War God's Mantle_Ascension

by James Hunter

  With that done, I shoved my wet parachute into the rotted-out stump of an old tree, just in case I needed it later. Breathing hard from the work, I paused, stealing another sip of my precious water as I stared out over the rolling waves. Was this it for me? Would this be my final resting place? Some exotic beach in an alien world? I grimaced, stowed my canteen, and shook my head. No. The crash had really shaken me up, but someone would find me. I wasn’t in some alternate reality. I’d imagined the invisible barrier. The simplest explanation was the most likely explanation:

  Lightning had hit my engine, and the final straw had been some random black-feathered bird that showed up in the wrong place at the wrong time, for the both of us.

  I was a highly trained Marine Corp pilot. I refused to lose my shit, especially since if I did, the guys in my squad would never let me live it down. I didn’t want to end up with a call sign of Nerdy Dork Fuck-up. I’d heard stories of some pretty cruel nicknames. No, if I handled the precarious situation right, I could come out of this with something cooler than Gamer-Two. Maybe Survivor or Kick-ass, or something similar. Definitely not Naked and Afraid.

  I took a deep breath and tried to get control of my jangling heartbeat. Didn’t really help. With a sigh, I turned my back to the beach and the surging surf and pressed into the jungle.

  Thick ferns grew in sunlight under towering trees. Dragonflies, several inches long, darted around in the light, and a brightly colored lizard crept around a squat palm tree in pursuit. The air was thick and humid, almost suffocating, like having a wet blanket wrapped around my face. The sweet smell of scarlet flowers filled my nose as I traipsed farther into the interior. I inched around creeping vines and edged my way past swaying palm fronds, my mind whirling with uncertainty.

  This island shouldn’t have existed, and the plants?

  They were downright wrong. The Mediterranean was semi-arid—the ecosystem had adapted to hot, dry summers and cold winters. Not this place. There should’ve been oak trees and scrub brush, but the jungle I was trudging through could’ve belonged in southeast Asia.

  Again, I shook the thoughts of another world from my head.

  And kept moving.

  After fifteen minutes of tough hiking, I paused to wipe the sweat out of my eyes with the back of my hand, then took another sip of water.

  I stood there for a minute, chest heaving, skin slick with perspiration, one hand planted on the butt of my pistol. God, it was hot. A burst of motion up ahead caught my eye. With the low-hanging vines, broad leaves, and thick tree trunks, it was impossible to see clearly, but something up there was hauling ass, breaking through the dense green undergrowth. I craned my head forward, searching the foliage. I expected to see a deer or some kind of antelope, but instead, I caught a flash of black feathers.

  Or at least I thought I did.

  Was it the same creature that had attacked my plane?

  I couldn’t be sure, but whatever it was, it was big. The size of a bobcat, at least.

  I stowed my canteen and bolted forward, scanning the loamy ground for any sign of tracks. Instead of hoofprints, I saw the splayed marks of a bird, a raptor. The talons were several feet long.

  I gulped and drew my pistol. I wasn’t sure how my bullets would fare against something that big, but most things wouldn’t take too kindly to a .45 caliber bullet to the head.

  Waiting a second for any other movement, I felt eyes on me.

  Something was watching me. Definitely.

  One thing was clear: I wasn’t alone on the island.

  THREE

  Living Legends

  For a second, I considered retreating to the beach and waiting for a rescue plane to find me. Or a ship. I had enough water to sustain me for a day—maybe two—and though I didn’t have food, humans could go an awfully long time without a meal. I’m a fat kid at heart, so the idea of not eating for a few weeks was horrendously depressing, but I didn’t like the idea of stumbling upon a cluster of the monster birds with only my knife and my pistol. From the beach, I could fashion a shelter from sticks and my parachute, start a fire, then wait it out.

  Eventually, someone would find me. People didn’t get lost on deserted islands anymore. We’ve mapped and GPS’d the entire globe.

  Unless, of course, this place wasn’t on any map …

  If that were the case, heading back to the beach could be tantamount to a death sentence.

  No, I had to get to the city and find water. Maybe even make contact with the people if it did turn out to be inhabited. But I wasn’t going to run headfirst into an ambush.

