War Wagon

by Al Shield

  ‘What the fuck are you doing, are you drunk?!’ the man yelled as he picked himself up and dusted himself down.

  ‘Apologies...I am not myself today...’ K’Dian murmured without looking back and quickly ran off. Moments later when out of sight he looked just like the man he had crashed into, complete with the same voice.

  ‘What the...what the fuck...you drunk. What the fuck...you drunk? Drunk...what the?’ He practised as he continued down the road and as far from the base as possible, thumbing through the wallet he had snatched during his pretend fall. He didn’t know the purpose of the hard cards it contained but he was looking forward to finding out.

  ‘YOU OMEGA?’ THE TALL man grunted as he jumped out of the back of the truck. He was joined by four other soldiers, all heavily armoured and armed. They looked relieved to be finally outside in the light and fresh air again.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Good. Package delivered as ordered. Good riddance too.’ He said as he looked over his shoulder.

  ‘Problems?’

  ‘Whatever is in that strong box, it’s given us all cracking headaches. If I never see this thing again, it’ll be too soon.’

  Omega strolled over to the back of the truck to site the package - a padlocked metal box the rough size and shape of two shoe boxes side by side. He reached into pick it up but the tall soldier touched his arm.

  ‘You’re going to need more men. It’s heavier than it looks.’

  Omega rapped his knuckles on the box lid. It didn’t sound solid. He grabbed one handle and wrenched on it but the box barely moved. He tried with two hands and it moved a little more but was still a struggle.

  ‘What the hell is causing all that weight?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t know. They don’t tell anything. Couldn’t begin to guess either. As soon you your boys take it off the truck, we’re heading straight home.’

  Thankfully there was a handle on each side and roping in the help of the three strongest looking soldiers on guard outside, they slowly lifted it off the back of the truck and agonizingly dragged it inside. However they all found themselves perspiring heavily after only a few metres. One of them complained about having a splitting headache and wanted to set it down for a time to get some painkillers.

  But they struggled on slowly and eventually made it to the entrance to the great room where Dar'kannag was being questioned.

  But rather than bring it inside, Omega instructed them all the set it down carefully. He pushed open the door and called for Morrison’s attention.

  The bodyguard scowled as he walked through the door, seeing the four men just standing there around the package. Before he had the chance to vent his frustration, Omega interjected.

  ‘Your package is here as instructed. My men are required on guard duty immediately.’ He quickly dismissed them and they walked away. ‘So you’re going to have to figure your own way of getting this thing in there for your boss.’ He said, quietly smug at putting the problem back on the hated bodyguard.

  ‘Bunch of pussies, all of you’ Morrison spat. He bent down and picked up the box, lifting it up into his arms like it weighed next to nothing. ‘I don’t know why you’re all still working around here, you’re all weak and useless.’

  With that he spun around and marched back into the big room. Omega shook his head in complete disbelief at the sight. Nothing here was making any damn sense whatsoever.

  Where Morrison had a filthy look of anger on his face when he entered the room with the box, The Nameless One was ecstatic and fished out a small key from his top pocket as he walked over. Omega had quietly walked in too, keen to learn exactly what made the container heavy enough for four highly fit soldiers to struggle moving.

  ‘I have something to show you beast and I want to know if you have seen this before.’ The Nameless One unlocked the lid and opened it up to reveal something that shined brightly from the ring of spotlights trained on Dar'kannag. As he lifted it out of its cushioning, Omega saw that it was a golden glove.

  No, not a glove, a metal gauntlet. Like something a knight would wear in medieval times. Studded with a series of black and white gems on the part that covered the back of the hand with small spikes on each finger plate sections. The fingertips on this gauntlet strangely ended in jade green claw tips. However as strange as the item seemed, something else was going on. Omega strained to hear a new sound in the room that had appeared when the Nameless One had opened the box - the barely audible noise of...people whispering and humming? Many voices but no clear words. Was this sound coming from the gauntlet?

  ‘Tell me what you know of this?’ The Nameless One turned and held the gauntlet right in front of Dar'kannag who sucked in a big breath of air at the sight.

  ‘It cannot be!’ The beast was taken aback ‘How could one of those find its way here?...’

  FOR A BEING AS MIGHTY as Dar'kannag, the feeling of being unnerved was not a common one. Not fearful, a being as mighty as Dar'kannag never felt fearful. But standing watch near the entrance of the temple, he suddenly felt a cold chill of uncertainty and shivered involuntarily. The emergency call had come through only a short while ago - get over to the temple as soon as possible, stop for no one and evacuate the wounded as fast as possible. If any resistance was encountered, crush them under the wheels.

  But that was the problem - there was nobody, friend nor foe, waiting for him at the temple entrance. There was evidence of a recent vicious battle with empty bullet shells, blood of various colours, broken weapons and battered armour pieces littering the sand.

  But there were no bodies in amongst the mess.

  Not one.

  Not even a hacked off limb or sliced off finger from a hefty swing of a bladed weapon. There were however plenty of blood trails and signs of heavy things being dragged through the sand all heading in the direction of the entrance,

  But who had retrieved the dead and dying?

