by Casey Herzog
The guards in the cockpit were helmetless, and the prisoners could see the five captors grinning down at them.
“It’s going to be like you never existed, you little shits,” a cruel female voice hissed from the speakers. “This thing won’t leave any part of your body intact. Now die, scum.” The vehicle’s engine purred, and some of the men screamed as they ran back towards the cavern behind them, but another vehicle exploded out from the wall to their left and they were effectively boxed in and surrounded. A drill arm shot out from the newly-arrived mining car, and one of the prisoners was decapitated in a single motion.
“Couldn’t be late to defend the sector,” a familiar voice rasped. Terrified prisoners caught sight of the speaker’s pale, scarfed face through the dirt of the mining vehicle’s thick windows.
Vladimir Zverev had entered the building.
The vehicles pushed closer towards each other slowly, each inch taking their spinning blades closer towards the bunched-up group of rebellious captives. The walls pressed in on each side like a cage; there was no escape. There were screams and begging pleas, but the guards ignored them. It was just about making the fuckers pay now. The prisoners had killed fellow guards, they deserved no forgiveness—
“Hey,” a booming voice said, and the guards in the first vehicle turned to look at the giant standing beside the cockpit. They hadn’t seen or heard him climb up, but there he was. Zverev watched with interest as he saw Lord Russell squaring up to his best guards within the cockpit. Not like he can get in there. Let him be brave; we’ll deal with him next.
“You’re next,” Lieutenant Sabrina Emeka spat through the speakers, “Now watch and see what happens to those who rise up against the Coalition, we who have fought and bled for humanity!”
He pressed his face up against the thick glass at that very moment, his half-flesh and half-metal facade grinning furiously. Emeka flinched, and the others rose in anger. There was madness in Russell’s natural eye that gave them pause, and Zverev’s attention became entirely focused on the events taking place in front of him. Russell cackled wildly as he stared into the lieutenant’s eyes.
“I always found it curious, Coalition filth,” he said with his horrible expression, “Why you trusted your technology so much when we came into this prison…How you never manually inspected my arm beyond the scanners, considering what I’d brought in with me.” Without blinking, Russell’s biological hand went to his enhanced shoulder, and he shifted something on it. The arm clicked, and he pulled something from it. It was a very thin rod with a crystal on its point. “You see,” he continued, “I always have a trick or two up my sleeve.”
Zverev’s eyes widened as he saw the rod glow hot with energy, and he yelled an order through the speakers.
“Kill the prisoners now! Kill them before he can do anything!”
The windows of the cockpit in front of Russell shattered before the occupants inside could do anything, and the guards screamed as the sonic weapon in his hands ignited their brains in their skulls, killing them immediately and frying part of the vehicle’s controls. The so-called ‘Lord of the mines’ pushed his vehicle forward as soon as he saw what was happening, but it was too late. Russell wrenched the mining car’s control levers backwards and screamed at the men below to run as fast as they could from Zverev’s incoming vehicle.
“Run, run!” the prisoner who’d shown potential cried, throwing his arm back and forth to rally the men towards him. Russell had opened a space between the tunnel wall and the vehicle, allowing his new army to escape.
Suddenly, all that remained in the narrow tunnel were the two great vehicles and a mound of corpses.
“You have something that belongs to me,” Russell’s voice echoed in the tunnel.
“Come and get it then, scum.”
The maniacal grin on Lord Russell’s face spread even further as he revved the powerful engine, his opponent doing the same. He stared into the pale man’s eyes and licked his lips.
“You asked for it.”
The two vehicles shot forward, ripping the walls to pieces as they tore through the tunnel and hurtled towards each other.
“Just die, scum!” Zverev screamed, but Russell had already found the lever he’d been looking for.
“No…you die.”
Russell’s drill arm rose at the very last minute, bending and breaking as it impacted into the other vehicle, moments before the vehicles themselves did. Zverev’s mining car was effectively decapitated, its cockpit smashing apart as the drill pierced its floor and ripped through the bodies of everyone inside.
Russell was thrown out of his own cockpit, falling hard onto the rocky ground below, but with the last ounces of energy left in him he climbed the steep surfaces of the mining vehicle.
He found the Coalition officer gasping for air as he tried to breathe through the blood filling his eviscerated lungs. The drill had almost cut Zverev in half, hitting him in the left side of his abdomen and cutting through it with its massive blade. Russell caught sight of his sword hanging from the man’s side, but his vengeance now seemed fickle and useless. The Lord of Lawlessness looked down at Zverev with pity, lifting a discarded rifle he found on the floor of the shattered cockpit and pointing it at the man’s head.
“I’ll be merciful; how about that?” he asked, but the Coalition enemy spat blood at his leg.
Bang.
Russell tore the scabbard off Zverev’s belt and hopped off the vehicle onto the hard ground. He stumbled as he landed, grabbing onto a wall and breathing heavily.