  Again, the feeling of someone or something watching me was almost overpowering. I searched the greenery and saw a snake slither off into the brush. That was it. A stupid snake. I was letting my imagination get the better of me. Still, whether the feeling was imaginary or not, I kept my pistol out and ready.

  Reluctantly, I coaxed my feet back into motion and headed deeper into the jungle.

  Carving my way through the thick tangles of vegetation was slow going, but after another hour, I reached a small clearing at the base of the northern mountain. I crept up to the edge of the tree line and crouched down behind a trunk, surveying the glade. Sunlight filtered through the tall trees, dappling the ground with shadow and spotlighting more of the strange bird tracks. A spattering of purple flowers lurked in the shade on the far side of the opening; even from fifty feet away I could smell their stink—old, rotting meat left out in the sun.

  As I watched, a centipede the size of my thigh skittered away through the flowers, either hunting or being hunted.

  I shivered at the sight. Monster insects like that belonged to prehistoric Earth, not modern-day Greece, though some of the spiders I’d found in the barracks back at the Incirlik Air Base were pretty huge and otherworldly.

  “Man,” a haggard voice croaked, dusty with age.

  I couldn’t tell where it had come from, and my mind immediately tried to convince me I hadn’t heard a thing. A breeze blew through the trees, sweeping through a thousand limbs and making everything around me move.

  Another shiver traced icy fingers down the back of my scalp, through the hairs on my neck, and down my spine. I wasn’t going to give in to the horror movie cliché of throwing out a tentative hello. If there was a monster waiting to rip my fucking face off out there, striking up a friendly conversation wouldn’t do much good. Gripping my M1911 in one white-knuckled hand, I pressed on, skirting around the edge of the clearing, not wanting to break cover. Another fifteen minutes brought me to my first real sign of human habitation.

  Just ahead was a worn-down cobblestone path—the grout cracked and sprouting leaves, and moss covering most of the rocks. The walkway hadn’t been used in a long while, but I was thankful for the trail all the same. Chances were damn good that the path would lead me straight to the city I’d glimpsed from above.

  The minute I hit the path, though, I heard the croaking voice again. “Man.” This time, I pinpointed the location, above me, in the trees on the right side of the cobblestones. Then, as if to answer, another voice, higher-pitched, called out from the left side. “Man.”

  In front of me, a third voice. “Man, man, man!” This one was brave enough to creak out the word three times.

  My steps faltered. I squared my shoulders and brought my pistol up and to the ready. I didn’t know what the hell was on this island, but it was about to have a very bad day. I might’ve been a D&D nerd, but I was also a Marine and an expert shooter both with the rifle and the pistol. All those first-person shooters had paid off big time.

  “Man!”

  “Man!”

  “Man!”

  All around, the creatures continued to wheeze out that one word. It was like they were surprised, slightly pissed, and wondering if they should come and get a closer look.

  In front of me, the leaves rustled and the brave one flew down from the trees, alighting in the middle of the stony, weed-covered pathway.

  At first, I couldn�
��t believe my eyes. No, things like that didn’t exist, had never existed. The creature before me was six feet of bird resting on huge curved talons. It had giant black-feathered wings, which ended in three-fingered claws. It was the biggest bird I’d ever seen. But it wasn’t a bird. Not really. Instead of a feathery head and a pointed beak, the creature had the face of an old woman with leathery skin, stringy gray hair, and piercing yellow eyes above a prominent nose. I felt my mouth go dry in an instant.

  The bird-woman stared at me for a long beat before offering me a thin smile, which revealed a mouth full of jagged black teeth, perfect for rending flesh.

  I glance over one shoulder as another bird-woman floated down behind me in a flutter of enormous wings. A third one followed. The two newcomers had the faces of young women, with bright red lips and dark eyes, and if I hadn’t been sweating and scared to death, I might’ve considered them beautiful. Their long dark hair swept down to the wings on their shoulders.

  I bolted left, pressing my back against a tree, keeping my pistol up and ready. But they had me surrounded, one on my left, two on my right, the jungle behind me far too thick to allow me an escape route through the vines and ferns.

