The group looked about desperately; there was nothing in there, nowhere to go. “Was it merely a trap? Or am I missing something?” The Warlock’s thoughts were scattered and frantic. He was genuinely afraid, something which he was not overly experienced with. Looking down from his elevated position, the basic outline of the salt ring still stood out amongst the scattering of dead and sleeping bodies. He followed the arc around. There was only really one thing within the ring which was worthy of their attention, a large metal plate. Gudrik leapt over the rail. Once on the ground he walked over and stood on it. He stamped his foot. It resonated with a hollow thud. “Go through your shadows, see what’s on the other side,” Gudrik growled at Ami.
“Doesn’t work like that Gudrik. I choose the shadow I go into, I’ve got no control which one I come out of,” she replied.
“Dorian?” Kahn asked.
“Can’t,” replied Dorian flicking his hair, “I don’t know what’s on the other side, you’d have to be an idiot to shift blind.” He grinned childishly at Gudrik. The Warlock gave a grunt in reply.
“It’s Alright boys, I’ve always got a backup plan,” replied Ami.
“Yeah all sorts of shifty shit going on in your head,” added Malaki.
“Oh I’m sorry sweetie, did you wanna get all angry and bash it for a while?”
“Just fucking open it,” he grumbled, zipping up a scavenged grey tactical vest.
“Schendiline,” she mumbled walking towards the plate. Strings of runes which spiralled around her forearms and fingers burned bright blue as shards of crystal burst from her skin and spread, leaving her with long crystalline talons extending from her fingertips. They gleamed blue and shimmered with heat. In a few quick, powerful slashes they sliced through the heavy steel plate as if it was made of butter. The crystal plunged back into her flesh, the wounds seared closed quickly, but her arms were left bloody and the smell of burnt flesh hung in the air. Ami showed no visible signs of pain, or even discomfort for that matter.
“I still don’t understand how you stay conscious during that babe,” said Dorian.
“You boys are all pussies,” she shot back, wiping the blood from her forearms. Malaki shook his head in reluctant admiration and stamped on the hatch. There was a series of heavy clangs as the dislodged piece of metal bounced down a stairway, the slashes still glowed red with heat.
The group looked down into the basement of the facility. The stairwell ran deep and was poorly lit, but light streamed through the arch at the end of it. George started off down the steps without hesitation and the rest quickly followed. “A dingy subterranean lair? A bit cliché,” mumbled Dorian to Ami.
At the bottom they found themselves in not a room, but an earthen corridor which extended east to west. The passage was carved directly out of the heavy bedrock with tangled arteries of wires and piping snaking along the roof. It was much cooler down there insulated from the blustery night above.
Gudrik led the group towards the eastern end of the tunnel, rounding slightly towards the north. There was a sudden flicker in the lights, flashing long sporadic shadows throughout the cavern. The train halted and George bumped into Gudrik’s back. They eyed the fluorescent bulb above them. The light hung bright for a moment, then disappeared completely. Black swarmed in flooding the passage. If not for the faint glow fighting its way down the stairwell they would not have been able to see their hand an inch before their eyes. “Don’t suppose that was just coincidence?” smirked Malaki.
“Do we go back?” asked Dorian. George stomped off down the black hall in answer, Gudrik grabbed her shoulder.
“Ami, take the lead with Gudrik, Dorian put George between us, Malaki on rear guard.” ordered Kahn. With military precision, the Inscribed obeyed.
“Thought you put them all to sleep?” whispered Malaki.
“So did I,” grunted Gudrik, “Anyone not touched by the blood should be out.”
The Inscribed flicked on the torches clamped to the barrels of their confiscated rifles and the group continued their exploration. “The lights will give us away in the dark,” said Dorian.
“They already know where we are,” Gudrik grunted back. The butts of the weapons were pressed firmly to the Inscribed’s shoulders as they crept their way through the labyrinth. Small passages broke off along the way and down each one shadow crept and slinked as the torch beams passed.
