Spilled Ink

by Fiddlove Enfemme

17 - Remembered

Author's Note:

Content warning WRT violence, firearms, references to torture, demonic rituals, and death.

You have been warned.

"Hey, dude? You listening?"

I jerked my head up. Somehow I'd fallen asleep. I looked around, and breathed a sigh of relief. We were in our stolen Ranger model transport vehicle, driving through the night. The headlights pierced the darkness, illuminating fat drops of rain ahead of us. To my left was Knight, a map spread over his lap, shining a dull flashlight on it. I recognised it as the one he'd stolen from the CO's quarters, when we'd left.

"Sorry, I nodded off." I apologised as I rubbed my eyes.

Knight smiled, but there wasn't any joy behind it. "Well, when you're absent without leave in a stolen military vehicle, driving west day after day, things get a little dull, don't they?"

In other circumstances, I might have found that humourous. But right now, after all the things that had been going on, I was tired in more ways than one. All I wanted was to stop and rest, but we couldn't risk that right now.

About a week ago, Zimmerman had heard something while he was on ration duty in the Green Zone. Two officers speaking in an urgent, hushed tone, about the new directives from the Ministry of Military Command. Or rather, the only directive the Keleseth Guard had received since the Day of Reckoning. That's what everyone called the day, six months ago, when the world had been bathed in radioactive fire. Maintain Order by any means necessary, was the last thing they'd heard from Command before it was vapourised in a nuclear detonation.

Before the DoR, the Keleseth Guard had been entangled by intense fighting overseas, in Kirma. Only within the last year had they been cycled away from the front, sent back to the mainland for a year to recover strength. I'd been promised that once I was back home, I could get my release papers and finally get on with my life, instead of continuing to suffer for a rash decision I'd made four years ago.

But then the DoR happened. The Keleseth Guard deployed to the eastern city of Dormus to keep the peace, to quell the inevitable food riots, to "Maintain Order". And freedom was snatched away from me once again, for me to be consigned to the endless piles of dead men and women from the Union's incessant wars.

"Pretty much every major city got fucked; one bomb each for the downtown cores, government buildings, major military installations. Minor cities like Dormus got spared, but as we saw back there, refugees from the big cities would flock there." Knight explained to me, but I wasn't listening that closely.

The guy in the front seat, Lavalley, casually looked back to us and said "That's exactly why I suggested getting close to one of the big cities, the brass won't be able to come after us there."

"But that's stupid, we'd get exposed to radiation and mutate into horrible creatures," Williams, our driver, muttered.

"Radiation doesn't work like that." said Zimmerman, who manned the turret between myself and Knight. "It'll give you cancer, then you'll die slowly and painfully as your tumours grow out of control, and your tissues eventually die off and peel away."

"But eyeballs in your bellybutton would be a bit more interesting, eh?" Lavalley chuckled, adjusting the empty lens frames he wore. He said they made him look cooler.

"Man, if it got that bad for anyone I'd put them out of their misery." Zimmerman sighed.

I motioned for Knight to pass me the map. He obliged, lending me the flashlight. The map covered the whole Union, from Serglan in the west to Cilvitt in the east. I looked over it until I found my hometown, a city that straddled the Keleseth River: Ostenbury. A red circle had been drawn around it, as well as some rough lines leading away from it. They followed the curvature of the land, illustrating how the radioactive fallout would have settled over the heartlands. Almost the entire region would be affected in some way.

Except for the Hills of Lorne, as they were called. Lorne was a slightly higher elevation than its surroundigns, remnants from old tectonic activity. The rocky terrain offered no suitable land to build on, and it lacked accessible deposits of minerals. The only thing worthwhile there was forestry, though even that was more easily sourced elsewhere. Deep beneath it was an aquifer, though it was considerably deeper than the main regional aquifer. But why exactly did it matter? To me, specifically.

Because my grandparents lived there. The Hills of Lorne were a few hours drive away from Ostenbury, the city limits ending just before the terrain started to get rocky. A small town called Billsborough was the closest landmark to their property, though the actual access was still a ways away. That's where we were headed, to get away from all the madness out east. Only, we were currently several hundred kilometres in the wrong direction. Funny, that.

---

We finally stopped for the night after a few hours of driving, when Williams couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. The rest of us could drive just as well as he could, but the Ranger was his baby. Just like how Zimmerman lovingly cared for his .50 cal MG, Williams doted on the Ranger. The two of them had been driver and gunner since before the unit had gone to Kirma, thick as thieves. Knight and I were like that. Same squad, same training platoon, even went to the same high school, but we weren't quite friends back then.

In the morning, Lavalley had the chem burner going to heat up our rations. It was one of those things that generated heat through a chemical reaction, without giving off a visible flame. Still showed up on IR, and we still called it a "burner", but it was better than eating the rations cold.

"Hey, Arch, fancy a bite?" Lavalley asked me while I was cleaning my rifle.

"What's on?" I asked back.

Lavalley shrugged and inspected up the plastic wrapper from the ration pack. "Uh, what do you want?"

