Relentless
It was turning night again. Duskur had lost track of how many days this situation had stretched. He personally had hoped that this would be over in a mere few days, but then so many people and so many complications arose. It was nearly half a week since he nearly could kill that annoying mortal preacher, and that was far too long for him to wait.
Belphes it seemed couldn't care less. He was rather cranky after having his wing damaged by a thrown sword of all things and being confined to walking. It would take a very long time until the wing mended itself enough for flight, but in the meantime his remaining wings were strong enough to assist him in fighting.
Duskur slowed to a stop and looked at the horizon. His eyes narrowed. "The lab is there. I can see Ramses' spent energy drifting about the wreckage like death over a corpse." Belphes of course couldn't see anything, and neither could a normal human, only Duskur's trained eyes could easily track the dog down. "They will be gathering here very shortly. Now the question is whether we find the Sisters before they can meet with Ramses… or ensure Ramses doesn't have a party to greet them." Duskur halted his speech, opening room for a suggestion from his partner.
"The interloper." Belphes breathed. "Prototype. Felt his mind. Very dangerous." Duskur shook his head and tsked.
"Well that's a fine mess then, isn't it? One Interloper mere miles away waiting to be killed and two more on their way here… The Interloper alone may not be much of a threat. The sisters on the other hand—" Duskur silenced his speech. He jerked his head in every direction. He felt another source of Eon. Belphes did too. He snorted and sniffed in search of what would be a scent. Nothing. Duskur found himself relaxing, but then the source appeared again. He and Belphes shifted their energy off and hid among the rocks. A red streak of light appeared and vanished in an instant over the wreckage.
"…Plan?" Belphes hissed, sounding vaguely impatient.
"I'll think of something. For now, follow me." Duskur said as he readied his claws. A small, high-pitched noise entered his sensors. He irritably searched the area, and found a collection of twigs resting upon a rock, with a blue shape hopping inside, the singsong noise undoubtedly coming from the creature.
"…Bird?" Belphes asked. Duskur stopped and processed for a moment. Animals were mostly driven away by when the Matrix arrived, and as long as they kept their influence, the numbers of the critters were few. But if a normal song bird managed to come out here… Duskur glared.
"So… the rumors about the Jericho hive being destroyed were more serious than we thought. We're actually losing influence." All the more reason to kill the followers. Starting with that poor soul who landed.
I slowly open my eyes. My wound still bleeds. Something is carrying me. He's strong, his armor clicks against my own. My vision fogs. I can still see the light ahead of me, but it's getting fainter. 'I don't want to stay,' I gasp. The light grows fainter still. I painfully raise my hand, but the being pushes it down.
'Sleep,' it breathed. 'A sleeping warrior need only awake when his time comes…' I feel a strange feeling wash over my body. My wound stops bleeding, but I feel tired. I try to look up, but my vision clouds. I drift away, and I finally see his face…
The winds in the ruins hissed. The tall emaciated buildings, missing entire chunks of their structures yet still stable in their standing cast shadows over the evening. Streets, once jet-black, now lay gray and dusty, crumbled, layered atop one another, old vehicles and structures lay underneath them. And sitting on top of a wrecked vehicle laid Storm, looking over the ruins. He had no trouble seeing through his shades that nightfall was coming, and he had no trouble deciding that the wrecked contraption beneath him would serve as a good place to rest. He held up one of the many packets he had found from the buildings inside. A silver bag, squeezed shut and sucked so clean of air that it hugged its contents, containing only a chunk of what he couldn't tell, bore the label 'Rations… Jerky… micro-free, sealed '55… Good till…'
That last part made the young man very unsure about whether or not he should try his luck. It was the only packet of food that proved promising in the market ruin he had found, and the constant assertion from his stomach was becoming hard to ignore. He cautiously tore at the silver bag, revealing the slab of reddish-brown concealed within. He cautiously sniffed it. It bore no scent. He carefully tore a piece off. It was dry. He bit into the piece. It was dry, it was meaty, and it was incredibly salty, and yet it bore a freshness that other foods he had found lacked, and it certainly satisfied his hunger. He found himself eagerly eating the rest, but he forced himself to hold off and save half of it for an emergency. Unless he found more of this, it might as well be the only food in the area, save the rations provided by Chea, which he couldn't bring himself to use quite yet.
He jumped down from the wreckage and walked towards where his bike and sword rested. Storm put the wrapping away with his other rations and prepared to move his bike closer to the old vehicle. As he reached for his sword and strapped it to his back, the demon's words echoed back into his mind.
