B00M0CSLAM EBOK

by Mason Elliott

  No doubt some innocent civilians had also died in that blast as well.

  But the enemy advance had to be stopped, no matter what. More would die by the thousands if it wasn’t.

  For a few precious minutes, the devastating results of that one blast stalled the juggernaut of the enemy advance. The Pistolero and his unit raced back down and charged in to help hold the broken front lines, and the defenders of Mishawaka rallied behind his blazing guns.

  They fought the regrouping invaders point blank and up close, house to house, and street to street.

  Enemy mages still cut down defenders in droves at will, all along the line. Even the Pistolero could not be everywhere at once to counter them.

  The defenders had to tough it out, absorb such losses, and keep fighting. There was no other choice.

  The lines fluctuated back and forth during the battle that raged to decide the fate of Mishawaka, South Bend, and perhaps all of Michiana.

  If both of the latter fell, Elkhart would stand alone and surrounded.

  Three more brutal hours passed, and there were still hours of darkness before dawn. And because they were fighting mercs and not monsters, the battle would only continue throughout the following day.

  Both sides were all in. They had committed the last of their reserves. All of their forces wound up fully engaged.

  Try as they might, the Michiana defenders were still slowly getting pushed back and rammed into the earth.

  Once more, the abundance of enemy mages remained the telling difference, the one gross advantage in firepower and destruction against which the militias had no practical countermeasure.

  Mason and his friends held their ground, an island within a typhoon of magic and fire. The enemy saw their chance to destroy them, and closed in for the kill.

  The Pistolero negated several deadly spells swooping down upon them, dueling with almost two dozen mages at once. Thulkara whirled like a dervish in her dance of battle fury, her red axes buzzing through the mercs like a gigantic, death-dealing saw. Blondie cast scarlet lightning into the faces of enemy attack waves, roaring in to sweep them away.

  They fought with a sea of dead bodies in front and behind them.

  They were almost surrounded and cut off.

  At any second, the fiery maelstrom could annihilate them.

  Several mighty blasts of magical fire suddenly hit the enemy’s exposed left flank.

  The Shooting Stars raced in, at the front of fresh militia forces. Side by side, the two valiant young girls advanced, rapidly firing their shining energy bows. Fearless, they sent glittering arrow after magical arrow into the enemy ranks and targeted several mages.

  Enchanted flame, exploding ice, and lightning blasted the enemy’s left flank.

  From the right, the remaining sorcerers of South Bend arrived, and concentrated their own magic blasts on the enemy’s forward advancing lines on that flank. They opened a breach on the right, and some of the surviving Mishawaka units saw they chance and poured into that gap to exploit it.

  An hour before dawn, dismay suddenly took the driving, overconfident mercenary lines.

  Elkhart forces had broken through at last, and attacked in waves of large numbers of fresh troops.

  All of the forces of Michiana had learned their lesson.

  If they were an island of Urth people cut off from the rest of the world, they had to stand together in order to assure their mutual survival.

  They couldn’t just stand by while the foe destroyed their neighbors, and simply wait for themselves to be next.

  The enemy quickly found themselves at a severe disadvantage, cut off on three sides. They were swallowed up in many small pockets and wiped out, or forced to surrender outright. Enemy mages attempted to escape. Some did so. Some did not, and became prisoners with the mercs, shocked and silent.

  By noon, the combined forces of Elkhart, Mishawaka, and South Bend pushed the enemy’s main forces out of Mishawaka proper.

  It wasn’t a rout, but it was the next best thing.

  Even the disciplined mercs retreated in full flight, taking cover behind their South Bend lines, which had also pulled back to less-exposed, more-defensible positions close to the old tenth line of defense.

  The enemy knew when they were licked.

  Mason and his friends collapsed where they were and rested on the ground, completely spent.

  But the war still wasn’t over. The odds were simply even now. At least that’s what the spotters and observers estimated. Even with the monsters at night, the enemy no longer outnumbered the defenders. Not even two to one.

  Back in Elkhart, the eight enemy slave camps were cut off and contained. Once the war was decided, they would be dealt with and liberated, but not until then.

  There was no time to celebrate anything just yet, and losses on both sides had been appalling.

  A great deal of fighting still remained.

  But now, there was at least a chance of victory for the defenders.

  57

  The demon-thing surged in several directions, murmuring to this mirror, then whispering into another as the faces continued to flash and fade in and out.

  The demon wasn’t shaped like anything human.

  Nothing sane should look or move the way it did. It literally defied description. Just staring at it while it shifted and writhed this way and that threatened to drive David mad. He couldn’t focus on it, and yet he could not look away.

  David shuddered to his core.

  Terrifying.

  The demon was raw terror itself–horror personified–given an obscene form.

  David’s hands shook. He gulped air and struggled to breathe, to keep his eyes from rolling up into the back of his head and to prevent himself from fainting. His sword would clatter to the ground. He would be lost.

  Lost to join the bones and festering pieces of corpses on that dark floor.

  Not knowing what else to do, he gritted his teeth and gripped his sword tight.

