Endfall

by Colin Ososki

  Engand looked around the cliff for survivors. He saw just the man with the weapon, and hiding behind a small chunk of ice were Yusof and Simo. He then saw the man aim the weapon once again at the firefly. Another star was birthed from the weapon and made its way to the aircraft. Engand witnessed the impact; he saw the explosion of fire and light, and then the beginning of the firefly’s fall, down to the ground.

  Engand began to stand, watching the Parliament member set the weapon to the ground. He staggered over to the man and in one quick move, turned him around and got a tight grip around his neck. Engand began to raise the man in the air, who was trying to scream, but couldn’t, for Engand’s grasp was impelling. He walked the man over to the edge of the cliff, where he stood for a moment, dangling the man in air. Engand released his grasp on the man’s throat, dropping him into the hopeless, white abyss.

  Engand stood now, on the cliff, among the blizzard. Yusof and Simo began to crawl out from behind the rock, walking towards him. “Where is Milo?”

  “Here,” said Milo, staggering up to them from behind a high snow drift. “My foot,” he said, trying to spit out more. His ankle and foot were mangled and bruised.

  Engand put a hand on Milo’s shoulder, “can you stand?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” he said. He reached down and adjusted his foot with his hand, it made a crackling noise.

  “Patton is dead,” said Engand. Yusof and Simo both bowed their heads in respect. Milo followed. Engand did as well. “Mussolin?”

  Yusof, without raising his head, said, “He, too.” “And Thamos,” Engand said. They all bowed their heads again for the dead.

  Then they lifted their heads and looked at the monstrous cave entrance before them. “Reichtmagen,” said Milo.

  ROARING ICE

  Lyrah sprinted straight for the North edge of the Bay. She heard a metallic ping to her left, and fortunately dodged a swiftly flying blade that was aimed at her head, rotating brilliantly as it went past. She stopped beside the blade that now stuck deep in the ice, and looked around. Coming through the mist was a Parliament member. What is he doing here?

  He was walking at an average speed, but suddenly busted into a violent leap towards her. While in the air he drew another blade from what seemed like nothing. The sword in his hands found its way to the ice just slivers away from Lyrah’s feet. She drew a small silver blade from her side.

  “Unwise, grey one,” said the man. Lyrah remained silent. Instead she swung with a strikingly powerful attack at the man, who jumped back in astonishment. But his slight fear became anger and he swung downwards at her. She dodged swiftly, in perfect timing. She slipped on the ice, but quickly regained her balance and swung again at the man. He held up his blade in a strong block and held her blade with the metal of his own. He shoved her with it, sending her backwards on the ice. Any other time this would have knocked her down instantly, but her balance was reinforced this time by her controlling winds. The air was distorted slightly in this act, and the man noticed this. He gasped at the sight of her now, as she looked him directly in the eyes, her arm raised in his direction.

  With a sinister smile she said, “Unwise, old one.” With this, her fingers were aimed at his eyes, which were then abruptly torn from their sockets by the rumbling force of Lyrah’s control. Soon after came a grotesque, yellow fluid. The man began to scream in agony, but was quickly silenced by a lynx sent from the mists. The lynx’s blades became drunk with the man’s blood in a quick slash. Lyrah turned away from the sight of more fluids spraying onto the ice. In just moments, the lynx was gone again and the dead man lay in his own scattered contents on the ice.

  Lyrah began to run back in the direction she was previously headed, but it was now apparent to her that she was lost on the middle of the ice, in a white fog. All around there came the smell of blood and the sounds of battle, but she could not tell which direction was what. Nothing came through the fog, only sounds. The eerie feeling grew and grew inside her.

  Abruptly, Lyrah was almost struck across the face brutally with steel fist; it had nearly missed her. It was unexpected, and she fell, sliding across the ice. She rolled over on the freezing surface and looked up at the metal man that alarmed her, its eyes glowing a bright red. The metal man’s heavy arm drove through the ice, creating a crater. The ice was thick, not thin enough to crack with a single strike. Lyrah was timely; she had moved just in time and was now scratching across the ice, moving away. But the metal beast did not give up, it began to advance on her. She was not off the ground yet, the ice was slippery and making it difficult to get onto her feet. She began to survey the ice for an advantage, frustrated and terrified. She detected a bronze dagger, belonging to a fallen rebel, within reaching distance.

