AN: Before we start I just want to say I find it hilarious that a guy called me a commie and to go screw myself basically. In case anyone was wondering, I'm staunchly conservative so the fact he thought I have strong socialist and communist leanings just goes to show that I can write a very unbiased story.
Feliks stood where he was holding his quarterstaff as Ianthe circled him like some kind of predator, wearing a simple pair of pants and her black sleeveless shirt. Her own quarterstaff resting across her shoulders.
She walked up to him, looked him over one more time and then kicked him in the foot.
"Wider," she said in Russian.
Feliks widened his stance a little, then a little more as the mercenary kicked his foot again. She stared at the placement of his feet, then seemingly pleased enough continued to circle him.
"Closer," she commanded in Russian, grasping his hands and pushing them in closer to the center of the staff.
"One," said Ianthe and Feliks took a step forward, keeping his stance and struck forwards.
"Keep feet," said the mercenary kicking one of his feet until he moved it back to where she thought it should be. It wasn't hard, but if he didn't move quickly it would soon become painful.
"Two," said Ianthe and Feliks took another step forward, striking forwards with his staff.
"Keep feet," said the mercenary again irritably, more forcefully kicking Feliks' feet back into position.
"Three," said Ianthe and Feliks moved forwards again striking. Pain exploded across the back of his leg as Ianthe struck it and swept his legs out from under him, laying him out flat on his back. She was soon standing above him, a frustrated look on her face.
"Feet...apart. Weight...even. Stance...strong. Your stance...weak," said Ianthe in halting, broken Russian. "Push."
Feliks raised an eyebrow at that and a scowl graced the silver-haired mercenary's features.
"Push!" growled the mercenary kicking him in the ribs hard enough to get her point across without being sadistic and Feliks understood with a start that she wanted him to do pushups. Rolling onto his stomach he began doing pushups, wondering how many she would want him to do and trying not to laugh at the mercenary treating him like a recruit in basic.
He got to about sixty when it seemed that he had satisfied the mercenary for screwing up her instructions.
"Up," said the mercenary and Feliks was sure to move with purpose to avoid invoking the mercenary's ire. The pushups had been harder than they should have been and Feliks had to grudgingly face the fact that he had been slacking in his own physical fitness, but he was determined not to let it show.
"One," said Ianthe and Feliks moved, careful to keep his feet in as similar position as he could to what Ianthe wanted before he moved as after. He stood motionless as the mercenary picked him apart with her piercing gaze. "Two," she said after a moments pause and Feliks took a step while striking.
"Hard," said Ianthe striking forwards with her own staff, making a whoosh of air as she did so. "Hard," she said again, emphasizing her point.
"Three."
Feliks took another step forwards, putting as much force as he could into the swing as he could and being sure to keep his footing proper.
He stood motionless as the mercenary eyed him up and down, picking him apart with her piercing gaze.
"Better," conceded the mercenary. "Four."
Feeling better about himself, Feliks took a step forwards and struck out with his staff.
"FEET! Feet! Keep your feet!" raged the mercenary throwing her own staff to the ground in frustration and let out a string of curses in her native tongue. The next thing Feliks knew, the mercenary was behind him, feet mirroring his and hugging him around the chest from behind.
"Step," commanded the mercenary. Awkwardly Feliks did, but before his foot touched the ground Ianthe pushed it with hers to the proper spot. "Step," said Ianthe again and Feliks took another step again, Ianthe's feet guiding his as he did so. Eventually they got faster at it until it was almost as if they were walking normally.
"Good for night," said Ianthe and Feliks realized that they had already been practicing for their allotted hour. "Improving," said Ianthe slowly, searching for the proper words. "But...still...shit."
"Well, at least you're honest," said Feliks in Common, making Ianthe's eyes widen in surprise.
"You've gotten much better at speaking Common."
"I've been practicing a lot," admitted Feliks.
"So then why the hell am I speaking Russian trying to train you?"
"Because you need to practice it."
"Oh? I suppose you're right. In fact, we should train for two hours tomorrow night so I can get all the practice I need," said Ianthe, an evil grin making its way on to her face as she did. "Sleep well my lord," continued the mercenary, bowing her head in respect and bringing her fist to her breast, before leaving to her own tent, or rather where she wanted to pitch it. They still had another hour of good light, two if you counted the twilight, so there had been no real rush.
Feliks on the other hand went to the command BTR and laid out a small ground sheet, then proceeded to take apart and clean his AKM. An idea suddenly came to him though as he finished cleaning and reassembled his rifle.
"Hey Ianthe, come over here for a while."
"Yes my lord," said the mercenary, but with some confusion in her voice.
"Take a seat," said Feliks as he plopped down on the ground sheet he had laid out on the ground.
"May I ask what we're doing my lord?"
"Well, since you're training me how to use a spear, I figured that I could teach you how to use a Kalashnikov. Here," said Feliks holding his rifle out to the mercenary.
Much to his shock, Ianthe actually looked at the rifle with fear, and didn't reach out to grab it. Actually pulling her hand back from it like it would bite her.
"Okay, how about this," said Feliks and moved so he was sitting right beside the mercenary, his rifle on his lap.
"All this rifle is, is pieces of metal and wood put together. Nothing magical about it, but just like your sword you still have to respect it. Here, it comes apart just like this."
Ianthe watched Feliks take the rifle apart, her ice chip blue eyes taking in every movement and every part that Feliks removed. He laid them all out in a line, then quickly reassembled the whole rifle.
"Now you try," said Feliks, yet to his amusement and mild frustration Ianthe didn't move to touch the rifle.
