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Text File | 1994-11-03 | 47KB | 773 lines

Path: usenet.ee.pdx.edu!cs.uoregon.edu!reuter.cse.ogi.edu!uwm.edu!spool.mu.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!news.sprintlink.net!EU.net!uunet!not-for-mail From: AEFIGUEROA@miavx1.acs.muohio.edu Newsgroups: rec.games.frp.archives Subject: STORY: Darkworld Ch 5 (Life in the afterlife) Followup-To: rec.games.frp.misc Date: 2 Nov 1994 13:24:05 -0500 Organization: UUNET Technologies Inc, Falls Church, VA, USA Lines: 759 Sender: smm@uunet.uu.net Approved: smm@uunet.uu.net Message-ID: <398lg5$cuc@rodan.UU.NET> NNTP-Posting-Host: rodan.uu.net Copyright 1992 Tony Figueroa TALES FROM THE DARKWORLD Chapter 5 Death After Death By Tony Figueroa On the night of the Battle of Relo, the ECS was hard at work. The Emperialist Crime Syndicate's pentagram was enormous. They'd picked the Star Nexus to lay it on. Being a nexus for ripples in the magical fabric of the universe, nothing but another super nexus could match its power. Unaware of the recent destruction nearly 8,000 miles northeast at the citystate across the Arc Mountains, they proceeded in their summoning. Blue lightning lit the armored surfaces of the men and machines positioned around the 500 foot summoning symbol. Hazy blue figures both humanoid and monstrous appeared in the center, and the Emperialist soldiers kneeled when their black-robed leader did so in reverence at the appearence of the requested audience's arrival. Then the figures vanished without warning, and the blue lightning explosively backlashed, slaying most of the Empire's subjects. The blue fire that erupted consumed a thirty mile radius which could be seen burning as far away as fifty. ----- A white wisp broke the darkness of the netherworld. Baran's soul had refused to find peace, for his single determination was to live. A shudder of dark emotions crashed into him, and his consciousness soon identified a blue comet-like form coming his way. He strived to flee but the writhing blue vapors latched onto him with vice-like strength. The fang-filled mouth that opened and threatend to devour him among the hellspawned creation's blue masses paralyzed Baran with the fear of a fate worse than death. He fought backwards, evading the maw, but he could not escape the grasp that held him. They then impacted, and the last thing all involved were aware of was the final sound they heard, a sound louder than anything else ever made in the universe of the living. ----- The one-eyed, bluegray, seven-foot power armors marched down Relo's blast cratered streets towards Shliff Shadowkeep. They raised their forearm guns which reflected the flames of the black-clouded red sky. Shadowkeep gripped the razor-firing sub-machinegun he held as the feeling of doom crept over him, consuming him. The Lurans had been destroyed, and the Kryx had dropped two of their genocide machines, the Zinzor, into the city which was now being carved apart by their fang-mouthed energy cannons. Legion's army was winning. The power armors fired, and Shliff panicked and raised his bladegun in retaliation, his final mistake. One Enforcer's head was blown off, causing the demon to shapeshift into a frenzy of various forms, including its true form, in a dance of death. The blasts ate away at Shadowkeep's armor until a blast sliced through it and out it. Before he had time to scream, twenty other beams punched through him, even as he was thrown into the air backwards. "Ahhhhhhhhh!" The necromancer's vision remained black in his darkened bedroom. Awakened by an apocalyptic nightmare on the night of a holocaust, Shadowkeep's main thoughts were even now that the Armageddon Bow was safely in holding in the necromension and accessible only to him. At least that one was. The nightmare was one that had plagued him and many others before, death in a past timeline avoided and altered to the current one by the troglodytes and Silent Beast Blades of the Four Directions. In their current timeline, Lord Baalek backed by D-36 had stormed Relo and been repelled. Reconstruction of this battle would be far easier than it would've have been to repair Legion's damage for in his attack, civilization had perished. ----- Jake clicked on an assignment in the computer's scrolling list. "Alright Razner, I got us an assignment." "What?" "We're gonna find out what the Empire was doing on the Star Nexus last night." "When do we leave?" "Now." Jake led the way out of the barracks two levels beneath the surface of Relo's accosted military sector. Stopping once he was adjacent to the red-haired psionic nuker leaning against the wall to the hallway out, "Let's bug outta here while this place rebuilds, Carla." "You're not leaving me behind," she said matter of factly, "but then again, the marriage vows didn't include anything about eternal conflict!" ----- Holding himself off the pavement with both hands, Baran shook his head, thinking in uncontrolled anticipation, I have a head! And everything else too, he thought, looking at his hands held out before him in the darkness broken only by dim lighting. He hadn't yet gotten off his knees when he realized, I'm in an alley. A decrepit wooden fence between two brick buildings filled his forward vision. Why am I alive? Baran the Blade stood up and saw that he was alone. Garbage and refuse lined sides of the alley, and a street was at the other end. Starlight and streetlights were all that lit the darkened alley, save the occasional headlights of a passing car. Where are those demons, Blade thought, disturbing himself. He couldn't see