The first substantial room they found themselves in was a long concrete floored space which was lined with enormous stainless steel tanks. Light sprinkled the walls as the torch beams shone off them. The feeling which had been bubbling within Gudrik since his arrival was now a screeching roar. It was a feeling he had only ever felt once before, a feeling which he had dubbed the urge. It was now clear that this was the same urge he had felt in the lab, but on a much grander scale. There was no question in Gudrik’s mind what was in these tanks. Considering the power only a few drops of his blood held, in the wrong hands this stockpile was probably one of the greatest threats which humanity had ever faced.
“We’ve found the blood store,” said Gudrik. Kahn simply nodded in response. He had suspected what the tanks contained, but at the same time prayed he was wrong. There was a pitter patter behind. All the gun barrels swung towards it, but the beams of light hit only emptiness.
“Worry about the blood later, we need to find Tabitha,” George reminded them, anxiously walking ahead.
They snaked from room to room, investigating as they went, Malaki creeping backwards panning his light side to side at their black tail, Ami doing the same from the front. The design of the underground level was uniform, but still confusing. A long curving hallway chiselled out of the earth, peppered with smaller off-shoots towards the inside of the arc. Each hall ended in a wider chamber. At the end of each of those chambers was an archway leading into yet another hall. The rooms which the team had passed through by that stage were all lined with tanks. The size of Kyran’s stockpile was truly staggering. It soon became disorientating moving through the subterranean cavern and dèjá vu was rife. It felt as though they were circling around, but it was impossible to tell how far around the circle they were. Eventually the creeping snake moved beyond the storage areas and into some larger and much more civilised rooms.
These were lined on the roof and walls and if they didn’t know better, the group could have been in any normal surface building. The first two rooms which they passed through were established laboratories, very similar to the ones Gudrik had raided only twenty four hours earlier.
“Why have this facility if he already has the medical labs in the city?” asked Dorian. “It seems excessive.”
“I assume he uses the official facility mainly for recruiting and cover, I am sure any really edgy stuff is done here. Here secrecy can be assured with more force than a non-disclosure agreement,” whispered Ami.
“Where are the people?” George added shakily.
“He knew we were coming,” grunted Gudrik sharply. “Now be silent.” Malaki let a snort sound from rear guard. He was ignored.
In the final room of the laboratory set, one major difference leapt out. There was a long wooden bookshelf along the inside wall. It’s warm, oaken appearance was in sharp contrast to the cold, stainless steel of the rest of the room’s furniture. There was contrast too between its contents and that of the other surfaces. Instead of bizarre scientific instruments whose uses baffled them, it contained the fragile parchment and paper of numerous ancient texts.
Gudrik lit his hand and rifled through the rolled scrolls, wooden cased volumes and delicately bound tomes. Memories danced through his mind. A smile cracked his hard face. They were in a wide collection of languages, most of which Gudrik was able to read. They truly were ancient, almost as ancient as him. Through the warmth of reminiscence one chilling theme cut though.....they were all about The Twelve. This was a facility with a single purpose, to merge the ancient knowledge with the technology of the time. This was a facilitly to manipulate the bloo
d.
BANG, BANG! Two gunshots echoed through the tunnel. The second sounded like a ricochet, but the first had ended in a meaty thunk. Dorian threw George behind a bench as they instinctually dropped into cover. Confusion spread. The rapid moving lights strobed and flickered about the room. “Who’s hit?” called Kahn as he fired in the direction of the shots.
“Me! Shoulder!” shouted Malaki.
A scuffle echoed from behind them, disappearing down the tunnel. Another was heard ahead of them. Gudrik leapt from his cover and chased the sound into the tunnel ahead; bullets held no fear for him. In the tunnel he paused, Kahn joined him. “No!” called Ami. The scuffle echoed again down one of the tunnel’s off-shoots. As Kahn shone the beam down it; a boot was glimpsed rounding the corner. Gudrik took off after it, the bobbing light of Kahn at his heels. Another long straight tunnel of shadow, no sign of the enemy. More gun shots rang out through the black cavern. These were not scattered, these were a firefight. “They were just trying to separate us!” grunted Gudrik, sprinting back the way they had come. “Ormstunga!”
