He didn’t know where the danger was coming from, but a sound from somewhere tipped him off. He flung himself to the side.
But it was too late!
A bullet shattered a nearby window and half a moment later, a hole appeared in the back of Ratscratch’s head. It drilled through his right eye, leaving a ragged tunnel as it exploded out and buried itself in the wall behind him.
Ratscratch hit the ground as rigid as a board. Just a moment ago, he had been filled with spirit and gusto. One second later, he was dead, the victim of a shooting.
“Sniper!”
Ratscratch’s men were all old hats around the outpost, so when their leader was shot down, they didn’t panic, get enraged, or shrink back in fear. The first thing they did was hit the deck to avoid becoming the next victim.
Six hundred feet away from the bar, nestled in a pile of inconspicuous rubble, the sniper pulled back the rifle’s bolt which ejected the spent casing. The shooter slowly readjusted his aim. The rifle was a special wastelands rifle, with every component of it handmade and crude. Its bullets were high caliber. It lacked a scope, so the shooter was guided only by the iron sights fixed to the end of the barrel. A gun like this definitely required a skilled marksman to use properly, for it lacked anything to facilitate aim or control, much less hitting a target hundreds of feet away.
One bullet, one target down.
The shooter didn’t rush to leave. He shifted the sights towards the front door.
One of Ratscratch’s men slowly rose to his feet and cautiously opened the door, preparing to make a run for it. However, the sniper reacted as quickly as a bolt of lightning. The moment the door opened just a crack, he pulled the trigger.
The sharp report of the rifle rang out once more.
This bullet ripped through the wall and into the common room where it buried itself in the man standing by the door. As it ripped through his waist, the man toppled to the ground and began to scream. He clearly wasn’t going to make it.
The rat pack only had three rodents left.
Now they knew where the sniper was. When the second shot fired, they leapt out of the window, abandoning cover and racing towards where the sniper was hiding.
It didn’t take them long to reach that spot, and they found a blanket he must have been using to camouflage himself. A shadow caught their eye from the ruins.
“Get him!”
The three men lifted their weapons and gave chase. They spread out, looking for any trace of the sniper. One of them suddenly felt a hand clamp down on his mouth and then the cold kiss of steel as a dagger opened his throat.
The other two sensed something was wrong and whipped around to face their dead comrade.
Their compatriot had collapsed, eyes wide and mouth gasping for breath like a fish out of water. Only, his attacker had vanished back into the shadows. The last two men standing immediately stood back to back and stared with wide-eyed fear and surprise into the darkness.
Whoosh!
A black figure swept by.
In his passage, a dagger whipped out and planted itself in the throat of one of the remaining two. The unfortunate soul clutched his neck and collapsed. When the shadowy assassin’s feet hit the ground, he swung around and lunged at the final thug with a staff that had a three-edged spike at the end.
“Die!”
Ratscratch’s last henchman was as shocked as he was infuriated. He heaved his weapon and flung himself forward. Their weapons met in the darkness three or four times with neither taking the upper hand. Then, just as the warrior was preparing to go on the offensive, he heard the assassin’s weapon whir.
His weapon was ripped apart like it was made of paper! The last thing he felt was a vicious energy tear through his chest.
That was how Ratscratch’s fledgling rebellion ended.
Cloudhawk wiped the blood clean from the tip of his exorcist spear before turning to look at the person behind him. “What do you think?”
A tall, thin figure was half hidden in the shadows. He seemed almost like a part of the darkness, and if he remained still, it would be almost impossible to know he was there. Mantis slowly emerged, surveyed the corpses, and offered his evaluation.
“Very average.”
Cloudhawk shrugged.
Over the last several days, Cloudhawk’s injuries had recovered well. He’d wanted to learn a few new skills before setting out again, so he took the Queen and Mantis as his teachers. From one, he learned the basics of close-quarters combat, and from the other, he learned the skills of assassins and surgeons.