"Here," said Feliks grabbing her hand and placing it on the rifle. Ianthe's hand trembled a little bit, but her pride made her hold her hand still after a moment and then guiding her, he helped her take it apart. It was slow at first, as she fumbled with the unfamiliar parts and weapon. He let her hold each piece and look it over. Eventually putting it all back together again, though she grew frustrated with the spring.
"I never imagined that it was made of so many parts. It is more of a machine than a weapon," said Ianthe.
"Well we have a habit of turning our machines into weapons. Tomorrow after we're done training with staffs I'll run you through some drills on it. Just basic stuff like load, unload, make safe, and then once you get good and I'm reasonably sure that you're not going to shoot yourself I'll let you do some target practice."
"You would let me use your weapon?" asked Ianthe, sounding shocked.
"Sure. Never know, if we get into some trouble every rifle will count. Besides, I trust you with my life so I might as well trust you with my rifle."
"You honor me my lord. If I may ask, how long have you had these weapons?" Ianthe began taking the rifle apart again while she waited for Feliks to answer.
"Oh, I would say these came into service about twenty years ago or so. Before that it was the SKS and the STV 40 and the Mosin before that."
"So new? And yet you all have one?" marveled the mercenary.
"Soviet Industry is a hell of a thing. Did you now that seventy years ago we didn't have any planes at all?"
"Planes? You mean those things that fly right?"
"Yeah. In fact the first ones we had were made of cloth and wood. Your dragon over there would have ripped them to pieces."
"It is strange to think that so short a time ago as my grandfather being a young man, we may have lived much the same," mused Ianthe.
"Things have been changing extremely fast in the Union. In our world in general," said Feliks. When I was a kid we didn't have any plumbing, so if we wanted to have a bath in winter we would gather snow and melt enough of it to fill the tub. We'd heat it so that it wasn't freezing and then everyone would cycle through for a wash. I was seventeen before I actually saw a television."
"What's a television? Those picture boxes in Japan?"
"Yes, though ours aren't quite that good. Black and white only, no color."
"So the Japanese are more advanced than you then? Like the difference between my people and yours?"
"Not to that extent, but their technology is definitely better than ours."
"Could they beat you in a war then?"
"I wouldn't go that far," said Feliks. "But it would definitely be a hard fight."
"All the gates and things that come through them are enough to make my head hurt," muttered Ianthe, rubbing at her skull.
"So I annoy you do I?"
"Oh! No my lord, I-you're smiling."
"You're so easy to wind up you know that?"
"Are you sure that you're a lord?"
"I told you I'm not, I've just been given a commission in the Red Army."
"But you are an officer? We're not having a translation problem right?"
"No, I'm an officer."
"And you're not a lord."
"Nope."
"Okay, I'm not understanding this then. Do you own land at all? Farms, a ship, a shop maybe?"
"My parents own a farm, or rather work on a collective anyways."
"What's a collective?"
"It's a farm where the farmers and the state all own the farm equally and share it."
"What kind of fucked up world are you from?"
"One that kicked your ass. Ow," said Feliks as Ianthe lightly punched him in the shoulder. With a sigh she laid down with her arms behind her head.
"Almost a year ago I was a knight of high standing in Messalon with shares in shipping companies and a villa to my name. My services were worth prime gold and I had a troop of hardened mercenaries under my command. Men bowed when I walked by, and I had a household staff of slaves. Now I'm bound to a man with no titles, no wealth, no land, and no noble lineage."
"Well at least your new lord is handsome eh?" said Feliks with a chuckle. Ianthe's eyes flicked over to him and appeared to study him.
"Not bad," conceded the mercenary. "Hey Feliks," continued Ianthe.
"Yeah?"
"When I go back to Messalon, would you come with me? A letter of services rendered would be sufficient, but having someone in the flesh to say that I served honorably and dutifully would go a long ways to helping my cause. Messalon is a beautiful place too, you may grow to like it there. If you could maybe convince your general to offer a contract to the lords of Messalon..." trailed off Ianthe.
"I don't think he'd listen to me, I'm just a junior officer."
"You have his esteem though. Although you got your commission from the little elf."
"What? Really?" asked Feliks surprised.
"Yes. She offered her services to your Union on the condition that you were the one leading the group she would be assigned to, and that Boris would be in the group as well. You didn't know?"
"No, I had no idea," said Feliks honestly.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"How did you get that scar on your back? The large burned one?"
"That one? Well that's kind of a personal story."
"Most scars are. I was just curious how you got it, it looks like a burn scar."
"Well it definitely was fire that gave it to me," mused Feliks.
"So you're not going to tell me?"
"I didn't say that. Like I said, I trust you a lot. It's just that it's...embarrassing. If you really want to know I suppose I could tell you."
"I do," said the mercenary.
"Well...I guess the easiest way to put it...is that I fucked up," said Feliks slowly, his eyes appearing as if they were staring at something that only he could see.
"How so?"
"It's a long story, are you sure that you want to hear it?"
"That's why I asked," said Ianthe like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"There was a mission that I pushed to get approval for. I was in a different branch at the time, an elite soldier. Well, part soldier, part assassin I suppose; very hush hush stuff."
"So then why tell me so freely?"
"Who are you going to tell that it's going to matter to?"
"Just tell your damned story," grumbled Ianthe.
"So I had a team of men under my command, and I'd just recently been promoted. I was pretty sure of myself, arrogant would be a word for it. I was also good though, damned good and I never failed. I always pushed to be the best, to be someone who stood out from the crowd. I wanted recognition and I wanted glory, but more than that I wanted to fight."