I smirked and answered "Crab Rangoon, with cheese biscuits."

"Fresh outta that! We got Fish Cakes, that good enough?" Lavalley laughed.

"Fuck." I cursed comically, but nodded in acceptance.

He brought over the warmed and vacuum sealed pack of Fish Cakes, inserted into a cardboard sleeve for easy handling. I accepted it graciously, took out my trusty soldier's spork, and tore open the food bag. The stuff inside wasn't appealing, and may not have been real fish, but it was designed to last long. Better than eating roots and berries.

Still woulda killed for a good pizza. Hell, back in Kirma, I nearly did.

After our rest was over, we were right back to driving. Knight had this little brick of a music player that he'd carried everywhere in his service. Tiny thing didn't have much storage space, but it was pretty damned robust. Sometimes he plugged it into the Ranger, played a song for us. It wasn't quite my kinda thing, but he liked it, so we tolerated it. Right now he was playing some old Blues number, with a quartet of mournful singers going on about lost love. Somehow I couldn't help but imagine they were actually singing about our destroyed world.

So we drove, and we drove, and we drove. Williams kept a close eye on the fuel gauge. Always did. A few stations we'd passed had enough for us to limp on to the next station, but we'd noticed a funny thing with the gas stations. They attracted people. And people were trouble. One station might have a small colony of people around it, trading with travelers, but stay too long and you'd discover the hard way that they ate human flesh on the weekends. Compared to that place, I almost welcomed the ones that would just shoot on sight.

Through the nights, we had a system in place. Standard watch rotation, with the five of us we divided the night into segments of about 2 hours. Right now, night only lasted 7 hours, so four of us would do the watch while the last rested the whole night through. The person with the final watch was in charge of food prep, in exchange for being responsible for fewer night hours. If you were resting, then the next night you'd take the first watch. It was as fair as it could be made.

After all, it was Knight's idea. Chivalrous bugger.

Whenever we stopped to camp, any extra time we had would be devoted to maintenance. The Ranger, the .50, our own rifles, looking over the fittings for our tent. Zimmerman had a standing offer where he'd do any sewing we needed in exchange for us doing over his rifle. He was a whizz at it, not to mention he much preferred the .50 to any other weapon the Army had on offer.

But... even as Williams was preparing this evening's campfire, I was restless. My weapon was clean like new, cleaner than it had probably ever been since the poor bastard before me had his grubby paws on it. I didn't have any reason to do more to it, but I wiped down the insides out of habit, searching the bolt assembly for cracking or denting, feeling for corrosion in the chamber, peering down the detached barrel to spot any specs of dirt.

Eventually, I found myself doing what I always did. Sitting on the ground, back to something sturdy, rifle across my lap, watching. Right now, the sturdiest thing around was the front tire of the Ranger. It wasn't an active task, but it required your full attention, seeing all and trying to understand all.

"So, back to it, eh?"

I knew right away who it was. I got halfway to a smile before my frustrations took over. Knight, steadfast companion as always, was sitting on the hood of the Ranger just to my back right. I nodded with a sigh.

"It's all so bleak, isn't it?" I muttered.

"Maybe," Knight replied. "We don't know for sure yet."

Williams, the fire now going strong, turned to look at Knight and said "Get off the bonnet, I gotta look at the engine."

"You always look at the engine." Lavalley pointed out as he puffed on a cigarette. He was lounging near the fire.

"Key words, preventative maintenance. Archer gets it, don't you Arch?"

I nodded. "Gear in good repair, is gear in good order." I said, quoting the old sergeant.

Knight obliged Williams, hopping off to lean against the Ranger beside me. Willie, dedicated as ever, popped the hood to peek at the innards. "She's gotta get us all the way to Billsborough, and she won't if the cylinders get blown out. I don't fancy having to hoof all our crap, so don't sass me on this."

"You really think we'll get that far?" Lavalley asked.

"We gotta. The Guard might come looking if we're too close to Dormus." Zimmerman said. He would be on watch soon, so he was currently heating up a cup of that horrible coffee substitute they issued with the patrol rations. Somehow he was the only one of us who could stomach it.

"But what if we don't?" I asked quietly.

Everyone went silent, even Williams who paused his engine check. Knight broke the silence after an unusually tense moment. "Then we won't. No use thinking about that, though. Eyes on the prize, remember?"

"No matter how you cut it, things are going to be hard. Civilisation has crumbled, what's left of the military is enforcing martial law, the environment is breaking down, and to top it all off, we're deserting. We get caught, it's gonna be the firing line for us." Williams said, in his usual blunt way.

"But it's also looking up. Lorne might not be too bad, once we get there. We've been running into fewer bandits as we go west, and into more helpful sorts. Most folks are just tryin'a get by out here, so if we help them out they might help us out." Zimmerman responded.

I sighed. "Even so, who's to say we weren't better off in Dormus, with the unit?"

"The CO was looking to make that place a dictatorship, with him at the top. He was a gloryhound even before the war in Kirma, and I doubt the end of the world will make him change his ways."