any demons around as he wistfully reached for swords he knew wouldn't be there. Baran gasped. Both fireblades were now in his hands! He screamed mentally and leaned against a building's side. They were definately fireblades. The four pairs of vents running the length of both sides of the blades were apparent as was the switch on the hilt that would activate the flames. Whoever ressurected me left me in an alley with my stuff I didn't die with. Baran checked. I've got my swords, cloak, boot blades, but no armor. Well a citystate shouldn't be that dangerous, even at night, if this is Relo. This place is a mess! Baran sheathed his swords and began walking out of the alley towards a sidewalk. Oh yeah, we were attacked by monsters. His blue cloak and bluegrey clothes appeared almost black in the dark. They were then illuminated by headlights when he left the alley and stepped onto the sidewalk. Baran's mind began to spin. It then almost teetered off the brink into the abyss. The city street was a completely unmodern desgin, and the cars were ancient relics. Maybe this is a delven city, like New Detroit. His blue eyes returned to normal from looking like the eyes of a deer transfixed on the headlights of an oncoming car. The passing car winds that'd been blasting his brown hair ceased temporarily, and the street became quiet. ----- Shadowkeep clawed in frustration at the catacomb floor before him. In the alcove starting at waist level was Baran's body and coffin. Dark Heart stood to Shliff's right. "It's not working," Shliff muttered, with a mixture of sadness and anger. The necromancer was feeling quite drained by the three attempts at ressurection he'd attempted over the past ten minutes. "You don't suppose that sword was souldrinker, do you?", Dark Heart suggested solemnly. Shadowkeep didn't respond. ----- Baran turned to his right and began walking down the sidewalk. The building on the corner had a sign above the glass door on which was written, "Olson's Video." Baran entered. In the large room were walls covered with racks holding videotapes. Other stand-alone racks with VHS tapes were placed in the room, forming aisles. Baffled, Baran walked to the nearest rack and picked up a case. The man at the counter at the back wall of the room was having a heated conversation with another. Both human, Baran noticed. Maybe this isn't a delven city afterall. Reading the English text on the tape, he surmised that within the case was a movie or a book, although it was quite big for a computer or video disc. At the bottom on the case's back, it read, "You must be blind to rent this tape." Tape?, he thought. That sounds like one of those ancient recording things. Then he saw the numbers 1993 at the very bottom. Is that the date?!, Baran mentally screamed to himself. "What she does is none of your business, pal," the burly balding man behind the counter said to the other man. "If she wants to come here, she has rights you know." "She's been corrupted and probably by here!", the man in the blue jacket yelled. Baran looked up. "I'm asking you not to deal with her until she's back in her right mind!" "That's enough," the counter man said calmly. "Leave before you're thrown out." "By you?," he seethed. "Harry...," the counter man called. A large muscle-bound man in a business suit, appeared in the doorway to his left. Harry looked at the blue-jacketed man in a menacing way. Knowing he couldn't fight Harry, he left without a word. Counter man then said something to Harry, who dissapeared back through the doorway he'd appeared from. Deciding that the blonde-haired blue-jacketed man was the friendliest there, Baran went out the door after him, intending to interrogate him about his location and the date. When Baran reached the outside, the dim street was empty except for windblown old newspapers. He took a right at a quick pace, continuing in his direction before entering the Olson's Video. It didn't take long for the sounds of the scuffle in the video store's alley to reach the ronin. The moment his bladed boots skidded to halt at the front of the alley, a sword was in his right hand. Harry pummeled the blue-jacketed man into the wall of the building opposite Olson's. The man hit the brick wall hard and doubled over as Harry drove his knee into the man's stomach. An overhead hammerfist then knocked him to his knees. Harry brought up a foot in the direction of the man's face. "Don't try it, buddy." Baran's face displayed rage as he pointed his blade at Harry who was ten feet down the alley. Annoyance was all Harry's face betrayed. He reached into his suit with his right hand, but that was as far as he got. Flames streaked from Baran's fireblade and engulfed Harry who had half-pulled out his pistol. Now he screamed in pain and fired off a few shots that went into the street. Not about to let this go any farther Baran swiftly moved in and plunged his sword through Harry's heart. His blood sizzled as he fell, leaving the alley again in silence. "Thank you...," the jacketed-man said, gasping for breath. "Harry?" Counter man emerged from Olson's side door, revolver in hand. Spinning around in a second, Baran whipped his sword across counter man's neck, leaving a gushing red horizontal slash. Counter man fired a shot into the wall and then clutched at his throat as he wheezed and died on the pavement. His revolver clattered out of his hand, the light from Harry's pyre glinting off its black gunmetal. "My names's Baran. What might yours be?" "Garcia," he replied quietly. His mind was trying to sort out all the violence. These people were much