Merciless

by Robin Parrish

  To Ethan's immediate right was a narrow river running through the desert, about ten feet across. It had once been a river, anyway. Along with the other geological transformations caused by Oblivion, the river's water had dried up and been replaced by something hot, thick, and glowing red.

  Lava.

  Ethan was staring at a river of lava flowing through a Middle Eastern desert. The glow given off by the river gave his entire field of vision an orange hue, which contrasted with the dark background of the black earth and the dark, fiery sky. It created a striking, stark effect upon the landscape.

  The wildfires scattered here and there, the ground made of volcanic rock, the boiling skies above, the river of lava, the intense heat, the smell of sulfur ... Suddenly it all fit.

  He was trapped in the center of Hell. And there was nothing he could do but watch.

  A black man with an average build, a crisp-brimmed hat, and a voice that projected for miles bellowed orders to the infantry division into which Ethan had been plunked. The sergeant pointed and shouted without end, a line of sweat circling the area where his hat touched his head.

  With nothing else to do, Ethan sized up this field officer. He wore no wedding ring, but he was older than Ethan by at least five years, Ethan estimated. He wore a stern and dour expression, but creases around the corners of his mouth betrayed lips that knew how to smile. His eyelids drooped almost halfway down over his eyes, but not in a listless way. He rather struck Ethan as world-weary, as if he'd seen it all and done it all before. Ethan couldn't help wondering how many conflicts this man had fought in.

  Ethan also wondered if this commanding officer or his troops had any idea that they were about to die a very swift and efficient death.

  As his men hustled to and fro with equipment and armaments, the shouting man paused long enough to approach Ethan's tent and introduce himself as Sergeant Paul Tucker.

  "Ethan Cooke," Ethan replied automatically.

  "I don't care who you are or why the brass sent you here for us to baby-sit in the middle of a war," Tucker bulldozed on as if Ethan had said nothing, "but you are going to do exactly one thing, and that is stay still and be quiet."

  Ethan considered pointing out that that was, technically, two things. But this wasn't the time to argue.

  "If you do not stay still and be quiet, I will draw my weapon and fire in your direction. The bullet may miss you. It may hit you in the leg, the foot, or maybe the arm. Or it could hit you someplace a lot more vital. In the heat of battle, I don't plan on spending a lot of time on shooting at anybody behind our lines. So unless you like the odds on my bullet missing a body part that you hold dear, I hope that we now have an understanding between us."

  "We do," Ethan replied. With that, he compliantly seated himself on the ground, sliding his cuffed hands down the pole and wrapping his legs around the pole as well. It was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. But he wasn't an unreasonable man. There was no point in arguing; whether he died from the sergeant's gun or from Oblivion's superpowers, the result would be the same.

  It was going to be a massacre.

  Tucker frowned while grunting in approval and then marched off to continue barking orders to his men. One of them ran up to him with a radio in hand. Tucker took it, and then returned it to the soldier.

  "Front lines report visual range on targets!" Tucker shouted at his men. "DEFENSIVE POSITIONS! MOVE IT!!"

  He'd barely gotten the words out when Ethan instinctively pulled back. There was a great whoosh of air, like wind rushing into a vacuum. The rear pole holding up the tent tore free and took the tarp with it, but the pole he was chained to clung stubbornly to its roots in the ground.

  Recovering his bearings, Ethan stood and looked around. The giant missile launcher was gone; tire grooves in the tiny black rocks the only evidence it had ever been there. Ethan followed the gazes of the infantry soldiers up into the sky to where the green missile launcher was soaring higher and higher into the atmosphere as if gravity had lost its claim. And it wasn't alone. Hundreds of tanks, Jeeps, troop transports, and every other kind of heavy machinery the coalition owned dotted the sky, ascending until they disappeared into the boiling clouds, one by one, tiny explosions the only trace they'd been there. Ethan guessed that the fire behind those clouds had ignited their weaponry or gas tanks and consumed them.