"Allegedly," Lavalley tried to point out.

Zimmerman crossed his arms. "I know what I heard. We made the only right move."

Knight looked over at me with a concerned frown. "What's with all the defeatist talk these days, Liam? It's not like you."

I knew what he was talking about. It was a side-effect of me trying to hide my emotions from myself. When I did that, I started to get pessimistic. It wasn't right to curse them because I wasn't taking care of myself. It seemed so easy, but did I have the courage to do it?

I shrugged. "It's complicated. I understand everything you're saying, but none of it feels right, you know? Everything's gone to shit, we're on our last legs, and we never know what's coming up on the horizon. It feels like nothing's gonna get better, not for a long time. All the stuff we used to know, I used to know, is broken on the floor."

There were some understanding nods from the others. Knight looked up at the sky, thinking.

"I suppose so. But, they say that for every door closed by fate, another one is opened by opportunity." Knight smiled. He pointed to the sky, and I saw that the cloud cover had lifted, showing a blanket of glittering stars.

As a kid, I'd always been fascinated by the stars. I wanted to know everything about them, they enchanted me so thoroughly. I dreamed that someday I might get up there and see them myself. Of course, that dream wasn't going to come true. Not anymore.

But, even the depths of my personal repression couldn't stop me from cracking a small smile at seeing them again. I felt like a kid again.

Just then, Zimmerman took off his rucksack and rustled around inside it. a moment later he threw something into my lap. I grabbed it instinctively, and feeling the foil that wrapped it, I looked closer, puzzled.

It was a chocolate bar. Prince's, it was called. Luxury chocolate, one of the only good things they ever put in our rations. Only one of every 100 or so got one.

"Where'd you get this?" I asked, astonished. "The ration packs were picked clean, there weren't any left!"

Zimmerman pursed his lips and shrugged dismissively. "May or may not have knicked it from the CO's tent. Among other things."

"You little devil, that's a shooting charge!" Lavalley laughed.

"Can't shoot him twice!" Williams added, laughing as well.

"I can keep this?" I asked Zimmerman.

He nodded with a small smile. Looking between everyone, I eagerly broke open the foil, revealing the smooth chocolate inside. Prince's had little malt balls and air pockets dotted inside it, making for a unique experience. Soldiers universally loved it. I would have happily eaten the whole thing, but I stopped. That just wouldn't be fair.

So instead, I broke the bar into 5 pieces. Each one was only an inch long, but I offered them to the others. They accepted graciously, and together we shared the sweet moment.

If only it wasn't our last.

---

Rain. It was inescapable. It came down like a monsoon, lightning striking like the wrath of the gods in the distance.

The wipers were working overtime, and we could barely hear anything in the car over the sound of rain hitting the roof. Zimmerman had retreated from his usual post on the MG, and was sitting on the floor of the Ranger, below the closed turret hatch.

Somehow we'd gotten onto some god forsaken side road, unpaved, and full of potholes. I tried in vain to look out of the windows, but there wasn't much to see in the darkness except countryside lit by infrequent flashes.

"You said this was a shortcut?" Williams asked loudly.

"I may have read the map wrong!" Knight said, straining to be heard over the torrent outside.

Without warning, Williams swerved the Ranger to the side. The Ranger shuddered to a stop with a sickening thud as something hit the front right wheel-well. Lavalley was almost thrown from his seat, and Knight glanced at me worriedly. Williams threw open his door and almost leapt outside, rushing to see the extend of the damage. The rest of us quickly put our rain covers on, piled out to see if we could help.

Williams was just standing there, looking down at the front tire. "Shit." Knight muttered. Zimmerman took one look at it, and went back into the Ranger to fetch the toolbox and our spare. Lavalley, however, knelt down in the mud to touch something.

When I saw it, my blood ran cold. At first I'd thought it was a large pothole that buggered up the tire, but this was no pothole. It was a spike mat, the kind used by cops to block roadways in car chases.

"Two and a half inch spikes, right into the tire. Thing's gone flat, and the mat's all jammed up on the axle. " Lavalley reported. Williams just continued to stand there and stare.

I knelt down beside Lavalley, inspecting it for myself. The spikes were common wood-working nails, hammered through a rubber strip that was about half a foot wide at intervals of 1 square inch, though it was long enough that both tires of a vehicle would easily be punctured.

"Good thing you managed to swerve," I said to Williams. "We'd have lost both front tires otherwise."

Knight, however, had moved away from the Ranger, casting about in the darkness for something. "That thing was laid intentionally." he reported after inspecting the area.

"We're in hostile territory, then." I sighed.

"I've got eyes on a collection of lights roughly north of us. Looks like it could be a village." Knight added.

"Try and figure out where we are. We might have to chance going there." I ordered, taking charge of the situation. Knight nodded, and immediately got to work.

Zimmerman plopped down the toolbox beside the punctured wheel, and Lavalley instantly started work of loosening the nuts. Zimmerman stuck the car jack in, getting it off the ground.