"The country that we were helping had given us an entire battalion of men to help. So I had my ten men and 800 NVA troops to attack a camp with about 120 men and a general. This general was responsible the entire border between the north and the south and he was good. Too damned good and the north, our friends, were taking too many losses because of him. That's why I was so eager to jump at the chance to take him out."
"So what happened?"
"We went in and it almost immediately went to shit. They had the whole hillside rigged with mines and claymores. They're explosives that shoot metal balls with enough force to rip limbs off of bodies and go right through you like a bullet," explained Feliks when he saw nothing but confusion on Ianthe's face.
"Our sappers were supposed to clear us a path in and then the main force would follow, but one of them hit a trip flare, lit up the whole hill. We lost a hundred, maybe two hundred men just making it up to the wire. I had thought that the militia would just break and run. The south's troops were notoriously bad for both morale and discipline, but these ones were different. They were men from the mountain villages and trained by the Green Berets and they held their ground as good as any soldier I'd seen in that war. They wanted to fight. They kept shooting until they melted the barrels on their guns or else ran out of ammo, then went in with bayonets and shovels. I would wager that they were even better than the troops the North gave us. Still, we had surprise and numbers on our side and we pushed into the camp. I took my men along with a section of the NVA troops and we went for the command bunker where the general was. I lost six of my men taking that bunker. Six out of ten and the entire NVA section that came with us. General McCallister himself killed one of my spetsnaz with a pistol. The Green Berets had gone to the General to guard him and they deserve to be called special forces I'll tell you that much. We got him though, I emptied a mag into him and splattered his brains all over the wall of that bunker."
"So then how did you get that scar on your back?" prodded the mercenary impatiently.
"I'm getting to that," assured Feliks. "By this time we'd cleared the hill, but we'd been there much longer than we should have been. That was our biggest mistake. It was just starting get light out and we'd lost about half of our men, but the rest were still alive, mostly uninjured and we'd gotten two companies of reinforcements that had helped us to finally crush the last resistance on that hill. They'd overrun a fire base further south and circled back to come and help. There were six hundred of us on that hill. Six hundred when the Phantoms showed up. Someone had gotten a call out before we destroyed the radio. Called in an airstrike on their own position. They knew they were going to die so they tried to take us with them. They set that entire hill and the jungle around it on fire. Everything was burning, everyone was running and just screaming. One of the napalm bombs exploded too close to me and it washed over me. I remember the feeling, like I had walked into a furnace and buried myself in the coals. I got so hot that the bullets in the mags on my vest started to cook off. If I would have had any grenades left I'd probably be dead. It burned through my bullet proof vest and clothes, actually melted the rubber on my boots. I remember screaming, knowing that I was going to die and rolling around on the ground, wanting to die so that the pain would stop. I thought I was in hell. Burned off most of my hair too, well, all of it actually. There's still a long thin scar that goes to the base of my neck where my radio antenna melted to me," said Feliks pulling down the collar of his tunic to show the scarred flesh.
"How did you survive?"
"Luck? Divine intervention? I have no idea. When I woke up the American marines and ARVN were picking through the bodies with their helicopters circling overhead and I made myself crawl into the jungle. They hunted me for two months in that fucking jungle. For the first month I hid, I cowered, and I licked my wounds. I was sure that if they didn't find me the bugs would eat me alive My back was going gangrenous with infection so I ripped open rotten logs to let maggots eat the rotten flesh. I lost weight, over 35lbs and I ate whatever I could. Bugs, scraps from the rations they dropped on the ground, anything I could find. I was in constant pain, terrible pain, was half delirious with fever, but there was just something in me that would not let me give up. The second month, that's when I started hunting them. The marines were hard, I barely got any of them and they were always looking out for each other. The ARVN on the other hand. Well, they were easy. Weak, undisciplined, easy to make panic. It's fair to say I went a little crazy. I…I did some things that I'm not sure why I did, but I just did. Things I'm not too proud of. I made a necklace. Why? I don't know. Maybe as trophies, maybe to occupy my mind, but whenever I managed to kill one of the soldiers hunting me I would cut off their ears and put them on this snare wire that I had. It had melted together in my pocket when I was lit on fire so I remember I was pretty proud of myself that I was able to make a length long enough to be a necklace."
"Once in a while I'd cut off their heads, leave them on stakes to scare the shit out of the rest of them and it worked. I kept one though. It was some ARVN grunt that I caught taking a piss alone. I don't know what his name was, probably Hoang or Hai, most of them were. I called him Fedor and I kept him in an ARVN pack I managed to steal. I talked to him a lot actually. When I was finally found by my side, it was the other team of Soviets that found me. Good thing too, the NVA would have shot me. The way I looked...they said I looked feral. Like I'd regressed or something and I was just operating on the reptile part of my brain. I was wearing only tatters of clothing, filthy as all hell and my hair was coming in all patchy like I was mangy. I actually growled at them. But it was Valentin's men and Valentin was an old hand. NKVD in the Great Patriotic War and he just progressed from there. He coaxed me like the dogs that he trained and I listened to him. Fucked up thing is I remember being angry when they took my necklace of ears from me and Fedor out of my pack."
"They almost kicked me out right then and there once I was coherent enough to speak, but I had a few friends left, even after my massive fuck up. Enough superiors with their names attached to mine to cover up my breakdown so that they wouldn't be involved in it. I got some therapy, a long series of surgeries and a mercy pass on the psych test. Bumped down to regular army and sent to a garrison unit. Out of sight and out of mind. Lucky for me all of those files are sealed and you need to have a need to know to look at them, otherwise there's no way I'd have a command again. I lost my drive in Vietnam I think. I didn't want to have anywhere near that kind of responsibility again with so many lives depending on me. So I just went with the flow and just fit the role that I was in."
