SDIV El Juego Chapter 27 Pt 3

The smell was almost bearable, almost. Lllorente gave in and vomited what little he had in his stomach over the nearest pile of corpses still awaiting burial. Sir Frederic’s insistence on doing the right thing carried its own burdens, and a little extra would make no distance. Trying not to take too deep a breath, he continued to dig.

“Hold, knave!”

The voice sounded like Sir Frederic’s. but the Knight was over the far side of the village carrying out his own burial detail.

“I said hold!”

Llorente turned and the familiar sight of mounted warriors met his eyes. This was in some way déjà vu with respect to his last visit to the area. At least he did not look like a magician as his rifle was out of sight, but obviously once again these people had jumped to conclusions. Enough was enough!

“Who the fuck are you calling knave?” he spat, straightening up and gripping the spade in his hands more tightly.

“You,” sneered the horseman, drawing his sword, “and I intend to teach you a lesson…”

“What would that be,” asked Llorente with a smirk, having noticed Burns rifle poking from the nearest cabin, “how to behave as an educated gentleman?”

“Why you…” the horseman rose up in his stirrups, fully intending to strike the obnoxious Llorente down where he stood.

“Hold!” a louder voice roared and Sir Frederic appeared, trailed by a number of other mounted and lightly armoured men and boys.

“Who are you to tell me…” began the irascible horseman. He never finished his sentence as the spade slammed into him at full swing, knocking him from his mount to sprawl amidst the pile of bodies.

“Llorente!” roared Sir Frederic.

“Sorry,” mumbled Llorente, trying ineffectually to hide his pleased grin, “but the prick was being disrespectful.”

Sir Frederic also tried manfully to retain his dignity, but a rueful chuckle escaped before he could control it.

“My cousin has always been a bit of a prick,” he agreed quietly with Llorente, before turning to face the new arrivals he had brought with him.

“You want me to hit him again?” asked Llorente, eying the moaning cousin where he lay.

“Only if he deserves it…” began Sir Frederic, and then as Llorente eagerly raised the spade he finished, “…again.”

The solid thud of the spade against armour gave him his reply.

SDIV EL Juego Chapter 27 Part 2

Emerald Forest
Zone I

Sir Frederic led Burns and Llorente towards his home village. It was so much easier now with the portals collapsed; following a monster had led him into danger and the company of new friends and even stranger allies. What his father and the rest of his brother Knights would have to say about this was hard to predict, yet from Llorente’s comments Sir Frederic’s people had already been exposed to Mammon and his depravations, so they should be open to stories of demons walking the land.

Rain hammered down onto the forest canopy, soaking them intermittently as the thick leaves of the tree tops created crazy pathways for the water. It did not seem to be able to dampen Sir Frederic’s enthusiasm and he chattered away describing what they should expect to see.

Sir Frederic told them that forest opened out into a wide pasture in which a road snaked down towards the river and his father’s lands. Their family’s fortified mansion stood guard over a bridge, with travellers needing to pass through the mansion’s walls and archway in order to gain access to the village beyond. The walls continued around the village outskirts and were manned by regular patrols which safeguarded the dwellings within. It had always been enough to dissuade bandits or the occasional marauding monster.

“Once over this dip,” he commented to Burns, “we should clear the forest fully and you will have your first glimpse of safety, a warm bed and a hearty meal. Not, of course, necessarily in that order.”

Burns grinned at the excited Knight; once in familiar territory he shed the perpetual air of worry and became a more congenial companion. They could use a rest from the Taurans, Demons, Ambryn and whatever other nasties they had yet to meet. It would be the first time in a long time. He shrugged off the thought of Llorente’s comments about the land and its people and concentrated solely on the meal and warm bed. It was then he noticed the change in Sir Frederic.

The Knight had moved slightly ahead of them and was the first to crest the rise. It was not the most welcoming of sights nor did it fight exactly the description he had given them of his lands. The bridge still stood, yet the archway was shattered and the village walls breached in numerous positions. Burns’ trained eye recognised plasma blasts even from this distance. This had not just happened, although the changing wind brought the smell of burnt wood telling him that it was recent.

“Wait,” ordered Burns unslinging his rifle and stopping Sir Frederic’s threatened mad charge, “we do not know who is still around.”

Sir Frederic nodded, unslinging the auto-rifle he now carried, instead of his sword. He would wait, but not for long.

Burns pulled them back to cover and knelt, bringing the scope of his rifle to his eyes. He changed his position until he could get a good view of the village center, the breached walls making his efforts easier. The weapon’s magnification was more than enough to show him what had happened to the village and tell him who the recent visitors had been. Two large wheels supported on a robust and out of place metal structure took centre stage. Fastened to these wheels were the remains of two villagers with a haphazard pile of bodies below testament to the fact that these were only the last of a large number of sacrifices. Zooming in on the suspended corpses he saw bloody symbols cut into their naked chests and knew that the Taurans were the culprits.

“I am not sure whether you will want to see this,” he whispered to Sir Frederic who had joined him, and nodded towards the village, “it certainly is not the recommended way to remember them.”

“Yet I must go down,” said Sir Frederic, “even if it is only to give them a decent burial.”

The Knight stood, shouldering his rifle and now drawing his sword, “If I am really lucky, they may have left an ambush for me.”

Burns winced, yet rose to join his companion, Llorente in tow, “”Very well, but we’ll do this my way, no running off to die an honourable death. If it’s revenge you want, we know where we can find some Taurans, even if they are not the right ones.”

SDIV El Juego Chapter 25 Part 2

Cursed Hills
Zone IV

Shin followed Alana in her rush towards the enemy. They had landed amidst the blasted earth, dismissive of the smashed landscape. Some had been lost as they searched for a clear landing site to the firing of Alana and her men, but they were many. The creatures who emerged from the craft were a mixture of soldiers, winged creatures and screaming civilians. It did not seem to matter how many they gunned down, they just kept coming.

That, however, did not phase Alana. She had recovered the animalistic rage which characterized the followers of her Lord. Gauntlets were tossed aside, as were helmets, as she raced to battle. She ignored the lesser cannon-fodder, angling towards the main threat, as she perceived it, of the winged creatures. They looked like Viker, but he was nowhere to be found, and like him directed others to do their bidding. Once companions, their armour splashed with broken-winged symbol vied to reach Alana and her people, but they were too slow and inexperienced. They had no Johns to guide and teach them, no Alana to hold them in check, only their new leaders who appeared to glory more in their deaths than in the outcome of this battle.

A growl began deep in Alana’s throat as she smashed into the front armoured rank, a sound which was taken up by all her people. Well-remembered claws snicked into place as she slashed left and right, cutting her way through armour, flesh and bone as if it was not there.