I looked at Williams, who had now sunk to the ground, rain streaking down his face. Some of it might have been tears. We all knew how much the Ranger meant to him, how much responsibility rested on his shoulders. Without it, our chances of getting to Lorne were dramatically lowered. I grimaced, and established a perimetre. If we were in hostile territory, it was possible that there were assailants waiting for us just out of sight. I took my rifle from its sling, and shouldered it with much more purpose than I had in the last month. Right now, I was responsible for protecting them. I would not fail.

It wasn't long before Knight approached me, rifle over his back and map in hand. "We're just south of Arlus. It's small, barely a thousand people in the area."

Arlus. It was within a few days drive of Ostenbury, where an ancient monolith bridged the massive Keleseth River. Its construction and original purpose were forgotten by time, though in modern times it had been converted into a bridge. But, Ostenbury was smoking ash and rubble now, so we'd have to go north of it to find a minor crossing.

What mattered was we were close to Lorne now. It was within our grasp. All we had to do was navigate the radioactive mess that was now the Heartland.

I nodded at Knight in acknowledgement, then temporarily turned over the watch to him. I went back to the other three.

"Knight says we're near Arlus. We're getting close to our destination." I said to them.

Williams suddenly looked up, a spark of hope in his eyes. He wiped some of the rain from his face, and smiled. All he had to do was keep us going. I nodded to the Ranger, and Williams nodded his assent. He got up, and started back at work with the other two. Zimmerman exchanged a few words with him, then stood up and took over the watch from Knight.

A few tense minutes passed as Lavalley and Williams worked at it, but eventually Williams came up to me.

"It's gonna either take a proper shop, or a miracle to fix this." he said quietly. I almost didn't hear him.

"Keep trying." I urged him.

He shook his head, but weighed our options. "How far's the nearest village?"

"Knight spotted their lights, just north of us."

"That's our best bet, even if we're chancing a confrontation. They'll have help for us at best, or something we can liberate at worst." he said.

"So we're back to pillaging villages now?" Lavalley asked humourously.

"Can it, Lavs." I snapped. Now was not the time for smart-ass comments, even if they were accurate smart-ass comments. "Only if fired upon."

"Next thing you'll make a Soldier's card for us." Lavalley muttered, but I ignored him. Annoying as it could be, it was his way of dealing with a stressful situation, and it was far healthier than mine.

I racked my brain for a solution, but only one presented itself. I waved Knight over, and everyone quickly gathered round for a good-old "heart to heart" as they called it.

"Knight and I will scout the village, while the three of you keep trying to repair the Ranger. If you manage it, approach the village but do not enter. If you hear trouble, drop everything and assist." I instructed them. A round of nods answered me, and we split up.

Trudging carefully through the muddy plains, rifles ready, Knight and I left the Ranger behind.

Wordlessly, we picked our path across the sodden ground. We lit up our flashlights, the only way for us to see anything in this bloody downpour. Only trouble was that they were a massive bloody beacon for someone looking our way.

Seemed like we were walking through a farmer's field, recently tilled. That was promising, at least. A tilled field meant that someone had the care and knowledge to grow food. But that also meant that the tilled soil was easily churned into mud, threatening to mire us if we didn't step carefully. There was very little tree cover, what little there was were tiny copses of trees clustered around a small hill or mound that seemed like little islands in a wet, brown sea.

Eventually, we reached a little road that served as the field's access, dividing it into two parts. The way was easier on that packed dirt, so we made sure to stick to it as best we could. The worst part about our predicament? How god damned slow it was. At a steady pace we could have made it to the village within maybe 15 minutes, but the rain and mud made it three times that. But still, we trudged on.

The village, from what I could tell, was old. There were lots like that in the Heartland, dating back to the bevy of medieval city states and kingdoms that had risen there. Stone buildings and farmhouses, and an ancient road that was stronger and harder-wearing than pretty much any modern construction. The largest building in town was an old church, probably a relic from the days of Helmar worship.

Something about it seemed off. The streetlights were on, casting a faint glow over the road, which meant that someone cared enough to keep them in good repair, as well as supply power. But none of the houses had any sort of lights on, hiding any inside presence or movement. I tread carefully, and tucked close to a building as I peeked around its corner. Knight pulled close behind, ready to provide cover.

Parked in the middle of the street was an old beat-up farm truck. A streetlight illuminated it from above like it was a gift from Helmar. If I hadn't known better, I'd have rushed over to it.

But I knew a trap when I saw one.

Immediately, I began surveying the area, watching the rooftops, the spire of the village church, nearby windows. I'd even wager that there wasn't any fuel in the damn truck at all,

"Close up," I muttered to Knight. "We don't want to be caught in the open."

"Good spot a street back, defendable." he replied.

I nodded. "Lead the way, I've got your back."

Unconsciously, I thumbed the fire-selector switch to burst fire mode. I warily scanned the area around us as Knight started to move.