  She swiftly lashed out towards the dagger, but could not reach it. A large, steel foot then came clashing down near her, but again she was timely. Not only this, but she was now on the brink of a most thundering anger. She stood, keeping a steady balance on the ice, and thrust out both hands at the metal man. The metal beast was thrown into the air and came back to the ground with a clamor, lifeless.

  For the first time in what seemed like a long time, Lyrah looked around her. To her surprise, there was something other than a snowy fog that she saw. It was a group of lights. Lights that meant people, lights that meant –Hallowmere.

  Just when she stood a wave halted her. It was something of the ground, a feeling. A thunderous crackling began striking her ears. She faintly caught sight of another lynx, standing still as well. Then it was almost clear, Lyrah squinted to affirm; on the surface of the ice ahead there was a sharp sliver of white, a growing crack. A lynx came from the mist to the left, rushing back passed Lyrah in the opposite direction, shouting “the ice! It’s cracking!” Lyrah had the urge to burst into a dash following the lynx, but she couldn’t. If I don’t get across the lake now, I’ll never get to Hallowmere.

  She took a step forward. A silver beam crossed under her foot, another crack. She slowed. Lyrah realized she wasn’t hearing the sounds of battle anymore. Instead the entire lake was put on a massive gambit. One wrong move and everybody could fall through to the freezing waters. Upon the left there was a loud clamor, a sound of metal and more cracking of ice. Lyrah felt the sheet below her feet rumbling.

  She took another step forward. The air was thin, she held her breath. Lyrah thought and thought, querying the next move, and in between, the silence creeping up on her. She could still see the lights of Hallowmere up ahead. She looked down again at the crack below her, and then back at the crack ahead, which had now spread another third of its size.

  Lyrah slid her foot this time, another step. She managed to cross several yards with her eyes half closed, veering to the right around the large crack.

  Then Lyrah heard several screams, and a roar of ice that was not fond of surrendering to gravity. A crack from elsewhere joined the harrowing crack she crossed, and uttered a snap that shook her bones. The ground beneath her was collapsing.

  She exploded into a sprint. She could feel the cracking beneath her feet, driving her only faster. She did not dare look back, despite the many more screams she could hear behind the splitting sounds of ice now washed of their blood.

  Her feet touched snow, but soaked. Lyrah kneeled to catch her breath, but stood almost immediately and looked around her. To her back, the screams continued, and even more sounds of war. The ice had split and nearly half the lake was falling, but she had made it. She returned her head forwards. To her face, the North, and the town of Hallowmere.

  -----

  The deafening cry of another flying machine came rolling through the forest. The machine flew overhead as the battle thickened. Most of the metal men had crossed the ice by now, filling the forest. A light came from above, and again rebel blood was sent trailing through the air in a messy explosion. Farhisk, however, was able to notice something strange in the midst of the chaos. It was one of the metal men; it was different. This one was the rustiest of the
m all. Farhisk had had enough of his observations, he decided to attack.

  Farhisk darted forwards like an arrow, leaping across fallen trees and bodies to reach his target. His movements flowed like a smooth river, making his path incredibly swift. In front of him, the metal man stood below a small hill, which Farhisk now bolted towards. His paws splashing in snow, he leapt off the peak of the hill, lashing out his claws at the metal man. The metal man was not focused on what was to his side, for one of Farhisk’s claws got a hefty grip on the metal man’s arm and easily had it torn free.

  The rusty metal man hurled around with unbelievable speed and pounded Farhisk’s head. His eyes were slammed shut when it happened, and when he opened them again, the metal fingers of the metal man were pressed into the ground, trapping Farhisk’s head on the ground. He began to claw at the metal man, but it was not letting free. Farhisk was beginning to panic. He made an attempt to scream, but couldn’t, for he realized that one of the fingers was squeezing tighter and tighter around his throat, and also another finger on his brain. He looked up at the frightening beast, who had been starring deep at Farhisk’s frustration the entire time. Then the metal man squeezed his fingers in towards Farhisk with crushing force. In a confusing blur, Farhisk saw blood, and then came the feeling of pure cold. The metal man’s grasp then finally ceased, for there was nothing left to crush.