The haughty Angels watched on dispassionately, waiting for their own chance. Their Lord had been clear, these traitors were to die and whatever expenditure of personnel required was warranted. They were, however, not defenceless, but imbued with the blessing of their own Master. As if on signal, they opened their wings and rose together above the throng. Wings beating, they looked down upon Alana and her people, and opened their mouths. The high-pitched screech which they emitted slammed into all below them, bursting blood vessels and ear-drums. None were spared, friend or foe, and as they watched disorientation take over they truly launched themselves into the fight for the first time.

Power fed into them with the blessing of their Master and they swelled with the knowledge of their victory. Wings folded, and claws outstretched they plummeted towards Alana and her men. There was no doubt of victory, the only delicious unknown was how long they could make their prey suffer for.

Suddenly a blast of blue fire smashed into them, halting their dive and allowing Alana and her people a brief respite. Their leader hovered in place and scanned the horizon for the source of the unexpected intervention. In the distance, he saw what appeared  to be another winged creature, one he did not recognise.

“Now, now,” came a voice filled with laughter, clear to his enhanced hearing, “play fair…”

A clawed hand hooked into his flesh and he looked down to see Alana’s bloody face below him, lips pulled back in a ferocious snarl and eyes blazing. This at least he understood. Screeching his own defiance he joined the fight.

Cornelius watched the rending of claws and teeth for a short while, before turning back towards the Tower. It was not the injustice of the battle which had drawn him into the conflict, rather Viker’s attempts to distract him from his purpose. The attempted violation of Cornelius’ thoughts warranted some form of punishment and he had never been one to forgive a slight. At least Viker now knew not to mess with him. If he chose to interfere further, then Cornelius would have to teach him a real lesson.

Onward they flew and behind them the skies darkened with winged figures, circling above the battle. Ngulu’s call had been heard and his brethren came to join the feasting.

SDIV El Juego Chapter 25 Part 1

Chapter Twenty-Five

Emerald Forest
Zone I

Cornelius felt the disturbance of Viker’s arrival yet dismissed it as unimportant. He was still concentrating on his mission of vengeance which included both Amryn and the fighter’s pilot. Even the insistence of his companions paled into insignificance next to Clari’s loss. Ngulu the Broken was nothing more than a means of conveyance to him, and the demon was himself lost in introspection. His base hunger had returned with his renewed strength and he eyed the humans around him with the gaze of a predator choosing between a number of choice snacks.

“I do not like this monster,” said Sir Frederic to Burns, swinging the sword in his hand with feeling.

“Me neither,” muttered Burns, torn between the nearby threat of Ngulu and the burning forest, “however, I think we need to concentrate our efforts on getting out of the way of the fire first. If needs be we can deal with the demon afterwards.”

“What about Cornelius?” asked Kam.

“What about him?” responded Burns, checking his rifle and swinging his pack to his shoulder.

“Will he come with us?” insisted Kam, his old loyalty pushing him to ask the question.

“Don’t know, and don’t really care,” replied Burns, “he seems a little preoccupied and I for one have others things on my mind.”

“We should at least ask him,” said Kam, moving to face the now dismounted Cornelius. Ngulu hissed in warning and Kam took a pace backwards.

“I would move we warn my people,” said Sir Frederic, “there is a real threat from both the flames and any of those Ambryn who remain.”

“Agreed,” said Burns, “saddle up LLorente.”

Llorente said nothing, gathering his meagre possessions and ensuring the portal key was safe within his jacket.

“Cornelius?”

Kam tried again but the dragon-tattooed man ignored him, staring past the flames at the distant hills. At last he spoke.

“I go to the mountains and the Tower beyond,” he said in a monotone, “come with me or not, it’s your choice.”

“Not, then,” said Burns, “LLorente and I will go with Sir Frederic where we can at least do some good.”

Cornelius smiled, or at least that Burns hoped was what the expression was intended to be.

“Very well,” he said, “we will part company here. Be warned though, once you leave I cannot protect you.”

Burns laughed, “Up until now, I think we have been protecting you from yourself. It’s time we started protecting others, as our duty dictates.”

Cornelius bowed his head, then moved to climb on Ngulu’s shoulders.

“It would be better,” he said to Kam, “that you go with them. Ngulu and I have work to do.”

He ignored the look of hurt on Kam’s face and without another word, the demon leapt into the sky, unfolding its leathern wings.

“I think,” said Burns to Kam, “that your choice has been made for you.”

Kam waited for a moment, watching the demon and he who had once been his friend disappear into the distance, before turning and following Burns. Whatever he now was, the Cornelius of old seemed to have disappeared for good.

*

Cornelius felt no pang of regret. Indeed, with the parting of ways came a freedom of both responsibility and deviation from purpose. Ngulu did not need to speak, his baser instincts were served well by Cornelius’ single-minded purpose. There would be battle, death and feeding wherever his new Master went. His strength grew with each moment and soon he would be greater than any of his rivals. Then he could think of his relationship with Cornelius further.

They flew above the flames, noting the struggle of the few remaining Ambryn in their passing. Neither stopped to ponder what fate might hold for Burns and his companions. What would be, would be. Their way led towards the mountains and the Tower beyond.

As they rose higher, Cornelius detected the presence of others, and he raised his eyes to the horizon to follow the flares of the descending ships. Some moved towards the hills to his left, but the main body continued on towards the Tower. He felt Viker’s probe and contemptuously slapped it away. They would meet soon enough.

Ngulu the Broken also felt the attempted intrusion and in his burgeoning return to power experienced some disquiet. He sent out a call of his own, his cunning and need for self-preservation reawakened.

Above him Cornelius too felt Ngulu’s summons and smiled to himself. Treachery appeared a way of life to Ngulu and his kind. It was but to be expected. Although she was dead, Clari still remained a part of him. Who else had he ever needed?

Onward they flew, skirting the hills where now they could see the flash of weapons fire and reaching the plains once more. Cornelius’ vision wavered as Prophecy meshed with reality. He shrugged it away. He needed no sword, nor Taartun followers for what he wished to do. All he knew was that the Tower would provide him with the key to the destruction of his enemies. Beyond that, he cared not.

SDIV El Juego Chapter 20 Part 2

Lucretia smirked at her sister, who even now was feeding, the slurping and sucking was such sweet music to her ears. Two thin trails of blood ran from her mouth, spots patterning her blouse where they had fallen.

It had been an unexpectedly profitable day; their flight from the last town had been precipitous to say the least. Locals could be so pedantic in their beliefs, imagine, they had thought that she would wait for their justice.

She laughed wryly, and shouldered her sister aside, who snarled at her, but gave way. Whoever these new humans were, they tasted good, not like the insipid villagers from their last stop. Her mentor had told her that this world held a bounty of delicacies to tickle the palate and she had been surprisingly pleased to find out that he had been right. His recent arrival had interrupted their excesses, and his chastisement had been less than welcome.