There. In the shadows across the road, something was moving. I slowly backed along the side of the house, following Knight's path. We weren't ready to engage, yet. Always engage the enemy on your own terms. Suspiciously, I looked back up at the church spire--

Immediately I dropped to the ground, as I heard a bullet impact the ground behind me, Knight following suit shortly after. The muzzle flash from the sniper up there had been unmistakable. I rolled to the side, out of the shooter's LOS, then rose to a crouch, rifle at the ready. Knight took up a similar position beside me, scanning the opposite direction.

Lights started to turn on all around ous. Shouting, of men and women, barking dogs. I heard a car engine stutter to life somewhere, roaring as the driver gunned it.

From inside one of the houses, a man charged out wielding some kind of hunting shotgun. He spotted us, shouted something that was lost in the rain, and pointed his gun our way. I effortlessly raised my rifle and sent a three-round burst at him, striking his legs and knocking him down. Knight fired at something as well, and shouted "House across the street! Inside, now!"

I ran first, firing a burst into the door lock and kicking it in. I quickly surveyed the room, spinning around to cover Knight. He sprinted across, and I fired a few bursts towards the church tower.

"How many?" I asked.

"Dozen, wearing robes. Maybe more. Hard to tell." Knight reported.

I nodded, and shut what was left of the door. I looked through a nearby window, into the street, where a bunch of robed people were now congregating. They had an assortment of weapons, some homemade, some military, some civilian hunter gear, but all of them were armed and probably angry.

"Behind us!" Knight shouted suddenly.

I ducked, and a woodcutting axe embedded itself into the wall where my head had just been. A large man lunged for my rifle, but I deftly drew my boot knife and stabbed his arm. He grunted and drew back, as another man pushed through the broken door. I unloaded a burst into both of them, as well as a third who threw something at Knight. More of them came in, and while I managed to hit a few of them, my heart sank as I heard the inevitable *click!* of an emptied magazine.

They managed to grab me, taking my rifle while heaving me bodily into the rain-soaked street. Knight was taken as well, and pressed up against a wall as I was roughly tied with ropes. I tried to resist, but my punches, kicks, and wild flailing did nothing to deter them.

When they finished, I fell to the ground, helpless. I could do nothing as I watched one of the robed men near Knight take a jagged, stained dagger, and raise it high above his head.

I could do nothing as the dagger plunged down into Knight's chest. He fell to the street limply, the last thing I saw before a heavy boot came down on my head, knocking me out cold...

...

---

...

---

...

---

...

...The next thing I knew was a splash of cold water on my face. I tried to wipe my eyes, but my hands were tied together. So were my feet. My body ached, and I could tell from the painful stings that I'd taken more than a few cuts and bruises.

A hooded man stood over me, holding a clay jar. He looked over me for a moment, and seeing my reaction, he turned around and left. I strained to look around, to try and figure out where I was, as he closed me in behind him.

I was inside a holding cell, in some sort of concrete room; a basement, maybe. The cold floor was rough and unforgiving, and a dim fluorescent tube flickered weakly on the ceiling above. All of my equipment had been stripped from me, leaving me with only my undershirt, uniform pants, and my ID Disc. I shifted around, trying to get some bloodflow going, even straining against my bindings to see if they were loose.

No dice. The rope was too tight, biting painfully into my wrists and ankles.

Somewhere close, a door creaked open. Heavy footsteps approached, and words were exchanged just out of sight. I couldn't hear what was said exactly, but by their tone, it concerned myself.

The hooded man returned, this time followed by two wearing similar vestments, and a third who was dressed quite differently. While the others wore dark robes, made of some kind of cotton, this third man wore a robe made from burlap.

The man in burlap, unlike his fellows, wore his hood down, revealing his face to me. He was clean-shaven, and his hair was trimmed close to his head. On his face he had a wry smile -- in any other circumstances it would have been endearing, but somehow it filled me with dread. The way he carried himself was charming, confident, even welcoming in an odd sort of way.

But even the prettiest face in the world couldn't mask what I saw, what I really saw. I saw a liar. I saw a cheat. I saw a corporate business man. I saw a scumbag recruiter who'd picked a grieving 18 year old kid out of a crowd and talked him into something he should never have agreed to. I saw an old man who'd started a war, sending countless young men and women to their deaths, all for the sake of making sure some imaginary number didn't stop going up.

He wasn't any of those people, but I knew the way he looked at me. He looked at me like I was an opportunity. Not as a person, but as something to be exploited. Before he even said a word, I had him pegged for what he truly was.

A cult leader.

"This one will suffice," the man in burlap smiled. "Thank you, Brothers and Sisters, you may leave for now."

The hooded figures, his acolytes, bowed their heads, and left the room. The man in burlap waited for the door to close behind them before stepping closer to my cell.

"Ah, you must be the young Corporal Archer. Do you mind if I call you Liam?" he asked, with a disingenuous amount of care.

"Go to hell." I muttered, and spat in his direction. It went wide.

The man in burlap frowned, and retaliated by spitting as well, which landed on my shoulder. "It's rude to spit at people, you know. How do you feel now that I've spat on you? Humiliated, I imagine, but that's not why you're here."

