Pop—splash. Pop—splash. Pop—splash.
A light rain of acid drizzled to the warehouse floor as her rifle dispatched the remaining orbs. Yet her victory felt pyrrhic as the battle computer inside her head realized the cost: she had expended the last 5.56 round in her possession..
The twin Mac-11s on her shoulders, a threesome of grenades, and her thigh-mounted Desert Eagle stood ready but nothing to feed the Colt…
A legion of Monks and a pair of muscle-bound Ogres awaited The Bishop’s orders in the dark hall outside his command chambers. The emerald-eyed fiend took great pleasure in what was to come and like all of Voggoth’s creations he understood that only pain—as acute as possible—could satiate his Master’s desires.
“’Go,” he commanded the mutated humans in robes, “go and purify her with your blades.”
The Monks drew the short pikes that passed for swords and marched south, first slow and then faster—faster—with the evil enthusiasm of a crazed mob…
Nina gazed at her rifle. It nearly glowed with heat, but even the radiation of the barrel could not match the heat of anger firing in her heart. The Bishop still waited. The creature responsible for her loss. The one who had used her as a tool against the man she loved. The root of the death and destruction delivered unto her world.
He will not escape.
At the far side of the chamber a long wide portal opened. A line of silhouettes raced into the room. She saw the flaps of their robes as they ran. Their numbers—100 strong—stretched from one side of the chamber to the other. Behind that fast-moving vanguard lumbered a pair of slower Ogres.
Trevor’s voice came to her as clearly as if he stood next to her in that darkness. The words he had said to her at the mansion; after the last meeting.
“Go after them, Nina.”
She would not wait. No retreat. No defense. No escape. The only thing Nina had known all her life presented the only remaining option.
Attack.
She dropped the M4 and drew her sword. Her eyes narrowed, her brow furled, and Nina ran at them. She ran with every ounce of speed her legs could muster. The black beret flew off and her ponytail fluttered behind.
Fifty feet…
The monks with their swords increased their speed in response to her charge. The sound of their pounding footfalls created a steady beat like an unstoppable tide rolling to shore. Their wide line condensed into a mob as they neared their target.
Thirty feet…
Nina grasped the hilt in a death-grip. The sword she had taken from a Mutant; the day she had met Denise. It hung behind her and to the side as she leaned forward in eagerness to meet her fate. She ran even faster. Her heart raced like a drum played by the devil.
Ten feet…
She saw the once-human rotting faces with splotches of red and green and flakes of skin hanging like scales. Their damned eyes locked on to her and knew only that they must hurt and wound and kill because that was all any creature of Voggoth could possibly desire. A destiny Nina once thought she shared but now she knew more. She understood more. And she would fight for it.
Nina jumped. She jumped like an Olympic hurdler, passing over the first enemy swings, landed behind the vanguard and in the midst of the mob, and she kept running, swinging as she moved with the momentum of her charge behind the arc of the blade. No consideration for defense. No blocks. No attempt to parry. Nothing but attack—attack—attack.
A head rolled free; a robe fell limp; an arm holding an alien rapier flew through the air. And still Nina darted through the sea of attackers, dropping her shoulders and swinging; leaping forward and thrusting. Everything in the blade. Nothing but attack!
Their counter-thrusts hit air as if trying to puncture a ghost. Enemy swords clanged against enemy swords where she had stood just a blink ago. Nina refused to stop, instead sweeping onward like a farmer’s scythe reaping harvest.
The bodies dropped around her in a line of dominoes knocked asunder. Yet more moved in with the Bishop’s orders of purification dictating tactics.
She felt the tip of one sword rip across her shoulder. Before a single drop of blood came from the laceration she had slain three more.
No fencer’s skill; Nina moved as a butcher.
A wide swath—a slit chest, a cut throat, a skull torn in half, a shoulder chopped into mush. Her sword did not falter; did not get caught in the gore. The strength of her muscle and the power of her rage made each swing unstoppable.
