by T. C. Edge
Several heart-stopping moments pass as I see the vortex begin to wither. I feel a surge of hope swell inside me as it tightens up, its wind less intense, its roaring din less violent in my ears. All over, bodies lie in the muddy earth, many toppled by gunfire and blades, others sucked in and flung from the tornado itself. Most are those of the Cure, yet some are of our own men.
None of us will die tonight, Perses had said. It seems the great Herald was wrong.
Another soon follows, one of great import. I watch in horror as one of the Earth-Shakers in the glade is suddenly overcome by a surge of enemy fire. Bullets rip from nearby cover, hunting him down. He tries to stop them, hold them back, lift grit and mud and soil from the ground as a shield to block their path.
It's not enough. One gets through, finding a fatal route towards his neck, lifted high and unprotected. Blood spurts and his hands rush to stem the flow. His concentration lost, further bullets hunt him down. And with his loss, the other two Earth-Shakers struggle to stem the tide.
The enemy Elemental finds his second wind, exploding from his shackles, the cyclone around him firing up anew, and even more violently than before. Men rush from the tempest, struggling to escape its deadly grip. I turn my eyes in fright to the other edge of the camp once again, and see Perses still locked in combat, the final captives being hastily drawn to safety.
Suddenly, a violent ripping sounds around me. I feel the pull of the tornado beginning to suck against me, even from up on the hill. My eyes flash back and find the source of the noise; trees, uprooted from the soil, begin to rip into the air, flung off in all directions. I lower my body further as I watch on in horror, shutting my eyes, praying for it all to end.
Then, nearby, a great crashing sounds. My eyes tear back open to find the thick trunk of a pine tree splintering against the ground, colliding with the woods around me. I startle, my gaze drawn up by something out of the corner of my eye. Another pine, launching into the air, guided like a missile right in my direction.
I press back on instinct, hitting a tree behind me. The impact rumbles through my body, slowing me down. The flying pine continues to come at pace, only a second or so away. I have no time to duck or move. I have no choice at all.
The fire inside me takes over. From within, the rivers begin to flow unfettered, unleashing the destructive power that so longs to be set free. My combat armour lights up bright, glowing red amid the darkness. My hands lift up, palms open, facing the missile coming my way.
The fear departs, quelled by a thrill.
And from my hands, the fire pours.
Like gushing water from a hose, the flame surges forward. It connects with the pine as it approaches, mere metres from impact. The tree combusts instantly, eaten away, bursting apart as black ash and charred splinters of wood drop and settle to the earth before me. Either side, the trees in which I hide catch fire, the thicket becoming an inferno, spreading through the glade.
And through that inferno, I fix my eyes forward, and walk into the battle, wreathed in flame and crimson armour.
14
I step down the hill, a single target in my sights. Around me, pockets of fighting continue to rage, obscured now by smoke and dust rising from the thickets and burning trees. A strange sense of calm engulfs me as I go, a sense of purpose and fate. I feel no fear for the enemy lurking all around, my armour enough to repel their bullets, a force-field of fire melting anything that comes my way.
I sense movement to one side. The great shape of a Titan, nothing but a shadow in the gloom, materialises before me, accompanied on either side by soldiers decked in patchwork armour. They come at pace, hunting for prey or trying to escape I cannot tell, and spin to a stop as the see me.
For a split second they stare in awe and surprise at my flaming, golden presence, before quickly lifting their firearms up to shoot. I don't turn to face them, but merely raise my right hand in their direction as I move down the hill. With no feeling of guilt at all, I unleash a terrible spout of molten fire, continuing on my path as their bodies combust into blackened flesh and bone, quickly melting into nothing but oozing tar that seeps into the black and bloodied mud at their feet.
A dull feeling of purpose is all I feel at their demise. I take no joy in the act, only a feeling of necessity, accompanied by a strong, primal sense of power at that savage, devastating things I can.