The situation in Greenland Outpost was growing more unstable by the day. Several groups had started to instigate turmoil for their own gain.
Mantis used his skills to locate these troublemakers and then arranged for Cloudhawk to deal with them as a form of training. Although the boy wasn’t even half the assassin Mantis was, his skills at murder had improved impressively over the last few days.
Cloudhawk swung his arms to loosen his muscles. “Seems like the outpost has been mostly cleared of thugs, and my wounds are about healed. I think it’s about time I got out of here.”
Mantis looked at Cloudhawk, who was wearing the Queen’s mask. “Are you sure you want to go to the Elysian lands?”
He nodded. “Definitely.”
“It isn’t the flawless place you think it is.” Mantis’s voice was flat as ever. “I suggest you remain in the wastelands, but some lessons require that we experience them first hand in order to learn them more deeply.”
“This fuckin’ guy, always so cryptic. Can you talk straight for once?”
Cloudhawk didn’t get where Mantis was coming from. Now that he’d made up his mind to go, no one was gonna stand in his way. Greenland Outpost was left to Mantis because as weird as he was, the assassin was at least reliable. So long as he was in charge, things wouldn’t fall apart.
95 Traversing the Wilds
Cloudhawk slowly practiced the postures he learned from the Bloodsoaked Queen in Greenland Fort’s training room. He was now able to reach the fifteenth stance of this exercise used to condition a demon hunter’s body – an improvement over his performance prior to his injuries. It showed that Cloudhawk was getting stronger. The better he got, the slower and more purposeful the stances became, taking several hours for only three repetitions.
He was absolutely exhausted by the end. He stopped, covered in sweat and breathing heavily.
Seven days had passed since the battle with the demon, and his wounds were no longer a concern. In fact, there was hardly any indication that he’d been wounded at all. The time for him to leave Greenland Outpost and leave for the Elysian lands was near.
The young wastelander hefted a metal-bound yellow tome in his hands. He looked at the cover on which the scene of a vast desert seemed to undulate beneath his gaze.
The demon’s relic: the Gospel of Sand.
The Bloodsoaked Queen had given him this relic as a trophy to symbolize his victory over a demon. With it and the identifying token given to him by the Queen, he would be granted passage through the territory of Skycloud and favor from her family. At the very least, he would be accepted into the Elysian lands and maybe even be given the honor of becoming a demon hunter. Then, at last, he could leave the wastelands behind.
Only, Cloudhawk didn’t see the Gospel of Sand as a mere trophy!
If this was one of the demon’s greatest relics, it must mean a fair amount of his power came from it. To Cloudhawk, it meant the thing had to be very useful.
The restrictions and classifications demon hunters put on relics meant nothing to him. He could use whatever relic he wished, from the Queen’s holy cross of light to the invisibility cloak to the exorcist rod. The book he held in his hands should be no different.
Ripples of power wafted from the book as it resonated with his psychic energy. A faint and inexplicable power suddenly permeated the air.
Cloudhawk was still weak, so using the Gospel of Sand was a difficul
t task. However, he persisted, and eventually, the tome began to respond. It started to shake – so imperceptibly that no human sense or scientific method could detect it, but with such resonance that it reacted to the fundamental threads that constituted matter.
It was too difficult! It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds!
Dripping with sweat, Cloudhawk fought on, pouring ever more psychic energy into the book until at last, the Gospel awoke. The frequency of those threads changed. They thrummed in a different pattern, and thus, matter began to change. At last, the Gospel of Sand revealed its power.
A gust of wind rustled through the training room. Fine granules of dust danced in the breeze.
Eventually, sand covered most of the spacious training room in a self-contained sandstorm, dancing in time with Cloudhawk’s will. However, his stamina was quickly drained, and the weightlessness was stripped from the room. The dust and grit fell back to earth to cover the training hall’s floor with a thin film of sand.
Is this how the demon controlled the sandstorms? Cloudhawk could barely summon a breeze!