"You know, you're the first person I've told this. Well, all of this without making any shit up or only telling half truths. It feels kinda good actually. Don't know why I told you so much though, I probably shouldn't have," mused Feliks. "So, what do you think now that you know your lord is all kinds of fucked up in the head?"
Feliks was actually stunned when Ianthe leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. For such a hard woman, her lips were remarkably soft.
"I think that we're more alike than I thought. We're both looking for redemption," said Ianthe softly.
"You think so? Here I was thinking I just wanted the paycheck. So what about you? How'd you get that scar on your eyebrow?"
"I don't want to talk about it," said the mercenary stiffly, face turning into a frown.
"Really? After my long-winded pity party you won't tell me? Come on."
"You'll laugh," muttered the mercenary.
"No I won't."
"Everyone always laughs."
"I won't, I promise."
"Alright, fine," said Ianthe after a pause.
"My company had gotten picked to capture the Count of a city. It brings a huge bounty and it's a great honor. Basically a bonus that gives you awards and accolades that will make you extremely rich. We were getting ready to go and I was still wearing my harness because it's a pain to undo all the straps and then put it back on when you're getting on and off a dragon all the time, but if you don't it drags. I was being lazy and didn't. I wasn't paying attention and I stepped on it when I turned around to go and mount back up. I tripped on it and I fell over onto this ornate planning table with little markers that all the commanders were using. It opened up my head from my brow to my hairline and I bled all over all of their reports and silk rugs. I was bleeding so bad that they rushed me to the apothecary thinking that I had split my skull open, but it was just a flesh wound. They used magic to heal it, but by the time they realized that it wasn't serious another company was chosen to go. I missed out on becoming a baroness because I tripped on my harness," finished Ianthe bitterly.
"HA HA HAH HA!" burst out Feliks, clutching at his sides.
"You said that you wouldn't laugh!"
"HA HA HAH HAH! I can't breathe!" gasped Feliks.
"I can help with that," growled Ianthe, pulling Feliks' head into a lock that he continued to laugh in while choking.
A wave like the wind passed through them, but the grass didn't move and it chilled Feliks' blood. Even the hot blooded Messalonian paused, flinching like she had been hit. They heard a piercing scream from the BTR and Boris was at it immediately, soon holding a terribly frightened Luella, who was clutching at the old veteran and breathing hard, though she didn't know why she was so frightened. Everyone seemed on edge from it too, and like a subconscious instinct, they soon had every gun and cannon manned and pointing outwards from their camp.
"What the hell was that?" asked Feliks to no one in particular.
Xxx
"Thank you Felicia," said Pajari, scribbling down notes about a new plant he had discovered as he sipped his tea that Felicia had brought him. Black with one teaspoon of honey in it and she had made it perfectly. She really was turning out to be more useful every day. Something like an electric jolt passed through him, that sent a numbing chill throughout his body.
"Doctor..." murmured Felicia, apprehension in her voice, hands reflexively falling to where she would normally have kept a blade.
"I felt it, calm yourself," said Pajari putting down his tea that suddenly tasted bitter. "Most intriguing," continued the doctor, cupping the now blackened and drooping bulb of the flower that only a moment before had been full of life and standing firm. He went back immediately to taking notes, his fountain pen tracing his exquisite calligraphy.
Xxx
"I don't know what the Politburo is thinking, it's idiotic," said Alexandrov into his phone. "Sending reporters into Falmart from the West will completely compromise our security here. They're obviously bluffing about sending grounds forces into North Vietnam if we don-AH!" cursed Alexandrov ripping the phone away from his ear as it was filled with terrible shrieking feedback.
A feeling of dread settled over Alexandrov then, the same way it had on the morning that the Fascists had invaded all those years ago. He hadn't eaten anything that morning, thrown up even outside his stomach had been so unsettled. He pulled his pistol out of his desk and chambered a round, before securing the holster to his waist.
He walked to the widow to his office and looked out over the camp. It was like everything had just stopped. Soldiers were standing in the middle of the road, in pairs or small groups and looking around as if expecting to see something. Trucks had stopped, drivers stepping out and looking around as if they had hit something. None of them were alone.
"Is everything alright comrade General?" asked one of Alexandrov's guards, poking his head through the doorway, Kalashnikov in his hands.
"Yes, everything is fine," said Alexandrov and for some reason it felt like he had just lied to the man.
Xxx
"Sir Itami, is this a result of the earth shake?" asked Pina, looking even more terrified than she had a few moments ago.
"Oh yeah, nothing to worry about, happens all the time," said Itami with a warm smile, chuckling a little bit even to put the princess at ease even as the hair on the back of his neck stood up on end. His eyes met Shino's and they showed the same unease that he felt.
"Hey Shino, radio back to Alnus and see that everything's still okay back there too eh? Don't want to go back and find out everything's flat back there."
"Yes sir," said Shino, understanding immediately the real reason he wanted the call made.
From the slums of the Imperial capital they heard the baying and the cries of all the demihumans. As if they felt something worse than the earth shake coming.
An involuntary shiver passed through Itami even though the night air was warm and he just couldn't shake the feeling that something was...off. He would have to ask Rory or Lelei about it when he got back to Alnus. Until then he still had a job to do and he would see it through.
xxx
Charon had allowed them a few days of rest, but on the morning of the third he had them break camp and march deeper into the forest, passed where they had pulled he obelisks out of the ground. Their party was about 300 strong all told. Octavian's men, the Messalonians, and the few satyrs that still remained with them.
"Thank you again my lord," said Calista, easily keeping pace alongside Octavian's horse, her cloven hooves well suited for the terrain.