Only then did he notice the crowd watching him.
The cheers began a moment later, and before long there were more and more prisoners approaching with smiles on their faces and stolen weapons in their hands. They all cried one name, one name that echoed through the mines and shook the caverns.
“Russell! Russell! Russell!”
The mines weren’t his yet, but they soon would be…and when they were…
…He was going back to the prison for his revenge.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Reborn
Cassiel glanced up at the timer and gestured at the Outsider standing by with medical equipment ready. The alien crossed the operating room and reached the smooth, metal chamber protruding out from the wall. There was mist on its surfaces, the temperatures within a few degrees below standard freezing point.
One of our greatest creations is about to be unveiled, Cassiel thought with expectation. He had witnessed the birth and rebirth of many subjects within their facilities, but this one was different. Even without requiring gifts, he’s special. Something else entirely from what we’ve grown accustomed to. The operative was a true warrior. Even the aliens recognized it, Cassiel knew.
The green-eyed figure breathed deeply as he saw the Outsider medical chief toggling a few settings on the life-support chamber. Even without looking inside the compartment, Cassiel knew the man’s new heart beat stronger than ever, his enhanced lungs sucking in artificially recycled air as if he were breathing for the first time — which technically, he was — and hyper-oxygenated blood pumping through his veins. Other, more discrete transformations had been made to the man’s form, and he was essentially a whole new person except for his face, height and shape. Cassiel could sense all of this through his enhanced perceptions. It gave him great pleasure to see their projects flourish.
“Allow the process to finish and let him rest,” Cassiel said softly in an alien tongue, “He’s earned it.”
The alien obeyed, setting a timer that would end within just a couple of minutes.
Cassiel clenched his fists beneath his skin-tight combat suit, feeling the minute motions of every single muscle in his hand and controlling every little articulation involved. He was supernatural, inhuman, invincible. None had ever beaten him in combat, no matter how many enemies he’d faced. His only regret was that he hadn’t been sent on more assignments because of his strategic value.
The fight against Shackle
and Rogue had been good, at least, Cassiel thought with a smirk, but he needed more. Callum Thorpe. I want him, right before I take the Healer from him. They say he’s a formidable warrior. A shame I’ll have to send someone else for him before we can fight. The green-eyed clone was getting sick of life within the underground complex. He was not human, but he had the same desires for freedom any normal person had. His superiors were being too inflexible for his taste. I’m starting to feel angry.
A chime made him look up, and Cassiel couldn’t help but allow himself a smile. Rogue was back online. The man formerly known as Alexander Sanchez had just been recreated, reborn. He was a new man.
He was a new operative of the Outsider forces, and there would be nothing he could do about it. Rogue had a mission, and he was going to execute it fully.
Cassiel clenched his fists once more and prepared for what was coming.
The most promising asset the alien forces had ever had in their hands was finally going to return home.
See you soon, Healer.
PART III – Fallen Angel
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Wilderness, Part I
It seemed the walls were pushing in on him more than ever. Dante knew it was just his imagination, but he really felt like the very shadows in the dark were watching him.
The Sphinx’s note had dragged the last bit of peace from the Healer’s mind and stabbed it through the heart. No longer could Dante sleep easy or walk with tranquility through the lonelier corridors of the University. Someone high up had him on their radar, and there was calculation behind their hunt.
I am a living, breathing weapon. Nothing more. They see me for what I am, and many would rather I was dead. He understood it all, placing it all on a scale and wondering if perhaps his death was the best thing humanity could hope for.
They were ugly thoughts, but Dante couldn’t help but think of them every so often. A being who can heal any wound and repair almost any damage while also having the ability to destroy matter with little more than a thought. Why wouldn’t everyone be worried about who I fight for, if anyone at all? Less powerful men and women have fallen to evil. What’s stopping me from going insane and thinking I’m some sort of god?
“Ready?” the boy beside Dante said, interrupting his profound thoughts. Keith was nearby, scouting the area.
The Healer nodded. Despite everything on his mind after hearing the Sphinx’s message — all the pain, the confusion and the fear — he needed to be ready. Silas Webster had summoned them all to the clearing, but a warning had been set. It had been left on an old piece of stained parchment in the entrance hall of the First Term Building, its chilling words rapidly becoming the greatest matter of gossip. Dante felt thankful for the momentary shift in attention away from him.
‘Your first true examination is at hand, students. This particular test is called The Wilderness, a gauntlet-type hell randomly thrown into the First Term by the Chosen board. Unluckily for you lot, they’ve decided for it to take place earlier than ever, but you can’t back out of this. Suspension will be your punishment.
If you want an idea of what awaits you, think of what you faced in the first examination and multiply it times a hundred — there shall be no mercy this time around. If you are not careful in this test, you will die; I can guarantee it.