I carry on, moving at a little more pace, feeling the pull of the vortex begin to suck me forward. I tense my limbs and pulse out the fire, burning off the wind itself as it tries to grip at me. Through a channel of clear air I walk, right towards the tornado, my eyes guided up as I watch the trees and rocks swirl, the bodies, dead and alive, spin about up there at the summit. The roar of the tempest grows soft in my ears, distant. I stare through the storm, down the channel, at the Wind Elemental at its core.
He appears as a blur, his body warped by the wind and debris rushing about around hm. His arms reach high, held aloft, swirling with the winds and pulling more trees from the earth. He seems to be able to control their path to some extent, launching them out in all directions and peppering the battlefield with deadly projectiles.
Then, suddenly, he sees me, his body twisting on the spot and dark features taking me in. I stop, no more than ten metres from him now, the world quiet and obscured around me. The fighting beyond the veil continues as a muted din of gunfire and clashing steel. I lock eyes with my quarry, flaming hands held to my sides, and revel in the face-off.
For a second, he merely stares at me, as the others did, baffled by my presence. Then he reacts, drawing down his swirling hands, pressing them right towards me instead. I feel the wind pressing harder, flowing in my direction, the shape of the tornado changing as it funnels right towards me. The sensation is powerful, my feet slipping in the dirt. Above, projectiles of man and tree and rock alike come flinging down, some spiralling over my head and crashing into the hillside, others coming right at me, trying to knock me off course or worse.
I respond in the only way I can, raising my hands in his direction, firing waves of fire from my palms. The winds and flame clash in a burning, broiling cloud of smoke and condensation, igniting all projectiles that come my way. Bodies and pine trees burst into flame, rocks turning black as they hurtle towards me. I hold firm as the deadly rain descends, focusing on the force field of flame that wraps around me tight. And when the missiles strike, they merely bounce off me, ricocheting away towards the ground even as they reduce to ash and smoke.
And within that black smoke, I hide, crouching low now, dousing the colour of my armour to black. A grin of defiant pleasure crawls upon my face as I sense the time to strike, imagine my enemy searching for me through the void, wondering if I've been defeated by his might.
Gradually, the winds buffeting me begin to cease, my own flame held within my palms, my fingers clasped to conceal the light. I stay low, lying in wait. And just as I expected, with a sudden rush of wind, the black cloud of smoke around me is brushed aside, and ahead I see my enemy once more. He stands in a state of imminent victory, tall and proud, perusing the site where he believes me dead.
And then, he sees me.
Crouching low, my body darkened as if by magic, the light of my flame only visible between the cracks between my fingers. His face contorts into a sudden panic and rage combined, and the winds begin to swirl about him once again as his hands rise to fire against me.
Not this time.
In a sudden motion, I stand, and let the blaze swarm over me again. I light up, a beacon of wondrous gold and crimson, hair radiant, armour glowing red, hands reaching out and opening up. My fingers splay wide, revealing the blinding, terrible light within. And from them, the firestorm erupts and comes forth, bathing the Wind Elemental in a fatal embrace.
A shriek of violent anguish and pain shoots up from his throat, so quickly cut off as his body convulses and shuts down. For a moment, he just stands there, flaming, his flesh consumed as the winds of his creation die down. And t
hen dropping to the earth as a steaming heap, I see the battlefield around us grow clear in all its terrible glory.
A hush descends as I turn and look across the camp. No gunfire sounds now. No clashes of metal clang into the night. I see black-wreathed bodies standing as they look at me, dozens, hundreds of dead at their feet. Spread across the small valley at the bottom of the slope, our enemy lie defeated. And among them, many of our own men join them.
Ahead of me, from the far end of the base, a figure moves through the shadow and smoke. The mighty frame of Perses advances on me, his black armour flecked with sprays of blood, his scarred face grim and coiled like a snake. His eyes sway left and right at the count of his own dead. At least a dozen, and maybe more, must have fallen this night.
He lifts his head as he arrives before me, and I arch my own up high to meet his gaze. The beating thrill of the fight continues to throb within my veins, though I manage to withdraw the flame, calm my fire-lust and send it back into the depths where it will lie in wait to feast again.