The two men emerged back into the larger main tunnel. Gudrik looked to the room they had been in, no lights, no sound. More shots echoed from further along the passage, then silence returned, lasting only for the briefest of moments. Soon moans and sounds of pain filled the air with ghostly wailing echoes. Kahn put his hand over the barrel light, dulling its effect and they crept down the passage.
They moved swiftly through two more rooms and passed three more offshoot tunnels. Occasionally one would brush spent shell casings with their feet. Gudrik bit down into his wrist and whispered a command. At the words, the trickle spilling from his wound took form and gained mass falling towards the ground. In one fluent motion he caught it and rolled the axe a few times, remembering its weight and feel. It ignited spontaneously. The flames from the axe head flickered a montage of light and shadow across the walls.
Gudrik stopped and pressed hard to the wall before the next archway. Moaning could be heard from the next room. He carefully peeked around. In the faint, flickering light he saw a bare space. No furniture, earth floor, earth walls. Simply a raw cavity carved from the very Earth herself with a small ventilation shaft in the roof. Three Inscribed sat inside, restrained and gagged. Dorian struggled on his knees, fighting at his bonds as blood streamed from his nose and mouth. The other two Inscribed showed far less fight. Ami appeared dead, lifelessly lying in a large, red puddle. Malaki writhed weakly and muttered delusional ramblings. He too was leaking red. A dead grey lay beside him, another in the entrance to the other tunnel. Their weapons had been swept to the side. Two live greys, a man and a woman, stood over them, glaring at Gudrik, daring an attack.
The fact that warriors of the Inscribed’s caliber lay captured, indicated a beautifully planned and executed trap. He dared not take the bait. Gudrik looked at his feet. Once again their host had cleverly used salt. Across the doorway was a thick line which followed the edge of the room around, forming an unbroken ring. An arched Perspex bridge covered the salt ring at the doorways, shielding it and cleverly protecting it from foot traffic.
Footsteps echoed through the black of the opposite tunnel. Gudrik stayed clear of the salt trap. His fingers twitched with eagerness around the axe shaft. Life flickered in the lights and they once again shone. The Warlock squinted. The footsteps grew louder and clearer until finally a man stepped into the room. He seemed out of place in his fine tailored suit down in the dusty, bare cavern. He was flanked by two men, one huge, the other smaller than Gudrik. The smaller was a grey; the giant however, was clad in heavy, black body armour, body armour which Gudrik had seen before, but with one subtle difference. The huge man at his right wore armour emblazoned with a great white hammer. One of Dorian’s darts protruded from his shoulder. His black body armour was slick with blood but he seemed unconcerned. He was a moving mountain who had to lower his head to pass through the tunnels. His arms were as thick as Gudrik’s legs and they made the massive .905 calibre assault rifle he held look tiny. A long ginger goatee hung braided from his chin, brushing on his chest and was the only hair to be found on his bulbous head.
The suited man stepped forward to speak. There was no denying, it was Kyran…..or Drake, whatever he wished to be called, his was a face forever etched into Gudrik’s memory. He spoke, his expression hard and emotionless, “Greetings Gudrik of The Tw-/.”
Before the welcome was finished Gudrik sent his axe spinning. It hurtled in a swirling vortex of white, yellow and orange straight at Kyran. The shot struck with a heavy thud and buried itself deep into his chest, the impact so great that it launched Kyran back into the grey at his rear. The instant the axe left his grip, the Hammer opened fire.
SMACK! Gudrik was struck hard in the shoulder by a projectile. It jarred him back as it shattered the bone, he staggered. Pain shot through his body, worse even than the rock salt. The first shot was rapidly accompanied by a second, third and fourth strike as well. He felt the strength leech from his body. He dropped to his knees. Kahn’s finger twitched on his shouldered rifle, but was halted by a voice from behind, “I wouldn’t if I were you.” Another man had circled around behind them. He stood clad in black body armour, a snub nosed rifle hanging from his shoulder, his side arm to George’s head. Peeking from behind George’s body was the white hilt of a sword etched on his chest. Realising any move he made now would certainly end in George’s demise; Kahn held his arms up in surrender and let the rifle clatter to the ground.