  It was time for me to talk. “I don’t want any trouble,” I said, trying to sound confident and dangerous instead of weak and frightened. “I’m just trying to get to the city and get some water.”

  The old bird-thing cocked her head to the side like a curious cockatoo. “Trouble? Man? Trouble?” It cawed out laughter like the sound of breaking glass.

  The younger birds cackled along, repeating, “Trouble, trouble, trouble.”

  The old thing hopped toward me in a series of stutter-steps that reminded of a pigeon on the ground. She fluffed her feathers. “Man. Not for a long time. Weak. Stupid. Flesh for our faces.”

  Oh boy. That didn’t sound very promising.

  The two younger beasts followed the lead of the old one, closing in on me from the right. Their little leaps left them about five yards from me. Way too close for comfort. They fell into a cacophonous repetition of “Flesh for our faces! Flesh for our faces!”

  “Last warning,” I barked, leveling the M1911 right at granny-bird’s head. “You don’t want to mess with me. I’m not just flesh for your faces.”

  That tickled the old one. She grinned again, showcasing her terrible teeth, and went for me. I fired three shots, aiming two at her chest and another at her weather-beaten face, just like I was on the firing range.

  The force of the meaty rounds slammed into her like hammer blows, pushing her back, but I didn’t see any blood. Not a drop. She seemed perturbed but otherwise unhurt. As she gathered her composure, I saw one bullet pancaked flat against her forehead. Holy crap. The shot had hit true, but her skin was too thick to penetrate.

  Yeah, that was a problem.

  I maneuvered away from the tree as the two younger vultures threw themselves at me. One lashed out with a talon-tipped foot, which tore into my clothes. The other scratched at me with the three claws on her wings and raked my face. One of the nails clipped my cheek and parted skin like a razor blade. The white-hot pain fueled my adrenaline. With a roar, I charged forward, smashing my shoulder into a pretty face. As the creature stumbled back in shock, I lifted my pistol and emptied the mag into the other one, driving her to the ground.

  Feathers drifted around me while the things cackled and screeched in panic.

  The old one was still cool and collected, however. She lunged forward, careening into me with her feathered torso. She hit me like a Mack truck, and I struggled to keep my feet, knowing if I fell it would probably be game over. My pistol was empty, but I still had my knife. I slipped the K-Bar from the sheath at my belt and thrust the blade into the old vulture’s chest. Once again, her skin was too solid. It was like trying to drive my knife into solid oak.

  In a desperate move, I scrambled back a step, then unleashed a front kick into her feathered gut, driving her back a few feet. I sheathed my knife in a blink, then ejected my used magazine and slammed in a new one. Working the action, I was cocked, locked, and ready to rock.

  The three terrifying birds paused as if shocked I’d fight back. Or maybe the thunder of my pistol had them confused.

  I exploited that moment of uncertainty, turning left and sprinting down the worn cobblestone trail. Their skin was too thick to pierce with bullets or a knife, so I was going to have to get creative, either that or get away clean. Their eyes and mouths seemed to be my best bet, but making a shot like that in combat was going to be quite the trick. But what other choice did I have?

  The trail narrowed, but I charged straight ahead, barreling past ferns that grabbed at my flight suit. After thirty feet, the cobblestones opened into another meadow, which was bad.

  The flutter of wings drifted to my ears as all three of the bird-women took flight and dive-bombed me. I threw myself flat into the dirt even as talons scratched across my back, slashing through the fabric of my suit. I flipped onto my back, and I aimed for the eye socket of one of the young ones. I leveled the gun, breathed out, and slowly squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked in my hand, jerking just a hair to the right.

  My bullet hit near the eye but glanced off the thing’s nose. A swing and a miss.

  The three vultures wheeled around, coming back in for another attack. In a panic, I scrambled to my feet and darted across the glade, desperate to get out of the open and back into the jungle’s cover. The minute I hit the tree line, I whirled, pistol out. This time, I took an extra second to aim. One of the young ones floated in, wings spread, her beautiful face twisted into a grimace as those taloned feet came in to rip the heart from my chest.