Perses takes a deep breath, and looks over my shoulder at the steaming pile of ash on the floor, the charred skeleton of the Wind Elemental all that remains now. His eyes narrow as he stares for a long, hard moment at the defeated man.
And then he whispers. "Rarely have I seen such a gifted Elemental," he says. "The powers of our enemies are growing strong."
He snaps out of his brief reverie, and then drops his eyes back down to me. He looks upon me with a fondness that fills me with a glorious sense of pride.
"I told you not to engage," he whispers quietly, "but how lucky we are that you did. You saved many lives tonight, Herald Amber. Few could have done what you did alone."
I look to the soldiers around me, who bow their heads in respect and honour. Among them, I see Krun tilting his mighty dome, and Hestia nodding with her narrow eyes. I turn my own back up to Perses, who lays a hand on my shoulder.
"Did you save the women and children?" I ask him softly, turning my gaze to the rear of the base.
"Yes," he says, eyes grim. "All survived, thank the Prime."
He turns from me, raising his voice as he addresses his remaining men. I sense an apology in his tone, the battle going so unexpectedly ill. I don't imagine that Perses has ever seen such a single loss of life among his own soldiers.
"We honour the fallen who gave their lives in exchange for those of others," he calls out loudly. "To protect the innocent, even those who are not divine, is a great and noble way to fall. All will journey to the Eternal Halls with honour. All will be remembered forever as heroes. To the fallen," he says.
"To the fallen," the soldiers around us repeat.
A moment of prayer is given, eyes closing to remember the lost. All will now be returned to Olympus for burial, their physical forms left to decay within the great catacombs of the city. Yet for those left behind, pressing business remains. Business that cannot wait.
"You all fought well," Perses goes on, his voice threatening to croak just a touch. "But the fight isn't over yet. We travel back to Olympus immediately, and take the fallen with us." He turns his eyes to one of the Earth-Shakers, his face pale and subdued, yet trying to remain stoic. "Talon, if you are well, return to the carriages and bring them here."
The man called Talon nods and turns without a second thought. He hurries off into the night at speed, ready to fulfil his duty.
"Javin, Trenton," Perses goes on, looking towards two other soldiers. "You are our fastest runners. Return to the city immediately and report on what has happened. Tell Herald Kovas to bolster our flanks immediately. I will require immediate council with him and the others when I return."
The two men, both of whom I recognise from their previous runner duties, nod as Talon did, and disappear without a trace into the darkness.
"The rest of us have work to do," Perses continues, taking a long, steadying breath as his eyes scan the dead. "We gather our men for transport. We handle them with honour. The rest," he growls, looking over the men of the Cure, "we leave for the crows. Search their persons for anything of interest, and ensure all stolen loot is gathered for return to their rightful place." His eyes turn once more among the troop, looking to Krun. "Captain, how many captives do we have?"
"Five have been taken alive, Herald Perses," Krun growls. His eyes narrow menacingly, his mighty frame rippling. "What do you wish for me to do with them?"
I know just what Krun is thinking, a thought shared by all. To take them all out right here and now. To make them pay for the crimes they have committed. Oh, they want it, but all know it will not be done.
"They will be taken to Olympus for questioning," Perses says, leading to a series of dropped heads and light groans. "After which their punishments will be given." He turns his eyes over the men once again, turning his voice to a low growl. "I want all five captives to reach Olympus in no worse health than they are right now, is that clear?" he says. "No one will lay a hand on them. Understand?"
The men nod reluctantly, though I see a few with dark intentions behind their eyes. Men, no doubt, who have lost dear friends tonight. Dear brothers and sisters who lie broken and bloodied across the valley and sloping hills.
Perses looks over the troop once more, the swaying of his eyes deliberate and intentionally intimidating. He glances down at me, and then back up.
"You all saw what Herald Amber is capable of," he says. "I put her in charge of the captives' safety. Do not test her, any of you. You will gain nothing from seeking petty revenge."
