by Rick Royster
Winter got her bearings, grabbed her holstered gun and rolled sideways. She came up and aimed, but before she could fire, the Iteration’s head exploded.
Rhys.
Another Centurion landed, shook off his parachute and charged toward her. She had assumed - per protocol - that Rhys and Cayden had left her to die, that she was on her own. She realized at this moment how thankful she was that they were still here, and how much she wanted to live. If Rhys was providing cover fire, then just maybe she had a chance.
Training at Coalition headquarters, she'd gone through numerous simulations of fighting Centurions. After a while, she knew what to expect, and the sims weren't exactly trying to kill her. She now knew that was by design. If the Coalition soldiers caught even a glimpse of the full power of the Arctic Knights, they'd never be able to get anyone out in the field.
Winter expected the clone to come at her full-bore, yet she was still appalled by the sheer power of his attack. He opened with a pounding two-handed axe strike, then with both hands together, swung his fist like a bat. She was ready, parried both blows but the impact rattled both her teeth and bones.
She gathered herself and rolled out of harm’s way as he went low with knee and leg strikes designed to fracture her shins.
Winter countered with a quick jab followed by a right hook, but the Arctic Knight pounced like a lion. He ducked to the side, causing her to completely lose balance and sight of him, and he came back with a wide-arching right uppercut toward her chest.
She felt as if her ribs had imploded from the forceful impact. Yet she deflected his next blow by redirecting the punch, guiding his fist down and toward the ground. Before she could counter with an elbow to the face, he drove his entire body into hers. The sheer force of his body weight drove her back several feet and she pulled her head in behind her shoulders, avoiding a head butt that would have smashed her face in; instead, it glanced off her clavicle.
Winter's focus was to stay on her feet. If he got her on the ground, this mismatch would be over pretty quickly.
His inhuman speed made competent reactions difficult. Worse, he fluidly switched between fight disciplines mid-attack, making predictions impossible. Worse still, he was learning from her mistakes. Somehow, she'd survived his initial onslaught but now had a better understanding of what she was going to do, and not do, next. Her only hope was to react off instinct aided by years of extensive combat training and a rush of adrenaline. There was no time for doubt or indecision, only action.
With a steeled mind, she was ready for his next charge. The Arctic Knight unleashed a complex pattern of devastating attacks which Winter then threw up her hands and knees to expertly block, deflect and evade.
This was her first time fighting a clone without a blaster and she'd be sure to never do it again. She was being driven back in a slow retreat, guided in the direction of the other incoming Knights.
The Knight fought with controlled aggression, launched himself at her, and she hopped to the side to dodge him but his shoulder still made contact with her ribs. The air went out of her, feeling like she'd been whacked by a sky-car.
The Knight crouched low and circled her. She surmised that he wanted to stay close so as to not give Rhys a clear target. Her need to create space was now twofold, in that she wouldn't survive a physical confrontation with him, and Rhys needed a clear shot.
Winter got her bearings, putting her hands up, ready for a fight. She took a boxing stance and moved in a circle. The Knight was as big as a polar bear, his shadow swallowing her as he moved in. He threw a blow with enough force to decapitate her. She absorbed the impact with both arms and allowed the momentum to drive her to the ground, simultaneously scissoring her legs around his ankles and taking him down. He face-planted violently into the snow, wearing a bewildered look of shock and rage, and he reached out for Winter's leg.
She rolled away, then heard footsteps, stood up and turned in to another Knight who punched her in the chest. She fell back, chest on fire and gasping for air. Without her armor, the blow would have killed her. The punch drove her backwards across the ice as if she was on skis, and she collapsed to one knee and sucked wind, trying to pull some oxygen back into her lungs.
He hovered over her with murderous eyes, cold and feral, only able to be sated by death.
The Knight's hands, gloves as hard as ice, jerked her off her feet and into the air. She could feel her windpipe folding, her vision filled with blank spots and black dots. He was going to choke her to death; she was going to die.
