--- Final Confrontation
The dim light echoed off the metallic bars of his environment, lighting it up in flashes of red and blue, disappearing as fast in vain.
There were faces, many of them. Some he knew, some were merely a beast in the zoo, another target, another adversary.
He closed his eyes, his weary, weary eyes, for a precious moment; savouring the metallic feel of the weapon in his hand, the shadows that hid him and the powers that cloaked him. He savoured the feeling of safety, a concept that once was real, now just a feeling.
He could hear them out there, laser shots echoing non-stop out in the darkness, like a primeval war going on into eternity. He knew his cover was short enough, he would not remain hidden long. Soon he would be among them, one of them. Soon he would be that war, nothing less, and nothing more. The essence of his existence would be that war.
The weapon felt smooth to the touch, an ally, when there were no others. It was his only hope to remain sane, his only hope to reach out and embrace his life, not his death. The trigger was an extension of his finger, the ammunition an extension of his power, his armour just another layer of skin.
He did have confidence in himself, he had lived long enough to earn that, he had progressed well. He knew where it all was going though; he was just another drop in the sea to the big shots in the top leagues. Death would always come; he had known it for a month now, the only month of his life as far as he was concerned.
He felt that familiar shiver down his spine, a touch of pure cold throwing him back into reality. Death was out there, waiting. He had no choice - but to embrace it.
And so he charged, a moral being among mortals, embracing immortality among death. His armour clung to his skin like only metal can where the tunic, wet with his own sweat, torn and dirty through reuse, was non-existent - a reminder of the fear that had festered deep within him.
"To death and immortality!" He yelled. He had heard something similar often enough, coming out of his own body in some cases. Now it echoed out in the darkness. Sometimes he wondered if this body truly was his, or if perhaps he was just another machine, organic one, like all the others.
He tightened his grip on the shock rifle, stroking the surface as gently as a woman's hand. He was a machine. That energy, that weapon of death, made him that. If he would not be that now, soon he would not be at all.
"For life!" He screamed. Screamed with the last of the air in his lungs as he raced out. Raced out into the open arms of death. The sole of his shoes hit the platform with terrible noise.
"Show yourself," He screamed, moving in circles, strategically jumping in the corners, watching for every movement. They appeared soon enough, machines, as he himself was. Dressed in scarlet and crimson, brown, green and yellow, they jumped out of the doorways, muscles bulging. Weapons drawn to the point of no return. There were flashes of blue and green as the battle begun, as death begun.
"So you have returned my dear friend, death my friend." He cried out as he barely dodged a rocket aimed his way. "Death, fellows. Can't you smell it?"
The adrenaline pumped through his veins as he grabbed a minigun off the floor and began emptying entire clips in all directions.
"It's here for us!" He yelled. He rolled sideways behind a column. There were bodies everywhere; there were many this time.
For some reason he felt it now. He felt right, complete. He had fulfilled his purpose yet again. Fate was perhaps on his side.
Yet again he jumped out in the open, opening fire in all directions, throwing himself down while at it. He screamed into the air with all the air in his lungs:
"Run, humans!" For a moment, he thought them all more than they were, more than they ever would be - more than he ever would be. He thought himself human. That pride would be his final fall.
He turned 'round to see the enforcer by his stomach, an execution by the hands of another.
He heard one single shot fired, sounding as if out of infinity. He fell down, first to his knees, before the man - eyes locked to the pupils of the man's eyes as they expanded and retracted before his. He knew him, he thought, as he watched the empty clip falling to the ground with peculiar slowness, and heard the strangely loud clatter as it hit the ground.
The man lowered his pistol, outright grinning at him. It struck him at his very last that he knew him - he had once been his friend. Once, when they were human.
"Run humans?" The man snorted.
"Good idea!" He smiled in a self-satisfied manner, a wicked smile, a sadistic smile. His antagonist, his final antagonist, enjoyed it - enjoyed watching his death. Had the situation been reversed, he would have enjoyed it too.
Everything went black now as he fell down at the man's feet, at Xan Kriegor's feet, at his friend's feet. Dead, his only legacy a phrase, his only acquaintance his slayer.