  -----

  Milo stepped into the shade. The air was stiff as evil was strong. He felt the crossing of the most gruesome darkness upon all of them. Milo and Engand lead the remaining group through the turns of the Reichtmagen cave, though it was unfamiliar. Engand had his bow drawn, as Yusof and Simo had their battle claws ready. Milo held his sword. The cave was lit by something swarming near the ceiling, a bizarre sight to them. It was like a trail of moonlight had crept its way into the cave, swelling about, casting a gentle light. The cave had a main, long winding path but, as they were told, there was a split up ahead with seven paths.

  “I think,” Engand said, slowing down, “The seven paths are just around this next bend.” Yusof and Simo followed closely behind him. Then, from the shadows lying ahead, came a discomforting shriek of terror from a man’s voice. Seconds later came another sound, this time a disturbing gargling sound. Silence followed. Engand’s breathing became slightly louder and somewhat dysfunctional. Yusof and Simo remained silent, although it was clear that they too felt the fear developing. “Quickly,” said Engand.

  They entered in what seemed was a small chamber. Lining the rim of the chamber, along the rocky walls, were six pathways. Each one was simply another cave entrance inside the rock, leading into another dark tunnel.

  Simo spoke, “The tunnel we have been traveling through must be the seventh pathway.” His voice had an eerie reverb effect coming from the walls of the cave. They began to step further into the chamber, but stopped suddenly when they saw what was on the ground.

  On the ground of the chamber were the remains of a Parliament member. His face was torn completely from his skull, which was cracked in the facial area, and he was missing all of his limbs and dark red blood was splattered around the body.

  “This is fresh work,” said Yusof.

  “Stay sharp everyone,” Engand added.

  Milo had eyes on each of the pathways. “What did you say, Simo?” He asked, “About the seventh?”

  “I said the seventh must refer to the way in,” he replied, walking over to the middle pathway. “There are only six entrances here.” Milo took a slow step towards the middle entrance by Simo.

  “Wait,” said Engand, holding up a hand at them, “look at the prints.” On the dusty ground before them, there were the sleight markings of the slain Parliament member’s feet, leading to the middle pathway where Milo and Simo stood. “I’m guessing that one is not the right one.”

  “How do we know which one to go with?” asked Yusof.

  “It may be none of them at all,” said Milo. He raised a hand and touched the cold stone. A sickening vibration overcame his bones and muscles. “Whatever it is we’re up against,” he said, “is going to be the death of worlds if we fail.”

  “Best we don’t fail then, right?” Simo said. “Which way?”

  Milo stood perplexed. He took a step back and watched Engand take his place, investigating the stone as well.

  Where are you Lyrah? If you can hear me, I’d really like to talk. Moments passed, no response. Lyrah, I hope I see you again. “It’s this way,” said Milo, his finger aimed at the pathway farthest to the left.

  “How can you be sure?” Engand asked.

  “I’m really not.”

  Nobody said a word. Engand nodded, and Milo drew his sword. “We all go at the same time,” he said. They all stood side by side, and took the first step. The air was almost instantly colder. Milo could feel the dread. They took several steps.

  There was the first half of a feline screech, and then a tearing sound. Yusof screamed, and Milo turned around.

  “Hell,” exclaimed Engand. On the floor beside them, was what remained of Simo, and a pool of blood. Yusof growled.

  That was too fast. Regardless of the apparent frosty atmosphere, Milo swelled up with heat and vomited. Another sickening sound was coming from every direction, that of something crawling. “Something’s in here with us!” exclaimed Milo.

  Then something hit the wall of the cave, causing rocks to fall, and Yusof lashed out at a shadow, Milo caught sight only from his peripheral vision. He saw a warping dark figure crush Yusof into the rocky ground, it was over in just seconds. Yusof’s body lay mangled in rocks. Engand stepped over to him and knelt, feeling his fur.