He paused, and turned as he began to slowly pace back and forth in front of my cell. I had no interest in his words, but I had no choice but to listen.

"You and your friend caused quite the disturbance tonight. Here in Arlus, we take great strides to care for our own. We look after eachother, because we're a family. Do you know what you did, Liam? You've disrupted our family."

I highly doubted that he had any real care for his followers, outside of what they provided for him.

"Disrupted, indeed. Seven of our brothers and sisters are dead this night, by the hands of you and your friend. It's rude to kill people, you know, especially when they have a family. But... given your background, I suppose you're quite familiar with killing, aren't you Liam?" he asked

He didn't need the satisfaction of an answer, so I didn't give him any. I simply said nothing and fixed him with a cold and steady stare.

"And, given that you arrived in our little town from the south, I suppose you encountered one of our traps? Unable to spot it in the darkness and the rain, you drove right over it, and decided to chance a visit to Arlus, maybe to find yourself another form of transport? Alas, if only you'd taken our bait, this would have gone without so much bloodshed..." He wiped a tear from his eye, though his eyes weren't even red.

"Just kill me and get it over with." I coughed.

The man in burlap smiled, but this time it had a more sinister bend to it. "Ah, ah ah ah! Impatient, aren't you? No, we will not kill you yet. Not until the Ritual is ready to commence."

"Ritual?"

"Oh yes, the Ritual. You are the key to it, in fact. You would not believe how difficult it was to find someone to translate it, even before all of that nasty business a few months ago happened. But, as was inevitable, I managed to have it translated. Once it's complete, I shall be granted power beyond mortal understanding. I would become a New God!"

So that was to be my fate. Killed for the vanity of some crazy cult leader.

"I see that look in your eyes. You think I'm off my rocker, wrong in the head, that not all of my dogs are barking. Perhaps. Perhaps not. Such has always been the case when dealing with magic that the unlearned cannot comprehend."

"Magic?" I asked. "Magic's not real, man,"

"I must admit, I had considered the possibility. But how then could you explain our history? The bridge at Ostenbury had to be constructed somehow, was it not? How could you create such a structure with the tools the ancients had at their disposal? With the help of aliens? Preposterous. So I looked to our histories, studied in the most prestigious institutions, dedicated my life to finding the thread that held everything together." The man in burlap shut his eyes, reliving his memories. He breathed deeply, like he was relaxing in a hot bath, and when he reopened his eyes they had a fiery glint to them. "But, even in the most outlandish myths and legends, there is a grain of truth. Observe."

From his pocket, he removed a large piece of flint, and a steel rod. Raising the flint, he struck it upon the rod, casting a shower of sparks. I was about to dismiss his actions as mere showmanship, if it weren't for what happened next.

The sparks did not go out. They landed on the floor, but before my eyes they began to move. And then they began to dance, floating up into the air and converging to a single ball. The burning hot fragments of metal glowed hotly, and soon a ball of flame appeared around them with an audible *fwoosh!*, casting light and heat around it.

The ball of fire drew my gaze like a magnet. All wisdom and logic said it was impossible, yet it had just happened. The ball of fire continued to float, and the man held out his hand. Within moments the ball of flame zipped over, and hovered above his palm.

"Behold, the power of the ancients!" he boasted.

"What? H-how?" I stuttered.

"Unfortunately, that is only for me to know. It wouldn't exactly do for others to discover this power, would it? They might decide to oppose my will. And those who oppose my will, shall be crushed beneath it."

I was stunned. Magic actually existed. Almost everyone in the modern era dismissed it as an embellishment, making legends out of mundane deeds and contrivances, a metaphor for natural forces outside of our control. Its very existence changed everything we knew about our history...

"Now, it's no personal slight against you, young Liam, but to tear asunder the fabric and remake it in my own vision, I need the Blood Price. Some unlucky soul was going to pay the price. If your friend was here, I would have given you the ultimate choice. One of you would need to die, while the other would live eternally with the guilt that they had done the deed. But, as they say, nothing's perfect. At least until I have something to say about it."

The man in burlap was about to gloat some more, but he was interrupted by the *Beep-beep!* of a digital watch's alarm going off.

He chuckled as he looked at the time. "It seems that our time together will soon be over. Take solace in the fact that your death will usher in a new era."

Somewhere above us, church bells chimed. It was 11 o'clock, presumably at night by the way he'd been talking. The man in burlap turned and walked away as I heard the doors open once more. The three hooded figures, now joined by three more, filed into the dungeon. Each held mean-looking daggers on their persons, and all were burly brutes if I'd ever seen any. They unlocked my cell door and forced me into some kind of collar. Prongs in the collar jabbed into my neck slightly; a warning not to resist or cause trouble. If the leash were strained, they would pierce my skin painfully.

They untied my feet, allowing me to walk, but they left my hands alone. I didn't want to imagine what was going to happen to me up there, but for all his talk about "family" I didn't think it would be family friendly.

Slowly, they led me out of the holding cell by the collar, my bare feet cold and clammy. They took me out into what seemed like a series of underground tunnels, guiding me up a set of stairs. At the top was a large wooden door that looked about as old as the buildings in town did.