  A pair of massive black stone statues of vicious looking three headed warriors at the front of the temple loomed over the battlefield but provided no answers. The artisans who created them must have been very skilled as Dar'kannag felt their eyes following him as he moved about and waited for the wounded soldiers to come out.

  But in the time that he had arrived, nothing had moved.

  He called out that he was waiting, armed but standing by. But his words bore no reply as they disappeared into the darkened entrance. He gripped his pistol as little tighter and called again.

  Silence. There was nothing coming out of the temple.

  The unfamiliar feeling of uncertainty grew that little bit stronger now.

  The only sound now was the hot wind howling about and the flapping of a torn war banner still clinging to a partly buried spear. But there were no signs of wildlife, no rogue imps flapping about making off with the battlefield scraps, nothing attracted by the noise of the battle or the smell of the spilt blood.

  That fact unnerved him even more. Even the most carnivorous scavengers seemed to be avoiding the area, like the temple was sending out a painful signal to stay away. He hadn’t seen anything wild or moving at all in the last mile on the way in. And right now it seemed that it was just him and his warmachine alone in the world. A feeling of emptiness joined the uncertainty.

  He regretted Nex being called away on another mission. She would have reassured him that everything was just in his head, the feeling of nervousness was a ridiculous cantrip and that the wounded were waiting for assistance inside. If it was a trap, he would just need to run outside and leave the chasing enemies to her.

  She was always cool under fire. And usually so was he - but something unseen emanating from inside the grand building was causing him to lose his nerve, ever so slowly. The longer he stood around, the less inclined he was to investigate and step in further. Even his mighty legs started to feel heavier and harder to move with every moment.

  ‘Get a grip here! Focus!’ He growled at himself. ‘What kind of warrior are you?’

&nbs
p; He slapped himself across the cheek lightly. He barely felt anything but it did make him feel just that little bit less nervous. He slapped himself again, harder this time. This time he did feel it and the sharp warmth of the sting gave sharpened his senses.

  But his body still felt sluggish and his legs heavy.

  The minor blow to snap him out of whatever had taken hold would not be enough. There was one thing he suddenly remembered he could try.

  He felt stupid about the next step but the berserkers of the Everdead Wastes had used the technique for decades to work themselves up into a maddening bloodlust. Once enraged the only thing that could stop them was exhaustion or death and sometimes it wasn’t that simple either. So it couldn’t hurt to at least try it here.

  He smashed his fist, the one clenching the pistol, right into the side of his head with full force. Pain flared across his skull instantly and he yelled out in pain as the side of his face started to throb soon after the impact. A trickle of blood flowed from his mouth.

  But the seemingly foolish action had given him the desired effect, the strange nervousness had completely disappeared in an instant. His heart rate quickened and blood raced through his system, washing away the lethargic feeling. The uncertainty had gone. Replacing it now was a cold savage anger that he was far more accustomed too - partly directed at himself at being caught in such treacherous sorcery but mostly at whoever hid away in the dark confines of the temple like a snivelling rodent. He looked forward to crushing their pathetic skull under his heel as he found his resolve again and marched into the building, gun raised on the lookout for survivors.

  The very walls whispered in the dim light as he walked through the entrance carefully. The faces he could make out in the carved stone flowed and shifted slowly like they were floating in liquid, blending in together occasionally and sometimes a stone face would bleed into two, their cold lips constantly moving. He could see the faces belonged to many races and together they murmured prayers to their gods, blessings to the faithful and curses to the non believers. Dar'kannag barely heard their words, too determined to find his fellow soldiers.

  He found his first shortly after. What was left of the warrior.

  In a small room off the side of the hall two cultists in dark robes and golden helms were busy gorging themselves on the corpse of the multi armed Dizraan. Too fixated on their latest fresh meal, they didn’t notice Dar'kannag until he ran through one of them with one of them with a nearby sword that Dizraan had once wielded.

  The other cultist looked up and pointed a black tipped finger of his golden gauntlet at the intruder.

  ‘Mooooorrrreeee freeeeeeshhhhh meeeeeaaaattttt!’ He moaned in pleasure and threw himself forward, only to be met with the barrel of Dar'kannag’s pistol.

  ‘Feeding time is over.’ He replied and pulled the trigger. The pistol boomed in the small room as the bullet punched through the cultists teeth and then ricocheted off the inside of the helm, drilling it right through it’s reptilian brain. It still had a look of satisfaction as it crumpled to the ground.

  He steeled himself for the attention the shot would have caused but after a few minutes of watching the doorway with his gun raised and listening out for the sound of running footsteps, it was still only the whispering walls that had made any sound. He could only imagine that the cultists were far too engrossed in their feeding to pay him or any noise any attention. Which didn’t bode well for any survivors.

  The group of soldiers had been tasked with recovering an artifact - a cold stone crown with but one green gem embedded. It was an ugly crudely made trinket by all reports but whispers abounded about it’s great power. Whispers that reached the commanders ears and curiosity had led them to sending a pack of Irregulars. However it looked like the team had been outmatched by the forces from the temple of the Dying Light. Up until now no one suspects the cultists of being any kind of threat or hungry cannibals either. Dar'kannag would have a lot to say to the spymaster division of the army when he got back.