I am Gudrik
It was the beginning of the end, though I hadn’t realised it. Elya fled to her aunt in a neighbouring town, she was terrified.....it was for the best. I hoped it would free the greatest thing which had ever entered my life from what was coming.
The glorious final stand which Father and I had planned never came to be. Late one night I woke to a manic scream inside my head. I shot up in bed and quickly realised that the scream echoed in the air around me. It was my father. And there he stood, the legendary warrior himself, standing over him, sword buried to the hilt in my father’s stomach. I snatched up my wand and lunged at his throat. My actions were halted un-heroically as Kyran grabbed my arm and flung me effortlessly aside. The amulet draped around his neck glowed ecstatically as the Valkyrie deep within pulsed with excitement. I was a blubbering child, so weak I could do nothing. I was powerless.
“I doubt you have any idea who I am Gudrik of The Twelve.” I tried to spit at him, but it dribbled feebly down my chin. “But I know you. I’ve seen you at your worst. I was a boy when last we met, the son of a great knight chosen to reclaim holy lands from its heathen invaders. Kyranus, the Blessed Dragon and his army was unchallenged until our enemies signed a blood pact with you.”
Such a small part in the scheme of my life. I had all but forgotten the battle against Kyranus’ army, the Blessed Dragon as his men had called him. Just another fight amongst hundreds.
“Kyranus was a monster, I feel nothing but satisfaction that he is dead by my hands,” I replied.
“He was a knight, a hero! I was there that day; I watched as you, a monster, used your demon blood to cut through an army of hardened knights like they were children. I burned with anger and wondered how a man could ever rise up against such evil as you. But it found me, mankind’s freedom.”
The whole time, the amulet spoke within me, resonating through my blood. A sweet sound, yet the resonance made me feel ill, uneasy. Kyran thought the amulet to be his tool, little did he know that the roles were in fact reversed. It taunted me, threatened me. With the death of each of The Twelve it grew closer to its former strength as the amulet which held it grew weaker with the loss of each bloodline. The presence inside the amulet longed to have the rest of its essence returned. Now with the final two infidels in sight, it salivated at the thought of bursting free from its prison and wreaking its bloodlust on the world once again.
However, Kyran was not the mindless barbarian the amulet believed him to be. He had his
father’s ambition within him, but he also had something Kyranus had lacked. Kyran had his mother’s cunning. The powers of our blue blood had intrigued him and he had noticed things about it.
“I have two punishments for you Gudrik of The Twelve. The first shall mirror the wrong done to me.” I screamed as Kyran drew his sword from my father’s stomach and with one mighty swing cleft his head from his body. As I roared and wept a mist of blue wafted from his open neck only to be drawn to the amulet as if caught in a draft. The blood leaking from my father’s corpse lost its blue glow and was once again a crimson red.
“Secondly, you shall watch for eternity, imprisoned and guarded to ensure that your kind never again plagues the world.” At this the amulet began to flicker and pulse erratically. “Silence your whispers!” yelled Kyran, apparently speaking to no one. “I am no fool. I will not replace one demon with another.”
I gave up. I know it’s not heroic, but there’s no other way to describe it. He had taken everything from me. I was bound into slavery, in the service of my mortal enemy. As a final insult, to break my will completely Kyran ordered his first in command to ‘show me the surprise’. From a filthy sack he produced a blood smeared gold band, Elya’s wedding ring.
Right there that night he cut me for the first time and drank my blood. The will to live drained from my body but seemed to lift him. Once he had drunk his fill he let my arm fall lifeless beside me. Blood ran from the wound as my body, hampered by the amulet’s presence, slowly struggled to close it. “Jarkurthra,” I whispered, hoping to excite my falling blood.....revenge. The amulet was too powerful. The blood merely ran through the joins in the floorboards and pooled, before being soaked into the cold earth beneath.
Throughout the coming ages my blood sustained Kyran, providing him with eternal life. From century to century I was moved from palace to palace as his empire expanded, evolved and moved. Always the amulet sat upon my chest, unnaturally heavy, destroying any hopes of freedom.
Blue Words - Part I Page 16