Rhys lay atop the icy mountainside, focused intently on the images though the scope of his rifle. He spotted four – no, five - Centurions. One was about to engage Winter.
"Target sighted," Rhys whispered to himself.
He slowed his breathing and locked his elbows so only bone, not muscle, was in contact with the ground beneath him.
His crosshairs were locked six inches in front of the Centurion's face.
"On target," the aim-assist AI announced, which produced an involuntary smile upon Rhys' face.
Adios amigo.
His finger gently put pressure on the trigger, and within a nanosecond, a flash of blue flame exploded from the muzzle of the laser rifle. The flash of the muzzle blinded him for a brief moment, then his vision cleared in time for him to see the result of the laser's impact. There was a slight puff of red mist from the far side of the head as the Centurion's body dropped like a lumbered tree.
Rhys lifted his head from the rifle and watched the Centurion fall, then he peered through the scope and scanned for another target. One, then two Centurions were engaging Winter. He needed a clear shot but couldn't wait long. Based on Winter's performance, the Centurions could deal a lethal blow at any moment.
The snow came down harder. The kind so cold it made one's teeth chatter. The skiers, men, women and children, scrambled away from the commotion.
From his peripheral vision he picked up a blur of speed, an oncoming tornado headed straight for Winter.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present.
― Francis Bacon
A Knight was down on all fours, picking himself up off the ground.
Cayden was moving at warp speed, running as fast as he could across the snow-covered landscape.
Another Knight had Winter by her neck, choking the life out of her.
Using the downed soldier as a stepladder, Cayden leapt off the unsuspecting Imperial Knight's head and launched himself through the air. In one motion, his katana was out and cutting through the enemy's shoulder. He then landed between Winter and the now one-armed Global Union Imperial Knight. A second cross-cut rendered the clone headless, yet his body still stood, swaying gently before it spasmed and stiffened, then aptly crumbling to the ground.
Winter’s hands went to her throat, then grabbed at her chest as she devoured wind and staggered to the ground. Cayden eyed her, bent down and gently touched her cheek. He brushed her blonde hair from covering her eyes, saw her cheeks streaked with tears from the pain of being choked. He turned and glanced at the oncoming Knights and stood. He allowed the breeze to wash over him. They would pay for hurting her.
"This is my fight," Cayden said.
The Knights had been trained for this their entire existence, to hunt and kill Coalition agents. It was four of them, all masters of a dozen different martial arts.
The monster in the middle put his hands together and cracked his knuckles. Another walked next to him, shifted his armor and loosened his arms. A third tilted his neck and smiled - and the last looked up, a snarl splitting his face. Still smarting from the kick to the side of the head, he sat in the snow and eyed Cayden.
They had a different skillset from the legionnaires but were also bio-engineered with superhuman strength and speed, their skills practiced and honed daily since the date of their creation. Their moment of glory was at hand, and all they had to do was kill Cayden.
The fourth clone rose to his feet, stretched his arms and threw some jabs in the air, mimicking bobbing and weaving. None made a move to draw their guns.
They were taunting him, challenging him; they wanted a fight.
Accepted.
The four spread out like a ripple in a pond. All were armed with steel rapiers and machetes. They were well-trained, masters of over a dozen different martial arts. The part-man, part-machine human cyborg clones possessed superhuman speed and strength.
Any opening, any mistake Cayden made would be fatal.
Cayden closed his eyes and took a deep breath and exhaled. A cloud of steamed mist escaped his mouth. He stood in their epicenter as they began to circle him, noting the slight sweat dripping down his forehead. He listened to his heartbeat and breathing, both slow and calm.
The two men in front of him, broad-shouldered with fiery hair, had the look of Asgardian warriors.
The two behind him still wore their masks, but Cayden could see them as clear as day. He could feel their rage, their energy spitting violent intent even as they slowly approached. Cayden raised his katana, its blue heavenly glow lighting his blade like a clear summer’s stream. Every Desani chose their individual weapons. Most were a lot more modern than the katana and some as old as Tao-Tzu's staff. All were probably easier to master. The katana, in combat, was an elegant weapon of death, not a particularly good defensive weapon. The fights were decisive, resulting always in loss of limb or loss of life.