  As he continued to stare upward, he caught sight of a few tiny black dots falling from impossibly high. His jaw fell open and he felt sick, his blood turning to ice.

  The dots were soldiers who'd jumped from the vehicles and were now plunging back into the open arms of death.

  And so the battle was joined.

  Any other time Payton would be honored to charge first into the fray. He would never have it any other way. But here at the front of the Ringwearers, he knew he was little more than a weapon. A puppet whose strings were being pulled by those too cowardly to fight.

  Payton cursed Oblivion, Grant, Devlin, and anyone else he could think of, again and again in his mind as he was forced to slice his blade through another soldier, and another. Like him, these men were warriors. They deserved enough respect to go down fighting, at least, but Oblivion refused them even this dignity.

  Sweat saturated the sulfuric air like acid rain, pouring off of his super fast movements; whether the sweat came from the extra heat that had followed Oblivion into this world or from Payton's exertions, he couldn't say.

  He silently vowed yet again, upon the blood of every man and woman he took down, that they would be avenged, that he would be the one to end Oblivion's bloody rampage. He promised that not a single one of these brave souls would be forgotten, that their sacrifices would not be in vain, that every last one of them counted for something, even if it was nothing more than fueling his rage.

  Alex was so tired, yet adrenaline surged through her system now for the first time since this nightmare began, so her mind had returned to coherency. She knew immediately what Oblivion was up to, sending Payton in first and then her, Nora, and Mrs. Edeson close behind. She understood it because it was a tactic much like Grant would have used in a similar situation.

  The line this massive army had quite literally drawn in the sand was huge-easily more than ten miles in length. They obviously wanted to be certain that Oblivion would not simply outflank them.

  So Oblivion intended to punch a hole through the line at a strategic point and make his way to whatever central command outpost this army was using.

  Cut off the head.

  It was simple, timeless, effective.

  As Payton sliced his way through the first of a series of battalions, Alex slipped in behind him. Tears straining to flow from her eyes, she sent feelings of blissful relaxation into as many members of the next battalion as she could, allowing her to get farther in and make things easier on Payton. Nora came next, erasing the soldiers' memories of their combat training, so that they wound up fumbling with their weapons, not remembering how to use them.

  Hector appeared and did something that shocked Alex: A touch from him, which was usually a source of healing, became a source of pain and suffering. Apparently his powers could bring both healing and hurt. None of the Loci had ever known this, and she wondered to herself if Hector himself was aware of it. Her large, round Hispanic friend was already mute before Oblivion's imposed silence, so of course he had never spoken of it. And his unwaveringly kind, servant-like personality didn't seem prone to anything but offering help. The idea that he was being used to bring pain into this world horrified her, and she could only imagine the anguish that it brought to her gentle friend.

  But she knew this wasn't Grant's doing. None of it. It was this fact that she took solace in as she wept internally. That, and not doing any killing herself. Payton was killing, but wasn't he used to it? She, Nora, and Hector, at least, could lay claim to the fact that for all the terrible things Oblivion was forcing them to do ... taking a life was not among them. Even if they were making it easier for him to
kill, he wasn't making them do it themselves.

  Not yet anyway.

  Mrs. Edeson pulled up the rear of this core group, using her control over willpower to force soldiers to shoot at one another. This proved most effective when forcing soldiers from one nation to shoot at soldiers from another, so that small pockets of confused friendly fire broke out.

  The pattern was repeated again and again, and sounds of explosions and crunching metal from not far behind told Alex that Oblivion was closing in on her. She imagined that no gun blast would be able to penetrate his rock-hard skin, while any soldiers that managed to get close enough to attempt hand-tohand combat with him would die at his slightest touch.

  As she had so many times before, when her body was doing such unspeakable, terrible things outside of her control, she found refuge in thinking about Grant. She missed him and longed to be with him, wherever he was.

  No matter what Devlin says, she thought while running toward the next hole in the line that Payton had created, as long as Grant lives in my memory and in my heart ... he's not really dead.