"Think nothing of it," said Octavian, only to receive a smile from the satyr in response.
Charon had wanted Calista for...gods know what, but Octavian had informed him that she had sold herself to him and that he could not part with her at present. He had told Charon no, refused him and lived. Calista had lived and not merely disappeared as some of the other satyrs in their party had when Charon required their presence.
The path had grown narrow and dense, with foliage and undergrowth constricting the path, although sending the dragons ahead first had widened the path and ripped loose much of the overhanging branches and crushed most of the smaller bushes. Leaving them to pick their way through the splintered wood and mulched foliage left in their wake.
The air smelled of fresh cut wood and sap, but it was a sour smell. One of rot and decay that filled Octavian's mouth with bitter tasting flem.
Despite all of this though, the mood among his men and that of the Messalonians was better today than it had been in a long time. They all felt it, the end drawing near to their labor with Charon and they moved just that extra bit quicker because of it.
"My lord, what is that ahead?" asked Calista, pointing to an opening in the foliage ahead of them and barren dirt beyond it.
"I do not know," answered Octavian truthfully.
They left the undergrowth and were confronted by a mountain of sorts. No, mountain was the wrong word. The rock formation extended upwards about four storeys into the air with a gentle slope rising up to an entrance carved into the south face of it. An ornate metal statue with a giant two handed great sword stood vigil at the entrance to the cave.
"What evil must a place contain for even grass refuse to grow here?" pondered Calista, picking up a handful of dry, brittle dirt from the ground.
"Centurion. Tell your slave to mind her tongue lest she lose it yes?" called Charon with his usual candor and cheer, but there was no longer any way to hide the malevolence of the man. If he really was one.
"My lord," murmured Calista taking a subconscious step closer to Octavian and his horse.
"Centurion, come up here," said Charon with a wave.
"Augustus, mind my slave."
"Yes Centurion."
Octavian kicked his horse into a trot and brought himself up alongside Charon.
"What do you require my lord?"
"Does this seem too easy to you Centurion?"
"My lord?"
"Don't you believe that there should be some kind of final challenge? A trial perhaps? This seems too...simple."
"My lord, I must confess that I do not even know what we are doing here or what goal we seek to accomplish. So I can not even fathom a guess as to what we have faced, or what trials should be awaiting us."
"Ah, right. I forgot that I left you in the dark about all of this, my mistake. Suffice it to say that I need to get into that cave. After that, I will no longer have need of you or your legionnaire's services. Don't worry about your little satyr pet either, I am not so vindictive as to trouble her after this is done."
"That is most gracious of you my lord, what do you require of us at present?"
"Maybe nothing, but get your men into line, just in case," murmured Charon, as if to himself.
Charon walked up the slope to the cave opening, massive scythe over his shoulder as he scanned the area around him warily. He made it halfway up the slope when the metal statue began to move. Tearing off moss and lichen that had grown on its form as if freed up its joints, the only greenery on the hill.
"Halt," said the behemoth in a deep, booming, but ponderous voice. The armored slit in its helm coming to life as it began to glow with blue light. The construct was easily fifteen feet tall and each of its legs was was wider than a man, maybe wider than two.
"You shall...go no further...apostle."
"Ah, one of you are still around hmm? Here I thought that all the relics from the golden age of the elves were gone. Tell me, does it grieve you to unintentionally serve the ones who struck down your masters by guarding this tomb?"
"Your words...will not sway me...from my duty...apostle," rumbled the metal statue, its voice like two boulders being ground together. Slow and purposeful, as if it had to think long and hard for the words that it needed to say. "My sole purpose...is to guard...this tomb...from the likes...of you."
"Hmm, then I suppose it's time for you to retire. PERMANENTLY!"
Charon exploded forwards with superhuman strength and speed, covering the space separating him from the construct in a single bound. He struck out with his scythe and in a move made all the more impressive by sheer size of the metal construct, it brought its great sword up and batted the apostle away with blinding speed. The sound of the two weapons colliding similar to a boulder impacting a steel gate.
Charon was thrown back by the force of the blow, tumbling before catching himself and his feet carving deep furrows into the dirt as he arrested his momentum.
He ran forward again, throwing his great scythe ahead of him as he did so. The weapon spinning end over end, only to be batted away with a resounding clang by the giant metal construct and sent it spinning back towards Charon.
The apostle caught the weapon as it rebounded towards him and leaped high into the air, bringing his scythe down on top of the construct as he did so. It hit the metal giant's raised sword, but before Charon could leap away, the giant grasped Charon with its free hand. With a crunch of bone and explosion of blood the giant crushed the apostle and tossed the body and weapon back towards Octavian and his men. The apostle coming to a rest in a bloody heap of flesh and broken bones.
"Is...is he dead?" asked Calista, voice sounding hopeful.
"No. That is not enough to kill an apostle," said Octavian and sure enough with pops and crackles of bones resetting themselves and mending the hunk of flesh began to once again resemble Charon.
The apostle was panting as he finally reformed, a murderous look of frustration and rage on his face when he was whole once more.
"You could help you know," spat out the Apostle.
"My lord, what could we even do to something like that?"
"Try to kill it you imbecile!" raged Charon, flourishing his scythe menacingly.
"At once my Lord," said Octavian, bringing his hand to his breast is a salute and knowing better than to offer a retort to any insult. "Century, form up! Bows at the ready! LOOSE!"
99 arrows flew from the ranks of the mounted Legionnaires at the metal behemoth atop the hill and all shattered when they impacted the construct. The giant merely standing passive even as another wave of arrows were let to fly free and break against its armored frame.