He looked good. His recent sojourn on the flagship seemed to signal a kind of rebirth and Lucretia had been tempted to keep him, if only for a moment. Mammon was such a dear, and so easy to take advantage of. He actually believed her excuses and tried to talk to the villagers for her. Idiot.

Such a shame that he had been caught, helping their escape. Of course, the fact that she had shot him the back, physically rather than metaphorically, as he faced their pursuers had of course little to do with it. The quarrelled bolt had actually punched through his hand, pinning him to a tree and he roared his anger and desperation to the skies in such a delightful way. That too had been entertaining though.

She decided to have a little nap and lay down next to the rapidly cooling body of Sargeant Harms. There was so much to look forward to, a bounteous feast would be held once the sun fell and then there were other pleasures to be had with her minions.

*

Mammon was angry; in a towering rage, not only because of Lucretia’s betrayal, but also because he had needed to kill a useful food source. She would pay, of that he was sure, he thought, feeling the bulk of the transmitter in his pocket. Only he knew how the portals could be opened; a thing he had done regularly on his previous visit here. That a beautiful girl and her sister should have captivated him so, after all of these centuries, was laughable. That was, if he could only admit it, a pattern of his, which all of his brethren took advantage of.

It was on a previous jaunt to the planet that he had found this place, and he constantly came back, replenishing himself. After his close call with Alana, he made straight for the comforting arms of his girls. Time seemed to have brought out their true characters. Demons were just so fickle.

That was of course the reason he told himself, but deep down, the savage beast within him wanted to rend and tear, so repaying the disloyalty and removing the evidence of his mistake. He shook his head, driving the reverie away and stopped, breathing in deeply, tasting the night air.

Silently, he advanced; he was close now, the smell of freshly spilt blood, mixed with something fouler drew him on. Vengeance was a dish best served cold, but he had always thought it tasted better hot and steaming. Blood was blood, after all.

*

Renard never heard a thing, death came upon him unexpectedly, yet he did not miss experiencing it. A pair of strong hands closed about his neck, lifting him easily off the floor. He managed a choked gasp, as he was swung around, his foot lashing out reflexively. It felt as though he had slammed his boot into a solid post, and he silently screamed. His training kicked in and he drew his combat knife, his vision even now blurring as his oxygen-starved brain began shutting down. With an ultimate expenditure of energy, he stabbed into the body before him, wondering why there was no sound.

With a crack, Mammon snapped Renard’s neck and tossed his limp body to the floor. He glanced disdainfully at the knife, sliding it free from his chest and stood for a moment listening carefully. All was well, he thought, as he wiped the blade on Renard’s tunic. Then knife in hand, he stalked his next prey, the rush of anticipation filling him.

*

Lucretia woke, her hunger fierce and called out for her minions. Her only reply was silence, so she tried again. Cursing them and spitting forth a venous tirade of what pain she would inflict on them for their lethargy of reply, she pulled by the rear covering. A fist exploded into her face, the strength of the blow throwing half way across the wagon bed.

“Mammon!” she cried in fear.

 
“Yes, my love,” he replied, climbing slowly inside, “we have some unfinished business I believe?”

He pulled the flap closed behind him, as he climbed into the wagon, and shortly afterwards the screaming began.

*

Llorente was the only one of his companions left alive, for some reason the ravening beast, the abomination who had attacked the camp had spared him. A face from hell itself had stared icily into his eyes, fangs glistening with recently spilt blood and then had moved away.

There could only be one fate left for him, and so he began to pray. He called to the Prelate, to the Taurans’ Demons, to anyone who would listen. Nothing.

The animalistic cries from the wagon, the heaving of its sides, all had ceased. He saw something appear from behind the rear wheels and he began to plead, in a childish and plaintively whimpering voice. Still on it came, teeth bared, eyes bloodshot, and it was smiling.

A Leap Of Faith (Sudden Dearth Book III) Now Available

Yep, you guessed it, A Leap Of Faith, the Third book in the Sudden Dearth series is now available on Smashwords and will soon be available on all eBook retailers.

This one took less time to edit than the others, so that must mean I'm getting better at it - hope so anyway. The other books seem to be doing well and the offer of SDII being FREE for a month has seen a lot of downloads. Hope you guys are passing on how much you enjoyed it to your friends!

I am torn now between SDIV and my horror story 26-S which needs to be seen by the public. It is a change of direction for me and something I really enjoyed doing.

Anyway, keep up with those downloads and watch this space...

A Leap Of Faith - Chapter Six

Planet Goldburn
3rd Eclisiarch Protectorate

Chary was unconcerned at the losses. They remained within manageable parameters. It was to be expected that the Churchmen would finally learn how to fight back. None of her seasoned troops had been lost, however the Harvest was risky and not all of the new troops would be recovered. This was planned for and she sighed, staring at the screen in front of her, as data scrolled rapidly upwards.

This Seeding was a first, the culmination of intense experiments which would generate many others. The principle was easy, her ships had sneaked into high orbit unnoticed and delivered the virus. Its effectiveness was proven and the humans had reacted as expected. Depending on their physiology they had mutated or had accepted the viral string. These mutations were needed in order to provide the final catalyst. The atmosphere was saturated with the virus and the arrival of the Church troops had finished the reaction.

Assimilation of the genetic code which came from the mutated stock opened the new population to a higher possibility. Once battle was joined, the adrenalin-driven survival instinct was enhanced; battle-madness was the conduit to her Master. Then the Harvest was begun.

Her troops needed honing, yet they would be joined by more and more of their fellows as they gave in to the disease’s attack. Eventually her ranks would swell and the delightful part was the possibility that the CHurch fools would send in more troops, unwittingly adding to her burgeoning army.

The Master would be pleased. He had fed on the souls of those few who had resisted the mutation. These unknowns could not be left alive and using them to open the rift was a delicious irony. Even they had served.

Another glance at the screen showed her the first transports’ arrival was imminent. Her cape whirled out as she span, her little dance of anticipation witnessed by none but herself. Grinning, she picked up a wicked spiked baton and strode towards the field prepared to welcome her new recruits.

*

“What’s going on!”

The General was incandescent in anger. Reports spoke of the decimation of his Regiment to an unknown enemy. Someone had not done their job and he had walked unknowingly into an enormous trap.

“Sir?” his Exec asked.

“Never mind. Contact the ships. We need to bring down the second regiment and I want fighter cover.”

His subordinate nodded and spoke to the communications operator. Orders were relayed to the ships in orbit above the planet and more soldiers were prepared to quash the threat. The General was playing directly into Chary’s hands.

“Adams, Adams!”

The General turned, impatient in his anger, even his Exec was losing it. He gasped at the sight of the blood puddling the floor around the communications station and tried to pull his pistol free as his Exec inched forwards, arms extended and blood covering his face. And the eyes …the eyes!