  Ethan heard the battle explode into action and knew instantly how poorly things were going from the terror of those around him. He knew he only had so long left to be afraid. Something was coming. The men had just taken up positions in their trenches and bunkers and were leveling their aim on something approaching from the east.

  It was too dark to make out the attacker. Ethan knew it had to be one of his friends; he only hoped for the soldiers' sakes that it wasn't Oblivion himself. He tried to shield himself behind the narrow pole, which was no help at all. He was trying to force down his own fear when he heard Tucker shout at the top of his lungs.

  "OPEN FIRE!!"

  At the same moment, Ethan felt a wave of intense peace wash over him. He almost forgot what he'd been afraid of a minute ago, he was so relaxed. He felt like nothing in the world could harm him, that there was nothing to fear from this strange place, that everything was perfectly fine. He looked around and saw that he wasn't the only one; the soldiers and even Sergeant Tucker had stalled just as they were about to discharge their weapons on the approaching attacker.

  As the individual in question came into visual range, Ethan got his first look. And the sight came close to rocketing him back to his feelings of panic.

  It was Alex. Only he could hardly believe it was really her. She was filthy, covered in grime and sweat and cake-dried blood. Her long brown hair was matted to her scalp and hung limp, in dirty clumps. Her stomach and one arm were crusted with disgusting scabs, and her bare feet were blistered, burned, and bloody. She looked like a zombie who'd clawed her way out of a grave and never bothered to bathe. The red flickering light from the lava river nearby only enhanced her otherworldly appearance.

  A tiny feeling was birthed in the pit of Ethan's stomach at the sight of her, and it grew to give a good fight to the peaceful sensations that Alex was flooding him with. He felt revulsion, pity. Mostly, he felt sorrow. If only he could help her somehow, but what could he do, tied to a pole?

  He couldn't believe this was really happening. Had it truly come to this?

  Alex surveyed the men briefly, caught a glimpse of Ethan but gave no sign that she recognized him, and then proceeded off to the next battalion, some five hundred feet behind them.

  The feelings of peace and contentment were just beginning to wear off when Hector bounded into their midst and began touching the soldiers, one by one. With his slightest touch, each one of them fell to the ground, clutching their heads with both hands and yelling in torturous pain.

  No no no NO NO!!

  Enough was enough; Ethan wasn't about to let this continue. He stood and slammed his body into the pole. It showed only the slightest of dents around its midsection-not nearly enough to allow him to get his hands over the top.

  The soldiers were backing up now, their weapons already dropped on the ground from Alex's influence. Hector was moving faster than Ethan would have guessed he was capable of, touching one after another after another before they had time to react. Hector was working his way through the entire line of men, moving in Ethan's direction.

  Ethan pulled back as far as he could from the pole, trying to bend it with his muscles. It bowed slightly, but was jammed into the hard ground far too deep.

  He jumped at the sound of distant explosions. He turned to look, as did many of the infantrymen. The sound came from the west, in the distance where Oblivion was. A three-milelong stretch of the empty black ground had exploded in a perfectly straight line, as if a very long row of ground mines had been tripped simultaneously. The air was littered with black rock debris, weapons, and even soldiers, some of whom were no longer in one piece.

  A few seconds passed, and then another explosion rocked the ground. This explosion was identical to the last, only it had moved about twenty feet to the east-in the direction of the coalition forces.

  Oblivion.

  He was going to wipe them out by blasting the ground beneath their feet.

  We're dead. It's over.

  Another explosion, louder and closer. Ethan estimated he had less than a minute before the blasts reached the infantrymen here.

  Hector drew closer, and as Ethan flung himself at the pole once more, he saw Sergeant Tucker fall under the excruciating pain that Hector was inflicting. Tucker had managed to retrieve his own gun from the ground, but when he stood again and leveled it, Hector was already on top of him.

  Another insanely loud blast from the earth. It was getting closer. Hector drew near, only two or three men standing between him and Ethan.

  Ethan kicked and kicked at the pole, making more tiny dents but nothing else.