"This...is annoying," rumbled the giant as the hail of arrows pattered off of it like rain. Yet, it made no move to leave its position on top of the hill. The arrows only serving to remove the lichens and moss from the giant, revealing the smooth black metal beneath. The giant simply Preferring to stay where it was rather than retaliate."
"Centurion, have your men remount their horses and attack!" demanded the apostle, his voice thick with rage.
"My lord, that thing is made of metal. Metal I would wager is harder than the steel of our swords and spears. We would need siege equipment or hammers at the very least to even make an attempt at harming it. That is assuming of course it would stand still and let us break it apart."
"I...would not," rumbled the metal giant.
"Oh, well there you have it my lord, he would not stand still and also seems to have very good hearing."
"I do," rumbled the giant.
"So are you refusing an order then Centurion?" asked Charon smiling maliciously.
"I will not order my men to charge to their deaths my lord. If you find this distasteful then you may strike me down and order my replacement to conduct a charge. I will just die a few moments earlier than my men."
Octavian had fully expected Charon to strike him down, so was both pleasantly surprised and shocked when he smiled at him instead.
"You are right Centurion, you and your men are quite useless to me now. Consider yourself free of my service, and protection. Captain!" called Charon to the waiting Messalonians who up until now had only been observers in the battle between Charon and the metal behemoth.
"Yes milord?"
"Have your knights assault the creature."
"Yes milord," answered the Messalonian, bringing his fist to his breast in a salute before barking orders at his men.
A few sharp commands and the quartet of dragons that belonged to the Messalonians began to snarl and hiss at the metal giant on top of the hill.
"How...troublesome," rumbled the giant as two of the dragons and their riders took flight while the other two walked up the hill, growling at the metal giant. Their ivory white claws digging into the dead soil as they advanced. One was gold, the other red in color. Hissing as one circled to the giant's left and another to its right. A clatter of steel as their battle armor rattled in response to their movements.
"Man..is always so eager...to die," rumbled the giant a moment before he was engulfed in red and orange flames.
It is a hot fire, dragon fire that it. Hot enough to melt steel and turn a home to ashes in mere moments. To turn men and beasts into charred meat with only the shortest of applications.
One of the dragons, the red one, ceased its jet of flame when the construct was fully ablaze and let out a triumphant roar, raising its head in victory.
The ground shook in rapid succession as the metal giant exploded into motion, trailing flames from its body like a torch swung through the air. The dragon barely had time to lower its head as the giant attacked it with its great sword, holding it in both hands.
The massive blade crushed through the armored skull of the dragon, splitting it down the neck and killing the knight on its back before tearing through the chest of the beast and striking the ground in one clean swing.
With a terrifying roar, the gold dragon launched itself onto the creature's back like a wolf attacking a deer and tried to sink its teeth into the giant's metal hide.
"You...WILL NOT!" roared the giant in a voice that boomed like thunder, shaking Octavian's diaphragm with the force of it. At first he thought it was just angry at the dragon on its back, but then he realized that Charon was racing up the side of the hill towards the opening in the cliff face.
The metal giant reached back with one hand and grasped the gold dragon around the throat, squeezing with enough force to crush the metal armor surrounding the dragon's throat inwards. A terrible squealing whine of pain the like of which Octavian didn't think a dragon could make erupted from the dragon's throat a moment before it was ripped from the giant's back and tossed to the ground.
The knight on the dragon was crushed underneath his own mount's weight it the beast itself lay still, its neck deformed and lax from the crushing force the giant had exerted.
The giant lunged for Charon, but with a crash of metal on metal, one of the dragons that had taken flight stuck the giant like a hunting hawk. The giant crashed hard into the ground, shaking it as it was brought down beneath the dragon's weight and tearing a great rut in the earth with its body. The dragon immediately took flight again at the command from its master to avoid any retaliation from the giant.
Charon leaped high in the air, over the giant even as it reached upwards in what appeared to be desperation to grab the apostle. Its reach was too short and Charon proceeded onwards, running faster than even a horse could gallop. The giant was lit on fire anew as the fourth dragon strafed it with its fire breath, before climbing high to circle again.
The fire seemed to do little more than annoy the giant though as it threw its greatsword at the Apostle. The giant weapon whistling through the air like a spear and Charon dodged at the last second as instead of finding the apostle's flesh, it imbedded itself in the rock face. The apostle himself disappearing inside of the catacombs.
The giant simply stood where it was for a few moments, heedless of the roaring flames that engulfed its body and the steady blue glow from its visor fixed intently on the opening to the catacombs. It finally moved forwards with thundering, slow steps and retrieved its greatsword from the stone wall, ignoring the dragons circling overhead as if they were little more than ants crawling around its feet.
Instead, the giant fixed its attention firmly on the opening to the cave, sword held at the ready. Then it happened. It was a pulse, similar to a heartbeat that swept through them. It wasn't physical in the traditional sense of the word, but it sure as hell felt physical. It was as if it was a blade that plunged your soul into icy dread and despair. Stealing the breath from your lungs and freezing the blood in your veins. A feeling that it would be better to plunge your blade into your heart rather than continue on and see what more was to come.
Octavian had to grip his horse's reigns tightly as it reared up high and whinnied in terror, threatening to throw him loose. He dug his legs in and held on as it moved back and forth, shaking its head that contained wild eyes. All of his legionnaire's horses and those of the Messalonians were doing the same. Even the indomitable dragons had fallen silent, save for low hisses towards the opening where Charon had disappeared into.
He emerged a few moments later, moments that felt like they may as well as each have been an eternity. He looked much the same as before he entered the cave. Same tattered clothing, same bloody frame, and same cocky grin. Yet, there was something different about him at the same time. Something that Octavian didn't know if he could put into words.