worse than he thought, more evil than he'd believed, and he prayed that this man who'd saved him wasn't one of them. "I take it you're not a cop." Garcia's voice was as calm and normal as he could manage. "No." "We'd better talk somewhere else. The fire's bound to attract somebody," he said, hoping that with these words, he'd soon be able to determine whose side this guy was on. "Where?" "This way." This guy's acting like either this is totally obvious and I'm ignorant or he doesn't know anymore than I do. They'd left the alley and taken a right when Baran felt it'd be a good place to interrupt. "What city is this?" "New York." Good god! This guy doesn't even now where the hell he is! "Someone left me here, and they never even revealed who they were. Is this north or south of the Arc Mountains?" "Do you mean the Appalachians? This is to the east of them. Are you Canadian by any chance?" Baran was totally lost! He made a split second descision. "Yes." "Do they not know much US geography up there?" Garcia opened his passenger side car door for Baran thinking that he'd better because this guy didn't seem the kind to run from. He'd also maybe saved his life. "No." Baran decided to get in, believing he could probably handle any deception if this man turned out to be like that. "Are there any USD establishments around here?" "What's the USD?" Garcia closed the door as he sat into the driver's seat. "Nevermind, it wasn't important." The car's engine started up. ----- In a sublevel below Relo, Krine readied himself to lift the dumbbell before him. Captain Carson and Raula Cruze, with red hair, were behind him in the training room. Even though Krine Cruze had been promoted to an officer ranking of 2nd Lieutenant after his recent Wasteland operation, time hadn't been found to augment him until recently, the reconstruction day after the Battle of Relo. This was only three hours after Krine's C.H.U. surgery. He gripped his hands on the bar and used all his strength, gritting his teeth. It was slowly lifted off the ground, and Krine had to growl under the strain as he brought it to shoulder level. With a burst of energy, he thrust it overhead, and it took all the endurance he could muster to set it down slowly. "Very good," Captain Carson said, recording something on his computer clipboard. "Your limit appears to be one-and-a-half tons." "Better than mine, dear," Raula said, being supportive. Krine's 1st Lieutenant wife had already been through this. Krine felt the right side of his face where underneath his skin his skull had been replaced with cybernetics. His skull's right side now provided him with all his new abilities, including tripled strength. "Are you sure it takes multiple weeks for this sensation to dissapear?" "It depends on the person, and that's only how long it takes to completely leave. It'll gradually vanish. OK now, for the second step of your training try to visualize your optical options in your mind's eye." After a few minutes, Krine succeded. "All you have to do is mentally select one from that list. Using 'See Aura' may require some more experience though. Well, that's all for now. You're free to go, but let me say one last thing. Many have made this mistake, but even though you've been molecularly strengthened to be able to survive a hit from an antitank weapon, you don't want to try it. DISMISSED!" ----- "Alright, let me get this straight. You're a Canadian soldier, and a stranger left you here because you were wounded. And you don't know more than I do about what just happened back at Olson's." "Yes." Garcia took a left at the intersection. "What was with those guys back there?" "They didn't want me looking out for my younger sister. Her name's Sheryl. She's been hanging out with a bad group, and tonight I found out how bad they were. I think she's gotten into witchcraft or some sort of evil thing. I bet she's their new recruit." "I'd like to help." "Don't you have some military thing to do?" "No, but I do need a place to stay. Can you suggest a good place that's not expensive?" "How much do you have?" "Nothing." "You can stay at my place but not forever." Garcia pulled his car into the parking garage and began ascending levels. He stopped in a spot on the fifth floor. I probably do need this guy's help, Garcia thought. If I can trust him tonight, I won't distrust him anymore. If I can't, I have a gun. "This is where I park. Don't worry. I live next door." Baran decided he could trust this guy. Shortly thereafter, they arrived at Garcia's apartment on the fifth floor. Both men entered and were greeted by a dark room with the smell of alcohol heavily in the air. Laying on a sofa in the room's right was a blonde-haired woman holding a bottle in her left arm that dangled over the couch's edge. She was quite asleep. "Don't wake her. Follow me." Garcia told Baran to "wait here" and then went through a door in the room's far right corner which was his bedroom. After handing him a sleeping bag and some cushions, he directed Baran to the kitchen which was through the doorway on the far left in the room they'd entered the apartment. ----- That night, in another part of the city, Laurence Masterson Richardson trudged along a sidewalk. Gloomy was the street he walked home on. It was also empty. A gleaming something in an alley to his right caught his attention. He took a quick glance down it as he walked by and abruptly stopped. A brightly shining medallion hung over the side of a trashcan, seemingly beckoning him. His hand loosened on his dull gray briefcase as his curiosity got the better of him, and he walked toward