  Progress through the temple was slow. Dar'kannag encountered more cultists who were easily dispatched but he also found the half eaten remains of many soldiers too. Luckily the hog faced Brorgullen was a tough task to eat on account of his very thick hide and he was still breathing even after taking multiple wounds in the battle when Dar'kannag bounded into the small chamber and proceeded to lay waste to the cultists there.

  Most of them were slow after feeding which meant death for them came swiftly. However one who had yet to feed proved a greater challenge as he drew a pair of sharp swords and raced forward.

  Even though Dar'kannag towered over and far outweighed him, the cultists attack was strong and the blades danced quickly as he continually dodged each thrust from the bigger creature. He ducked and jumped over swings and backhands, only parried when he had no other choice and kept moving the entire time, using a much of the room to maneuver as possible. In one attack he had even managed to open up a wound on each of Dar'kannag’s arms without the great beast even registering. He understood now why the unit struggled in the battle at the front of the temple. When sated, the cultists were no match but when hungry..

  They continued their deadly dance for a few more minutes but with every clash, Dar'kannag would earn another cut. He had landed but one blow so far, one that had glanced off the side of the cultist’s helm causing no damage. Frustrated he stepped back when inspiration suddenly hit. He came at the cultist again with a mighty two handed overhead swing which he knew full well the creature would jump away from before quickly bounding forward to attack his exposed arms. Taking the bait the cultist did exactly that, both blades pointed forward ready to run him through. But Dar'kannag had learnt much from watching Nex in action and faster than the eye could see, threw his legs out backwards and flattened himself on the floor, causing the cultist the stab through the air where the beast had been just a split second ago. Quickly Dar'kannag swung upwards, slicing into the inner leg of the swordsman. The creature hissed as he clumsily stepped back and Dar'kannag stood up and went back into his stance.

  Now crippled, the cultist could no longer dodge out of the way of the blows and using his immense strength, Dar'kannag wore down his defence with a flurry of swings that drained the creatures strength with each parry. Finally his guard broke and the sword sliced right through his shoulder and into his chest, almost slicing him in too.

  ‘An excellent move...using the floor...’ Brorgullen gasped watching on. ‘I j...just would have blown...the room up, myself.’

  ‘Come Brorgullen, let me help you to the wagon.’

  But the hog creature just laughed, blood pouring down from one side of his tusks.

  ‘Too late...too late for me. They got me...good. You...you will find the...oth.. others?’

  ‘I will.’ Or what was left of them he thought.

  ‘You...y...will kill... all of these bastards?’ he spat.

  ‘Everyone who dares cross my path.’ He boasted.

  ‘T-t-t-t-tell them I d-d-d-died with a sword in my...my hand.’

  Dar'kannag picked up one of the cultists weapons. The keen edge glinted in the candle light, the edge that wasn’t covered in his blood. He knelt down and gently shaped the warriors fingers around the hilt.

  ‘You will carry this proudly into the halls of the dead brother.’

  Brorgullen smiled weakly, nodded his thanks, closed his eyes and in a few moments breathed his last. Dar'kannag sighed as he checked over his own wounds. The chances of finding anyone to bring back home was looking less likely with every minute.

  The further he ventured in, the darker the temple became. The soft murmurs of blessings and prayers from the ever flowing stone faces on the shifting walls became harsher and slowly more scream like. He hadn’t found any other survivors so far either, just their remains. The sated cultists who fed on them were now so lethargic, slaying them was child's play.

  However the guards at the end of the long hall that stood before a large ornate double door
were far more attentive and shouted a warning as soon as they saw him. They raced forward with their rifle spears but quick work with his pistol put them both down before they had a chance to aim.

  One was writing in pain and clutching his chest where the bullets had tore holes in him when Dar'kannag walked over.

  ‘Do you take prisoners in this temple?’ He asked.

  But the reptilian ignored him, moaning and forces out prayers between gasped breathes.

  Dar'kannag kicked him viciously.

  ‘Perhaps you didn’t hear me? I asked you if you take prisoners here in this temple?’

  There was a great groan of pain, more moaning and hard breathing but the guard said nothing so Dar'kannag shot him through the neck for his trouble.

  It was then that a booming voice seemingly behind the door spoke.

  ‘I have what you seek vile creature. Venture forth and come claim what’s yours.’

  The pair of doors then slowly opened as if by magic. Low on ammunition for his pistol, Dar'kannag scooped up one of the slain guards rifle spears just in case before walking in.

  The throne chamber was thick with the smell of sickly sweet incense. Like the rest of the temple this far in the room was very dark and the low but constant volume of whispering, praying and screaming walls filled the air. However the three globes of low light suspended in the air provided plenty of light to illuminate the creature watching on from his throne.

  He was smaller than Dar'kannag with deep red skin but a very muscular physique of tightly packed muscle, slightly hidden away by the lush purple robes draped over him. His face looked to be chiseled out of unforgiving stone with fiery orange eyes, a small pointed beard at his chin and many small spikes atop of his head. Nestled in the spikes - the ugly little stone crown the unit had come to retrieve.