The giant moved with explosive force, bringing its great sword above its head and striking down in a heartbeat, intent on crushing the apostle into paste. Charon watched the blade descend, before raising his own hand, his bare hand yet sheathed in a green glow, and catching the blade in it.
The force of the descending blade and air created by its passing blew dirt away from both the giant and Charon in a deafening crash.
"So cute the toys the elves made to play with, yet so dumb that they don't ever know when to quit," mused Charon. "You can leave my sight now," continued the apostle, raising his other palm towards the giant.
It was as if the giant metal warrior was no more than a toy that had been tossed as if hurtled through the air like an angry god had grabbed hold of it. It tumbled end over end into the forest, crushing trees and shrub that had the misfortune to be in its path like they were nothing more than kindling.
"Ah, Centurion, I see that your cowardice has indeed seen to your continued longevity. I thank you and your men for acting as my beasts of burden, but now I have no further use for you. I do hope you make it out of here alive. Oh what am I saying? I really don't," chuckled the apostle in dark mirth, patting Octavian's horse on the flank as he walked by. Calista the satyr staying well clear of Charon as he passed them by.
"Centrion, sir," said one of Octavian's legionnaires.
"What is it?" asked Octavian, his throat feeling dry and his chest tight.
"The birds sir. They're just sitting there."
"What? Birds?" asked Octavian, as he looked back behind him.
The trees were thick and black with innumerable feathers from beady eyed and sharp taloned avians. They were silent other than for the occasional flap of wings as another arrived or one steadied itself on its new perch.
Octavian's stomach fell at the sight. It was unnatural, an ill omen.
"My Lord," began Calista, sounding nervous.
"Form into line on the double," commanded Octavian to his legionnaires. "We're leaving this wretched place. Cut down anyone or anything that gets in our way."
"Do not worry, you're coming with us," said Octavian, looking down at Calista. She gave a short cry of surprise as Octavian pulled her up and into his saddle behind him. The satyr immediately hooking her arms around his waist and holding on tightly.
"I've never ridden on a horse before," informed the satyr.
"Will I fall off?"
"Not so long as you hold on tightly."
"Yes my lord," said Calista holding herself tightly against Octavian and despite everything that was going on, she felt safe so close to the Centurion.
xxx
"Huh, I wonder where everyone is," said Luella looking around. The village was deserted so far as they could tell, or at least no one was coming out to greet them. Or working in the fields around the village, and there was no smoke coming
"Wait inside just in case darling," said Boris surprising the petite elf by picking her up and stuffing her through the hatch into the BTR.
"Boris you can't just pick a lady up like that and I can take care of myself!" said Luella indignantly. A door banged from further in the village and the indignant elf quickly disappeared within the armored confines of the BTR. Head reappearing timidly a few moments later, this time covered in the helmet that she so hated to wear and looking more than a little frightened.
"Stay with the iron chariot teacher, you'll be safe in there," said Ianthe.
"O-okay," said Luella, peeking out from within the armored vehicle. Ever since the other day when that...thing had happened, the elf had been on edge and jumpy. Startling at the smallest of things though she professed that she herself didn't even know why other than that she just felt a sense of unease.
"Senior Sergeant I think that we should go for a walk," said Feliks.
"Right you are Lieutenant," said Boris and with a few quick commands they were moving through the village, the BRDM and PT76 inching along with them to provide them both cover and support. The clacking of claws on stone followed the grinding of treads and grumble of diesel engine as Ianthe's dragon Maximus followed close behind. The other BTRs and jeeps staying outside of the village just in case, but weapons manned.
"I hate doing this shit," muttered Grekhov, watching the windows of the small wooden shacks they passed for anything that could even remotely threaten them.
"Just be thankful that no one's shooting at you," said Feliks, keeping his rifle at a low ready as he moved.
"Yes comrade lieutenant," answered the rifleman, still sounding less than pleased about clearing the village.
"Elder's house, across the square," said Boris gesturing.
"I see it," said Feliks looking at a shack that was larger than the others and next to the village well.
They advanced across the square, armored vehicles providing cover until they reached the elder's house. Feliks rapped his knuckles on the door and waited.
Xxx
"So what had them so spooked anyways?" asked Boris, biting into an apple.
"Same thing that has us on edge," said Feliks. They were sitting on a BTR as Luella played with several children from the village that had emerged after Feliks had spoken with the elder. The rest of the village milling around looking at the Soviets or else trying to sell them things. Vitsin handing out bandages and treating small injuries or handing out creams for infections and looking at bizarre looking rashes and boils.
"Hear anything from Zhukov?"
"Just about some stuff from back home. Apparently the USA doesn't exist anymore, it's now the United States of North America. They went and merged with Canada into one super country. Now they're an entire continent."
"That's some pretty big news," said the old veteran.
"You're telling me," said Feliks. Other than that not too much is going on. America is threatening to send ground forces into North Vietnam, but if they do China will get involved, though India's been looking for an excuse to go to war with them."
"So what route are we taking anyways?"
"I was thinking of going over the mountain. There's a road that runs through it and it'll cut like six hours off of our trip. Hey Luella, come here," called Feliks, getting the elf's attention from her game with the children.
"Yes?" asked the petite elf, smiling and winded from running with the children.
"We were thinking of taking the mountain pass, but I wanted to hear what you thought about it."
The smile disappeared from the elf's face and she shook her head.
"No, we should go around," said Luella, voice deadly serious.
"How come? It'll cut at least a days travel off if we go through."
"Do you see that arch with the runes carved into it above the road leading into the mountains?"
"Yeah, I see it."