*

The small transport settled to earth, the door slapping the ground as it crashed downwards. Chary waited, flanked by a squad of her personal guard, tapping the baton impatiently against her thigh. These were the first to arrive and she knew the primary contact would be important.

They shuffled down the ramp, brows beetled and eyes aflame. There was little in the way of recognition and she knew that a firm hand would be needed.

“Line up!”

The group started, but when the command was repeated their training kicked in. They formed a ragged line, growling and snapping at each other. Their clothes were torn and bloodied and their minds regressed to the most primeval of urges.

“Ate-e-n shun!”

Bodies straightened and Chary smiled. Rage permeated their very existence and she needed to pierce the veil clouding their minds. She reached the front rank and her aides pushed and shouted the troops into a semblance of parade ground decorum.

“Name!”

The man looked at her, struggling with his identity and responded.

“Alcaraz, Ma’am. Trooper First Class. Where am I?”

The baton whistled viciously and struck him across the face. She saw the answering fire and struck again. His hand flashed upwards, blocking the flight of the thin stick and he growled, taking one step forwards, his hand raised in response. Instantly her guards attacked, rifle butts slamming into the unfortunate man. It took many blows to render him unconscious and Chary began to fear. This one’s reaction was elemental, powerful and not what she had expected.

“Take him away!”

She was instantly obeyed, the flaccid body was dragged from the field and she turned to face the others.

“Anyone else?”

There was no reply and she nodded in satisfaction. Trooper Alcaraz would be dealt with separately, she needed to understand what had happened, but for now she had other concerns.

“Welcome to your worst nightmare,” she began, “we have a job for you …”

*

This time when he woke, he was alone. Power surged through his veins and he reveled in the feeling. Something had happened to him and he spat, clearing his mouth. Slowly he remembered his name, who he was and what had happened. Toni Alcaraz promised that there would be a reckoning and mentally began his list. First the evil-looking women, then his Officers and ultimately the Prelate himself. They would all pay.

He knew he had been changed, was puzzled as to why he had been attacked but certain of his ability in overcoming his enemies. Alcaraz squatted in one corner of his cell and began to plan. Animal cunning joined with his higher faculties and once convinced, he waited.

*

Troops were shuttled to the planet, fighters roared over head and little by little the men changed. It started with one fighter opening fire on his Wingman, then became a pitched battle, shuttles falling to earth in flames. Soldiers battled free and took up positions to find themselves under attack from the already entrenched first regiment.

Soon they were killing each other, the weak weeded out by the strong. The call came and entire platoons formed up and marched away, leaving their fellows suffering behind them. Within one day the second regiment was decimated and the survivors marching to a different tune. In her Command Centre Chary giggled and in his cell, Toni Alcaraz made plans.

*


A black nail scratched at the tenuous fabric of the rift, the shimmering window drawing him forward. Sparks arced between the portal and the Master, tickling his extended digit. He chuckled, half in anticipation and half frustration. The Harvest was underway, successful to all intents and purposes. One world stolen from beneath the shriveled nose of the Prelate and his minions. It was a good beginning and yet he was dissatisfied – the barrier still held.

Sacrifices meant to free him had brought him close, one small step from dominion but it was still too far. He growled, his wings flexing automatically. The head of his giant axe trailed along the floor, screeching as it scraped behind him. With his free hand he tugged at his horns, staring once more at his way out.

In a wave of fury he smashed his weapon down on the remains of his altar, kicking stone shards in his petulance. Chary needed to bring him one more, a human resistant to the virulent strain of his creation. She had said there were no more, yet he could feel them. Not many, though more than enough.

*

Buildings crumbled beneath the battling soldiers as round after explosive round tore the stone and metalwork apart. A wave of howling red-eyed maniacs assaulted Sargeant Grimm’s position, but they held. He was a veteran, steeped in the rules and forms of war. When the others began to change, to fall as they exited the troop carrier, Grimm had ordered his platoon to don their breathers. They had borrowed an abandoned APC and raced towards the co-ordinates he had been given. In the Command tent he expected a General and orders but they had found nothing but carnage. Now they were on their own.

Grimm was not overly worried, he had faith that there would be others, he just had to find them. In the meantime he had to keep his men alive.

“Try it again.”

“But Sarge. There’s nothing.”

“Don’t argue with me, son. Someone will be listening. If not locally, on the ship. If nothing else we need to get some intel upstairs. They’ll know what to do.”

The comms-operator relaxed and bent to his task. If the Grimm said he’d be heard, then that was what would happen. He was never wrong.

Unfortunately for the ground troops, returning shuttle pilots had brought the virus back on board every ship. Each of the vessels was mirroring the awful scenario dirt-side. At least there were air-tight doors and the vacuum of space, if all else failed. Deep within the bowels of the main Assault Carrier a last stand was being made and a lone operator transmitted a desperate plea for help. Yet another mistake

A Leap Of Faith - Chapter Five

Planet Goldburn
3rd Eclisiarch Protectorate

Soldiers filed silently between the eerie remains of the city. They had been dropped at first light, their Regiment tasked with investigating in detail a disturbing report. The city appeared empty, devoid of any human life. Papers tumbled aimlessly in the wind, calls echoed without answer and now the men and women gripped their weapons tightly, more in fear than readiness. A shutter banged and a volley of laser fire followed. Officers called their men to order and the anxious procession continued.

“Halt!”

Trooper Toni Alcaraz spat the dust from his mouth, grinned at his companions and followed the non-com’s hand signals. Men and women took up defensive positions, rifles scanned the surrounding area and they waited. There was nothing. The square in which they had stopped, the blank windows of buildings and the darkened alleys stared back at them.

“Come on...”

Alcaraz mouthed his words silently, his vigilance high as around him his fellows began to relax. A Captain approached, spoke with their Corporal and people began to relax. Not so Alcaraz, there was something ....
Boiling plasma erupted from a nearby doorway, cooking the Captain into cinders. It was followed by the crump of grenades, the bark of high-explosive rounds and the screams of dying men.

“Frak!” Toni cursed, as he tracked a flitting shape. Two quick squeezes of his trigger and he was rewarded with the disappearance of movement. He could not be sure he had hit his target, but this did not dissuade him. All around there were the cries and moans of injured soldiers. His appeared the only rifle spitting venom towards the enemy and a quick glance confirmed his worst fears. The platoon had been decimated.

Again he saw something and fired, more out of reaction than intent and scuttled backwards under cover. His leg thumped into flesh and was answered by a groan. He could see a free hand which he grabbed, dragging the unfortunate with him. They took cover behind some burning wreckage and he squatted next to his erstwhile colleague. It was the Corporal. One side of his body had been melted away and Toni gagged. His heroics had been useless. She was dead, the groaning only the air trapped in her lungs escaping.

More dark shapes snapped his head back and he unbuckled the pistol from the Corporal’s waist. It seemed as though he was definitely on his own. He flipped the body over and a quick search of the dead woman’s backpack revealed a couple of fragmentation grenades. These he hung from his combat harness and turned to the front.