  This...thing. This demon was an enemy. Of that there was no doubt. He had to master his fear. Face it and defeat it–any way possible.

  David thought of Jerriel. He thought of his mom and dad. He tried to picture their faces.

  And scarier than anything else...the demon exuded fear, power, and despair like an odor–like crippling waves of energy.

  Get over it. Get used to it. Beat this thing. Destroy it.

  All this while it acted totally oblivious to his presence. Jerriel said it might be that way. So absorbed in its dark work. David was no threat. It was so powerful it did not even need to notice him.

  What was it doing? The thought suddenly occurred to him. He inched forward, ready to fight for his life, trying to find out.

  The demon’s head, if one could call it that, seemed to be a blob of dark pus or vitriol or nasty ooze that surged and stretched beneath the undulating dark flesh, bulging with various lidless eyes, pustules, sores, and boiling, smoking orifices.

  The foul wisps and weird vapors the thing emitted at times made it look like a multi-limbed, amoeboid octopus covered in boiling, charred, scrambled, black, rotten eggs–with a bunch of dead eyeballs thrown in.

  This abomination was the most unpleasant thing David had ever seen.

  At last, he heard what it said.

  The oozing head lurched in several directions, whispering and babbling to the faces in the mirrors.

  Its limbs, tentacles and pseudopods–some like those of giant insects–scratched and clicked, and writhed greedily.

  Then he saw its profile for a few instants.

  The primary face shifted in a flash into a distorted attempt to match or mimic whatever face it viewed in the mirror.

  Like that of a young black girl, maybe eleven.

  “Yess, yes, there will not be enough food for you and your mother. You will starve. Your baby brother is already sick. Better to get rid of him now. Stop resisting; stop putting it off. Each night you hesitate means more starvation.

&nb
sp; “Do it tonight, just like I tell you. While you huddle in the dark to stay warm, cover his mouth and nose. Put all your weight on him until he goes still and cold. Then shove him close to your fat mother while she sleeps. When she wakes she, she will think she crushed the life out of him. She will not blame you...”

  Lightning fast, it shifted its head to another mirror and the face changed again.

  This time to that of middle-aged white woman.

  “You did well speaking before the White Town council. Inflame them to action. That young black couple down the street, just across the border. They need to be gotten rid of one way or another. So what if they helped you during the attacks and took you in? They’re not like you. Burning that cross in front of their house won’t be enough. Burn them out. Drive them out. Burn down their house with them in it if you must, but get rid of them.

  “Go to the skinhead defense force. Tell them the husband raped you while you were with them. You were too scared to say anything until now. He laid hands on a white woman. String him up and burn him while he jerks on the end of rope. Have them do the same to his wife and kids while he watches, before his turn. Do it. Stop holding back. Make an example of them!”

  The demon’s face shifted rapidly to another mirror, taking on the face of a young Asian boy.

  The boy stared into the mirror, blubbering and crying, wiping his face and runny nose.

  “I don’t like this anymore,” the boy said. “It doesn’t feel right. I won’t listen to you anymore. You’re scaring me!”

  Several demon limbs shot through the mirror and ensnared the boy, who gasped, completely terrified.

  “You listen to me, you little shit! I will come through our portal and slowly rip you into little pieces and splatter you all over your room for your family to find. You thought it was fun having me work for you and make things happen? How I sent those monsters to your neighbors next door and barbecued that bully and his family in their own backyard–while you secretly watched? Well now it’s my turn for fun. You’re mine, now. From now on, you do what I say. That skinny young priest at church? You tell your parents and everyone else how he can’t keep his hands off you. You got that? Good!”

  David gripped his sword with both hands, feeling his wrath begin to overtake his fear. This creature was utterly detestable–playing on people’s weaknesses and fears, driving them to commit evil acts, sowing discord and hatred.

  Destruction and death.

  An older man’s face appeared in another mirror. “Judge Moran. A pleasure as always. Good that we can finally join forces. Maintain your secret contacts with former councilman Stevenson. Continue jerking around your various docket cases as you see fit, but certain cases and trials will need our careful attention. Remember, the goal is to continue to undermine the local authorities and remove key persons we want neutralized.”

  Next, a young black man. “Hey, K-J. You’re doing all right in Black Town. Keep the drugs and the girls flowing to your thugs. When it’s time to make your move, you’ll have enough muscle to take over your area and become one of the new warlords. Then you can go house to house and take whomever and whatever you want–whenever you want it. You can raid any area you like after that. Take down anyone you want. No one will ever mess with you again.”

  Then a young woman, college-aged, plain, with sandy blond hair.

  “Hey, Kelly. Wow, you look great today. Keep up the good work tracking all that information on the militia, its leaders, and their locations. It all could be very handy someday. Trust me, gal. You know I wouldn’t steer you wrong. That’s it, you need more and more face time in front of your special mirror. Someday soon you’ll find out how special it really is–once we get a little closer. That’s it. Get out your makeup and try something new. That hot guy Jake who helps guard your office doesn’t know your name yet...but he will. Wait until you take him for a ride and make him suffer. Just keep listening to my voice in your head.”

