to me, so I hid and watched his actions from afar."
Mila's tone eased Michael's grip on the pistol, moving him to lower his aim slightly as she continued.
"He buried the bodies of the others and set out on his trek, which I now know was to find you. When I saw he was going into the territory of the Ra'zorlichs, I knew I had to turn him back. But then you appeared and then it all became very difficult. Had we not fled, there would be two dead humans in their hands, not one."
As tense as his finger had become, Michael released the trigger of the sidearm, flipping on the safety as he wiped his nose. He didn't have any intention to kill her, or to even harm her. Fear was his only weapon in finding out why she did what she did. As much as he regretted doing it, it had worked.
Before Mila could come back to her feet, he knelt down and showcased the firearm before her face, "You see this?"
She nodded.
"This is a Colt model 1911 .45 ACP auto pistol. It shoots a .45 caliber round at eight hundred and twenty-five feet per second. That is a two hundred and thirty gram slung flying at its target at five hundred miles an hour. So I don't care what any kind of Razor-lick bitch says, this fine piece of American engineering will flat out kill any motherfucker that gets between its sights. And had you let me go, I could have stepped in and shot those pussycat fucks before I lost another one of my friends!"
Mila stared at the weapon and stared at Michael, although half of what he said hadn't made a lick of sense in her ears, the message was clear. He was a pack killer, and she had made him lose one of his pack. He had every right in the world to be angry.
"Then maybe next time, you'll do just that."
Michael and Mila both turned as Galen came down the hill, rifle slung over his shoulder and looking no worse for wear. At first, the Sergeant rubbed his eyes and took a second look before he returned his pistol to its holster and ran forward, nearly toppling over on his wounded leg.
"You son of a bitch!" he swore, hugging onto the Private and patting the top of his helmet, "from now on, you ask my permission before you decide to go be a hero, you got me?"
"Yes, sir, Sergeant."
Michael released Galen and put his arm across his shoulders, "Good, now let's get to the Hercules, it's getting too dark here to travel and I don't want to get caught out on my own when things start coming out to hunt. Besides, I think Mila here might be able to help us figure out our current situation."
The cat woman stood up off the ground and rubbed her bottom, pulling a thorn out of it before giving a nod. "I'll help in whatever way I can."
..............................................................
The spacious grand hall of the Ra'zorlich palace was filled with the Neko tribals. From the wise elders to the brash young warriors, Nekos of all ages gathered together under the stone roof. Panicked and savage remarks were thrown about, with many of the comments relating to the metal beast that roared through the sky.
As the Ra'zorlichs spoke and bickered, the mighty iron doors at one end of the hall were thrust open, the clap of metal meeting stone silencing the room. A pack of overly-muscled Nekonian warriors marched into the room, walking through the parted crowds with a look of disgust at the circus of fear around them. Thick, steel plates overlapped upon one another formed a heavy armor that covered their bodies from head to toe. Long swords hung at their sides as did bucklers off the forearms of their off hands.
Right in the middle of them walked yet another Nekonian, though one of less stature than the troops around him. His blood red fur matched the crimson silk robe he wore. Golden rings wrapped around his fingers just as more were tied into his bushy black hair. A crown of iron wrapped in bands of silver sat atop his head, and in the center, above the Neko's dark brown eyes, sat a single sapphire cut into a perfect oval shape. Every Nekonian in the room bowed their heads to this richly dressed Neko as they pressed closed fists over their hearts.
"Hail, King Hector," the crowd chanted in their native tongue.
The Ra'zorlich king proceeded to the front of the hall where a large throne of steel awaited him. Here, he took a seat as his guards pushed the crowd back several feet. When he felt he had sufficient personal space, the entire end of the hall to himself, the king motioned a scribe forth from the side of the room. A young Nekonian male dressed in gray robes stepped forth with a large book in hand. He quickly flipped through it, coming to a certain page and clearing his throat.
"My king, this morning, a beast of steel roared over the sky, raining down fire and a new metal across our lands. The people are gathered here to know what the king has to say. If his lordship will take action against the monster that flew above us."
The king nodded, raising his voice high above the silent crowd, "You all wish to know what will happen?" he roared.
The crowd echoed back with a unanimous, "yes."