What he saw shocked him. Strange, winged creatures skulked in the shadows. They hugged the protection of the darkness, using the scant cover religiously. Alcaraz stifled a gasp when he saw they faces; taut yellow skin clung to their skulls, it looked as though it had been added as an afterthought. Long teeth filled their grinning mouths and clod eyes surveyed their kill. He took careful aim at the first to reach the human corpses, held his breath and then released it slowly. His shot was instinctive, the brilliant beam searing through the hideous visage and the monster collapsed to the ground. Now for the first time he heard new noise, a weird whooping call which attracted all attention to him. En masse they came and Toni rose from his shelter, rifle discarded and with a grenade in each hand.

“Come to Poppa.” he said, as he casually primed and threw.

Blood and brains, bones and gore. Toni laughed manically as he was showered with the detritus of the explosion. A torn wing whistled above him as it span away. He unslung his rifle and on semi-automatic cut his foes in half. That they would kill him never entered his mind, he was submerged in the joy of battle. Bolts whizzed by him, exploding brickwork, metal and glass. Alcaraz did not care.

Step by step he advanced, dropping charges, reloading and killing in numb fury. When there were none in front of him, he span left and continued. It was then shells started to drop, he though, was oblivious. His rifle clicked empty and he drew his pistol, the rifle tossed aside. The roar of engines was lost on him, shouts of command and volleys of laser fire followed. He dodged a flailing arm, swayed and then clubbed the stock of his now empty pistol down onto an alien head. A hand grasped his arm and he whirled.

“Whoa, Trooper!”

Reality returned with a bang as a meaty hand slapped across his face. The red mist of battle evaporated and Toni saw the Officer in front of him with his flanking troopers.

“Sir! Sorry, Sir!”

The man grinned and glanced around at the carnage wrought by this single man.

“Been busy, haven’t we?”

“Sir?”

Toni too gazed silently at the shattered bodies, both alien and human. Reaction set in and he began to shake. The hand on his shoulder felt heavy and unwelcome. Alcaraz had survived but could not lose the resentment which flooded his senses. They had been sent in here, their task obviously to flush out whatever was waiting for them and the grinning Inspector represented the worst of the Command structure. A low growl started deep in Alcaraz’s throat and his fists clenched. Fear crossed the dark-coated figure in front of him as Toni took a step forward. Something crashed against the back of his skull and he crumpled to his knees, before falling headlong into the dirt.

“Another one,” grumbled the Inspector, “take him to the Staging Post with the others. There’s a smell of demon about this one.”

The Inspector sniffed and then studied the corpses. This scene had been played out in other areas of the city, men and women turning into mad beasts as they slaughtered. High Command had been right about this place and it would be best if the rest of the troops knew nothing more than the heroics of their comrades. A quick execution should take care of everything, but not here in front of the cheering Guards. No, it would be done quietly when they had gathered them all together.

High upon one of the buildings nearby, wreathed in shadows, a miniscule figure watched the scene being played out. A communicator was raised to thin lips and commands barked. The plan was working, the Seeding having its required effects. Soon they could begin the Harvest.

*

When Alcaraz woke, he found himself in a small dark cell. The smell was rich with sweat, vomit and fear. He rolled to one side and pushed with his hands. It took a little time, but at last he rose to his feet. Mumbled curses greeted him and he was bumped to one side, his shoulder finding the wall.

“Where am I?”

“Hell.” came the mumbled reply. A woman, the chevrons on her uniform identifying her was knelt next to him.

“What happened?”

“You were too efficient, like the rest of us. It doesn’t pay to stand out from the crowd. At least not in a coin we were willing to be paid.”

Alcaraz squinted, the woman Sargeant was small and lithe, yet the scar on her left cheek spoke of experience.

“I remember the firefight, then a frakking Inspector and … nothing.”

“Yeah, we did a lot of killing and were given a lovely reward too. We’re behind the front lines and waiting for judgement. It’ll be quick, final.”

“Why?” Toni was confused.

“Stop whining man. We’ve seen something, done something, screwed up somehow. Who cares?”

Toni cared. He remembered the aliens, their horrid faces and their blood. The Inspectorate were rigid in their ways, but this did not sit right. Whatever plan they were following, Toni did not agree. He was not prepared to wait for an arbitrary decision. Getting out of here was the priority.

His hands fumbled against the rough walls, eventually finding the bars of the cell. There was always one opportunity and Toni was determined to take it. He felt down into his boot top and found the handle of his hidden blade. A grunt of satisfaction escaped his lips and he hunched down, waiting.

Time passed slowly but he was patient. He was rewarded by the clink of metal against metal, as soldiers approached. Tense, coiled, he let himself relax. A buzz of energy filled his muscles, the knife how concealed in his hand, the blade tucked flush against his sleeve.

Voices snapped and the door was opened and they were herded out into the daylight. Alcaraz squinted as the bright light struck him and a surreptitious glance showed him the soldiers lined up, rifles at port as they waited for their orders. A pock-marked wall was their destination and Toni knew that they had been judged and found wanting.

“Frak this!” he cursed, exploding into action. His right hand lashed outwards, splitting the skin of one of his Guards. A swift kick to a knee was rewarded with the crunch of bone and he was free, a rifle in his hand. Pandemonium followed and he fired, determined that he would not be the only one to die today.

No-one heard the hum of the engines until it was too late. The fighters had risen slowly from their concealment, boosters kicking in with a roar. Plasma bolts announced their arrival to the struggling mass of soldiery and their indiscriminate fire followed. They screamed across the sky in run after run and laid down a curtain of fire. Alcaraz and the other prisoners had once more devolved into their murderous state and were oblivious to the unexpected aid.

Without conscious thought they were drawn together, those survivors of the first encounters with the enemy. Where rifles were unavailable, they used nature´s own weapons and their mad attacks sowed fear amongst the Guard around them. They did not flinch but pursued their violent attack until there was a partially cleared area around them. Toni heard the call, which started as a low buzzing which tugged and gnawed at him. Like a wild animal his head rose questing for the source and at last he saw the small craft settle to the ground nearby.

Fighters streaked past, carving a clear path for the vehicle. The buzzing became more insistent and marionette-like he lurched towards the opening door in its side. The others followed, ignoring the shouts of the Guard as they reformed and prepared to attack. Laser bolts struck some of Toni’s new companions but they ignored them and one-by-one walked crawled or dragged their way into the beckoning darkness of the craft’s entrance. With a clunk the metal cover fell into place, engines whined and they took to the air, the fighters forming a protective cordon all around.

*

Toni regained consciousness in the darkness once more, he could feel the movement beneath his feet and hear the whimpering of injured men. He remembered little but the all-consuming rage. His skin itched and burned and he had an almost irresistible urge to scream. He scratched at his arms, his face and his neck in monotonous repetition until he bled.

