WARNING: There will be some pretty harsh situations that occur from now on of which includes genocide. Now remember: the entire fic is based on the theme of bitterness, so needless to say, you'll find out how this theme torments the many lives of those simply trying to survive. It isn't going to be pretty, trust me.
CHAPTER 8: No Mercy
Like drops of blood, there were red berries sprayed across a dark green canvas of waxy pointed leaves. A fine white powder had dried in splotches across most of the foliage, the effect most likely the result of a recent rain.
A calloused hand dipped a rolled leaf into the mass of berries, capturing just a few within the enclosure. The hand, smudged from dirt and perspiration, brought the substances up to chapped lips inhaling deeply from a flat, crooked, and bruised nose. The rolled leaf and berries disappeared amongst strings of saliva hanging like stalactites within a cave. The delicacy was swallowed whole.
Drops of sweat intermixed with the powder upon the leaves re-hydrating the fine substance into a milky liquid. Another leaf was plucked from the tree upon which it grew. The fine art of rolling it and dipping it into the berries repeated.
The distant crush of loose stone against loose stone disrupted the activity. Hands stilled.
The nose lifted into the air, breathing in sharply, deeply. Posture straightened from relaxed to alert. An aged face turned and with the flash of dangerous black eyes, sent a warning to those nearby.
There was a scent in the air. It wasn't native.
A smile spread onto the aged face and with little more than the soft sound of leaves whispering in the breeze, several muscular bodies emerged from the camouflage of the forest to crouch beside the first. Battle-aged hearts began to flutter in overwhelming anticipation.
Fresh blood was heading their way.
--o--
There was a scent in the air that had his stomach churning…at least he thought that was the cause. Sheppard darted his eyes to the left at a sudden but insignificant sound. It was a bug of some kind. He ignored it temporarily as the very action of shifting his eyes had caused a sudden onslaught of vertigo. Dizziness prevailed and he found himself reaching out for balance, stumbling on suddenly unsteady feet. Blood rushed in his ears. His heart raced like it was on fire. His vision darkened for only a moment, like a shade had been drawn over his eyes.
And then, everything returned to normal. Or as normal as he could be in this newly heightened state of awareness.
He could hear with crystal clarity…a buzzing little bug in the distance, the babbling of a nearby stream, the leaves rustling in the trees. His keen sense of observation kicked up a notch and he noted the foliage in this part of the forest was much more defined. There were fleshy red berries growing in clusters amongst evergreen leaves in the grove-like trees about him. Intermixing among those trees were taller and spindly ones with large clusters of pods of a palette of oranges, yellows, purples, and reds hanging from the splotchy bark. The trees grew in wild fashion, some leaves and branches fought with others for dominance in the sky above him, thankfully maintaining a refreshing darkness and coolness over the forest floor.
Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, he centered himself and reopened his eyes with purpose. Hazel eyes stricken in intensity stared deep into the mass of trees before him. Somewhere, deep within the protective canopy of the leaves, was the enemy. He was so close he could already taste the blood of a fresh kill on his tongue. It wasn't bitter, as one would have thought: it was rather sweet and sensuous.
Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He rolled his neck and stiff shoulders then tilted his head from side to side. Lowering his chin, he set his deadly glare deep into the forest ahead.
Through stray leaves, buzzing insects, and bushy tails, Sheppard sought out his prey. It was in the briefest of movements, but he finally caught a glimpse. Black, black like the stone beneath his feet. It was a mere shadow, but it spoke volumes. The blackness was moving towards him, snaking through underbrush. There was more than one. There were more than he had ever encountered yet. His heart hammered with excited anticipation. A growl grew deep within his hoarse throat.
Suddenly, they broke into a charging run. There was almost no sound to accompany such ferocity, but Sheppard was nonetheless aware of their rampage.
A feral grin grew upon his face. Digging his heels into the blackened soil beneath, he pounced into action, racing dead ahead into the approaching enemy.