it. Held in his hand, the silverish disc illuminated his blue suit while he admired the artwork of the dragon on the unnaturally beautiful object. Laurence lifted it up, hung it around his neck, and turned back to the street. His mouth opened in silent scream as another mind merged with his own. He fell to his knees, dropping his briefcase. Everything seemed so clear to him now. His aimless lifestyle now had direction. Laurence rose to his feet and went out into the streets of New York, leaving his briefcase behind. ----- A gray-haired man pondered in the main chamber of his complex in the worst part of town. His silver-trimmed gray cloak flowed behind him as he paced by the podium on the pentagram. The cause of his pondering stood unilluminated by the candlelight which brightened the ancient tome on the podium. It stood there clicking its claws against the room's wall with the windows facing the city street. The cloaked man stopped by the podium and raised his head to the obscured figure. "Yes, I think we can work something out. I can only return you at the time when the energies are at their highest, but that time will be soon. In return, I only ask for vanquishment of some foes who should pose no threat to your might." Its black hooded-robe still concealed the pale face of the seven-foot figure. "Threat?" Hideous laughter escaped from its black razor teeth. Saliva formed in its mouth, remembering the flavor of the soul which had been hurtled back with it. ----- Baran slowly awoke. He figured he'd get no more sleep for someone had turned the room's lights on. That person was Sheryl. The fear on her face was surrounded by a mess of uncombed hair. She then realized he must be a friend of her brother's. "Who are you," her voice said disinterestedly. "I'm Baran, Sheryl." She turned and left, going into the bathroom which was between the doors to the kitchen and Garcia's bedroom. By the time he'd risen, Garcia entered and made breakfast for the two of them. "There doesn't seem to be enough room for her to live here." "She doesn't. She comes here when she's no other place. The couch folds out into a bed, but she obviously didn't or couldn't take the time to do that," he said grimly. The TV played the morning news as the two of them sat eating eggs at the kitchen table. Baran's cushions, along with his swords, were shoved to one side of the room. "Last night the big apple got another worm," the anchorman reported. "A spree of mass destruction hit three locations and each piled the bodies high. As of this morning, the police reported the body count to be 53. The property damage has yet to be determined. Witnesses identified the attackers as monsters, and different descriptions were made for each hit. This is just the sort of thing the Halloween season doesn't need. Allegations have been made that an evil-fearing anti-Halloween group sponsored these attacks, since this is just the sort of thing they say Halloween inspires. Here are the three ludicrous descriptions given by an obviously horrified into shock group of individuals." Baran almost spit out his coffee when he saw the artist renderings. He was no demonology expert, but he could recognize the demons of D-36 when he saw them. Sheryl, cleaned up, left the bathroom and headed for the door. "Where are you going today?" her brother asked. "Tonight we're going to be shown what gives us our power. Everyone's going to be there." She turned towards the door and opened it. "May I join you?" Baran asked. "Meet me in the street below at ten." She exited and closed the door behind her. "What are you doing?!", Garcia demanded worriedly. "Finding out what's going on. I said I'd help." "They might do something horrible to you." "Everthing has risk." "Thank you. I hope I can repay you for the risk you're taking." "You're welcome." ----- The battalion was in position within the boundaries of the Star Nexus. Krine's troop's were ready and waiting for the recon group to report from the only nearby town which was but 50 miles from the epicenter of the disturbance's area. Fly overs of the site discovered it to be a blasted and blackened landscape sixty miles wide. It was blasted down to the bedrock. The USD now knew the results of the disturbance. Now they needed to know the cause. The other two companies of the battalion were spread out in order to provide a perimeter with a 12 mile radius around the brutan community. Krine sat in his Raidar X waiting for a report from the recon group which was formed from troops of his company. The late October's afternoon sun beat down on them while analysis of the devastated land were being done. The rest of the battalion waited, watching the second sun come out from behind the first as the day wore on. ----- Baran stood on the sidewalk by Garcia's apartment building. A street lamp was overhead him, illuminating him in the darkness of the night. His thoughts were of what he'd learned that day and what he would learn tonight. This was Earth. This was New York of the USA, and he was actually here, perhaps over four centuries in the past and not even in his home dimension. The time was now 9:59 PM. Sheryl would be here soon. At least he hoped she would be. As if in response to his hopes, he saw a woman approaching from his left when he turned from looking out into the uncrowded street. It was Sheryl draped in a gray overcoat. Baran's own clothing was the same although washed blue-gray uniform-style shirt and cloak that concealed the swords on his back in addition to keeping out the night chill. She came to stand before him. From within the overcoat's