Bubbling through everything came his anger as he searched the darkness for more foes. It was then he saw the red lights begin to appear; small intense pin-pricks of brightness, evenly spaced. The others looked back and cowered until they too were overcome. None approached Toni, even when they changed. They could clearly see his face and the flames which crackled deep within his eyes.

FREE e-Book for One Month ONLY

As the title says, SDII A Guiding Light is available FREE from Smashwords for the next month ONLY.

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/43219

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A Guiding Light - Smashwords

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/43219

Seven sources of power, demons, unknown heroes and an all-powerful religion clash in a titanic struggle.

Men have become beasts. Some by choice and others by an unknown design. A galaxy-spanning battle has begun and not all yet know their part.

The Fortress has been reduced to rubble, the Taurans swept aside and the snarling K'ran's head banner flies in secret pride. A strange signal is received, a vast Tauran Fleet assembled and Walters and his men must again stand against both religious intolerance and Dark Magic. An unknown power calls to them all in a deadly race against time.

Cover Art by Diggory Steele-Perkins.

AGL - Chapter One

Spaceport
Regimental Command
Luther

Rank upon serried rank of soldiers stood in review, the recruitment was complete and they waited to board the descending transports. Commands roared across the parade ground, feet stamped in unison, banners flared and the 7th Lutheran Infantry Regiment boarded the waiting vessels.

Engines sparked into life, farting fumes into the still air as APC’s, aircars and tanks patiently awaited their turn.

The cleansing of Luther had been brutal and it had been nothing less than miraculous that the Inspectorate had found Colonel Walters to lead this Regiment. He had appeared one day, when they had called for blooded officers. Apparently he had been stuck in some outpost, his small contingent more than happy to follow him.

They had quickly assimilated the new troopers, his command organisation rapidly incorporating the new volunteers. The Regiment had easily taken him to their hearts, their loyalty at times bordering on heresy. If it had not been for the urgency of the recruitment, many more questions would have been asked. Particularly the Church Guard had raised numerous complaints at the accidents befalling their personnel, although the Colonel’s reports had been scrupulous in their content.

None could complain at the generosity of the man; he had brought his own pinnace with him, his men crewing the vessel at no extra expense. No-one had seen the full crew; they had remained on board, their bodies covered in a strangely fashioned armour. Some of them appeared big enough to be Church Elite, but everyone had of course dismissed that as a ridiculous notion.

Colonel Walters had been presented with the Regimental colours in a particularly strange ceremony by his huge and forbidding looking Leftenant, the stylisation of the screaming wolf’s head unique in its depiction.

*

“We are ready, my Lord!” carolled Krantu, his pride in the soldiers obvious.

“I’ve warned you about that,” admonished Walters, smiling.

“Yes, my L… Sir!” replied the K’ran, snapping to attention.

“Are the others on board?” asked Walters, squinting upwards at the latest transport to depart.

“They’re waiting for you, Sir!” said the strange Leftenant, indicating the two platoons of soldiers; their khaki fatigues blazoned with the snarling emblem of the regiment, their tunics uniquely piped with green.

“Very well,” commented, Walters, turning for one last look around.

He knew that he had the best of the people from Luther with him. Men and women made up his new command, their close families and hangers-on had already been ferried up to the awaiting ships. It was true that he was leaching vital resources from this world, but he had promised himself that they would all reap the benefits of their sacrifice a hundredfold.

Silently he prowled forward, Krantu and two other huge soldiers trailing in his wake. If only the Churchmen knew, he thought to himself, they would certainly not be so accommodating.

*

Major ‘Jimmy’ James tapped his fingers impatiently on his desk, the Inspector in front of him had presented him with a real problem. He had arrived only today, with a small entourage; two junior inspectors and three cadets.

“I do not see your problem,” insisted the man in a whining tone, “my orders are clear and it will go ill for you to delay me longer. I will present myself to your vaunted Colonel, and woe betide him if he tries to thwart me in my task.”

James smiled quietly to himself, thinking of this puny individual, threatening the Colonel. Inspectorr Ivanov noted the smile and his hand reached for his sidearm.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” growled a new voice, and the Ivanov started as Walters pushed roughly past him, a huge Leftenant sauntering in his wake.

“This man is impeding me in my duty, as an Inspector of the Holy Prelate, I do not answer to you!” he sneered.

Walters waited patiently, the silence lengthening uncomfortably. He glanced once at his Leftenant and the Inspector was driven to his knees by a tremendous blow. The boot placed into his back pinned him to the floor, his cheek pressed firmly against the metallic decking. His men made as if to reach for their weapons but the look in the Colonel’s eyes stayed them; it was chilling, deadly in its promise and brooked no defiance.

“You will address me as Colonel or Sir,” said Walters calmly, “you will never threaten myself or any of my men again. This is my Regiment, not yours and I will accept nothing less than obedience. I think you need a little time to yourself to reflect on this, to pray to the Prelate for guidance.”

He nodded to Krantu, who roughly pulled the Inspector to his feet, other soldiers entering and dragging the rest of Ivanov’s team away, after disarming and roughly searching them.

“Lock them in the cells on the pinnace,” he ordered Krantu, “I want no contact between them and the rest of the transport’s crew. Not for the present anyway.”

Krantu turned away, his silence signifying his acceptance, his large hand firmly gripping the Inspector by the hair.

“You’ll be sorry!” screamed Ivanov as he was bundled out of the office.

Grinning at James, Walters spoke, “I already am, my dear Inspector!”

*

Stiv Viker was feeling lost, lonely and pretty awful. Last night’s party had somehow managed to continue over until this morning, at least that was what his body was telling him. He felt like somebody was trying to pound their way out of his head, his mouth dry and furry, his lungs still choked with smoke and he certainly wasn’t open to conversation.

Not that there was much small talk in his platoon, everyone would rather kill themselves than upset Corporal Johns. He was one of the older soldiers, found somewhere by the Colonel and readily accepted by the rest of their strange leader’s unit.

It had struck Viker, the same as many of the other new recruits, that there was a sameness to the older men. A shape of body; muscles seemed to burst from new tunics, shaggy hair; which seemed to cover every part of their bodies, and those eyes. Like the Colonel they each had piercing green eyes, whose depths seemed to promise raw, animalistic anger.

Shivering, he turned to his bunkmate, Alana and prodded her with a grimy finger, “How you feeling?” he asked as quietly as he could, although it still sounded like a roar to his pained skull.

“Leave me alone!” she snapped, then groaned as she was roughly tossed out of her bunk, by the passing Corporal.

“Up and at ‘em!” roared Johns, a wide grin splitting his face.

“What?” replied a befuddled Alana.

“Leftenant Krantu has a job for us,” he said cheerfully, “and you know better than to keep him waiting!”

