“Yeah we are, what do you want us to do?” Laurens voice again, slight this time within his ear, as the air rushed by.
“Just stay put I’m on my way now, I’ll be there soon.”
“We could try and get her to the medical station?”
His lungs burnt, “No!” he exclaimed, fighting to draw in breathe as he sprinted. “I know a medical station, closer to you.”
“Really I don’t know it.”
“You wouldn’t, it for the brass and any puritans still left alive, just wait I’m coming.” He keyed his coms unit and continued his mad dash, he leapt over crates and the rubble that now littered his path.
He tried to force all the anger and guilt from his consciousness, that wouldn’t do him any good now. He centred his thoughts, he only had one thing to do now, only one thing that mattered, he had to save the life of the women that he loved, and the child she carried. He didn’t care what he had to do, or what happened to him he would make that happen.
He heard a bark and glanced down and saw the tiger was following him, his coat rippling as he ran.
“We’ve got to hurry boy, we’ve got to make it!” he shouted.
He wouldn’t fail now, he couldn’t.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Several miles away, the two children huddled together in the bombed out remnants of what had been their home. Across the room, the old man sat in the chair the ancient combat shotgun held loosely in his contorted, arthritic fingers, which were barely even able to hold it. The young boy studied him closely, the way a child does, he traced all the wrinkles that covered his pale skin, he had a bushy grey beard, that made him think of father Christmas, yet this man’s one was stained with yellow around his mouth.
His little sister twitched in his arms and he shifted his attention to her, she was his responsibility now, he gently stroked her jet black hair. Her name was Hope and his was Star, he had always hated the names as they made them both easy targets for the bullies at school, yet his mother had said that both the names were important for the storm that was coming.
He didn’t understand such thing, he is only six and to him his entire World is the school, his home, and the mega-toyshop. Hope shifts again, he glances at the old watch his father had given him, with special timers on it to tell him when his sister would need her medicine.
His father had been clear, “Listen champ, I know your scarred, that ok, listen I’m scarred as well, but your mother and I won’t be gone long, we just have to find some other people.” He had handed Star the watch, a prized possession, an antique he had heard his father, the giant, say once. “I have set up this watch to countdown, so if were not back, you will know when to give your sister her medicine.”
Star had declared that he didn’t need a watch and he could care for his sister just fine, he had done it before. His father had simply smiled and run his big paws through his hair.
He sighed and wished his parents were back now. They had been gone for a long time and it wasn’t long before he would have to give Hope her treatment, he didn’t mind, as his Mother had shown him how, but still he would rather not have to do it, he didn’t like needles, even the air activated ones.
He peered down again at his sister, she had been ill since she was borne and had lost her sight when she was just two, his mother had said that it was just the universe, making sure that all her other senses were even better. Yet he didn’t believe in that, like he didn’t really believe in Santa Claus, he knew it was really his father in a red suit on Christmas Eve.
He turned his attention, back to the translucent screen he held in his hand and the cartoon that was playing. Once again he hoped his parents would be back soon.
Across the street, within the shadows, the scarified man lurked menacingly. His forked tongue exploded from his mouth and slithered over the rough, skin that had once been lips.
Behind him he could hear the bodies, still twitching, he would return to them soon enough and finish off the job, yet for now his attention was fixed on the remnants of the house. He had not seen the children, but even from this range, he could smell them and even sense their spirits. Especially the girl, she had a great deal of power, perhaps more than he had ever felt before. It was certainly no surprise that the Master wanted them so badly, why he had shifted so much of his forces to this back water planet. In order to claim these two special souls as his own.
He spun around, and sauntered over to the two figures. The man was already dead, he had put up quite a fight though. He was a mountain, strong and proud; fighting for the lives of his children, yet in the end that had not been enough. The blades and poison had dealt with him. The woman she had struggled as well, perhaps even more ferociously as only a mother can, she had cut and clawed at his scarred flesh, yet she did not understand that he could not feel pain, in fact he could not feel anything anymore.
He squatted down next to her, a pool of dark rose and crimson had quickly enveloped her slight frame and her face was quickly drained of its colour. Her breathing was rasped and her eyes were beginning to glaze over.
He drew his head close to hers and hissed. “I don’t know why you fought so hard?” He shifted her head so she could look into his bulging, parched eyes, the eyelids having been cut away many years ago. “My Master wishes so much for your children, they will find a great place beside him, when the storm has passed. They will live, when so many others will be consumed within the fires of the rebirth”
She moved her lips but the sound was too faint, so he drifted closer to her, in her eyes he saw his beautiful countenance reflected, almost every inch of skin, sliced away by his own hand, the ultimate act of dedication to the foul powers he now worshipped. Beneath the purple tissue that remained he could see the barest outline of his muscle, sinews and even his own blood vessels, like tributaries feeding a massive river system.