So much for being human.
The dim light echoed off the metallic bars of his environment, lighting it up in flashes of red and blue, disappearing as fast in vain.
There were faces, many of them. Some he knew, some were merely a beast in the zoo, another target, another adversary.
He closed his eyes, his weary, weary eyes, for a precious moment; savouring the metallic feel of the weapon in his hand, the shadows that hid him and the powers that cloaked him. He savoured the feeling of safety, a concept that once was real, now just a feeling.
He could hear them out there, laser shots echoing non-stop out in the darkness, like a primeval war going on into eternity. He knew his cover was short enough, he would not remain hidden long. Soon he would be among them, one of them. Soon he would be that war, nothing less, and nothing more. The essence of his existence would be that war.
The weapon felt smooth to the touch, an ally, when there were no others. It was his only hope to remain sane, his only hope to reach out and embrace his life, not his death. The trigger was an extension of his finger, the ammunition an extension of his power, his armour just another layer of skin.
He did have confidence in himself, he had lived long enough to earn that, he had progressed well. He knew where it all was going though; he was just another drop in the sea to the big shots in the top leagues. Death would always come; he had known it for a month now, the only month of his life as far as he was concerned.
He felt that familiar shiver down his spine, a touch of pure cold throwing him back into reality. Death was out there, waiting. He had no choice - but to embrace it.
And so he charged, a moral being among mortals, embracing immortality among death. His armour clung to his skin like only metal can where the tunic, wet with his own sweat, torn and dirty through reuse, was non-existent - a reminder of the fear that had festered deep within him.
"To death and immortality!" He yelled. He had heard something similar often enough, coming out of his own body in some cases. Now it echoed out in the darkness. Sometimes he wondered if this body truly was his, or if perhaps he was just another machine, organic one, like all the others.
He tightened his grip on the shock rifle, stroking the surface as gently as a woman's hand. He was a machine. That energy, that weapon of death, made him that. If he would not be that now, soon he would not be at all.
"For life!" He screamed. Screamed with the last of the air in his lungs as he raced out. Raced out into the open arms of death. The sole of his shoes hit the platform with terrible noise.
"Show yourself," He screamed, moving in circles, strategically jumping in the corners, watching for every movement. They appeared soon enough, machines, as he himself was. Dressed in scarlet and crimson, brown, green and yellow, they jumped out of the doorways, muscles bulging. Weapons drawn to the point of no return. There were flashes of blue and green as the battle begun, as death begun.
"So you have returned my dear friend, death my friend." He cried out as he barely dodged a rocket aimed his way. "Death, fellows. Can't you smell it?"
The adrenaline pumped through his veins as he grabbed a minigun off the floor and began emptying entire clips in all directions.
"It's here for us!" He yelled. He rolled sideways behind a column. There were bodies everywhere; there were many this time.
For some reason he felt it now. He felt right, complete. He had fulfilled his purpose yet again. Fate was perhaps on his side.
Yet again he jumped out in the open, opening fire in all directions, throwing himself down while at it. He screamed into the air with all the air in his lungs:
"Run, humans!" For a moment, he thought them all more than they were, more than they ever would be - more than he ever would be. He thought himself human. That pride would be his final fall.
He turned 'round to see the enforcer by his stomach, an execution by the hands of another.
He heard one single shot fired, sounding as if out of infinity. He fell down, first to his knees, before the man - eyes locked to the pupils of the man's eyes as they expanded and retracted before his. He knew him, he thought, as he watched the empty clip falling to the ground with peculiar slowness, and heard the strangely loud clatter as it hit the ground.
The man lowered his pistol, outright grinning at him. It struck him at his very last that he knew him - he had once been his friend. Once, when they were human.
"Run humans?" The man snorted.
"Good idea!" He smiled in a self-satisfied manner, a wicked smile, a sadistic smile. His antagonist, his final antagonist, enjoyed it - enjoyed watching his death. Had the situation been reversed, he would have enjoyed it too.
Everything went black now as he fell down at the man's feet, at Xan Kriegor's feet, at his friend's feet. Dead, his only legacy a phrase, his only acquaintance his slayer.
So much for being human.