Such fear was not common amongst the Ra'zorlichs. They would slay any beast of intelligence that would dare enter their lands, yet, beasts of the skies, Dragons, and Terons, were a different matter. Nobody knew how many different kinds of those aerial beasts there were, as nobody could count that high, but one had fallen from the sky above them, appearing from nowhere and crashing into the forest beyond their borders. Fire poured from its wings and metal fell from its skin. Hundreds of trees were hacked down in its crash, proving how strong it truly was. The only consolation of the matter was what the scouts had said.
"The beast is slain. It fell from the sky shrouded in flame and roaring in pain. Whatever kind beast it may be, it breaths no more," the king declared.
Just as his speech concluded, the hall doors were thrust open again. Vicious snarls roared and ordered men to move aside as the warrior came through. The king even rose in his seat as his officer with the golden blonde fur and silver banded pauldrons stepped forth.
"Hunt Commander Farok, what brings you to my court?" the Ra'zorlich king questioned as his officer knelt before him.
"Two humans wandered into our lands, ignorant of where our borders lie. Hearing of them, I sent forth a pack, but they took to arm
s and fought back. I personally ran them out from our territory, but at the cost of the lives of seven hunters."
Several audible grasps and angered roars echoed through the room. Several of the warriors went into an uproar, claws high as they cried for blood.
"Two humans?! Seven lives?!" the king bellowed above the crowd, rising up from his throne as rage contorted his face.
"It is so, my king. They wielded the power of gods, but swore never to return."
"I DO NOT WANT THEIR WORD!" the king thundered. "I WANT THEIR HEADS!"
Farok's eyes went wide as he lifted his head to lock his gaze with the king's furious, brown eyes, "My king, have you not heard what I said? They came after the beast fell from the sky! Killing my men with thunder! My scout swore he saw one falling from belly of the great metal beast!"
"ENOUGH! I will hear no more of it! You will send the shadow stalkers to find the beast and find these humans. I will have their hearts to feast upon, or have yours taken in their place, commander. Now get out of my sight!"
"Yes, my king."
Farok rose to his feet, pressing a fist to his heart and giving a bow before walking out of the grand hall to the outside. When the heavy iron doors slammed behind him, he unleashed the fury of his frustration in a roar to the sky above, drawing the attention of many eyes to the angered officer standing in the middle of the town center.
Many averted their gaze and returned to their business, though some warriors scoffed at the commander's outburst, mocking him in silence. Yet it was not their remarks that scorched his insides, it was their ignorance. How little these people knew! What the king knew! That pompous child was barely grown, claiming to a throne his father left him after his early passing and the queen's shortly thereafter.
The thoughts of the royal matter set off an inferno in Farok's belly as he stormed through the crowd of curious onlookers. The whole situation had been cast in doubt and suspicion, but nobody would dare to think the prince would slay his own parents. Farok had his suspicions, however. The child was little more than a spoiled brat, dying to have his way.A female was thrown aside as the hunt commander marched on toward his barracks. A hundred times over, he cursed his role as it had backed him into a corner. There was no choice but to dispatch his assassins, to send them into a task in which their survival was uncertain.
All to please Hector's pride.
However, if the king demanded it, even if it was for the sake of vanity, it was his obligation to see it done. No matter how strongly he felt against it.
Farok thrust open the doors to the troops' quarters and marched inside. A hundred sleeping warriors lay in their bunks while a dozen others readied themselves for a night patrol. Many more were in the mess hall at the opposite end, feasting up before resting for the night.
In a far corner of the barracks, a lone ladder led up to the rafters above, to the loft of beds and tables used by the elite shadow stalkers of the Ra'zorlichs as they waited for their next assignment. So rarely were they used that they lived in perpetual comfort, shrugging off all warrior's duties to focus solely on training and the pleasures of life. It sickened many warriors of the tribe, but these women were not to be trifled with, lest you intend to have a new way to breathe through your throat in the morning.
Farok climbed the ladder to the assassin's loft, pulling himself into the pitch black room and clearing his throat.
"Shadow stalkers, come forth."
Sensual purring circled the room as he sensed their presence around him. Their paws were too light for him to hear, their breath too silent for him to sense, but their purring gave them away.
"Has the king a mission for us, Hunt Commander?" one of the women asked.
"Yes, Petra. He has."
........................................................................................
Kindling crackled as sparks flared up from the soft wood; Galen flicked his lighter closed and sat back against his pack. Michael, Mila, and himself circled around the fire burning in a small pit, simply staring at the flames as a cricket chirped in the distance. When the Private was about to pocket his lighter, he spotted Mila's eyes locking on to the small device with an intense focus. A smile crept up his face as she examined the zippo, her cat tail swishing along the grass behind her.