When he could eventually discern her voice, it was trembling, yet still defiant. “You will never get them,” she coughed heavily and he felt warm, blood splash over his face, he flicked his tongue out and tasted the rich, deep metallic flavour. When she spoke again, her tone was weaker. “There is another force looking out for them.”
The scarified man, laughed sardonically. “The light has no power anymore, just look around you, this universe is ours now.”
Her thin, strained beam spoke volumes, “You will see it in the end, your great mistake,” her body was racked by spasms. “In the end, all of you will fall and the light will return.”
Before he could say another word, the last of her breathe left her body and she became still.
“So weak!” he spat angrily, as he turned away from her body, he would have liked nothing better than to desecrate her flesh, yet he had more pressing matters to attend to. The Master had to be informed, that finally after years of searching he had found the children, the ones who would usher in the final tempest.
He skulked across the room, to the makeshift altar he had constructed, it was a mass of burnt, still smouldering wood and ancient runes. Its underlying power wasn’t something that he fully understood or even cared to, all that mattered to him was that it worked, it was the same force that had already allowed him to live for over nine hundred years.
He reached for the heart, it was still warm to the touch, only removed from the man and father he had slain. He traced his skeletal fingers over the soft flesh, he could feel the soul that still resided within it. He could not read it as his master could, yet he could sense its strength and the love that still emanated from it.
“You really did love your family, didn’t you?” He hissed, “That is what makes you weak and that is why in the end we will, prevail and you will be destroyed. We have moved beyond, love, compassion, kindness, empathy, they make you insipid and frail.”
He took the sacred blade from the slab and thrust it through the heart, dusky, syrupy fluid gushed over his fingers and he felt his own excitement rising. He placed the now still organ upon the altar and waited.
“Yes my master, I have found what we have been seeking for all these years, I have found the children.”
“You are sure this time?” The master asked, his every syllable dripping with venom.
The scarified man was chided and his own tone, became more submissive. “I am sure, Master, even I can sense their power, they are most certainly the souls we need and with them the storm can begin.”
“Very good,” the master purred, his excitement palpable. “Remain where you are and make sure that no one else, interferes with our plans. I will bring the fleet immediately, and once the planet is ours we can begin the final phase.”
“It will be a great day, my master, one we have waited so long for.”
“Do not talk to me about waiting, you pathetic inbreed, I have waited for nearly two thousand years, to begin my great reckoning, to finally wipe humanity from the very fabric of existence, and to shift this universe into the realm of darkness; where it belongs.”
“And I will be at your side, yes my master, your very shadow into the next universe, which you will create?” The scarified man asked, the pleading clear within his trembling utterance.
The master laughed and the vitriol was clear. “We will see my servant, if you manage to accomplish this task I have given you, there may well be a place for you in the new promised land,” barely controlled rage now, “If you fail me though, I will make you me plaything for the rest of time, all you will know is suffering and agony, you understand me?”
His own voice quivered, “Of course my Master I will not fail you and the children will be yours.”
“They better be, we will be there soon and death will be with us.”
“Yes my Master,” with that the connection was severed and he was alone again.
What was left of his lips creased into a sardonic smile as the Master still believed in his undying loyalty, whatever else he was still a good actor, even after all these years since he had trodden the boards.
He meandered back over to the cadavers and his excitement began to rise once again; yet he thought better of it, he still had much left to do if his own plan was going to be brought to completion.
He edged back to the gloom by the shattered doorway and continued his vigil of the children. They would be the key to everything, not only his own rise, but also the tempest that he would unleash, one that would destroy the Master once and for all and leave his promised land in need of a new god; a position he was more than happy to fill.
He had always thought of himself, as more of a deity, without thinking he found the knife in his hand and he continued the almost never ending task of cutting the flesh from his body. As he set about his grisly task, his eyes remained permanently upon the bombed out shell, where the children were. The pain felt good and for the first time in a long time he felt alive again.
The master furled its mighty wings and tore forth from its enlarged chamber. He had to hunker down slightly, in order to just fit through the narrow corridors of his command vessel. Yet it was necessary as he needed to reach what had once been the bridge or CIC and begin the transport of his vast armada.
As he lumbered along the blood stained hallway, he could see groups of marauding soldiers, some were fighting, killing and other’s fornicating. He cared nothing for them and as he neared, most of them simply cowered away. A very few stared at him in awe, eyes wide in terror or excitement; these he slew quickly and with little effort.
He had to draw in his mammoth frame just to fit into the cramped and filthy bridge. The admiral of his fleet, had once long ago been a real officer and one of the first men that had joined his original revolt, now he looked like some sort of ghoul, his ashen skin, hung from his wizened bones like an ill-fitting suit and his hollow and gaunt features were topped by a few wisps of grey hair; that seemed more like cobwebs.
“My Master,” The admiral spluttered, from a toothless mouth.
“I have had word, make the jump to Fresal one and bring the entire fleet.”