He could see them now: there were at least twelve of them, all reddened with the exertion of which they were extolling in the charge. They were much older than him with heavy wrinkles defining their snarling faces. All eyes were pinned on him.
Just a few more yards and they would clash in a dizzying array of bodies. There was no need for a battle cry. The mere silence of these fighters was more than intimidating enough.
A sudden blaring sound like that made by a conch shell interrupted the charge. All men, including Sheppard, came to halting stop. Sheppard cringed, slapping his hands to his already over-sensitive ears and scrunching his eyes up. He opened one eye to a slit to view a good handful of his opponents mimicking his actions.
The sound diminished just as suddenly and Sheppard turned his fury onto the new threat, as did his foes. Standing not too far in the distance, at the top of a small crest in the forest floor, was a single figure dressed in white robes dusted with soot. There was a single shard of white bone pierced through his nose. This man held an air of importance that was so formidable that it actually seemed to keep the men to Sheppard's left at bay. Sheppard himself was not intimidated, but he was weary. There was something familiar about this man, but he couldn't figure out what it was.
"Fighters. We meet again."
The man spoke loudly and with authority, addressing them all as if they were his brethren. His dark gaze traveled over the faces staring up at him from below. The gaze stopped upon Sheppard and stilled for only a moment. Sheppard caught the briefest expression of shock and recognition before the gaze hardened and refocused to the group at large.
"Please, I must ask of you one final task. Once fulfilled, my fellow governors and I will release you from your honorable and courageous duty to protect the people of Herac. Yes, these words I speak are of genuine truth, my brethren. Indeed, we will release you from your lifelong commitment and you may be free to live as you wish for the rest of your days. All you must do is complete this one final task. That is all I ask."
Once the man had finished preaching (and in fact his hands had been raised as such while he spoke), he clasped his hands waiting silently for a confirmation of orders received.
None came.
The men simply blinked back owlishly, almost trapped in a spell of wonderment. Sheppard sensed they were familiar with this man but nothing more. Some still retained snarls and flashing hatred in the eyes. They disliked this man, yet they did not make any move to strike him.
There was a small, almost imperceptible nod from one of the men and Sheppard shifted his gaze to the man in white. The nod was acknowledged and a devil of a smile played onto the man's thin lips. His mere presence made Sheppard's skin crawl and he wanted nothing more than to crush his skull between his itching fingers. However, something held him at bay: the interaction between this man and the men beside him was captivating. He yearned to know what power this man had to dispel the violence that had been about to erupt between them.
"An enemy has encroached upon our land. This beast of an adversary has terrorized our harvesters and even as we speak, has begun to burn our plantations, our livelihood. You must go to the plantations and cease this monstrosity before it can sink its claws into our very way of life. If you should fail, we all die."
As the man finished his speech, his now devious expression fell upon Sheppard.
The look sparked a fire within him that threatened to consume his entire sanity. This man was toying with them all. Probably even sending them to their deaths.
However, he was not of this world. He could do whatever he pleased. At that very moment, it was to strike the man staring intently down at him as if he were nothing more than an insignificant insect.
His fists curled tighter and he turned to face the man head on. The man appeared to stiffen, his intense stare faltering briefly. He took a step backward. The slightest hint of movement from his side and Sheppard grinned deviously back. The men beside him were just as eager to end this man's life as he.
With an intimidating roar, all the fighters, including one very enraged colonel, charged up the sloping ground towards the lone governor.
Shock overcame his smug expression and he turned swiftly to head for safety. In this unforgiving forest, he would find none. With a shrilling scream, the man clawed for freedom, as he was harshly pulled downward.
Wildlife took to flight as feathery wings sent a frantic beat into the unsettled air and padded feet added rustling to the cacophony of death below.
The silence that followed after hovered over nothing more than a mangled corpse and a very vacant section of greenery.
--o—
Fire consumed, but smoke was the silent killer. Screams and choked cries filled the blackened air.