hood came breath visible in the coldness. "I see you came," she stated. "Follow me." "How's your faith, Baran?" Sheryl asked once they were on their way. "Stro.., Faith in what?" "Faith in the Prince. The Lord of the Night." Baran hesitated, and Sheryl switched to a new line of questioning. "Why do you come to us?" "I'm searching for a cause," he lied. "Well then, you'd better join ours. It's the only one worthwhile. We're the only ones with true power. You'll see when we get there." Shortly thereafter, they arrived at large and dark building. Sheryl exchanged a word with the guard, and they were in. "We're going to the chamber below. That's where the congregation is." Baran felt an oppresive feeling begin to crush him. Bad karma, he muttered unheard. A door to the stairs was ahead at the end of the hall, and Baran noticed that the karma only got worse as it got closer. After descending four flights of stairs, they entered the chamber from the wall behind the twenty or thirty people standing before the man with the podium. Symbols, banners, and generally unfriendly looking objects adorned the chamber which was just the right size to accomodate the group. Sheryl led Baran into the midst of the unholy group. "That's Olson," she informed him, referring to the leader behind the podium. Gray hair framed his indominitalbe expression. His silver-trimmed gray robe didn't react to a single movement he made during his speech. "Tonight we have a guest," Olson told them, "a friend of the Prince. He's here because of a severe accident. Tommorow night will be a test of our faith. We're going to prove ourselves by returning him to his land. I here him coming now." From behind Olson's left on the raised speaker's platform, a seven-foot black-robed figure emerged from the darkness. Everyone in attendance kneeled, including Baran with assistance from his escort. "The Prince shall look favorably upon you all for your faith. In fact, by the next sunset, all those who oppose you may be dead. When I'm returned to where my followers called me, you'll be held in honor by them." If there's any chance that's Arcanar, it'll be me who's going back, Baran decided. "This will make heroes of you all. I'll be back when the sun next sets." The Rocor then merged with the darkness in the very spot it stood. It went in search of its guard, satisfied with Olson's group and with its own lies. It had a few guesses as to who their prince might be, but it also knew he had no connection with its universe known as D-36 by the USD. The souls of Olson's group were very tasty, unfortunately it needed them alive. At that point, it realized that one of them was the soul it had travelled back with. Baran froze in place with absolute terror as the rest of Sheryl's group stood. He recognized the Rocor's presence in turn. Breaking out in a cold sweat, he rose to his feet, viewing the chamber through cloudy vision. He didn't hear what was being said. Baran didn't care. He'd realized that more than just his life depended on his actions in the next twenty-four hours. Despite this, there was nothing he could do to not notice how Sheryl looked at Olson like he was some sort of god. She held back nothing during her participation in the night's ritual. Baran faked his own participation with a subtlely disrepectful flair. After it was over, Sheryl said she was going to stay to make another attempt to see Olson alone. He noticed she seemed a little too anxcious to meet him. It took Baran about fifty wrong turns to get back to Garcia's place. ----- Elsewhere that night, Laurence Richardson walked through the streets as if in a haze. During the day, he'd quit his job at the paper and made adjustments for a day job as a security guard. Dressed in the same style suit he'd worn the previous night, Laurence walked towards a horrendous racket around the corner to his right. A shining medallion hung around his neck by a chain, replacing a tie. Around the corner, among the burnt out looking blackened buildings was a small general store. Standing on the sidewalk before the store's shattered entrance and illuminated by it's lights was a thirteen foot tall monstrosity. Humanoid in form, four tentacles writhed out of its rancid dark flesh from behind both shoulders. A woman screamed as she was impaled upon the thigh spikes above its knobby knees. Laying dead across the counter with a thirteen foot long tentacle through his chest and a gun in his hand was a man who had most likely been the shop's proprietor. Wails of grief echoed from within store from the people huddled against the back wall. "Kill it," whispered a voice inside Laurence's head. Simultaneously, his form began to shift. His height grew while reptillian wings sprouted from his back. Richardson's arms grew green, muscled, and clawed, and his face twisted into a bull-horned gargoyle-fanged attrocity. Back-swept webbed spikes replaced where ears may have been, and gleaming bladed half-plate covered his body. "Bring it down, Dragonblade," the voice spoke. Sparks showered from elbow, forearm, wrist, fist, and knee razors against pavement as the Dragonblade's wings lifted his ten-foot body off the street corner. The fiend's head turned as it noticed the shining warrior headed towards it. A stream of fire came at him from the fiend, but the armored warrior resisted the magic, causing the flames to burn past him impotently. Spikes flew from its thighs only to bounce off the Dragonblade's armor while he outstretched his arms, and the wrist razors flipped out into blades the size of swords. The fiend tried again to kill its assailant, this