As one the recruits moaned in dejection, if there was one person more terrifying than Johns, it was the big Leftenant; he didn’t even look human!

*

Inspector Ivanov was apoplectic with rage, he had never been treated this way by any Church officer. They knew their place in the scheme of things and had always been terrified of what the snivelly little man could do to them.

This Colonel Walters though, he showed a disdain for the badge and rank Ivanov carried, there was none of the requisite fear, rather an all powerful belief in his own right to command. It all smelled of heresy to the Inspector and in his cell he delighted himself with the thought of what he would do to the Colonel when he got out.

The clanging of the cell door brought him back to reality, and he shrank back against the rear wall at the sight of the hulking Leftenant. Behind the man stood a group of curious soldiers, delight at the predicament of the Inspector written plainly upon their faces.

“Arrest him!” screamed Ivanov, pointing at Krantu, “I command you!”

No-one moved a muscle. Instead they looked at the Leftenant as he began first to chuckle and then roar with laughter.

Finally he stopped his unseemly behaviour and pointed at the Inspector, “This,” he said flatly, “is your first lesson. The only person you owe your unquestioning loyalty to is Colonel Walters. You can see his benevolence and thought for you. This Inspector and the rest of his breed will rot here in this cell unless they are converted to our way of belief. Any who feel the same as this scum will join him here, praying for release from his God.”

There was absolute silence, except for the mutters of heresy from the cowering Inspector. Then, Viker’s tremulous voice was heard, “His God, sir?”

“Ah, yes,” responded Krantu, his eyes flashing, “that would be lesson number Two!”

Outer System
Charsu
Second Church Protectorate

A straining of fold space announced the vessel’s arrival, it burst into normal space in full view of the Tauran ships. There was a poised danger about the strange three-masted alien craft; the Galleon had arrived.

One cold transmission was heard, “We warned you!”, and then with no further communication, gun ports slammed open, rapidly followed by a broadside of plasma which tore through the two lead Tauran vessels.

Two more ships appeared, their design that of more familiar Church origin, but they only sat waiting. Desperately the Tauran Commander tried to bargain with his attackers, against whose shields his plasma and rail guns had zero effect.

It was in vain; the Galleon ruthlessly destroyed vessel after vessel, each broadside smashing through ineffective shields and vaporising metal instantly.

When there was nothing left except space dust, a broad band transmission was beamed down to the planet.

“This is the Lost Company, we apparently were not clear enough for your liking. Please receive these gifts on behalf of our Lord. Perhaps others will learn from this lesson and respect the sovereignty of our protected worlds in future.”

The cold voice disappeared, never to be heard by anyone living on the Tauran planet. Objects spat from each of the three vessels, their flight programmed to perfection. They cut into the planet’s atmosphere and screamed down towards their carefully selected targets. Shortly afterwards, small extremely bright suns began to burn in each of the world’s major cities.

Without another word, the three ships once more jumped into anonymity of fold space..

Sudden Dearth Book II - A GUIDING LIGHT

Seven sources of power, demons, unknown heroes and an all-powerful religion clash in a titanic struggle.

Men have become beasts. Some by choice and others by an unknown design. A galaxy-spanning battle has begun and not all yet know their part.

The Fortress has been reduced to rubble, the Taurans swept aside and the snarling K'ran's head banner flies in secret pride. A strange signal is received, a vast Tauran Fleet assembled and Walters and his men must again stand against both religious intolerance and Dark Magic. An unknown power calls to them all in a deadly race against time.

Coming to a Smashwords near you....real soon....

Sudden Dearth III - A Leap Of Faith

As I am in the final stages of editing Book III in the series, I thought that I would give you all an insight into how it's going. So here is Chapter One of Book III...

Ori Homeworld

Cormach was angry. To be captured as easily as a newborn babe, whilst sleeping shamed him. He had been warned of the effect of excess, how it led to the Twisted Way. Yet he was young, over-confident and had ultimately paid the price. His nose wrinkled in response to the stench which wafted up from his unwashed and battered body.

They had taken a break and he sat in his and others’ filth. The rough chains and slave collar chafed against his skin. Runes ran along its length and negated his will. Not all, though. How he longed for the feel of his bow and blade in his hand. Then he would make these accursed Taurans pay. It was not to be though, his weapons lay forgotten on his homeworld, along with the shattered bodies of his kin.

The bestial grunts of his captors broke into his reverie and he flashed a hate-filled glance towards them. His time would come, yet for now he must wait.

*

Ships, bloated like flies after a carrion feed, rose from the burning remains of the Satellite colony. They had come to fill their bellies with sacrificial souls for their Master. It had been a good raid and now they left, before the Ori reaction force could retaliate. One by one they winked out of existence, the last leaving just as the first of the vengeful Ori vessels exited the boiling maelstrom of fold space.

Inside the lead ship, Lilith laughed. Her Master would be pleased. The forges and laboratories were waiting for these long-lived souls. The Artefact would be activated and their troops become unstoppable. Yes, it had been a good day.

Asmode's Lair
Spindle

The Ori had seen his brothers and sisters herded into the dark doorways, he felt their fear and despair. Still he did not lose hope. Their misery had been compounded by the treatment they received within the Tauran ships and then on the forced march from the landing.

He recognised that his moment had come when the foul beast turned on its handler. The chariot’s passage back through his people snapped his chains and he rose, calling to his brothers to help. They ran blindly away from the tangled mess of bodies.

At first they made ground, but soon heard the sound of pursuit. Cormach began to lose hope when he was dragged roughly into an alleyway and saw more enemies awaiting him. Surprise stunned him into silence as they were roughly manhandled to one side and gold-armoured creatures stood to meet the Taurans’ charge. It was soon over and once again he was a captive.

He was shocked when they were not mistreated, yet bundled into a large room above the streets. The armoured men parted and he saw a silver-haired individual approach. There was something animalistic about him, barely held in check. He reminded himself that he was a true warrior of the Way and stood to meet his fate.

The man signalled to one of the smaller of the armoured figures, who removed his helm and Cormach gasped.

*

K’san saw the quickly masked amazement on the Ori’s face. S’sral’s collection of allies had been indiscriminate and now it was as though the rescued alien looked into a mirror. The only difference was the snarling K’ran’s head tattooed on his colleague’s pale face.

“Tell him why we are here,” he said, turning away, “and be quick about it. We don’t have much time.”

*

Lilith was furious. She had been so close to perfection, when the idiot guard had spoilt everything. With a snarl, she withdrew her knife and slammed it into the cowering man’s chest. He at least would not fail her again.

“Loose the beasts!”

More K’ran were brought from a nearby building. These were smaller, lithe and deadly. Bred for hunting, they strained in eagerness to be away. Their handlers took them close to some of the mashed corpses and they snuffled at the alien smell. Yips of excitement told her that they had found the scent of the fugitives and they were set free. There was no need to follow quickly behind them. She was no longer interested in the capture of the Ori prisoners. Their deaths would suffice.