'That is a very, very old weapon… You're one of Ramses' handpicked to be brought back from the dead… You're an Interloper.' Ramses. A name he had never heard, but the sound of it gave off such a powerful vibe. Interloper however, made even less sense. This Ramses… he's probably like the Matrix. How else could he… no, I don't know if that 'back from the dead' is real… or is it?
Storm had made a vow not to confuse himself right before he would otherwise be resting. It made it either hard to sleep or it gave him dreams he would rather be spared from. He walked the Bike next the shell and laid it against the hull. The former vehicle was strong enough to take the bike's weight. He tried a door on the car, but it was jammed shut. He pulled a little harder, and the locking mechanism broke and the door flung open. He doubted this strength was normal.
The interior was actually well-contained from the elements outside, and the leather cushions inside, albeit obviously very old, were still holding well. Whatever was beneath the cushions hadn't started to rot and exhale fumes like where Storm first woke up. The first cold gust of wind nipped at his face, and he decided that this would in fact be a good place to rest the night. Taking his sword with him and stashing it under a seat, he climbed into the car and sat down one of the cushions. It was more like a large soft chair, and the comfort it offered was tantalizingly strong, tempting him to rest his eyes even now.
He took one last look outside before the light of day left, searching for any would-be attackers. The site seemed to be devoid of Drones, and it made any caution seem unnecessary. Slowly he backed back into the vehicle and prepared to rest against the soft leather chair. Something poked at his back. He reached against the seat and pulled up a stiff, disintegrating piece of paper; a picture of a man and a woman, both smiling happily at whoever captured the picture, with the very vehicle in the background. All of a sudden the implications of this vehicle's past became rather depressing. Storm tossed the picture away and tried to forget about it. Slowly his eyes became heavier. He crossed his arms and took a breath of the leather-smelling air. Thoughts started to invade his mind.
'So now you're running from this too?' …. 'There's a fine line between accepting what's done and just giving up…' Storm turned his head over and tried to go to sleep. Sometimes he wished the silence would just engulf him.
A lone Drone Berserker lazily shuffled in and out of the wreckage of the buildings. Its objectives; search, secure, destroy. The infinitely complex program looped within its core as it scoured for a sign of living prey. The programs that ran the Berserker and its brethren were not unlike that of the Neo-Soldiers that were dispatched to havens. The program instilled an insatiable desire to destroy and wreck havoc, and inanimate objects weren't enough. The prey that would satisfy the program had to move and run, though granted this would instill the occasional glitch of a Drone attacking a torn flag like a fascinated feline. A secret hidden inside the program however, was that aggression would multiply if the needs of the program wouldn't be fulfilled, and this hungered the Berserker's synthetic spirit. The Berserker's city-side brothers were calmer and less animal-like from the constant exercising of their programs, while the Drones out in the wastes had sweet little time in which they were truly entertained, and this made them all the more ferocious.
What was even more of a secret, not that the Drone had the capacity to truly acknowledge such a fact, was that this very instinct controlled much of the Master's top First-Phases, as well as the Interlopers that the Maverick had re-activated. Whether they knew it or not, they lived to attack, delete, and erase. Stasis from the Ancient Maverick wouldn't fix that. Unless the Ancient one could alter their Battle Programs, and even that would be a feat, the half-lives would soon be overcome by their nature. At heart they were lost. Much like the flesh-lives. Haven-side flesh-lives were inwardly unamused and sought entertainment of increasing variety and complexity, it knew. The flesh-lives of the wastes however, tended to be more at peace and would cherish what little pastime they had. Such behavior was beyond the drone, but it also lacked the awareness to ask itself why it was fed so much information it wouldn't be able to acknowledge.
It caught a scent. It strained its sensors as it mechanically rotated its vision around the vicinity. It caught a strain that smelled like another Drone mixed with a Flesh-life. An Interloper. That was one of its priorities, one that had to be removed immediately. It quickly and silently approached the trail and found a long, abandoned path for the old vehicles. The scent came from one of these old primitive machines. It scanned the interior and located a single organic, along with a piece of metal.
Not daring to continue without satisfying its brethren, it released a signal from its mandibles that any Drone in the vicinity could hear, as well as the Master-Spawns that chased the Ancient one. It paused, which would be painful considering it ran on such a rabid program that urged it to attack, if it weren't synthetic. It received a quick response from one of the Master-Spawns, the one known as Duskur. It instructed the Drone to confine the target and not terminate it, which the drone was able to identify as an oddity. The last it had received on the network, another berserker like itself had been ordered to self-destruct itself to secure another target much like this. Why the change in operations? It didn't truly care. It repeated the message that dared any Drones to defy the Spawn's orders. But it kept one part of the message to itself. The spawn would be joining them. As the Drone finally approached the old vehicle, its brethren quietly appeared out of the shadows and surrounded the vehicle.