"That's meant to ward off evil and act as a barrier. Most that you find are decorative, but that one is a real one. It's old, even compared to me and the village elders will pay a mage to come down from the college and check the enchantments from it every few years and instruct their carpenters on what runes to carve into the wood if they need to replace the beam. Normally these things are redundant. With the gods looking over the world there isn't really a need for them, but with what happened yesterday...I would say that we should go around. I know it'll be longer and I can't give a real reason why, but I have a bad feeling about taking that road."
"Alright, I trust your judgment, we'll go around the mountain," said Feliks, marking the long route on his map.
"Sorry that it's longer," apologized the elf.
"It's fine, we've got lots of diesel and besides, it's best to be on the side of caution."
xxx
"I am afraid that you have caught me by surprise with this request. Would you like anything before we begin?" offered Alexandrov politely.
He had been preparing to go and speak with one of his division commanders when the defacto leader of the wood elves had come to him and personally requested to speak with him. He had agreed immediately, both out of respect and because he relied heavily on the elves for interpretation and to act as guides for his forces. Their knowledge of the local area and customs had been a great boon for him and he would not pretend otherwise.
They were outside on the patio where Alexandrov had received Sugawara when he had come to negotiate after the incident at Alnus.
The tall elf Tiranniel shook her head in response.
"No, this will be very brief. It is a simple request."
"Very well, what if your request?"
"I want you to refuse to allow Luella to accompany your men on any more of their missions. Tell her that she must return to the village and is no longer allowed within your camp."
"Oh? I think I understand Miss Tiranniel, and I find it regrettable the danger she has been subjected to. It's inexcusable even, but I was given the understanding that you let each of your people decide their own path?"
Alexandrov stopped and frowned in confusion when the tall elf shook her head, ethereal golden eyes never leaving his.
"You misunderstand General, it is not her safety that I am concerned for, it is her use of magic. She is becoming...too accustomed to using it."
"I was given to understand that your people were willing to use it to save a life Miss Tiranniel? Several of my men owe her their lives-"
"This is not a cultural misunderstanding," cut in Tiranniel sharply.
"Then I am afraid that I truly do not understand the nature of your request."
"What would you say is the most striking feature of Luella General?"
"Pardon me?"
"Would it be her ears? Foreign as they are to you? Her serene kindness? Perhaps her beauty and golden shroud of hair? Her lovely singing voice should she feel comfortable enough to grace you with it? Or would it perhaps be her purple eyes? As exotic as they are unique?"
"I am not sure I fully understand the direction that this conversation is going."
"Her eyes are an indication of something among my people General. Something rare beyond measure, a prophecy in of themselves. She is one that we say has been touched by magic."
"So her powers are especially potent then?"
"More than you realize General. She is young by the standards of my race, a mere child though fully grown. Yet, her powers even as they are outstrip even the eldest of this world and not just those of the elves. She is the strongest magic user I have seen in the past 10 000 years and she has not even begun to realize her powers."
"This seems a little...too far fetched to just accept out of hand."
Alexendrov was unnerved when instead of answering the tall elf just stared at him in silence for a few moments.
"General," began the elf slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. "Are you aware of the right of passage that all of our kin take upon reaching adulthood?"
"Yes actually, it is a test of both their concentration, power, and control over their magical abilities. You have them grow something entirely with magic, whether it be a flower, a bush, or even an oak tree."
"Correct. Are you aware the old name of this mountain? One that you will never find on any map, yet the village elders in the area will still remember? A mere twenty years ago the humans called it Bone Mountain. Do you want to know why? It was because plants refused grow on Mt. Rubicon and with its unique white rock the whole mountain looked like a broken bone torn free from the flesh of the earth. When Luella told me that she wanted her tree to be on Bone Mountain so that it would no longer be bereft of the beauty of nature and for the mountain to no longer be alone I saw no harm in the request. Simply childhood naivete and idealism motivating an act of goodwill. I took her, just the two of us to the base of the mountain and like any other test I told her the same thing I told all the others. Concentrate. Steady your emotions until you find serenity within. Focus your entire being on the task. Reach deep within yourself and pull out all the power you can muster and let it flow out of you. Yet even with those words General, she held back."
"She knows that she is not supposed to use magic unless it is life threatening General, she knows it very well and has kept for word for these past two decades with only the most minor of deviations. Yet, she is young General and she is an elf. Our emotions are an inferno whereas yours are an ember and she is kind. She is caring. And she loves as deeply as any I have ever seen. She abhors killing, abhors violence and pain. To the point where she would let herself be killed before defending herself. And yet, what about those she cares for? Those she loved with all her heart were in danger or going to die General? Do you think she would keep her word and refrain from using magic? Watch them die knowing that she could save them but chose not to? I know her heart General and she would not. She would act and damn the consequences. She knows more than how to make plants g\row or heal wounds; much more.I begged for her life once General, on my knees I begged. They will not listen again."
"This.." began Alexandrov, not knowing how to proceed. "Is this somehow linked to the...event that happened the other day?" posed the general, not knowing how to put what had happened any better than that.
Without so much as another word Tiranniel turned and left, walking down the asphalt path that would lead her to the main gate of Camp Zhukov and back to her village. General Alexandrov watched her walk until she was nothing but an indistinguishable speck, before turning on the patio and looking up towards the mountains peak. Covered in green forest that swayed gently in the breeze.
AN: Well that was a quick chapter. I wrote that all in just a few days so I hope that it's not rougher than the last chapter and also not too boring. I had the story in my head of how Feliks got his back burned and I wanted him to tell the story about it. As always, leave a review whether good or bad and I'll try to get back to you about it, but I apologize if I miss you. Sometimes I forget about a few of you.