"Here, take a look," he said, handing off the lighter. She accepted it and began to roll it between her fingers, sniffing it, flipping the lid. Finally, when she figured out the flint, she struck the wheel, her eyebrows rising as a small flame erupted from the wick.
"So small, yet it creates light and fire with ease," she muttered, her irises paper-thin with her expanded pupils.
"Scared the shit out of me when I first saw one," Michael added, "But now that we're all comfy, it's about time for you to start explaining a few things. Starting with where the Hell we are."
Mila gave a nod and snapped the lid shut on the zippo before passing it back to Galen.
"We are in Atzla forest, mainly home to the Nekos, Aviens, and Lycans, but others also have claims to this place, like Humans, Trolls, and Tree Elves."
Already, she spotted Michael's eyes flickering with a stare of disbelief while Galen simply sat and listened, sipping water from his canteen as he stared up at the sky.
"To the south, if you pass the Ra'zorlich territory, you come into the Marching Hills where Hill Giants, Humans, and Hill Nekos roam. Beyond that are the Roaring Peaks, where Dwarves and Dragons reside."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, dragons?!" Michael thundered. "Elves and trolls are one thing. If it weren't a cat creature telling me this I would never believe it. But dragons?! I ain't never heard of no dragons in Vietnam!"
"Where is Vietnam?" Mila asked.
"In the east Pacific, below China. We Americans have been fighting the communist bastards for the past six years. You can't have missed the B-52s overhead!"
"Do you see a Bfiftatoo over your head?" Mila asked, making Michael look up scan the skies above him. "You are on Raska now. That is what we call our world. I don't know what a 'communist' is, or why you could wage six years of war against them, but this 'Vietnam' you speak of, you are not there. Your world has been left behind."
With her words, the icy truth began to set in full, for both soldiers. Galen tried not to show it, but his hand was trembling, the butterflies going wild in his belly. Michael however, had both his fists clenched, knuckles stark white.
"So you don't know what the US is? Or how to get us back home?" the Private asked.
Mila shook her head. "You are in our world, Galen. I can only start by returning you to my village. Perhaps bring you to human lands, if you wish to make that journey."
The thought of being with his own species welcomed Galen, but then again, he had no idea what he was walking into. Everything he knew about the world was just thrown off the plane. Literally. All that he knew about geography, history, culture, nations, everything was useless here.
He lay down, using his pack as a pillow as he settled in. Desperately, he searched among the stars above him, praying to find any constellation he could recognize. Orion, Taurus, Leo, Gemini, Cancer, Ursa Major, anything.
Nothing revealed itself. No stars aligned in a way he knew. No image formed in his mind. Nothing was the same. Not even the moon, the white stone that he knew -set in the sky as a goal promised to be reached by Kennedy- was gone, replaced by a rock that seemed larger in size, with just the slightest blue tinge to it.
No, if there was any doubt in his mind that said he was still on Earth, it was gone now. And that fact left him with a queasy feeling in his stomach. He felt scared of the days to come as he stared up at that strange blue rock hanging above him in the night sky, wondering if he would ever get back home.
The first quiet snores took Michael off guard. Just minutes after lying down, the Private was asleep.
"A true warrior," Mila whispered. "Sleeping calm after a battle."
"I always knew he would be a tough little soldier," Michael added. "Saw it
the day he walked into basic. Shivering in his shirt and shaking in his wee, black boots as he walked amongst the veterans. But no matter how they teased or the Drill Sergeant hammered him, little bastard kept his chin up."
"Is it normal for your culture to insult each other so vulgarly?" Mila asked.
"It's all in good humor. Nothing like the Drill Sergeants rant. He would scream at us like a mad banshee, break us down 'till we were nothing. Sometimes, you could hear the Privates crying out at night for their mommas to save them from the big, bad Drill Sergeant."
"What is a 'Drill Sergeant'?" Mila asked, her knees brought up against her chest, her feline eyes expanded to the full as she listened. She reminded Michael of a kitten, curiously watching the string dangling before her. That soft, playful innocence of hers brought a smile to his face, a warm stirring in his chest.
Sci-Fi & Fantasy Erotica: Volume 2 (Sci-Fi & Fantasy Erotica Series) Page 6