That door lead up into what I thought was the church. It was a large open room with pews arranged facing a dais, and a series of unnerving stained glass windows along each wall. There were no lights, only a smattering of candles around the sanctuary. They flickered ominously.

Throughout the room, there were more robed figures waiting, some holding large candles, others simply waiting for something. Waiting for the main attraction.

In the middle of the floor, a ritual circle had been drawn, with odd geometric patterns ringing it. The acolytes tied long ropes to my ankles and wrists, which they then threaded through looks that had been secured to the floor. Each rope was taken in hand by two of them, and I was forced to the floor on my back. I lay there, hopeless and helpless, as the man in burlap slowly stepped around the ritual circle, speaking in a strange guttural language.

Eventually, he approached the dais, and raised his hands to the sky. "Brothers and Sisters, long have we languished, long have we toiled," he said with gravitas. "Long have we awaited the moment of our ascension!"

A murmur arose from the assembled cultists, some form of prayer that was unintelligible to me.

"Look upon the circle, Brothers and Sisters, and see how our faith has been rewarded! This night, though some of our siblings were lost, we have our offering! With this stranger, our Lord will be revitalised! Our fallen bretheren have gone to his side, and even now they prepare his way!"

Another murmur rose from the crowd. "Praise be!", they said. But that was not all I could hear. There were strange noises outside, very faint, but they were there.

"Come forth, Blade-Bearers, and prepare our offering!"

At his word, four of the cultists stepped forward from the crowd, but I wasn't paying attention to them.

I was listening to what was happening outside. I heard *Cra-cra-cra-cra-cra-cra!*, the distinctive sound of a .50 calibre machine gun. Then I heard it again. And again.

It was getting closer.

"Trespassers! They must not be allowed to interrupt our holy work!" The man in burlap snarled, before barking orders to a nearby cultist. Some of the congregation ran into a side room, exiting with firearms ready, positioning themselves around the sanctuary.

The Blade-Bearers approached the ritual circle, lifting up jagged blades similar to the one that had killed Knight. He didn't deserve that kind of death, not after we'd been through so much together. If only he could have died peacefully, of old age.

But that dream was gone now, and the Reckoning had turned a world destined for peace, into one that might never see peace again.

With their knives, the Blade Bearers drew close. I tried to fight against my bonds, but the cultists holding down the ropes were too strong for me. I was immobilized. But regardless, I continued to fight, even as they prepared to strike.

But then I noticed something else. The gunfire had ceased, but it had been replaced by the loud, but distant whine of an engine.

And it was getting closer?

*Fwooooom!*

The church doors suddenly exploded into splinters, scattering everywhere. The engine of the Ranger roared as it charged through the opening, plowing through pews as it went. The MG opened up with another *Cra-cra-cra-cra-cra-cra-cra-cra!*, mowing down about a dozen cultists, including the ones who held my restraining ropes. Their leader, the man in burlap, dove for cover, evading the gunfire.

From the passenger seat leapt Lavalley, holding his rifle with its underbarrel granade launcher at the ready. He fired a grenade into the far wall before switching to normal fire and pegging a few cultists. Williams hopped out as well, followed by a wounded but very much alive Knight.

"Archer, sound off!" Knight shouted hoarsely.

"Here! in the circle!" I yelled.

Williams ran forward, popping off a few shots, while Zimmerman provided covering fire on the .50 cal. "Knight, cut him out!" Zimmerman shouted.

Lavalley turned suddenly, and fired wildly towards the entrance. "We've got company, boys! Pack it up and move!" he shouted to us.

Knight, his wounds bandaged but still bleeding, followed behind Williams. He drew out his utility knife, and slashed madly at the ropes holding me down.

"They said they killed you." I said, trailing off.

"I'm not gonna leave you behind! Not now, not after all we've been through!" Knight replied as he freed my right arm. I began working on my left arm while he started on my legs.

Williams moved forward to take cover behind a pew, and fired towards the stairs, where four cultists had taken cover with guns. I watched helplessly as a cultist slowly rose up beside him with one of their jagged knives.

"Watch the left!" I yelled, but it was too late. Williams turned just in time for the knife to come down on his shoulder. His training kicked in and he tackled the cultist who'd stabbed him, immediately getting him into a chokehold. He held up the cultist like a shield, but his compatriots fired mercilessly through him, riddling both Williams and the cultist with holes. They dropped to the floor, dead.

Lavalley ducked behind the Ranger and loaded his underbarrel GL once more, taking aim for the ones who'd shot Williams. With a *Thunk!*, an incendiary round engulfed them. Lavalley shouted to Zimmerman, "Williams is down, Watch the entrance, I'm going for him!"

"Roger!" Zimmerman replied, turning his turret 180 degress and opening fire on hostiles outside the church.

Finally, Knight helped me out of my bonds, heaving me to my feet. "Get in the Ranger, we need to go ASAP!" he ordered me, and went to comply.