  David lifted his sword and was about to strike when a single, intensely angry face filled all of the mirrors. A powerful, dark man’s grim, handsome face. Black hair, beard, and deep black eyes. He looked murderous and angry.

  The demon writhed and cried out in fear, cowering away.

  What could make this thing afraid?

  Blue-violet electric jolts of pain coruscated out of the mirrors, shocking the demon repeatedly.

  “Deceitful wretch!” the dark, angry man snarled. “I should destroy you. We have just learned of your many failures. My masters punished me, severely! I nearly perished. The hordes we sent you to secure your area were defeated and destroyed by the local weaklings and fools. How could you suffer such a defeat? Nor have you captured or killed the traitor. Now all I find is you glutting yourself–feeding constantly off your various Urther hosts!”

  The demon abased itself and wailed and pleaded.

  “Master, Master. Please listen! It was not my fault. The creatures you sent me to do your bidding were too stupid. They would not listen to my directions! I told them that an all-out, direct attack would only alarm the natives here and pull them together.”

  “Fool! I should have known better than to trust a demon. The thousands we sent should have been more than sufficient to crush that entire region. Admit your base incompetence. You bungled it!”

  “Master, no! Please. I wanted to weaken and divide them more first, before the final blow. The leaders of the horde would not listen. They were certain of victory over the soft humans here. But these detestable mortals have proven much more formidable than any of us imagined, and the traitor–she is helping them!”

  “Prepare to be destroyed, foul creature. My wrath is upon you! You have failed me for the last–”

  “Master. No. I beg of you! I can make amends. I have set many plans in motion. I am sowing chaos and discord day by day. I can still destroy them from within!”

  “Enough of your lies!”

  “I...I can get you the wizard girl–the daughter of your hated enemies. I know exactly where she is!”

  58

  Major Avery eagerly rubbed his hands together, pacing in front of Mason. “At long last, now the task at hand becomes driving the enemy out of South Bend and retaking the city. For good this time.”

  Blondie wasn’t the only one who wasn’t too sure about that. “Sir, I think the enemy still has more than a few nasty tricks up their sleeves, and is just waiting to spring them on us.”

  That turned out to be more than true. Mason, Blondie, Thulkara, and their unit were among the first to witness the widespread use of civilian Urth captives by the enemy as human shields. Captives of all ages.

  It was a terrible sight to behold. Normal people, tied up across picket lines and on the front of archery mantlets. Urth people staked out among units of enemy forces, like orchards of strange fruit trees.

  The enemy used the human shields to discourage forward movement by the militia, and to limit the use of the Pistolero’s wide effect blasts. Any such further attacks would now kill scores and hundreds of Urth people, along with the enemy numbers.

  Mason put away the uranium loads and picked his shots carefully with more conventional combinations.

  But there were still times when he was forced to fire, no matter the cost to the human shields. The defenders could not hold back and let themselves be overrun.

  The enemy forced such choices upon the defenders.

  Sometimes the militia forces could flank pockets of the enemy and sweep in fast enough to rescue at least some of the human shields.

  But all too often, the foe would simply slit the throats of the helpless captives as they pulled back, or before they themselves were cut down.

  The captives often seemed doomed either way.

  If the enemy gained or held a position, they died.

  If the enemy withdrew or were killed, they also died.

  Word came down from the militia high commanders: As long as the enemy continued to use human shields, there would be no quarter–no
mercy for any captured troops. This included both the mercs–and the enemy mages.

  This decision did not affect the monsters either way. The darkspawn could not be reasoned with, and would do what they would, no matter what. They were already routinely put down.

  But the mercenaries and especially the mages took notice, as any of them who were captured now–including any wounded–would be executed. No further prisoners would be taken.

  All new enemy prisoners were summarily killed or hanged from trees, and poles, and buildings, and out of windows.

  The defenders hanged the invaders like war criminals by the hundreds, for all to see. To rot in the heat and to be pecked at by crows and seagulls.

  After the second day of such retaliation, the mercenary leadership itself–not the enemy mages–called a brief, rare parlay, and ended the practice of using human shields.

  The Michiana defenders agreed to take prisoners once more.

  And the battle promptly resumed.

  The enemy tried everything they could think of to reverse their slow, steady retreat through South Bend.

  They set parts of the town on fire to delay the advance.

  They used arrows and siege engines. The enemy tried massed firebomb attacks. They used magic.

  But the defenders had mostly seen all of their tricks and ploys by that time, and could quickly shift to counter each one whenever and wherever they erupted. Spotters and observers had become experts at reading the signs and predicting what the foe was going to try next.

  The militia knew their enemies, and fully understood exactly how to match and fight them.

  Without superior numbers to press their advantage any longer, the enemy had lost any hope at surprise in any form to out-maneuver the Urth defenders, or to otherwise reestablish and regain their own forward momentum.

  The enemy even tried to withdraw and go back to fighting only at night.

  But the defenders would now have none of that.

  They advanced and continued to press the attack, keeping it up 24/7.

  This issue had to be decided.