The withered Admiral, shuffled slowly across to the last working command station and began his work, his skeletal fingers moving slowly over the keys, “Are you sure you want me to dispatch the entire fleet, my master?”
“Yes and bring in all of the replacement troops as well, we begin the final move now.”
“As you wish my master” The Admiral responded without taking his glazed eyes from the screen.
As the Master watched this old fool, a memory flared, he saw him as a young and vital man. His name had been Arthur Maclean, one of the first Empire military personnel to defect and join his fledgling uprising. He had been filled with fire and life, a man desperate to change the universe for the better to make sure that his children could live in freedom. He had brought this ship over with him the flagship of the Empire Navy, the destroyer “Freedom”, the very name of the vessel at the time had set the whole ranks of the Separatist’s alight, as that is what they had all truly desired.
Now as the Master stared at this ancient spectre, he felt that familiar pang of emotion again, regret, empathy, sadness of a life lost and so perverted.
The master screamed, attempting to force such ideas from his mind, yet they continued to gnaw at him.
The admiral turned around slowly, “All ships report in my Master, they are ready for the jump. Shall I give the order?”
“Your name was Arthur,” The master spat, his own fury, shifted inward as if he was trying to expunge whatever was attempting to corrupt his consciousness, this human presence that had remained silent, for so long, yet was now attempting at least to break free.
Arthur shifted his gaze, milky saucers greeted him, “Yes it was, however that was so long ago, now my Master, we were both young men.”
The master fought a desperate battle to silence the voice, yet once again it escaped, “What happened to you family, your wife and two boys?”
Arthur stood perplexed for a minute, the heavily wrinkled and dried skin upon his face shifted slightly as if he was attempting to conjure a smile. “I remember them,” he spluttered. “I killed them for you, to show my loyalty, I cut each one of them to pieces in front of you, my final act of sacrifice to your mighty cause.” There was no sentiment within the dead and distant voice.
“Jump the fleet,” The master managed to hiss angrily, as he wrestled the intruder within his soul under control.
“Very good,” Arthur retorted and returned his attention to the command console.
The master watched him and the voice came again, this time within his own mind, “You see all the things that you done, all the pain you have caused, all to revenge your own loss, look how much agony you have loosed upon this universe, how many have died, and killed in your name. How many have you hurt in the most unimaginable ways?”
“I did not start this war,” the master spat, as fury surged within him like lava escaping the confines of a volcano. “They did and now I will finish it, I will see the storm start and this universe will be cleansed of humanity.”
“You still do not understand after all these years that, all this pain you are inflicting, is just increasing your own suffering. You believe that once the last man, woman and child is slain and you stand alone in the murk; that you will be free. However you will still have all that pain and agony, inside you and you will simply be alone with it.”
The master unfurled its wings, the tips of which tore into the metal walls of the bridge, “I will be a God, creating my own universe.”
“You are no God, simply a man perverted by his own madness and your universe will fail.”
“Enough!” The master bellowed, centring his own thoughts and fighting to control the voice. He tapped into the dark powers which he served and was able to quieten it and once again he was alone.
Arthur shifted around awkwardly, “All ships are b
eginning the jump my Master, Michael that was your name.”
The wrath spilled over and the master strode across the room. Throwing desks, chairs and command stations out of the way. Sparks flew and glass shattered. He grabbed Arthurs, tiny frame and tore his body apart, his blood, which was no longer viscous, but instead a thin mist, simply hung in the air like dust. He hurled the desiccated pieces of flesh across the room.
“Michael is dead.” He shouted.
Then he stood alone within the still room and the voice did not return. He stomped forth from the bridge and sought out the sanctuary of his chamber. He would feast and gain even more power. The final battle would begin very soon and once he had the children he would bring about the end of this miserable universe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
HYDROS FIVE
Kiera never even saw Andre strike, all she felt was his hand round her waist and the blade at her throat, just so it dimpled her flesh.
She could feel his warm breath on her neck as he spoke, “Do not fear my lady, just play along and everything will be fine.”
“I could agree with you if you didn’t have a weapon at my throat.” She replied curtly.
Claudius had removed his own sword from the little commissioner’s throat now and turned to face them, his face flushed with wraith.
“Let her go immediately,” Claudius ordered as he edged closer, she could see now the caged beast, which dwelled within him. The warrior that both schooled and protected her, for as long as she could remember. A man who had been more of a father to her than the Baron had ever been. A man who she loved and hated with equal measure.
Her attention shifted though, to Talius who had not reacted and once again, that familiar twinge inside her returned. If you wish to survive within the cutthroat world of political intrigue, within the Empire, then you quickly develop an acute survival instinct. Or perhaps it was the hours of training and drills that Claudius, had made her undertake, all those hours when she wanted to be out playing, or dressing up and instead was within the fighting school. She had never realised until now, why he spent so long practicing and teaching her, he knew that one day her life would be in danger.
The Last Foxhole (The Forgotten War Saga Book 1) Page 20