The clearest air clung to the smoldering debris already littering the scorched soil. In gradually thickening and graying layers, the smoke hovered up to mingle with the thinning canopy above. Glowing embers arched gracefully through the air, landing onto their next victim to consume. Sometimes it was a leaf or a branch other times it was a strand of hair or an article of clothing, or even an exposed area of skin. Further into the haze where the smoke was thickest, dancing red and orange tongues of fire burned the fiercest.
Chaos reigned in the plantations of Herac. Groves upon groves of delicate spindly trees intermixed with evergreen-like bushier trees burned with no mercy. Their blackening limbs poised permanently in an expression of agony, curled, gnarled, and reaching for the freedom of the smoky skies above. Women and small children fled for the safety of the deeper jungle canopy, only to become trapped by yet another wall of flame and smoke.
Those still in their homes among the treetops lay crumpled in what had now become tombs. The accumulating smoke from below had crept into the glass bead-like homes suffocating all those within. They never had a chance.
From afar, stood a row of men in white robes. The hazy smoke gathered in wisps to snake in a wide circle around the men, as if frightened by their mere presence. The men stood like stone, observing their work with grim satisfaction.
In their minds, it had to be done. To save the people, they had to terminate them.
In the whisper of exhumed oxygen twenty men barreled through the veil of smoke descending upon the land. Rigid bulging muscles toned by years of fighting deemed these enraged men as a force to be reckoned with. Sweat intermixed with soot upon their glistening skin. Eyes filled only with the gleam of anticipation for the kill methodically searched the fiery scene.
However, they did not see the trap they had fallen into. Their prey fled across their paths, distracting them. They had been trained to strike down the enemy at whatever the cost. So to speak, they did not see the forest for the trees.
The row of governors watched on in chilling satisfaction upon the arrival of the fighters. Their plan was almost complete. When the small contingent of Ancients had returned from the sky, the governors knew it was time to serve their long-awaited revenge. They would take away the very thing the Ancients could not do without: the existence of everything that defined Herac from human to plant to rock.
The fighters narrowed their searching eyes upon the governors, standing far across the fiery chaos separating them. The hatred they held for these governing men originated from the very depths of their souls. They stood poised to strike.
Three ragged women fled between the two forces, with young children either in their arms or trailing behind, desperately seeking safety. Yet there was nowhere to go.
The heat of the raging fire became too intense. In sudden concussive force, an explosion of splintered wood, flame, and billowing smoke interrupted the plight of these people. A massive cloud of gray smoke illuminated orange from its depth mushroomed outwards, enveloping tree, man, and rock in a fine coating of stinging embers, soot, and debris.
Screams pierced the air only this time, the agony was brief. Silence followed all too quickly. Like a secondary explosion, those left standing fled outwards from the source of the blast.
The surrounding air had now become a suffocating blanket no longer tolerable to those still within its clutches. It was a fiery hell with no means of escape.
--o—
Rolling to the ground just as the explosion buffeted the vegetation and fighters surrounding him, Sheppard drew in a lungful of tainted air. He coughed and spat, his lungs protesting every new breath. Dizziness prevailed if only for a moment or two.
Suddenly there were a crowd of crying women and children staggering all around him. He blinked harshly, struggling to clear his vision, searching through the mass of legs, bare feet, and smoldering vegetation. Where were the other fighters? His brethren?
There. They moved as one: stealth amongst the gray. There were a few who had branched off heading in the direction the governors had last been. The rest focused completely on the innocent fleeing about them.
The traumatized harvesters did not seem to acknowledge the presence of the fighters however. The remaining survivors raced for the safety of the untouched forest beyond the flames. If they could make it there, they had a chance.
The fire screamed and twirled. Wind so hot it could melt flesh whipped from the flames. A blinding haze began to settle just at the level of sight for those trapped within the storm.
That was the moment that the fleeing harvesters met their demise. It was neither by smoke nor flame, but by the hand of their fellow man, the fighters.
Sheppard contributed in his part. He struck at flesh without seeing beyond what it represented. He only knew to strike and eliminate the threat. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, fueling his deliverance of death. There was nothing to stop him. The poison that polluted his veins made sure of that.