The entire upper half of an enemy body fell away from the bottom; the blade drove through a rib cage without pause; her weapon eviscerated a monk who dared block her path…
That sea of robes—still four score strong—spread in the slightest; took pause in the face of this demon of slaughter.
Directly in her path one of the monks discarded his blade and against the desires of his master raised his forearm and took aim with the alien gun mounted there.
Nina threw her sword. It hit the mutated man square in the chest. The body fell straight backwards to the floor.
Before the sound of the thump carried to her ears, Nina pulled the Mac-11s from their dual shoulder harnesses and, holding the guns sideways, waved her arms to either side in a slow arc dealing deadly bullets into the mob. She kept her eyes forward; she did not aim with anything other than instinct, yet not a single bullet missed.
She spied the Ogres lining up for their run at her through the gauntlet of robed monks. Her battle computer saw it all so clearly. So precisely. So easy.
Her guns clicked dry at exactly the same moment. Piles of dead monks rose on her flanks but the balance of the force did not hesitate; they climbed over their fallen brethren and poured in toward their unarmed victim like Moses’ parted Red Sea collapsing onto Pharaoh.
Nina ran forward again as the blades thrust toward her person. As she did, her arms worked in fast unison to her utility belt. One—then a second grenade—sans pins—dropped to the moss-covered floor.
While the mob closed in from the sides, one of the Ogres met her at the dead body pierced by her thrown sword.
Captain Nina Forest acted in a flash of lightning. While the clumsy brute raised its arms in attempt to pound her from above, she drew the sword from the fallen monk like Arthur pulling Excalibur from the rock and slashed across the creature’s kneecaps. She felt the bone there—or what passed for bone—crunch and the flesh gape open.
The monster stumbled to a knee.
The monks swarmed in.
She balanced her left hand on the shoulder of the half-collapsed beast and swung over as if she were a gymnast working the vault. As she landed, the grenades exploded. The shrapnel bore into the face and chest of the wounded Ogre; its body served Nina as an unwilling shield. A shotgun blast of an explosion hammered the horde of Monks. Bodies flew. Blood rained. Limbs tumbled through the air
The second Ogre confronted Nina.
Her sword plunged up where a crotch should be, driving in nearly to the hilt.
The Ogre fell forward; it’s face directly in front of her.
The Desert Eagle appeared in her hand. The Ogre’s alien eyes gazed at the big black barrel. From point blank range she pulled the trigger once, twice, three times. Each powerful round tore away a chunk of monster-skull. The dead creature dropped over and hit the floor with a heavy tremor.
Nina turned around. A handful of monks remained to face her. A handful of bullets remained in the Desert Eagle. She found a match for each.
The last gunshot echoed through the chamber, replaced by the steady gurgle and throb of the fuel tanks and feint moans from the mortally wounded.
Nina let the hand gun fall and then struggled to retriever her sword from the body of the second Ogre. It took some doing, but the blade came free.
Her eyes—still determined; still alive with anger—turned north again.
Next.
The walls wore a thick coating of green growth that took on the texture of not-quite-dry spackle. Wires—that could easily be m
istaken for vines or perhaps even veins—hung loose over the musty corridor. A pair of glowing orbs drooped from the ceiling on twisting ropes casting the hall in a pale light.
No opposition greeted Nina. The last of The Order’s minions lay dead or dying (whatever that might mean to such abominations) behind her in the fuel depot. Only the buzzing sound of the Frisbee-thing with the glowing eyes followed her, and she had determined it presented no threat other than broadcasting her position. She decided that no longer mattered.
She knew the Bishop would not run. She knew he would wait for her with, no doubt, a surprise or two. Admittedly, as she entered the dome-shaped chamber that served as the Bishop’s final refuge, the nature of that surprise managed to take her off-guard.
Three images played on rectangular screens lining the curved wall on the far side of the dome-shaped room. The video in the center came from the surveillance drone showing Nina’s backside as she passed through the open sheath at the chamber entrance.