*

A growl interrupted Cormach’s discussion. He looked up and saw the silver-haired man’s face contorted in anger. His eyes blazed and he barked something at two of his men. They were quickly away. The Ori was sure he saw their bodies changing as they ran, but it could have just been a trick of the light.

“Stay here!” K’ran snapped.

Then Cormach was sure, as the human’s body rippled and shuddered. Before him was a growling, fur-covered beast. It snarled once and then leapt after the others.

High Orbit
Spindle

The craft hung silently above the planet. It was spherical in shape, silvered to the point of brilliance. One small red light pulsated, swishing round the sphere in a slow orbit. Without warning, it sped up. Now it blurred with its velocity, almost an excited and continuous line. A bubble in reality formed near it and a much larger ship winked into existence. The small craft whizzed upwards and a large black opening cracked wide, into which the tiny craft disappeared.

Master Arshavin sighed in contentment. It was as he suspected. Their mission was still alive and his new master, Shan, would be pleased. The time spent in study had not been wasted and the Artefact was still here. He bridled as the huge and pestilent bulk of a diseased Immortal brushed past him. Arshavin was lucky that he had no nose to smell the awful stench of Shan’s minion. It was bad enough that he could see him.

This one and his fellows’ presence on Arshavin’s craft, spoke clearly of the lingering mistrust in which he was held. Still, it was of little significance. He hurried to his control chair, sighing as he felt the surge of connection. Now he could carry out the first phase of his plan and perhaps at last be rid of the disease-infested Lord and his minions.

His commands were quickly transmitted and from the darkness of the open bay, silver forms emerged. They were larger than their tiny brother, cigar-shaped, but ending in a wicked point. Engines burst into life and drove them down through the unresisting atmosphere. Petal-like brakes deployed, slowing them, before falling away as their cargo bloomed forth.

Long, spindly arms flowed outwards from a diamond-shaped arm. They whipped in the self-generated breeze of descent for a moment, before realigning themselves into a streamlined shape. Explosively they struck the earth, burying deep into the tortured ground and destroying wilfully the horrid vegetation around them.

With a hiss and a groan they drew themselves forth, the trailing protuberances hardening into strong metallic legs. These clicked into life, drawing the diamond bodies upwards. Slender antennae appeared and twin red lights sparked. As one they moved forward, heading directly for the city in front of them.

Happy that his work was done, Arshavin sent his signal. Fold space began to boil and spat forth the Spiteful Dawn. Shan had come.

Asmode's Lair
Spindle

Lilith was lost in the anticipation of the hunt when the first red bolt struck the city, tearing its way through barely resistive rock. It was followed by beam after beam, which melted a path through the surrounding buildings. She heard her Lord’s mental scream of rage at the temerity of the action and his irresistible call-to-arms. She spat in frustrated pique, then ordered half of her forces to deliver their charges below. The rest she would need.

*

K’san felt the impact of the beams through his pads, yet his focus must remain on the hunting pack. They skittered around the corner of the alley, their claws losing their grip and he chose that moment to attack. He leapt from the shadows, one taloned paw crushing the first of the K’ran’s skull. His brothers joined the battle and the alley became a mass of snarling growls, rending fangs and tearing claws. Although numerically at a disadvantage, K’san and his men were much larger than the hunting pack members. They had also been imbued with their Lord’s grace and so the battle was short and bloody.

At last they stood, chests heaving. Beneath the unsheathed claws of each of them lay the bared throats of their victims, submissively stretched. Another volley of energy weapons crashed into the city and K’san paused, squinting towards the sound of destruction.

He lifted his claws and spoke, “Follow.” The now submissive K’ran rose and fell in behind him as he stalked away. It seemed that someone else had arrived to stake their claim and with much heavier firepower. He needed to think.

Drop pods continued to fall in a virulent wave from the sky. Shan had lost little time in disembarking his troops, the urge to kill was strong upon him. The world below was already tainted with the kiss of one of the Taurans’ demons, but he had a different embrace in mind. Within a number of the pods were special packages, humans infested with the blessing of his patron. Once on the ground, they would release their own kind of welcome to their warped brothers. It would be delicious.

Master Arshavin continued to cluck and scold his creations as they methodically destroyed buildings and razed ground. Beams of terrific force melted rock and evaporated any flesh foolish enough to place themselves in their way.

Shan could feel the call of the Artefact and this time, there was no semi-deity to stand in his way. Instead he could sense the presence of souls in torment and it excited him to think of the use he would put them to.

*

Lilith drove her bestial horde onwards. Her anger now had a target and she screamed in rage, the froth of madness spitting from her lips. She called on her Master and felt his power surge through her body in response. Ropes of muscle stood out as she swelled, wings burst from her shoulders, horns pushed from her head in an explosion of gore and she leapt free. Her whip crackled with energy and shimmered with an awful heat. A cackling joy bubbled from her lips as the long weapon licked out.

The first of Arshavin’s creations felt the touch of her weapon. Its caress scored the metal, leaving a trail of acidic bubbles. With a grown the limb doubled over on itself and the machine crashed to the floor. Behind, her troops fanned out. They too felt their Master’s benediction and changed.

*

Within the city and from the roof of his building, K’san watched the drama unfold. He was surrounded by his followers, new and old and they watched in surprise as he dropped to his knees. Arms wide in supplication, he called out to his Lord. A fresh breeze sprang up from nowhere, his hair fanning out in response.

The K’ran who had recently joined him fell to the floor, their bodies wracked with convulsions of ecstasy. Cormach too bowed under the pressure wave of love and concern which washed over him.

As one, they clearly heard Walters’ voice as it roared through their minds, “I come, my children, do not fear.”

K’san turned to face them, his eyes blazing with a peculiar green light, “Prepare yourselves,” he crowed, “our Pack will run again!”

*

On the battlefield, deep within the forges and laboratories and even in the torture and slave pits they felt Walters’ call. K’ran knew the Truth, Ori a blessing and hope which renewed them, and they fought.

Shan spat in rage and fury, urging his troops on. Lilith screamed in challenge, before wheeling away, her wings beating strongly to carry her back to her Master’s side. There, upon his blood-soaked throne, her Master dropped the Artefact in his hand as it burnt and scored his flesh. He struck about him in a hate-filled frenzy. His goal had been so close and now he must begin again.

*

Masses of K’ran and Ori poured from the exits of the building below and huddled together in the main square. Their faces turned up to feast greedily upon the silent figure which stood high above them.

“Come,” said K’san, “it is time to gather our people, ready for our Lord’s arrival.”

They followed him down, pushing and shoving to be at his side, Cormach the foremost of them. Now he could fight and he screamed his battle cry of old, and from below he heard its echo.