Be prepared to fight, apply the knowledge you have already gained, use your abilities wisely and don’t look back once you’re in my domain. Always forward. Good luck. The winner/s shall live on forever in the records of the Universitas Terras.
They were on the edge of the forests now, all eight of them looking expectantly at the thick, green darkness ahead of them, its threats still invisible to their naked eyes. Webster made sure of it.
“We can die, lads, ‘e said so. I don’t know what I’d do if any of ye…ye know.” Keith said softly. He looked genuinely worried, and Dante placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Look, Keith. You stop thinking about that. I’ve kept myself and those around me alive for long enough to know what to do at a time like this. Stay close, and I’ll make sure you’re okay whatever happens. I’ve saved plenty of lives; nobody here is going to die.”
Keith nodded, and the group lifted their heads with pride. It was time to venture into Webster’s Zone.
As Dante took his first step past the tree line, he caught sight of a familiar face staring at him. There was barely-concealed contempt in that gaze, and the promise of a coming, and decisive, encounter would determine who was the more powerful of the two of them. Their eyes held the mutual stare for a moment more before the Healer looked away and continued into the forest.
“Just give me a time and place, Andrew,” Dante whispered under his breath, “And we can decide this once and for all.”
The forest soon swallowed them, visibility getting worse and worse as they advanced. Dante could barely see the seven boys around him, let alone the other students wandering in the dark, suffocating depths of the thick woods.
“Visibility is shit,” Keith complained, looking meaningfully at another within the group. The olive-skinned teenager’s eyes lit up suddenly, and he breathed heavily as power ran through his body to the now-shining orbs on his face. Dante watched interestedly as the lad studied the area with detail, his shining eyes moving slowly and taking in everything in his visual field.
“This is…strange, to say the least…” he muttered.
“What do ye see then, Observer?” Keith asked impatiently.
The boy’s gifts faded and disappeared, his eyes returning to normal.
“I saw the forest, and I saw him. He’s on the tree stump, much further than in our first exam in his zone, sitting and sharpening a blade. Unfortunately, everything between him and us was hidden from me. For the first time, I think someone has found a way to counter my abilities,” Observer said with a note of disappointment. Keith began to press the teenager further, but Dante spoke up.
“Remember, this is Webster’s domain and his rules. I wouldn’t be surprised if this isn’t the last time one of us has his powers limited or even disabled. Stay safe and stay together guys.”
They kept walking, an outward-facing semicircle kept in closely-knit formation in case of danger. Dante felt relief as he moved between the tall trees, thankful he finally had something to focus on to keep his thoughts from everything else happening to him.
“Hey, watch out!” someone said softly, but sharply. As warned, there was danger ahead. It glinted in the soft ray of light that barely managed to push through the canopy — lines of tripwire spreading from tree to tree alerting them to pain and death. “Keep clear of it, we don’t want surprises.” Dante had thought to destroy it, but maybe Webster had added countermeasures for students who did so. In the end, he simply guided the rest through a couple of trees,practically the only place the tripwire didn’t reach.
“Are we going the right way, Observer?”
The boy nodded, looking distractedly at the swaying branches above them. A breeze had picked up, its wind pulling at their skin and whistling between the cramped spaces between the trees. The sense of danger was rising, and Dante felt a prickling of his skin. The feeling of being watched just wouldn’t desert him. A branch creaked above them, and they all looked up, but it was just a bird landing on its wooden surface and cawing softly.
“Am I the only one who feels it?” Dante asked out loud. Only one of them replied with a brief nod as he spun a small rod of metal in his hand meaningfully.
“There is evil lurking. The blades of the impure are always just a few feet away in this academia, and they are eternally sharp,” another boy said. Keith chuckled at the words, but Dante narrowed his eyes. There was surely some meaning behind them.
“Preacher, be quiet. We know we’re in danger, ye don’t need to tell us.”
“My given name is Servant, not Preacher.”
“Whatever.”
The roar came from afar, a guttural noise that bellowed from the maw of a massive creat
ure. Its effect was powerful — every single one of them froze on the spot, their blood chilling as they tried their hardest to blend in with their surroundings. A growl followed, and there were sounds of struggle. A loud explosion lit up an area to the northeast, and a young boy screamed in agony before a loud crack ended his suffering.
Servant looked meaningfully at Keith. The shorter boy grimaced and pointed to the northwest.
“We avoid that thing, whatever it is. Let’s make it out of here alive.”
They walked and walked. The dry, leaf-ridden ground of the forest floor soon turned into a muddy mess that pulled at their feet and kept them from continuing at their previous pace.
“Fuck Webster,” a tall, tan-skinned boy said. There were blade-like claws protruding from his hands, and he had a feral look that made him seem almost like a wild animal — just like his nickname. “This doesn’t feel like being examined at all, it’s more like the elaborate torture and murder of innocent students.”