Dagon had never been to Ramses' old bunker himself, though he had heard of its location several times. He found a particular aversion to any site that the Renegade had used for whatever twisted scheme that Ether-maddened mind of his could conjure. But somehow this was the origin of the Interlopers, and this is where Duskur and Belphes' scents had disappeared to.
The Emerald warrior admitted to himself that he had hoped the two he had smelled back when he fought the Interloper were the Sisters, but it was the very two Moloch had demanded he bring back alive. If he had heard right from the network, the Fakers were supposed to be gathering at the ruins of the bunker, or at least somewhere nearby. The two fellow Devilkin were obviously there, and hopefully Siren and her sister Oracle, along with whatever colorful creeps Ramses had created, would assemble there as well.
As he darted through the rocks, energy switched off, Dagon smelt a third scent at the site. As per usual, though he couldn't identify energy at this distance, he could estimate compared to other scents. This third bogey was almost as strong as Belphes. Almost. As he drew closer, formulating a plan that would otherwise be painful for his rabid hungry mind to conceive, he suddenly felt a strong surge of energy suddenly dying out. The third scent had disappeared as well. Did they kill it?! If that was a Faker, then they are coming here! But when will the sisters come?
He paused. A message had registered itself on the mental hive used by the Drones, something about another Interloper. Sometimes he wished his synthetic brethren would keep to their own business and leave the elites to do their job. If they liked the prey they found, they could keep it, and let the Devilkin take care of more pressing matters… The network started registering a rapid series of replies from a fellow devilkin, asking for details on physique of the prey. After a pause the network replied with a single message; silver hair. The network went silent.
A scent started to grow closer. Dagon shifted some of his armor down and hid behind a stone. He felt the wind pick up as a figure dashed away from the site. He carefully peered out from his hiding spot and saw none other than Duskur fleeing the vicinity. Did he accept that Drone's invitation? Does he care about that Interloper that much? Dagon soon realized that he had come to a point of decision. He could either chase Duskur when he and his partner were separated, or keep his route and see to the Sister's demise. He chose the latter, and left Duskur to pursue whatever false hope he had of securing the undead Soldier.
Storm awakened with a start as the vehicle started moving on its own, more accurately put, acting like a beast of burden that wished him gone. He quickly reached for his sword and tried to look out the fogged and ruined windows, but he could make no shapes out in such dark light. The car rocked in every direction. As his thoughts started to clear from the fright, Storm came to the sober realization that his time of running had come to an end. He strapped the old sword to his back just as the vehicle was thrown on its side by the unknown assailants. But it was just that time when Storm busted open the opposite door and jumped out before the car could capsize.
He landed on the dusty earth and immediately drew his blade. His shades slightly obscured his vision, but he could make out the many energy markings, and the sound was unforgettable. Drones. No more running. It was time to fight again.
The synthetic creatures had already set their sights on the escaped target and started to surround him. Storm readied his sword and took his defensive stance, daring the drones to attack. All the drones raised their blaster arms and started firing. Letting his instincts take over, Storm leapt over the circle of Drones and sheathed the sword in a Drone's back, ending it and the core inside. He retrieved his sword and turned to face the Drones who weren't felled by their comrade's shots.
All strategy abandoned, the Drones amassed like insects and charged for Storm, who promptly cut them down as they came. The disembodied cores fled from their hosts and retreated, which didn't exactly make Storm feel at ease. Should he let his guard down they may come back for him and subdue him. The final standing Drone hissed at Storm and jumped behind him, obviously learning from its fallen brethren. Storm didn't even bother to turn to face it. He held his sword behind him and let the Drone fall upon it and damage itself.
Its torso torn, the core inside writhing for completion, the Drone fell to the ground, and with a final stab in the chest it was finished. Storm scanned the horizon. He looked behind him. No more Drones. Just as he was about to sheath his sword, the ground in front of him lit up. He turned his neck slowly to see a Berserker Drone hunched behind him, waiting to attack. Storm froze. They both waited for the other to make a move. Storm didn't know if he should even bother trying to fight the thing, seeing how his sword could barely scratch the one from the complex.
The drone reared back and Storm took that as his cue to move. With a snarl the Drone lunged at him, Storm narrowly evading and skidding a few feet away. The Drone wasted no movement and started throwing fists at Storm, whose only defense was the blade of his sword. Every parried blow felt like it would shatter the blade, or worse yet his arm. The Drone raised two arms to bring down unto the blade, and Storm decided he had tested the durability of his weapon enough. Moving as fast as he could he ducked under the creature's legs and without even thinking, struck at its neck with his blade.