He pats me on the shoulder, and then moves off to make preparations for our departure. A moment later, the remaining soldiers among his troop, Krun and Hestia included, set about preparing our dead for transport, and checking the enemy dead for information.
As I watch it all unfold, the skies above darkening further with a gathering of thick, star-blotting cloud, I hear my name called out across the camp. I turn my eyes up, and find Perses waving me over.
When I join him, I discover a line up of five men sitting around a tree, ankles and wrists tied, gags stuck into their mouths. Three lie unconscious, various bloodied wounds upon their bodies.
Two others sit awake, one with eyes turning to the soil in fear and defeat, the other with a defiant scowl that refuses to be defeated by the dire circumstances that confront him. A man of significant proportion, with heavy, masculine features, a significant beard, and shallow scars on his face, he looks me right in the eye and doesn't look away. For a long, drawn out second he just stares, before eventually turning his gaze slowly, methodically up to Perses, still unyielding as he provides the great man with a look that could, were such a power real in this world, kill.
I look to Perses with my eyes raised. "Someone seems to really hate us," I murmur.
Perses nods slowly, speaking as if the man isn't there. "Such is the case with simple-minded men. They do not know what curse they spread upon the world. They do not see that their defeat is righteous and good, the will of the Prime."
"Screw the Prime," comes a throaty grumble, a voice that staggers from its home like a clumsy horse from the gate. His eyes, lit with an odd, almost etherial blue, darken a little as they stare right up at the two of us, thick forearms bulging as he tightens his fingers to fists. "Screw the Prime, and screw you all. You're the real scourge of this world."
Perses doesn't react, but merely regards the man with a thoughtful frown, staring into those inhumanly blue eyes. "It seems that you're aware of who we are," he says after a pause. "Foolish, then, for you to come to our lands."
"Your people came to my lands first," the bearded man growls, his muscular frame bulging from his rugged cloth. "They came and destroyed everything I ever loved. Who wouldn't want revenge after that!"
He tenses further, leaning forward, and I see the metal restraints around his wrists begin to tighten on his flesh. The other conscious man glances up at him in concern, then drops his eyes right back down.
"Herald Perses," I whisper, nodding at t
he restraints. "Maybe he should be doubly bound, this one."
"Herald..." croaks the bearded man. His eyes flare, wild and enraged. "You are a Herald?"
Perses doesn't answer. I notice the subtlest change, however, to his posture, stepping back just a touch, fixing his feet to the ground, priming his arms by his sides.
As he does, a ripping sound grinds from our feet, and in a sudden movement, the captive's wrists burst apart, tearing right through the metal harnesses that bind him. I step back in shock as he launches himself into an upright position, ankles bursting apart their own chains, thickset body appearing to enlarge as his muscles thicken within his rugged armour.
He lets out a mighty roar as he advances on Perses, flinging a huge fist in the Herald's direction. It rushes forward at a staggering pace, causing the Herald to duck and swerve away, avoiding the blow. He spins underneath the soldier, gliding gracefully, stepping back into the trunk of a wide pine tree. Another raging fist comes his way. Perses turns away again, letting it crack right into the bark. It splinters the wood in a burst of chips and wooden shards, driving itself into the trunk, right up to the elbow.
With another mighty roar of anger, the bearded man, almost the same size as the Herald himself, hauls his arm back out, further damaging the tree trunk in the process. It crunches loudly, unstable upon its great weight, teetering and threatening to fall right in the direction of the other tied up captives. The man doesn't seem to care, his full attention on Perses as he launches another assault, flinging wildly and with great power and speed, forcing the Herald to duck and weave.
I watch on in awe of the battle, as a loud crack fills the air. The trunk of the tree finally gives way, toppling down from on high. With a glance of the eyes and a speedy dash towards the crashing bole, Perses throws a heavy shoulder into the wood and sends the entire pine, trunk, branches and all, flying across the glade, where it collides with several other trees, cracking branch and bole alike.