  Milo could not move. “Simo,” he said, staring at his partner’s torn head. He peered over at Yusof, next. “Yusof,” he said, closing his eyes.

  “Milo,” said Engand, standing up. “We have to be strong.” Milo looked up at Engand.

  “I don’t know how strong I can be,” said Milo. His face was covered in dirt and blood. He vomited again.

  “Simo and Yusof fought bravely,” said Engand, “we must honor them by continuing.”

  Milo looked up and was about to speak, but a dark shape came into view above. Milo’s mind froze, unable to force out his cry to Engand. The dark shape became what looked like an outstretched arm with several sets of fingers. It grabbed Engand by the throat and bolted backwards towards the cave wall, ripping back Engand and sending him into the solid rock. Engand coughed madly before trying to stand, and the shadowed thing struck again. Milo threw up his arm and swung down at the hand with his sword, creating a cracking sound that reverberated down the cave walls. The hand struck Milo in the face, knocking him down, but then reached again for Engand. This time Milo couldn’t look. It was nothing but blood.

  Milo held his sword, raised it. Where is it? He felt the dread over his shoulders. Help. Everyone was gone. He no longer heard any crawling sounds. The air wasn’t cold anymore to Milo, he was sweating, but at the same time, shaking. He breathed and breathed and heaved, choking on air. He couldn’t stop. This is hell. When he tried to move his arm, it shuddered and a dizzy feeling vibrated throughout him. He was still. I can’t be done. Think. Think.

  He thought.

  This isn’t the wrong cave. He looked ahead; nothing but darkness. Milo stood as tall as he could, gripping the sword to the rim of his strength, and took the next step forward.

  BLACKENED

  Abraham and Oslo rounded the stairs leading up the entrance of the hall. The air smelled of fire. Abraham pushed the large hall doors open. The walls, covered in velvet, were in flames. Charlie stood in the center of the hall, two dead lynxes on the bloody floor in front of him. “Heylemith,” Oslo said, entering behind Abraham, “and Tarrian.”

  Charlie’s voice echoed through the hall, “That one is still alive actually.” He took a few steps forward and gripped the fur of Tarrian’s neck, and pulled the lynx upward. “They fought bravely,” he said.

  Abraham spread his battle claws, shimme
ring against the fire.

  “You have your chance now and only,” said Charlie, drawing a blade, crafted of gold. “And when you fail,” he said, his grin leaving his face to shadow a more honest aggression, “nothing can save you.” Oslo and Abraham exchanged looks. Both of them had their claws drawn. Charlie threw his armed fist into Tarrian’s stomach, spilling blood everywhere. There was a yelp, and Abraham grew only more furious. “Now,” Charlie bellowed, just then a chunk of an above stair piece crashing down to the hall floor in flames, “you may engage me.”

  Abraham exploded forwards, launching at Charlie’s torso. Charlie threw up his blade, Abraham’s claws catching it. Both tumbled to the ground. Oslo leapt up towards Charlie but he slashed, cutting into his fur. Abraham stood and Charlie kicked him in the side, pushing him aside, then lunged at Oslo again, cutting his leg. Oslo then lashed out, gripping Charlie’s leg with his mouth. Charlie screamed in pain jabbing at Oslo. As his blade came close, Abraham’s claws collided, bending it. Charlie’s arm cracked loudly, Abraham leapt up, landing on all fours across Charlie’s body. Charlie lay, his face in complete confusion and terror.

  “Damn cat,” Charlie spat in Abraham’s face, reaching forward again, But Oslo was quick. Oslo swung a heavy paw down, breaking Charlie’s other arm.

  “You’ve failed,” Abraham said, pulling his face in closer, revealing large saber-like teeth. He raised his face and looked again at Tarrian and Heylemith, lying dead across the hall floor. In a lower voice he said, “And nothing will save you.” Oslo walked over to the other side, near Charlie’s face. Charlie was now shedding a tear. He gasped, could not speak. Abraham looked at Oslo, and nodded, then stepped down from Charlie. Moments later, Oslo swung down his claws on Charlie’s face like a never ending thunder, and blood spat upwards like a harmonizing never ending rain.