The chief was dead!
Murdered! Butchered!
Coal felt like his head would explode. Rage, hopelessness, hatred, sorrow. Each one was like a cold knife to his heart, a searing fire in his mind.
The mutant screamed, a sound more terrible than any wasteland monster. He heaved against his bindings, snapping enough to free one of his arms. Coal whipped it around like a mace, and nearly ten soldiers died from the bludgeoning before they knew what happened.
Clang!
A sword swept by to catch his arm as it passed for another swing. Drake was so fast that he appeared in front of Coal from nowhere, like he just blinked into existence. He positioned his sword in the crux of the beastâs arm to stop him from causing any more casualties.
He offered a vicious hack toward Coal. âIf you want it to end then tell us what you know!â
Soldiers swarmed in and tied the mutant back up without needing to be directed.
âAhh! Rrraagggh! Nnnrrrgghh!â
All Coal could do was yell at his powerlessness. Even with the power of fear feeding his muscles, all he could do was stare daggers at these hateful, evil men.
With a cold laugh, Brontes raised his hand. Soldiers forced a group of ten more tribesmen to their knees before him.
The vanguard leader faced Coal. âIâll ask again. Where is the city hidden?â
Coal only screamed back at him. Brontes did not waste his breath. The giant was forced to watch as ten more of his brothers and sisters were cut down in cold blood.
Ten more were brought forward.
âWhere is the city?â
Hate and resentment bubbled up inside Coal, forming into words. âDonât kill!â
A blade flashed. Heads toppled.
Ten more.
This time it was children. They shivered and cried as they were forced to their knees.
Brontes raised his voice for the third time, calm and dispassionate as though he was weeding a garden. âWhere is the city?â
Coalâs will crumbled. He couldnât do it. He couldnât stand to watch them murder his tribesmen. In a voice thick with humiliation and disgrace, he said, âDonât kill⊠I say.â
Brontes swung his arm. Ten smaller heads went rolling through the chasm. [1]
Coalâs pained well rang off the stone. He didnât understand. He agreed! He said he would answer! Why would this demon continue to slaughter innocent people?
Brontes answered as though reading his mind. âTo remind you not to make me ask three times. Now youâve got one chance. If you try anything, everyone here will die â because of you. And they will die painfully.â
Drake just chuckled wryly at the scene. âYou certainly have a way about you, Brontes.â
Hammont also admired the steadfast officer.
Coal could only remember their faces. He took in every single detail, burned them into his memory.
He made himself a promise that if he survived, he would break every bone in their body with his own hands, inch by inch. He would use his own fists to punch them flat. He would make them pay for the murder of the chief. He wouldnât die until he made every one of them regret the evil they committed!
But even though his heart was an inferno of hatred, there was nothing Coal could do. He would be their puppet, forced to lead the way. The two hundred remaining natives were tied up and kept under guard, while Coal â bound hand and foot â was surrounded in what seemed like a sea of elysian warriors. He was given only enough slack to walk, not enough to run if a chance to flee presented itself.
The chiefâs words rang in his ears. Heâd heard them, he understood, but he had no choice. He couldnât stand to watch his family be murdered.
If he didnât promise to bring these monsters to the city, he would have had to watch as they were cut down batch after batch. It was beyond torture. There was no question in his mind that these men had nothing but evil intentions, but it was too much. There was hope, at least he thought. He didnât know how strong the elysian force was, but secretly he thought those who lived in the city under the mountain could destroy these devils.
A mysterious group was lurking in the nearby crags. Not a large force â several hundred only â and they wore uniforms of absolute black. Only the two men in front were different.
One was a masked man hidden beneath the Wraithrobe, with a sword on his back and a strip of cloth covering his face. The other wore a long trench coat and his close-cropped hair was uncovered. He was an unassuming man, but for the scars that ran down his eyes.
âIt seems they found a guide to the Dark Atom headquarters. It looks like those Seekers are finally going to meet their doom.â
âThe Dark Atom has deep roots. Skycloud canât destroy them so easily. But for the time being they will keep the elysiansâ attention. That will make what we have to do easier.â
Adderâs eyes glimmered in the harsh light. Whatever he was thinking, the depths of those snake-like eyes were impossible to read.
A short time later the several hundred shadows were on the move. They came down from the mountains silent as the night. Obviously, though small in number, they were not to be underestimated.
***
Cloudhawk was lying on the examination table and medical instruments and strange devices whirred around him. A dozen or so scientists busily poured over the results and manipulated the machines.
Heâd been their guinea pig for most of the day already. Hellflower had only visited long enough to take a vial of blood, and then she was gone. The next time she appeared she carried a syringe filled with some mysterious liquid.
She jabbed the needle into Cloudhawkâs neck. The contents of the syringe were pumped into his veins.
The first thing Cloudhawk experienced was the pain ebbing away. It washed down like a tide, starting from his head and moving down. Good⊠good stuff. He was surprised and delighted that a single shot would have immediate effect. The woman really knew her stuff!