The demon’s storms had swallowed up the outpost, while Cloudhawk’s hardly filled a room. Still, it answered his question; the book was definitely useful. Only, he was still too weak to call forth its full potential.
Cloudhawk suspected that if he managed to become as strong as the demon, he could also summon a titan of sand. He’d be able to capably defend himself against anyone, probably even against a whole army!
It certainly earned its reputation as a famed relic! It was one hell of a tool!
Cloudhawk was putting the book away when the sound of footsteps caught his attention. He looked up to find the Bloodsoaked Queen in the doorway. Her wounds were not entirely healed, but she no longer needed the cane to help her walk. She still looked weak and haggard but had already recovered a third of her fighting ability. She could go one on one with anyone in the outpost in a fair fight and win.
When she saw the sand-covered floor and the book in Cloudhawk’s hands, she gazed at him in surprise. “You used the Gospel of Sand?”
“Isn’t the answer kind of obvious?”
She found it hard to believe. “The Gospel of Sand is very powerful but is also a very unique type of relic. There are only a few people with the ability to use it, and if you managed to, that means you have a special talent. How is it that you seem to have so many gifts?”
Cloudhawk was largely ignorant of the science and history of relics. He knew nothing about special talents or whether he had any. To him, every relic he encountered was the same. He hadn’t thought that they came in classes or categories.
“Well, anyway, you showed up right on time,” Cloudhawk said as he made his way over to her. “I was just gonna go find you to say goodbye. It’s time for me to leave the outpost.”
“So soon?” She was actually pleased that he was heading out. The more anxious he was to go, the more it showed how eager he was to reach the Elysian lands.
She’d long suspected that Cloudhawk had a talent that surpassed even her own. If he could make it to Skycloud and undergo training from her family, the title of youngest demon hunter would surely pass to him. Her home would grow stronger and thus, be better able to fight back any attempts by the hellspawn to invade.
A fervent light clearly danced in Cloudhawk’s eyes. “I wanna see if the Elysian lands and Skycloud are as nice as you say.”
She answered without hesitation, filled with certainty, “The wastelands and the realm blessed by the light are like two different worlds. I know you’ll love it there.”
Cloudhawk certainly hoped so. And speaking of hope, he grew curious. “The demon’s dead. Are you still sticking around?”
“A year ago, I went against the wishes of my family and violated the laws of the demon hunters to come here in secret. If I go back, it’ll be a while before I can leave again.” Her expression grew stern as she dropped her eyes. “I learned something new about my father’s death. I need to try and learn more so I may stay for a while longer.”
Her quest still wasn’t finished?
Curiosity continued to dig at him. “Do you need help?”
She politely turned down his offer. “No, I can handle it.”
The Queen didn’t want to drag Cloudhawk into any more danger than she already had. Besides, his abilities were unstable and only manifested themselves in extreme circumstances. It was a dangerous gamble to rely on. Without his sudden bursts of power, he was more of a liability, so it was a wiser choice to get him to the Elysian lands as quickly as possible.
She fixed him with a serious look. “I hope when next we meet in the Elysian lands, you’ve become a strong and honorable demon hunter!”
Demon hunter? Pfft!
Cloudhawk inwardly rolled his eyes. Were demon hunters honorable? Not based on what he’s seen. Furthermore, he didn’t have any beef with demons until the Queen came around. Why would he want to go traipsing around looking for trouble?
He had seen what a demon could do, and as far as he was concerned, that was about all he was interested in learning. Although demons certainly gave him a rotten impression, so long as they didn’t screw with him, he wasn’t going to screw with them. And if they did, he’d get as far away as possible. The only way he’d want to tangle with something so dangerous ever again was if he had no other choice.
“No matter where we turn up in the future,” Cloudhawk said, looking back at her, “we’re always going to be friends. Right?”