time by causing a blazing inferno to ignite over a 120 foot area, but the medallion had already set up numerous magical defenses, one of which making the Dragonblade impervious to fire. The fiend gaped and dodged from the warrior who hurtled out of the flaming area, swords at ready. Slime spewed from its dripping mouth as it was sliced by the Dragonblade's flyby. The impaled woman was knocked from its thigh spikes from the attack's force. By the time she hit the sidewalk, the demon was dashing for the dark building to the shop's right while the lithe form of the Dragonblade looped around in flight and came back at him. His swords missed their mark, driving themselves into the sidewalk as the fiend battered its way into the building's entrance with a side effect of masonsry spraying into the street. The Dragonblade wrenched its blades from the pavement just as it looked up to see a fistsize ball of twisting cutting edges come from the demon's makeshift entrance into his shoulder, opening an agonizing gash. Fighting off the pain of the black magic, he rushed in after his prey. The fiend's slime-dripping maw came out of the darkness right for his head. An uppercut from an elbow razor knocked away the biting attack and slit a gash across the fiend's throat, forcing it to retreat up the stairs of the dilapidated structure. As they ran full speed up the steps, the demon's black bolt slammed into the Dragonblade's chest, but he defeated the magical instant death effect and sped up his pursuit by lunging upon the fiend and bringing it down. The fiend repsonded with the full fury of D-36. Eight tentacles wrapped around the altered from of Laurence Richardson. They cut off circulation and respiration, squeezing away the Dragonblade's life. A clawed fist smashed into his chestplate. The other demon claw reached around the armor and began severing his shoulder. Then the Dragonblade retaliated. His right sword punch came across the demon's head with a powered charge that sapped away most of the Dragonblade's strength. Sirens went unheard on the other side of their indoor battlefield. The attack's power spun their flailing forms against wall, smashing it open. Dragonblade lifted his left arm, keeping the sword aimed at the fiend who was underneath him, its uppertorso hanging out of the building's third floor. He drove the blade down through the demon's chest. Screaming, the fiend's oozing blood dripped from the blade's tip to the street below, on the side opposite the burning one. The medallion coerced him to pull him and his foe back inside before collapsing. A teleport spell sprang into readiness within the Disc of Dragons as its bearer regenerated, and the D-36 Fiend crumbled to dust. ----- Jake and Razner walked through the pathways of the low-tech brutan town. Carla had taken a different path temporarily. The large and burly humanoids that inhabited it were reknowned for their strength and endurance although their intelligence was usually less than exemplerary. A fully armed squadron under Sergeant Jake's command was just on the outskirts of town should they need help, but so far nothing looked like that would be nescessary. They'd also learned nothing so far. Since their squadron would be able to detect the approach of almost any hostile force or creatures, both were unarmed and unarmored, at least apparently. Under Jake's blue, black, and white jacket and clothes was a repulsar vest which usually repelled gunfire among other attacks with its danger-activated gravitic field. Razner wore nothing but his red USD uniform with white markings and sunglasses. His red irises made him look like a dampire, so it was best for them to be concealed lest the brutans run in terror. Being a Saint, he was always armed and could summon his Cloth armor without a second thought. Razner could almost physically feel the intensified magical power of the Star Nexus blowing around his blonde hair with their ley line energy of which it was a crossroads for. Carla wore red also, though it wasn't a uniform. Her nuclear psionics were all the equipment she required, leaving Jake to be the worst off among the three. However, all three carried some small things in common, a communicator and a language translator. Brutan was only popular among brutans. The brutans were particularly tight lipped about anything on the subject of the previous night's explosion as well as on the Empire. As result, Jake assumed there was a connection. The crowd on the path backed away in apparent respect for a huge brutan male's approach. He was dressed in razormaw fur and therefore seemed to be the obvious leader. That particular beast was capable of biting through taelon armor plating. "We know nothing about what you want! Leave us in peace!" "You're lying," Jake said simply. "There's no way you couldn't have noticed the explosion which your people already admitted there was. Tell us exactly what happened, and we will leave." "We only heard it." "Yeah right. Somebody here saw it. Probably all of you. Now spill your guts or do I have spill them for you." Jake ground his fist into his palm. "If you don't leave now, we'll have the Empire destroy you!" Razner, behind Jake's left, muttered, "This guy's losing it, man." "He just lost," Jake said back. "Fine, if you can survive me one on one, we'll give you what's coming to you." Jake turned to Ranzer, "Well, there's a nice proposition." "I'm impressed. These translators really have all their expressions down good." Everyone moved back to give room for Jake versus the brutan leader. The Jackhammer realized the guy never told