The one to the left presented video taken from an aircraft; most likely one of The Order’s Chariots. The scene depicted a mixed eastern forest covered in a blend of turning autumn leaves as well as stalwart evergreens. In a clearing atop one mountain she saw two people.
The man wore shoulder-length hair and pointed toward the shipboard camera. Nina recognized him: Trevor Stone.
Behind Trevor stood Nina Forest, evident immediately by her telltale ponytail and tactical gear. She fumbled for something in a bag as the craft circled the clearing in an obvious attempt to land.
“This is who you are, Captain Forest,” the Bishop’s voice spoke from alongside the monitors. “Rather impressive, actually.”
The Nina on the mountainside pulled a small device just as Trevor turned to address her. After an electrical flash Trevor Stone doubled-over onto the grass and rocks of the mountain top clearing.
The image jumped. The camera now much closer; the Chariot had landed. Two monks moved from the craft toward Nina as she directed them at Trevor, who writhed in pain on the ground, unable to defend himself.
Again the video jumped, starting from the beginning in a continual loop of her sin.
“Such an accomplished soldier. Why you even used his affection for you as a weapon. You used it to isolate him. To deliver him unto Voggoth. I say again, impressive.”
The remaining video screen offered a darker image from a monitoring device mounted in the corner of a dimly lit chamber. She saw Trevor there, naked and bound by tentacle-like manacles. She saw herself approach him. And while no sound played, she could see by the anger in her eyes that she berated Trevor; scolded him. Taunted him, even. Much like the Bishop taunted her now.
“You are the greatest warrior of your people, Nina,” the words hissed from the Bishop’s mouth like a snake offering an apple. “Yet you served in his shadow. You won more victories than any other human, but never recognized. Your efforts go unappreciated.”
The image of Stone naked and weak taunted by Nina Forest looped as well. The screens continued to play over and over again. Her hand gripped the hilt of her short sword nearly to the point of crushing the metal. Her eyes left the fun-house-like screens and focused on the shadow of the fake-man standing along the wall.
“Voggoth has taken note of your abilities. There is no reason for you to perish alongside the rest of your species. It would be a shame for a creature of your talents to be thrown away.”
Nina did not speak. She listened. Certainly the Bishop knew she had come to kill, but it did not seem as if he spoke to save his existence. As slickly as he delivered his lines, the words felt rehearsed. A speech made to more than one group, no doubt.
She wondered how often the Bishop—or Voggoth itself—spoke such words. While the looping images tried to raise doubt and regret in her heart, the monster flattered her in an effort to turn Nina away from her kind.
Divide and conquer; but this time on a micro scale.
“Come, join with Voggoth. I promise the majority of your personality will remain intact but without doubt or regret or fear. With these weaknesses removed, you can be the greatest warrior the universe has known.”
Nina raised her sword.
The Bishop stepped forward. The light washed across him reflecting the crimson, squirming robe.
“I see. You may be under the misguided notion that my destruction will somehow benefit your people on the battlefield. This is not so. The army of Voggoth is replete with redundancy. It relies on no one piece. I offer for the last time a chance for you to survive and become something greater than your species could know; something immortal.”
Nina held steady. Her eyes ignored the looping images and focused entirely on her prey.
“Very well then.”
The Bishop held his arms aloft as if praying to something above. His head shook. Whatever lurked beneath the robe pushed against the cloth.
Nina had no intention of waiting. She lunged forward.
The Bishop’s skull opened like a blooming tulip. A thick appendage shot out from the sprout that had once been a neck. At the end of the four-foot-long tentacle hovered a shiny point of steel.
Nina plunged her sword toward its mid-section, but before her blade struck the robe tore open and a series of limbs unfolded like a fist of crab legs stretching. Behind those tendrils dwelled something hideous. Nina glimpsed it—only a glimpse—before a blast of air in the form of a raucous scream knocked her backwards, rolling away from the monster.
The real face of the Bishop lived there, in what might have once been the chest of a man: a jagged orifice like a broken sore lined with blood-red gums and metal shark’s-teeth; a trio of slits—eyes—around the circumference.