The Knight to his left thrust his blade at full extension, his knee almost touching the snow. It came toward his chest with the suddenness of a gust of wind, a blur to the naked eye. Cayden didn't try to see the strike, but he felt it. His sixth sense was guiding him and he moved toward the blade as it drove toward him. If he parried and struck down the Knight or retreated, he would have been impaled. The Knights had coordinated their attack, and one tried to sacrifice himself so the other could cut Cayden down.
Cayden spun toward the attack, twisted inside and sliced up toward the shoulder, his katana sheering through armor, metal and flesh. Both arm and weapon fell with a thud to the snow. Cayden felt a whirl of wind on his neck and dropped to one knee, the full decapitating swing of the Knights behind him trimming his already short hair, but he anticipated this and stabbed backwards with his sword. His blade found its mark, then he yanked it free and thrust his weapon forward, slicing the Knight in front of him nearly in half from groin to collarbone.
Using the momentum of the forward thrust, Cayden side-flipped over the collapsing Imperial Knight behind him, dodging a cut meant to cleave him in pieces in the process. He landed and reaffirmed the grip on his weapon, then bent his knees and solidified his stance. His pulse and breathing were still regular, almost normal.
And now two remained.
With a primal battle cry, the Imperial Knight in front of him charged forward, twin blades in both hands, swinging rapidly toward him.
Winter watched as the soldiers pulled out their weapons, and Cayden stood as a bridge between her and certain death. He was fighting for her; if he were to fall, her death would be certain. She was a warrior and first-rate officer, more than capable beyond most men on the planet. But in this moment, these few seconds in time, she felt like a damsel in distress, her boyfriend protecting her. She watched the brilliant glow of the katana, its angelic letters giving it a blue shine in the morning light.
Two of the solders, armed with twin kamis, twirled their weapons and then attacked. There came the sound of clashing metal. Winter blinked, blinked again and rubbed her eyes. Maybe she was still feeling the effects of the blow to the head. The Knights were fast, deadly fast, but Cayden seemed to be fading in and out of existence as he parried multiple attacks at once. Their blades flared and clashed, crashing together in sparks of fire. The vicious exchanges were so fast Winter couldn't see them.
He moved so fast he seemed to be teleporting, with blue fire at its core, striking in all directions at once.
One by one, the Iterations began to fall. The first to hit the deck had a stab wound to the chest. Then there were three. The next had a gash in his thigh and a hole in his back, and he crumpled to his knees then fell face down into the snow.
Winter saw streaks of blue sparks in an upward motion, then Cayden came out of a front roll between the two Knights, his back now to them. He waited in a crouch for a moment and peeked behind him out of the corner of his eyes. He then sheathed his blade and stood. He turned and both soldiers dropped and fell dead to the ground.
Winter looked at the dead Imperial Knights. "I thought I'd seen everything."
Cayden rushed to her side.
"Winter," Cayden whispered.
Winter covered her mouth, her eyes misty. She sprang to her feet and grabbed Cayden by the back of his head, pulling him close and kissing him. She only let go once she felt him kiss her back.
The cold air turned her heavy breathing into puff clouds, and Cayden gave her a once-over then glanced at the carnage around them.
"We are responsible for these people, Cayden. Their deaths..." Winter said, shaking her head.
"We're trying to liberate them,"
Winter glanced at the bodies. "I don't think they feel very liberated."
She studied his brown eyes, the guilt and sadness that crept in as the adrenaline from battle began to wane. She glanced around at the now sparse ski lodge, saw a few terrified faces walking among the dead bodies littering the ground. She walked over to the corpse of the dead girl and knelt beside it. She shook her head, and it took her a moment to realize one of her hands covered her own heart, and the other her mouth.
Cayden stood next to her. "We must go." He grabbed her under her arm, lifted her up.