him his name. Actually, there never was an actual exchange of names. Jake turned off his repulsar vest. It could've been considered cheating. The brutan came in with a right prepared to throw, and throw it he did. The blow was so well placed Jake couldn't even make a decent block before it hit him between the eyes and knocked him off his feet. Jake sprang to his feet in time to be hit by a left in his right kidney. He staggered back and got kicked in the face. Another kick came, but this time Jake caught the foot with both hands. A crack broke above the decibel level. He snapped the leg into an angle it obviously wasn't supposed to be in. Jake shoved him back, but brutan man set down his broken limb and retained his balance. Jake hit him with a left in the chest and then with a right and two more of the same. Bending down his right leg slowly, the Jackhammer shot his right fist up and drove it into brutan man's chin. A flesh rending sound and blood sprayed over the dirt as the brutan's head landed twenty-five feet behind him. The body collapsed backward with just a twist to its right on its fractured leg. Razner grimaced in disgust. Jake's curse at the decapitated town leader couldn't be overheard. He switched the vest back on. Jake was feeling his own feelings of disgust, but the majority of them were aimed at himself. He hadn't meant to the kill the brutan. Looking at his bloodied fist, he felt something that he'd rarely felt before: remorse. There wasn't time to worry about now though. They had a mission to accomplish. "Anybody want more of the same! Or do we get some answers?" Jake was already healing from the fight due to his "healing touch" power mastered during his Tir training as a youth. To any onlookers, it simply looked as if he clutched his chest with pain. Nobody did want more of the same. They got their answers. The explosion was of blue fire that went up for miles, and the Empire was the cause. They'd practiced summonings before, and last night, a night of peak ley line energy, was one of their favorite times to do just that. Although the brutans didn't say it that way in such technical terms. In fact, it took a few hours for the facts to be picked from what they had said. Later that day, the USD forces discovered the town to be a major distribution point for ECS drugs, a genuine black market. It was rotten the core, a flea market of death. ----- The Rocor's blood-hued eyes shot wide open. "My fiend," it hissed. Hissing a demonic name, its juggernaut appeared. Olson's top floor chamber was sort of adequate for the enviroment the Rocor required. Unholy symbology and items adorned the wall along with the skins and blood of sacrifices. Some were human. The D-36 Juggernaut looked like a demonic football player. Nine feet tall with six foot wide shoulders, its putrid black-crimson flesh covered it from its wide bald human-like head to its four-toed feet. Gripped in its behemoth right fist was a seven-foot hell mace which was also black and looked like a meat tenderizer. With another hiss from the Rocor, a black haired human-looking figure appeared by the juggernaut's side, but its red eyes signified it be something other than human. Both demons vanished in search of the fiend's slayer. It then sent for Olson who had to send away some adorable worshipper girl. "There was a newcomer among your people," asked the Rocor. "Yes, there was." "Find him, and kill him. Bring his body to me." Its long black nails clicked together unnervingly. The dusty white flesh of its hands seemed to age in the dim light. "I remember who he was with as well." Olson smiled. Finding this man is as good as done, he thought. ----- On the next night, Baran left Garcia's at 8:30 after saying his final goodbyes. Sheryl never did come back. Garcia wasn't surprised. It was his place after all. Baran left early in order to sample some of the city's night life. He'd already spent all day wandering around. I'll crash the ceremony just before midnight, he'd decided. Before leaving he'd told Garcia, "This is my final farewell, but I believe Sheryl's problems will be taken care of by the time I'm gone. Goodbye." They'd parted on good terms, but now it was time to see if his assuring words to him would hold true or not. 11:50 PM, Baran sat atop Olson's place. The ceremony was to be held in the top floor, in the room underneath the skylight he was now beside. All I can do is leap down at what looks like an important moment, Baran concluded. I might be able to be sent back with that Rocor, or maybe I could kill it and force Olson to continue the ritual. Damn them. I wish I had some magical weapons that could hurt those demons. I hope they're not all there. Wishful thinking. The skylight opened to allow the light of the full moon in without any barriers. Baran leaned close to hear better. If he was lucky he could leap down at the moment of dimensional-temporal teleportation. ----- Knock, Knock. "Yes?" "Mr. Garcia, we have a package for one by the name of Baran. Is he in?" "No, and he won't be." "If you could open the door, we can just leave this package with you. We don't know any other address he's at." "Sorry, the door's stuck. I didn't really know him that well anyway." Garcia was very glad he'd put his pistol under his belt above his rear pocket before answering. Gunshots blasted away the suspenseful silence. One bullet pierced the door, drilling into his left shoulder. The other nailed Garcia in the right side of his torso. He fell back, screaming in agony and pulling out his .45. He rapid-fired through the door just as the lock was blown off, and