Surprisingly his attack drew the creature's life. He had found a chink in its armor. The creature whirled around and struck at Storm's blade arm. Storm felt the impact and the strain, but virtually no pain translated to his body. The pain or lack thereof felt more as of a bother to him. The creature held out its fist as the Gatling barrels appeared once more. Storm panicked and reached out to push the Drone's fist away, dropping his sword. The creature pushed as the barrels lit up with energy that would undoubtedly shred Storm apart. Storm pushed as hard as he could to at least skew the creature's aim, but his efforts only yielded temporary progress. He lowered his head and groaned as he gave one last shove, and in a flash of red, the strain against his arms vanished. Storm dared looked up to see the Drone's figure fly through the night sky and crash in the horizon.
He let his arms sag. More confusion. Nothing but plain confusion. Where did that energy come from? Him? He thought he was similar, but all these cases of abnormal strength and these bursts of red energy were beginning to make him assume he had even more in common with the drones.
With the threat of the drones gone, he resolved to simply find where he had hidden his bike and vacate. He kept going in the direction of this 'coast', but the closer he got the more dangerous things kept getting. Sentient drones and ambushes at nearly every break he took. He was beginning to lose his already dying enthusiasm for the situation. He knelt down to retrieve his sword and sheathed it. He started for the spot where his vehicle lay, assuming the Drone's hadn't compromised it when they found him. It was untouched. He pulled it out and started to walk it to a flat patch of earth where he could safely start it and drive off.
He was beginning to run out of fuel and didn't want to risk scavenging in this ruin anymore, what with the drones realizing a small branch of their brethren had disappeared. Again. His bike roared to life as he readied his shades. As the bike took off and rolled down the decaying road, Storm instinctively scanned his view, searching for any Drones that may have taken notice of the outburst of noise and light from his bike's lights. Nothing. He returned his gaze to the road. As everything sank away into repetition and familiarity, he allowed himself to succumb to his thoughts for a moment.
Why am I out here? I follow the one thing that made sense, and things just seem to be getting worse. Was I a fool to leave? What if Chea could have helped me remember? I was too afraid to think… If I stayed, then… wait, the Drones would have come for them. I had no choice but to run, they were better off with me gone and there was nothing I could've done… right?
The buildings began to disappear. The horizon now consisted only of rocks and sand. Storm hit the accel to speed forward. He heard a strange whistling noise. He looked around and saw nothing. He decided it was nothing dangerous, and he certainly didn't see any movement in the black shadows. The moment he returned his gaze to the road, his bike was struck.
He felt himself get flung out of his vehicle as his bike flung off in another direction. Instincts took over as he readied himself and rolled to an uncomfortable stop on the broken road as the bike skid on its side and crashed into one of the few remaining buildings along the road. Storm pulled himself up and managed to get onto his knees. He looked closer at his bike and beheld a glowing dagger lodged into its side, in much similar shape to his own blade. He cautiously rose to his feet, and then he heard a quiet, reverberating noise. A rhythmic tapping noise. Like footsteps. He slowly turned his gaze behind him. He made out a thin, spindly figure breaking through the shadows, red lines and eyes piercing the night. He instinctively reached for his blade. The figure stopped mere meters from Storm where he could easily make out its figure. Thin, sickly, and skeletal. Its bony, clawed fingers tightly wrapped around a long staff that looked like an elongated and smoothened spinal cord. A long, withered and dying braid of gray hair crawled out from behind its macabre face. The red eyes tracked his every move.
Its very presence instilled Storm with fear. He felt his unnatural senses shriek and panic and beg him to back away and run. But he stood. He knew the figure before him was like the other one. He knew it was like Belphes; somehow they resonated a familiar feeling… much like his own.
"I commend you on living for this long." A ghastly, hollow voice broke the silence. Storm jumped as the skull finally focused upon him and raised its staff. "It's been hard, hasn't it? Running for so long, thinking you had answers, thinking you had a hope, only for it all to fade away as the beasts closed in one you." With the gentlest squeeze from the bony hand, a wickedly thin and twisted blade, glowing with red energy. The voice took on a tone of mock comfort. "It's alright now." It took a step forward. "You don't need to run anymore. I'm here to make it all end."
Storm finally unsheathed his blade and took his stance and silently bemoaned the irony. Death had finally come to take him back.
...Seven Months. After the holidays passed, things just slowed down. I'm sorry. This is almost over.
I had to abandon nearly twenty pages of content. Hope you enjoy all I left.