A faint smile suddenly spread across the Queen’s pallid face, filling it with a poignant yet stunning beauty. They each had their own road to walk, and neither of them could stop until they reached the end. They were the same in that aspect. As for what was to come, who could say what the future held?
Mantis had prepared a care package for Cloudhawk: a map of the wastelands, a custom 13mm sniper rifle [1], a nine-millimeter handgun, around twenty throwing daggers, a knife from the Elysian lands, two canteens, and another set of leather boots, gloves, and a vest, all made from dire bear skin that would be difficult for a bullet to pierce.
Then, of course, there was the exorcist rod, the Gospel of Sand, the invisibility cloak, and the demon mask – Cloudhawk’s collection of relics.
As for tools? The outpost didn’t have any vehicles to speak of since it was surrounded by forests and ruins. Building and maintaining them simply didn’t make sense in this environment. However, the Queen hand-picked a wastelands lizard he could use as a mount and fitted it with travel bags containing water, field rations, medicine, and other supplies.
Ten experienced and reliable elite soldiers were selected to escort him, to help him avoid the dangers that surrounded the outpost for a few hundred miles. Beyond that, the outpost maps were ambiguous and of little help. From there on, he was on his own.
Everything was in order.
Cloudhawk climbed atop his mount and as he set off for the wastes, he never once looked back. He resolutely headed out from the comfort zone he’d built and into the unknown.
Mantis stood atop one of the ruins and watched the young man disappear into the horizon. There was a fierce gust of wind and suddenly, another figure appeared by his side – a ferocious and familiar figure.
“It seems you were right.” The Caliph’s voice sounded like a rasping echo through the desolate ruins. His red eyes were fixed on the shrinking black dot that was Cloudhawk. “He certainly is an interesting kid.”
“We can’t let the path he’s chosen be too easy,” Mantis replied emotionlessly.
The Caliph of the Sands answered with a deep, haggard laugh, “I’m ready. But if he can’t prevail and should meet with misfortune, ancient one, then your plans…”
“He won’t die that easily.” Mantis quietly turned away. “It’s time to prepare the next step.”
The Caliph watched the human walk away, staring at him with a strange expression in his burning red eyes. Had the man finally decided to join his cause? Their g
oals were different – even opposed – but it appeared the beginning of their journey followed the same road. So why not cooperate?
1. I’m the opposite of a gun guy, but I think that’s a .50 caliber rifle, so huge.
96 A Mistake?
The wastelands’ sands swirled on hot winds. Heat caused the air to warp, twisting the line of wasteland riders that appeared on the horizon. A young boy of about fifteen years led them, looking especially small and frail atop his lizard mount. A black and grey cloak shielded him from the sun, and a large rifle was slung over one shoulder. A gun of that caliber was a symbol of status out here in the wastelands.
The unobtrusive youth was followed by ten burly men, each one of them clearly a practiced warrior. Their leader was a strange looking man with an apish jutting lower jaw and a pair of arms twice the size of those of any normal man. His hands were thicker than kneecaps. For a weapon, he had a metal bow slung over his shoulder strung with a wastelands wyrm bowstring. It was clearly a powerful tool.
The group garnered attention everywhere they went.
Cloudhawk could hardly believe that only three months ago, he was a worm, crawling over the ruins of the wastelands looking for scraps. Now, he rode at the head of a small band of capable fighters and went where he pleased. All he had to worry about was the occasional beast. Your typical bandits or sweeper party were nothing for him to fear anymore.
There hadn’t been many setbacks to bar their path over the last couple hundred miles.
Cloudhawk’s confidence soared. If they kept up this pace, he’d reach the Elysian lands in about ten days. The others who rode the lizards beside him were elites from the outposts. The strange-looking one was named Depp, a brawny man in his thirties. Though his mutation made him appear ferocious, he was actually pragmatic and composed – a fighter no less capable than the likes of Panther or Salamander.
One of the outpost warriors spoke up, “Up ahead is rotwolf territory.”
The Wastelander Page 67