it began to open. On the other side, one man screamed, one man cursed. The door swung open, and the hood aimed the gun down at Garcia who opened fire and shot him in the nose before he could pull the trigger. Garcia pulled himself over to the phone and dialed 911. When the door swung open all the way, he could see the man who screamed's body sitting against the blood smeared wall in the hallway. ----- "The spell is cast," Olson spoke to his exhausted followers. He'd drained their energy by much for the ritual to work. They stood around a fourteen-foot wide pentagram with the Rocor in the center, and Olson stood behind a podium holding a large tome made readable by candelight. A dark-haired man joined his master at the pentagram's center. "All we have to do is wait for midnight." It was 11:58 PM. Sheryl took a swig from her bottle. The skylight began closing, and Baran reacted. A sudden shatter broke any concentration they might have been maintaining. Amidst a shower of shards, Baran stood from a kneeling where he'd falled between the floor's symbol and Olson. "He's not dead!", the Rocor bellowed angrily. "Kill him," it commanded its fellow demon as Baran pointed a fireblade at Olson who cowered against the wall. Sheryl began a charge the moment Baran lifted his sword in Olson's direction. "Nooooo!" Baran turned to face her the moment her bottle shattered over his head. He staggered dazedly, and punched her out cold. He barely managed to draw his other fireblade in time to defend against the dampire that'd sprouted batwings in mid-charge. The light from its glowing red eyes reflected off a stiletto-toothed mouth. It attacked with a right undercut while a bloodsucking horn emerged from its forerm simultaneously. Baran parried easily, and returned a hack which left a slash across its face. I hurt it! Either my swords are magic, or this place doesn't follow the rules, Baran thought as a great feeling rushed to his head. He stabbed forward piercing its chest. In return, the dampire did a black flip and held out its right hand, releasing slivers of darkness that stabbed into him and left him with a numbing feeling which he barely fought off before it consumed him. Baran leaped at it and brought down both swords upon it, slicing nearly a foot into each of the demon's shoulder. Then it was his turn to scream. The dampire's forearm horn punctured his chest and stabbed into his heart. By the time he landed, the horn began sucking. A sadistic grin formed on its face, and it laughed. Knowing it was the end, Baran knew he had to make every second count. He aimed a fireblade at Olson and fired. He and his tome burst into flames. Running, screaming, banging into the walls, praying for mercy, none of it helped him as the flames consumed his flesh. As it seemed he had time for revenge, Baran hacked at the dampire, half-cutting its head off with a right swing, and plunging his left fireblade into its chest, pushing himself away from its hideous form. Looking down at the wound, he saw a golden shimmer amongst the blood. The pain was virtually unfeelable. It didn't feel like he was dying. What the hell!? "I'm not dead!", Baran pointed and laughed at the demon as it leaped. "Who said you were alive?! Ahhhhhhhh!" Diving it aimed its right horn and attacked. Terrifying comprehension ran through Baran's mind. "Nooooooo!" He returned in kind with a double-sword slice. Dead guards lay at the entrance to Olson's complex. More lay dead throughout the halls. At the final door to the hallway leading to the ritual room, two gaurds dropped silently, chopped apart. The doors were flung open, and the juggernaut standing in front of the door leading to Olson's chamber stared down the Dragonblade and charged. As it attempted a battlecry, no sound came, and then it stopped so suddenly that the mace flew from its grip. The Disc of Dragons pulsated with power. The juggernaut screamed silently as it tried to pull its feet free from the floor. It looked up just as the Dragonblade's flyby lopped off its head. Baran's swords came to halt at the moment the dampire's head hit the floor. Got to get to the circle, he thought desperately. The internal window above the complex's door to Olson's chamber exploded. Out of it sprang the Dragonblade. The Rocor arched its back and wailed in agony as its eyes noticed the two silvery blades the size of two-handed swords that'd emerged from its chest. The force knocked it from the symbol, scattering the worshippers. Baran flung himself into the empty pentagram. He watched as what appeared to be an armored monster warrior rip its blades upwards out of the Rocor that flailed helplessly releasing breath that dropped four worshippers dead. There was a flash, and Baran saw nothing. ----- Smoke cleared as Emperialist war machines burned out after their battle with Krine's troops. From his Raidar X, Krine saw a blue-gold beam shoot from the sky down upon the blast site's center. The battalion moved out. Krine's Raidar X looked into the crater in a land that was a crater. There, the golden radiance shone. A bright blast flew forth from the glow and through the Raidar X. Then the light was gone. The image of a human figure he'd seen before the light left was seared into his mind. "Dear God...." A radiant beam blasted through Relo into the catacombs beneath. Then it was gone without a trace of it ever having passed through the city walls. Deep in the catacombs, a body in blue-gray attire shuddered. Baran was alive. The End Acknowledgements: This time I only have to say that the Raidar X is from Robotech! Everything else is original.