"Wait." Winter took a moment to survey the battlefield, the dead Iterations.
"I think I counted six earlier."
The realization crossed Cayden face. They both said simultaneously. "Rhys."
They turned and raced toward the mountain.
Rhys watched as Cayden and Winter raced up the grottoes, making their way toward him. The sun began its rise over this part of the earth. The light was coming. The resort would never be the same, he thought. For his part, he couldn't wait to get off this cold rock and back to finding Tressa.
He got to one knee, feeling the hard rock under him, then strapped his rifle to his back and stood up. He stretched his stiff muscles, tried to get the circulation going again.
He turned around to cold blue eyes, ominous eyes - and took a step back.
The Centurion’s wild red hair looked to be on fire, and with his all white armor, he had the look of a starving polar bear that had stumbled upon a bearded seal.
"His will be done," the Centurion said, a baritone of a voice that was cold and mechanical.
Rhys thought he'd do the unexpected and attack. He balled his fist and drove a hard left hook at the clone's head. But the Centurion was like a machine and wouldn't be taken by surprise; he was always ready for combat. He easily blocked the blow, swatting the second incoming punch aside and landing a hard right to Rhys’ face.
The impact spun Rhys around, dangerously close to falling off the cliff. He glanced down at the hundred-foot drop off the mountain, rolled left and away from the Centurion and drew his rifle all in one motion. A kick from the Centurion's boot sent the weapon careening over the cliff.
The weapon fell harmlessly away.
Quick on the draw, Rhys snatched his holstered gun and fired into the Centurion’s face, but instead of hearing the expected soft thunk, he heard a soft suction sound and saw a bright flash of blue. Rhys fired twice more, and the clone blocked each laser with his left forearm, moving at blazing speed and covering his face. Seeing the Centurion’s right hand moving toward the blaster it was carrying on its waist, Rhys shot the blaster twice, leaving it a hot, smoldering mess.
The clone ducked and charged forward and knocked the gun out of Rhys’ hand.
Rhys straightened himself. He w
ould die on his feet like a warrior. He was sure, heads up, the clone was going to kill him; he couldn't match the machine’s speed or strength, but he'd give him hell before he died.
Rhys watched for an opening as they both crouched in front of each other like two rams preparing to knock heads.
Rhys feinted low but got no response from the Centurion, just a cold stare. So he dove in again and wrapped his arms around his waist in an attempt to drive him back and take him down. He thought his wrestling and jujitsu training would give him an advantage if he got the fight on the ground.
Dumb - so dumb. Why wrestle with a tank?
The clone stepped away and dropped a powerful elbow into the small of Rhys’ back, forcing him to a knee. Rhys was sure that without his armor, the clone would have broken his back.
As it was, he bit down on the pain and launched his head and body like a missile upward into the Centurion’s face. He heard the nose give as bone crunched and blood erupted outward. The clone staggered backwards, eyes filled with hate and rage.
The Centurion wiped the blood from his nose and blew the red snot to the ground. Crimson fluid dotted the snow beneath him. Even cyborgs bled and felt a modicum of pain. "You fight well, and for that I will give you a quick and painless death."
The clone came in throwing blows with timing and precision. He was as quick as a sand viper and combined with the cold, his hands felt like cement. The first blow whacked Rhys’ right upper arm, then shoulder, then ribs, and another blow to the chest sent him sliding backwards.
Fist indents marked Rhys’ armor, and his breath was ragged and his muscles ached. He watched the clone take a step back and smile; he was taking his time picking Rhys apart.
"What happened to quick and painless?" Rhys panted.
“I will give you the opportunity to capitulate,” the Iteration said.
Rhys rushed in, launching a blow at the Centurion’s head, but the Centurion easily side-stepped it, grabbed Rhys and lifted him in the air before slamming him to the ground. Rhys’ back smacked first, then his head snapped backwards and hit the frozen earth. The darkness reached for him, threatening to overtake him, stars scattered about his vision.