âYouâre lucky. A few days later and I wouldnât have been able to help you.â Hellflower was not as excited about his change in circumstance as Cloudhawk was. Her eyebrows were wrinkled tight as she thought. âDonât celebrate yet. Reversing this problem wonât be so easy.â
Cloudhawk rolled his head from side to side. âI feel pretty good. Everything seems normal to me now.â
âThe injection I gave you temporary paralyses the trespasser virus. They are only a tenth as active as normal for the time being, almost dormant.â
âIn other words you werenât able to kill it.â
âYou canât kill it.â
âHow long will it be dormant like this?â
Hellflower shook her head and said, âTrespasserâs adaptability is unprecedented. Sooner rather than later it will find a way to neutralize the medication. I imagine it wonât be long. More importantly, the injection wonât work a second time.â
His affliction wasnât so easily solved. What were they supposed to do, then?
Her response was frank. âIâve been carefully studying Rosteâs Trespasser virus over the last several years. I have even been able to replicate a portion of it, but so far I havenât been able to crack its secret. Do you know why?â
âNo. Why?â
âBecause of the complexity of the virus itself. It is constantly mutating. Roste spent most of his life researching this biological creation, and used himself as the experiment subject. At least thirty years he spent cultivating Trespasser. Extrapolating the changes is very difficult given the data we have.â
Complicated was putting it mildly.
âWhat is important in your case is that Trespasser has begun to spread at an increased rate. It integrates with the hostâs genetic material and so wonât be transferred through blood or fluids. In other words, if I injected myself with your blood Trespasser still wouldnât take hold and spread. After using himself as a petri dish, Roste transplanted the virus he incubated into you. Since then itâs changed considerably, almost an entirely different strain at this point. After three years itâs had time to insert itself into much of your DNA, making it even more unique from when Roste infected you.â
Cloudhawk shook his head. âI donât understand a goddamn thing youâre saying.â
Hellflower rolled her eyes at the Wardenâs ignorance. She tried to explain as simply as she could. âIn short, Trespasser is unstable. It will change with its host, so Trespasser is different inside you than it was inside the Academician. What I was able to extract in your blood is completely different from Rosteâs information. Two completely different things.â
Hellflower motioned toward a microscope. âSee for yourself.â
The equipment in Nucleus was far superior than what they had access to in Blackwater Base. For instance, the microscope was much clearer. After setting up a sample and arranging the lenses Cloudhawk could see what was going on. He remembered the first time he had a look at Trespasser. It was a sample from Roste, and aside from mutating his blood and cells heâd seen countless green structures swimming through the plasma. That was Trespasser.
He didnât see any little green things this time.
In his body Trespasser had become more golden in color, and the virus didnât flow freely like in Rosteâs sample. Flecks of gold were inserted in his cells like tiny jewels and visibly changed their construction.
Cloudhawk sucked in a breath. âHow did this happen?!â
âThatâs a question only you can answer.â Hellflower regarded him with a look of slight suspicion. âIâm beginning to wonder if thereâs something more fundamentally wrong with your body. Frankly, whether youâre even human.â
He didnât know how to respond. That was a bullshit statement, wasnât it? Was he human? Of course he was!
Cloudhawk thought about the various ways he was different from other people and had to admit to feeling bewildered. If he was normal than what would explain his strange talents? He didnât have an answer.
Cloudhawk shook his head. âWhether Iâm normal or not, I donât want this nasty shit in my brain. You need to help me find a way to get rid of it.â
âThere is a way, but we need time.â
It didnât matter, so long as it stopped him from becoming a monster! Cloudhawk found himself unconsciously breathing a sigh of relief.
For the time being, his illness was under control. Whatever else needed to be done to cure himself, Cloudhawk was willing to do. Living was more important than anything else.
Cloudhawk was going to ask her more questions to see what the next steps were, when he was interrupted by an explosion. The doors were blown off their hinges!
Guards that had been posted outside flew through the door frame in pieces. Blackened chunks of flesh were a precursor to a crowd of people rushing in. The one who led them was tall, really tall, and dressed all in black. He wore a cloak that looked like metal feathers, and when he entered the room it was immediately filled with a cruel aura.
âItâs Raven!â The surprised shouts came from Hellflowerâs assistants. One of the braver ones had the gall to stand in his path. âWhat do you think youâre doing? What gives you the right to come charging in here!â
He answered with the barrel of a gun. The scientistâs head opened like a grotesque flower and splattered brains everywhere.
Cloudhawk had no idea what was going on, but he didnât need to be a genius to figure it out. These people were here to kill Hellflower. She was the only person here who could help him, so he didnât want to see her life cut short before she did. He shouted her way. âGo! Hurry!â
Ravenâs grim voice slithered from his throat. âNo oneâs going anywhere.â
[2]
1. Well fuck this guy. He better die in a particularly nasty way, and soon.
2. Did you know a group of ravens is called an âunkindnessâ? Seemed fitting.
If you find any errors ( Ads popup, ads redirect, broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.