After striking down another enemy, he sought the area for those men in white. Though he could not fathom the reasoning, he knew they were his prime targets.
A fist slammed into his vision and he stumbled back from the surprising blow. Blinking hard, he stared deep into the glittering black eyes of one of the fighters. In this place, at this time, there were no alliances, no assurances for a life spared. It was either kill or be killed.
Sheppard swung out his right fist to strike the fighter, this one twice the age as he. The man possessed a look of hungered desperation. He breathed in heavily, wheezing from the exertion tolled upon his exhausted body. Sheppard had noted this decline in health before: these fighters were no longer at their best. Something had worn them down: the same something that would eventually wear him down.
The two grasped each other like two tiring boxers, clinging to one another like lifelines. Whoever dropped first would not be getting back up.
Determination steeling his pulsating veins, Sheppard thrust all his strength into hurling his shoulder into the man's chest and charged forward until they both fell over the body of a woman. She was already dead.
The fighter's head snapped back harshly, stunning him. He continued to strike at Sheppard, fists flying in a fury. Some blows made it through while others Sheppard blocked efficiently.
Sheppard grabbed a fistful of the man's thinning curly black hair and slammed his head forcefully onto the ground. Over and over, he repeated this action. He saw nothing but red. And then, when he was sure the fighter would not get back up, he came to a shaky stand and turned.
Two young boys stood not too far away, huddled together with fear dancing in their bright blue eyes. They shook like the leaves of autumn. Sheppard took a step forward, locking his sights on them. He stalked forward with nothing between them but the thin tendrils of smoke enveloping the area. The boys shrunk back in fear.
Sheppard came to a stop, towering over the boys with an air of dominance. He glared down at them. Their young blue eyes traced up his body to his own hazel eyes and widened. They gripped a tighter hold onto one another and visibly paled. They dared not to breathe, even as the air was suffocating them.
A distraction came not a moment sooner. A handful of governors had returned in fevered rage to attack the harvesters getting past the fighters. They did not mean for anyone to survive.
Two fighters nearby had taken notice and had begun to beat upon those governors, with the harvesters caught amongst them, scrambling for safety. Just as it appeared that the governors had overtaken the fighters, another three fighters joined in the queue, beating upon anyone they could to extol their uncontrollable rage. The governors took haste, realizing this fight was not one they could win and disappeared into the haze. The remaining fighters took up the chase. Sheppard felt he must follow and made to turn, forgetting about the boys before him.
That was when he felt his heart stutter and his vision blackened for what he felt was the briefest of moments.
The next moment, he found himself lying on the forest floor, charred remains of those not so lucky smoldering beside him. The haze had thinned and through his blurred vision, he could make out a glaring blue sky amongst silhouetted skeletal branches.
Glancing back to where the governors had scrambled with fighters at their heels, Sheppard found nothing but wispy smoke and dying flame. Grimacing, he spun around to look for any fighters lingering in the haze.
He found something else, not entirely unexpected.
The ghost was back. Somewhere in his memory, he knew this man, but each time he saw him, the last memory would fade like a dream and he would end back at the beginning of this blank slate that was his mind.
His vision doubled for the briefest of moments and the dizzying sensation reached new heights. Stumbling for balance, Sheppard swallowed thickly. What was he doing here?
In his moment of weakness, tears began rolling down his tingling cheeks and he did not know why. He stumbled forward; the pain in his eyes a stark contrast to the stony exterior he portrayed.
"Why?"
It was all he could ask. It was all he wanted to know.
The ghost held his gaze with no remorse to show for the bloodshed that had occurred this day. It stared with a pale face as blank as Sheppard's mind.
Simply stared.
And with sudden sickening clarity, Sheppard recognized accusation in those steel eyes. Accusation for not following through like the fighters beside him had. He hadn't been thorough enough: he had allowed two young boys to escape.
The stare and deafening silence were more than enough punishment to last him an eternity. Perhaps he would get one last chance at redemption. He tracked through the haze, following two very small tracks in the charred soil.
-------tbc-------