But I couldn't. Not when I heard the telltale sound of a rocket propelled grenade, sailing in our direction. I dropped to the floor moments before it struck the Ranger, blowing it apart. When I looked up at the turret, Zimmerman was gone.

Lavalley had been thrown clear by the blast, his rifle knocked from his hands. "YOU BASTARDS! YOU KILLED THEM! I'M GOING TO FUCKING DESTROY YOU!" he screamed in anguish, snatching up his rifle and loading a fresh mag. He fired full-auto through the flames and wreckage that now blocked the entrance and charged forward, heedless of his own safety. He leapt through the developign inferno and charged into the street, continuing to fire wildly. The firing eventually ceased, though it was followed by the muffled *thwooom* of a grenade explosion.

I dragged myself to my feet, and looked around in a panic. The fires had begun to spread, and some of the cultists, perhaps fearing more for their own lives than the future of their religion, made a run for it. I saw Knight checking Williams' still form on the ground, and I limped towards him. In all the chaos, a shard of wood had embedded itself in my leg.

"Knight, we gotta go!" I shouted.

"No, he's still alive, we can save-"

*Crack, crack, crack, crack!*

Five gunshots rang out behind me, shot by a small calibre handgun. Knight said no more as he unceremoniously collapsed. I turned and my blood boiled when I saw who had done it.

The man in burlap, the cult leader, his robe torn and now covered in blood, cackled as he dropped the empty mag from his pistol. "You fools think that you can stop the ritual, don't you? But it's already begun! All I need to do now is kill you personally, and my ascension will be complete!"

I bellowed angrily and lunged at him before he could finish his reload. The pistol fell from his grip as my hands wrapped around his neck. He flailed about, trying to hit me somewhere, but he didn't have the strength. I tightened my grip, prepared for the kill as the flames slowly came closer.

But then he managed to hit the shard of wood in my leg, and I cried out in pain. My hold loosened, the cult leader headbutted me and threw me to the side. Something had invigorated him. Some foul magic, no doubt.

I had no time to act as he kicked me and stomped on my chest. I felt my ribs crack and break, and breathing suddenly became much harder.

"Your friends have failed you, young Liam! They're dead, and now you too shall die! I would reassure you, and say that I'd welcome you at my side like I told most of those other ingrates, but I won't." The cult leader gloated, his foot on my chest. He took one of the jagged daggers, and began to raise it high...

He didn't get very far. Without warning, Knight, somehow not yet dead despite his injuries, tackled the cult leader. He'd picked up one of the cultist's knives and drove it into their leader's chest, into his heart. He stabbed again, and again, and again. When the man in burlap stopped moving, Knight fell to the side, bloodied.

The fire raged, now. The exits were now blocked by debris, and the walls were threatening to cave in. I coughed, wincing as my ribs stung painfully. My hand came away from my mouth covered in droplets of blood. One of the bits of bone had punctured a lung, which if it wasn't stopped would curse me to a slow death of drowning in my own blood -- if the fire didn't get me first.

I slowly dragged myself over to Knight, who still breathed weakly. He looked at me painfully, and tried to say something, but nothing came out. He reached out with his good hand, which I took carefully.

"This is the end for us, then." I said sadly.

Knight shook his head and coughed. "...For me... not you..." he croaked as his other hand fumbled at his neck.

His ID Disc. He was trying to take it off. I helped him as best I could. On the chain hung two objects, his disc, and a second pendant which resembled a cat's eye. For some soldiers it was common to put things that were special to them on their chains, usually a ring or religious symbol, but something seemed different about the cat's eye pendant.

I went to put the chain into his hand, but instead Knight pushed it back into my own. "Keep it, Liam... my good luck charm..." he muttered.

"Won't matter much. There's no way out." I replied dejectedly. I went to take my own Disc off, but he shook his head again.

"...The cat's eye amulet... family heirloom... nine lives... bound by blood... not my idea, but I tried to make it count... it belongs to you now..."

I grimaced dejectedly. "You're delirious. What you're saying doesn't make sense."

Knight smiled, probably for the last time. "...You never did believe in magic, Liam... but I believe in you..."

He chuckled, though it was closer to a coughing fit than anything else. He squeezed my hand as he laid his head on the ground. I squeezed back, and watch him take one last, deep breath, before shutting his eyes and shuddering.

His hand went limp. I squeezed it once, but there was no response.

So passed a true friend. A comrade. A brother.

Now all that was left was me.

I looked around at the flames as they closed in, feeling the heat on my skin. It was oppressive, and I felt lightheaded. The fumes, and maybe more than a little bit of blood loss. The chunk of wood in my leg had probably hit an artery.

Now, I could no longer think straight. Maybe everything would be better if I just closed my eyes, and laid down beside Knight's remains.

Maybe everything would be better if I shut my eyes, and entered the darkness.

Swirling, whirling, all-encompassing, darkness.

Everything, and yet nothing...

Comments

[Fireeaters]

Oof

[Mix-up]

are the last two chapters out of order?

[Fiddlove Enfemme]

10602641
They shouldn't be