  "Come on!" he roared at the pole, another explosion drowning out the sound.

  Hector stepped forward and reached out to touch him, but Ethan ducked the movement and knelt to the ground. When Hector moved to grab him, Ethan kicked the large man hard in both knees.

  Hector reached out instinctively for support, but no pain filled his eyes, no howl of agony escaped from his lips. Fortunately for Ethan, the object Hector chose to support himself on was the pole, which bent completely over until it snapped and Hector fell to his knees.

  Ethan slid his cuffs off of the pole and grabbed the end of the pole out of Hector's hands as another explosion left a loud ringing in his ears. He had no time to turn around and look, but he knew the powerful blasts must have been right on top of them.

  To his surprise, Hector rose to his feet, no longer favoring his knees.

  Guess that healing power of his works on himself too.

  Ethan stood, grasped the pole in both hands like a bat, and swiped Hector as hard as he could across the head. A nasty gash had opened up across Hector's face and he went down again, but Ethan knew it wouldn't last.

  Ethan dropped the pole, ducked, and rolled sideways toward Tucker. On the back half of his roll, he grabbed Tucker's sidearm, a pistol from the ground near Tucker's feet, and already had it trained on Hector by the time he was standing again.

  An explosion from just behind sent a shower of rock and debris pelting against his back and the top of his head.

  Go go go!

  Hector stood once more and advanced as Tucker moaned in pain at Ethan's feet.

  Ethan made a split-second decision. His hands still cuffed together, he extended the gun with both hands and fired it into Hector's right shoulder. Hector tumbled backward onto the ground.

  Ethan pocketed the gun, grabbed Tucker's feet and began dragging him, running as best he could away from the coming blast. Only instead of toward the coalition armies, he ran in the direction of Oblivion.

  The blast came sooner than expected, and Ethan and Tucker were sent flying ten or twelve feet into the air until they were slammed back onto the ground. They were lucky, Ethan guessed; they'd barely made it to the outer edge of the blast, and now Ethan's ears were no longer ringing, but had simply gone altogether silent. All he could hear was the frenetic beating of his ow
n heart.

  Knowing he had a moment's pause available to him, he awkwardly lifted Tucker's agony-riddled body with his cuffed hands and slung the man over one shoulder.

  He turned south, away from both sides of the battle, and ran.

  "Oblivion, look to the sky!"

  Oblivion was only mildly curious about what had caused this outburst from Devlin. He advanced-he never stoppedplowing through a rumbling cascade of explosions directly in front of him, moving toward the farthest reaches of this battlefield. But he averted his gaze momentarily from his destruction of the human military to roll his eyes up and crane his neck back.

  He saw it instantly: a rocket or missile fired from far away. Possibly from one of the flying machines. Its fiery contrail was easily visible against the darkened sky. It wasn't the first missile the humans had launched upon him in this battle, but this one was different. Most noticeably, it was significantly bigger.

  But he failed to understand Devlin's concern. No matter how powerful it was, it was just another impotent human projectile, another pointless attempt by these insects to sting him. He returned to his task, focusing again on the ground ahead of him, which was now a wasteland of destroyed human technology and shattered human beings.

  Devlin stepped out of the Jeep in which he flanked Oblivion and ran toward his master. Stopping well short of touching Oblivion, he bowed deeply, then stood again, casting an anxious look at the rocket turning down toward them from high above.

  "Great one, if I may ... This missile houses a weapon capable of harnessing the power of the atom! If it detonates on the ground, you may go untouched, but your army-not to mention your servants among the Secretum of Six-will be killed instantly. Even your power cannot prevent our deaths if this bomb touches the earth."

  Oblivion looked slowly upward again, and his eyes found the missile that was growing steadily larger as it thundered down toward the ground like a bullet fired from outer space. He considered Devlin's words. The Secretum ... truthfully, he had no real need of either the Ringwearers or the Secretum. He could accomplish his work entirely alone. And even if he let them live, they would all die in the end, anyway. What would be the difference?