The six smaller tendrils grew foot-long blades of steel. The apparition walked on legs that bulged into stumps where feet should be. It lumbered toward her. The maw huffed and puffed as if catching its breath; each exhale sent a cloud of muck into the air so pungent in smell that it served as a weapon.
Nina gagged and stood, her sword ready; her resolve strong despite the hideous beast she confronted.
The Bishop’s stinger launched as if spring-loaded. Nina side stepped and sliced, eliciting a howl from the round mouth. The other six appendages attacked in a series of lunges, thrusts, and hacks.
She stepped back, left, then right, and countered with a sweep of her blade that cut through the spongy flesh. One of the limbs fell to the ground.
The Bishop staggered a step in retreat. The red eyes narrowed. The stinger darted forward just brushing her shoulder as she leapt away. The three nearest alien blades all stabbed at her; each hitting the floor one after another as she rolled off and collided with the wall of the dome.
Its stinger struck again. She held her sword with the support of both hands and stooped. The blade deflected the attack and the sharp point of the stinger imbedded in the chamber wall. Before the creature could free its primary weapon, Nina hacked it off at the halfway point.
The pain from the blow caused the Bishop to abandon another wave of thrusts by the five remaining smaller limbs. Instead, it made a deranged weeping noise and wobbled backwards.
Nina went on the offensive. The face of the Bishop screamed again. The gust of wind came out like cannon-fire. She stumbled off her feet and back into the chamber wall just below the lost stinger.
With regained the initiative, the beast wobbled forward in a bull-like charge. All five of its remaining weapons came down around her. Instead of retreating—instead of dodging—Nina moved forward, directly at the maw of the thing.
Alien blades crashed into the floor creating a cage of arms. Her face hovered inches away from the massive, smelly orifice; too close to raise the sword with any real force. Strands of slimy saliva dribbled from the gaping mouth. The odor caused a ripple of nausea from her stomach to her throat. The monster opened wide; the jagged jaws poised to bite.
The smell—the noise—the trapped feeling inside the cage of talons… Nina’s internal battle compu
ter forged past the horror and acted on instinct. Before the beast could strike, she stuck the one remaining grenade on her utility belt directly into the mouth.
The Bishop reacted as if choking and hobbled in retreat, pulling free its legs and ignoring her while struggling to dislodge the small object jammed in what mimicked a throat.
Nina jumped up, bound two big steps, and dove to the floor covering her head.
The monster flailed its arms and hacked as if trying to scream out the obstruction. The detonation of the grenade ended its struggle. The five remaining legs scattered around the room; a blob of pink and red gore splashed into the ceiling; tiny fragments of bone and flesh sprayed across the dome.
The rain fell in a steady dribble, the only sound filling the space around the massive Sysco warehouse. Off, to the east, the first fingers of sun tried desperately to cut through the gloom as dawn approached.
Nina supported much of Vince’s weight as they limped away from the complex. She knew that when they finished here her first order of business would be finding motorized ground transportation because Vince would not be walking under his own power any time soon.
They reached the berm near the old housing development, the place from where Nina and Carl had spied the Bishop’s arrival last night.
Not only did dawn usher in a new day, but also a new dynamic in Nina’s life. The assault on the complex decimated the Dark Wolves. For years the four of them survived seemingly hopeless battles against Duass infantry, missions into the heart of the Hivvan Republic, an ambush by humans from another dimension, and too many other operations to count.
Yet it had been The Order who managed to inflict the most damage upon them. Fitting, Nina figured, since it had been The Order who had inflicted the most damage on her, personally.
She carefully lay Vince on the soaked black dirt along the ridge.
“We have to move, Nina,” he reminded. “They’ll be sending reinforcements.”
Nina agreed, of course, but the job was not yet complete. The mission had to be more than about her sense of revenge; it had to mean something to the greater effort.
Beyond Armageddon: Book 05 - Fusion Page 34