  I fired three shots in quick succession. One shot went wide, and the second slapped uselessly against her feathered neck, but I got damn lucky with the third shot. That bad boy punched into a vulnerable eye socket, gore spurting out on impact. Her head whipped back from the sheer force of the blow, and down she went, slamming into the earth with a thud. Dead. Black blood oozed from her face, puddling in the dirt. Not sure I’d get lucky like that again, and I was down to a magazine and a half of ammo.

  The two remaining vulture women pulled out of their dive after seeing their comrade’s corpse decorating the ground. They circled and spun, before finally settling on the tops of the trees above me, clutching the trunks with their arms, burying their talons into the bark as they stared at me with blazing hatred and mild fear.

  “I warned you!” I shouted, brandishing my pistol. “You should’ve just left me alone.” I stole a quick look at the corpse. These things were monsters. I shouldn’t have felt bad, but for some reason I did. Her beautiful face, now marred by black blood, just seemed so strikingly human.

  I didn’t have long to think, though, because an arrow plunked into a tree next to me. Then another. The vulture women didn’t have bows, so what fresh hell was this?

  Across the open field, a dozen men moved toward me, but they weren’t men. Sure, they had human faces and olive skin, but they didn’t walk, they slithered. Instead of legs, they slipped through the brush on fat snake tails covered in onyx-black scales, their eyes the slits of cobras. Each wore a leather jerkin, carried a short recurve bow, and had a quiver strapped to their back. And were those swords in the sheaths on their belts? Yep. But some also carried cruel spears with hooked blades.

  More arrows whistled by me, digging into the dirt. I was just out of their range, and I wasn’t going to waste any ammo on the snake men. Besides, I was outnumbered twelve to one.

  I spun, sprinted into the jungle, and didn’t stop, not even when my heart thundered and my breath came in great gasps. Blood dripped from my wounds, staining my clothes and shaking me up. The pain was distant as my brain struggled to comprehend the horrors I’d seen.

  Vulture women and snake men? What in the holy hell was happening? Suddenly the thought of being on a new planet didn’t seem so far-fetched at all. As I hurtled through the forest, my mind worked in overdrive tryin
g to piece it all together. The idea of monster birds with female faces seemed oddly familiar, though I couldn’t quite place it. And the dudes with snake tails? I’d read enough fantasy novels to recognize a naga. At least, that’s what I thought they were.

  I kept right on trucking, and mercifully the path didn’t take me into another clearing. Trees offered me cover from the vultures, and while I thought I had outrun the snake men, I couldn’t be sure. I’d seen how fast rattlers and cobras could slither. I’d gone about half a mile from the meadow—nearly halfway around the mountain—when I saw the trail bend toward a steep cliff. Off to my left, behind the cliff face, was the azure sea, where white lines of surf rolled up to smash against the rocks. The path itself led right, toward the city, but there was yet another problem.

  Thick tangles of spiderwebbing covered the trees and ferns beside the cobblestone path. After what I’d seen so far, I had no doubt hulking spider monsters would be waiting to devour my insides. This was totally turning into that kind of day. I slowed my pace, trying to decide what to do, but a second later, dozens of arrows clattered on the trail as the snake men slithered up the path. Thin-lipped mouths opened in smiles as forked tongues shot out, sampling the air.

  Two hands gripping my M1911, I fired at the lead snake man. Sadly, my shot missed center mass, but it did manage to wing his arm. Blood gushed out as he clutched the wound. The snakes behind him hissed in surprise and stopped, hesitation showing on their serpentine faces. Maybe I’d put the fear of God into these freaks, but a chorus of shrieks above reminded me that the vulture women were still out there. And they didn’t seem interested in giving up on me after I’d slain one of their number.

  I couldn’t go back, I couldn’t leap off the cliff because the rocks below would murder me, and the mountainside to the right was too steep to climb. My only chance was to charge through webs and pray I made it out the other side. Before I could change my mind, I barreled into the white gossamer strands, head down, shoulders hunched forward, legs churning. It was nearly impossible to see since the webbing was so incredibly thick, but I kept right on moving.