BEYOND
APOCALYPSE
by
Bruce S. Larson
An e-novel from
World Line One Press
BEYOND APOCALYPSE
by
Bruce S. Larson
© 2015 by Bruce S. Larson
All Rights Reserved. All elements of this book, including cover art and all images in all formats are copyrighted by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. All elements of the stories are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual places, events, and persons living or dead within this book is purely coincidental.
This and other fine fiction
Published by
World Line One Press
ISBN: 978-0-9856841-7-4
Cover art, and all images © Bruce S. Larson.
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The Publisher wishes to thank the personnel of NASA and California Institute of Technology in Pasadena who run the Spitzer Space Telescope. Spitzer images of the Helix Nebula helped create the eyes of the Dark Urge on the front cover. Such pictures reveal the universe is a place of boundless wonder. Our earthbound eyes and minds owe thanks to all who expand knowledge of what lies beyond.
The Author again thanks Erik England for his indispensable contribution to the cover art. May the Art Urge ever smile on his studio. Thanks also go to fellow author Cristopher DeRose for unceasing inspiration and support. The Black Moon and more orbit onward.
And a note of thanks goes to you who bought or borrowed this book.
CHAPTER ONE
In the beginning was the war. The war was with Hell. As a titanic foundry created to build a new reality, Hell’s heat was eternal. After the rise and vanishing of its makers and long epochs hence, fear crept into the surviving mind of its ever-burning heart, the Forge. Fear spawned greater darkness. The reality of Hell rose from turmoil and fire. Hell’s mind became manifest as the Dark Urge. She looked upon creation with all-consuming malice. Thus began the age of war. Giants born in Hell led demon armies across the galaxy. These towering Generals commanded vast ships that blazed with infernal, indomitable power. Armageddon fell on worlds from the event horizon near the galaxy’s center, along its curling arms, and above its spiraled plane. The Generals destroyed alien powers and eased the fear deep within the Dark Urge. Creation burned. That fear drove the Dark Urge to conquest was only one secret in her corrupted mind. In this age of multiple apocalypses, secrets were as much the fabric of existence as gravity and time.
General Anguhr’s life began with war. There was no time of growth for his mind from birth to purpose. His body was whole when born from a machine. The Dark Urge clad him in back steel. She gave him his ship and demon horde. She then sent her newest champion out from Hell to conquer all in his path. Anguhr’s victories pleased the mother of perpetual catastrophe. In their succession of release, Anguhr was the youngest of Hell's commanders. However, his name soon carried the greatest terror. Demon invaders were universally frightening. An invincible giant who commanded them was more than terrifying, and Anguhr always led from the front. He was called the Destroyer among demons and doomed enemies. He resembled a powerfully built, human male but towered above most creatures that ever walked. Anguhr didn’t know any life had ever looked like him. Each General was a unique monster. Though Anguhr never knew of a certain blue planet lost even to legend, any historian from vanished Earth would see his armor as medieval sections cut from obsidian and pared down to match a Hoplite style. It was all absolute black. Anguhr never held a shield and his helmet had no crest. His stare was more intimidating than an ornamental flourish. A hellish glow shone from eyes lit by inner fire. Light reflected off the exposed skin of his arms just as heat rippled across molten metal. Arcane, black steel formed his wide, double-bladed axe. Secured on his back, the curved axe blades flared out akin to wings behind his shoulders. The axe’s cutting edges never deformed but had never cooled since being cast. Its constant use generated more heat.
Anguhr looked for a fitting target to cleave on the planet its inhabitants called Theracon. Rivers and erosion had already cut its surface into deep channels and canyons. Hues of amber dominated the geology. Brighter, violent colors flashed in the distance as demons and native warriors traded fire. Intelligent species of other worlds built above ground or within oceans. The people of Theracon followed the contours of the land to build their civilization. Cities interknit with technology lay tunneled through islands that rose as steep mountains inside deep, layered canyons. Portals and bridging tubes revealed the illumination within. Below the artificial lights, dark water and shadow merged at the canyon bottom. Lights winked out as the inhabitants diverted power, or Anguhr’s demons destroyed its source.
A General never needed to step foot on the worlds conquered for Hell. Anguhr could unleash a near limitless barrage against an alien armada or fortified planet. Even his secondary batteries could annihilate continents. Naturally, or hellishly, Anguhr’s favored attack was less about firepower and more about cunning and strength. He preferred to lead the assaults of his demon horde. Each demon was a flying nightmare with a heavy rifle. Hell’s power drove them through atmospheres or harsh vacuum. When not in use, their dark wings of tight skin and scales folded across a wide, muscular back. Their bodies were akin to a powerful primate with a hide of thorns. Scowling serpent eyes looked down a canine snout with shark’s teeth. Scaly ears curled up like horns at the sides of their hideous faces. To Anguhr, they were the pinnacle of mortal life. They worshiped him in turn and never failed to charge when given the command. That was all the young General ever asked or wanted from them. For Anguhr, his role as the metaphysical link between demons and the Dark Urge was less important than leading them in the fight. He hid this erosion of orthodoxy deep in his mind.
Guns, swords, and his enormous axe. The weapons of Hell ravaged all. Their power was arcane, yet their designs were archaic and brutal. Demon rifles were too heavy for most soldiers in any army save the flying beasts that used them with devastating skill. Each was milled from a dark metal block. The metal was a hard tissue like horn, if horn was stronger than steel and generated ammunition as plants grew seeds if sped up in time. A bayonet deployed under the vented muzzle for the sport of close combat. The weapon acted to boost signals between horde members and their leaders. Anguhr wondered why the Dark Urge conquered in violent and outwardly primitive means when she possessed unsurpassed power and technology. Anguhr had no answer for her aesthetics of war. He reasoned that it was possible everything he understood was only a semblance of true reality and th
e great forces in play. It could also be the stark truth. His form, his demons, and their brutal weapons could be a cruel taunt by their creator against all they crushed. Whatever the reasons of the Dark Urge, Anguhr was glad for the joy of the fight and continued promise of conquest. He let the emotions stoke the flames behind his eyes.
In each General’s horde, two demons stood near the pinnacle of command. The Field Master led all tiers from single demons to vast strike wings. The Ship Master controlled the flaming dreadnought and its arsenal. This balanced power between their positions. However, the Field Master was second only to their Lord and General. Field Masters carried out their General’s battle plan in space and on contested planets. They saw direct, physical combat alongside Generals. In some hordes they fought in their stead. Field Masters were the largest demons. Their comrade Ship Masters were tall and imposing but rarely left the bridge. Duty and design bound them to their ships. Ship Masters possessed only vestigial wings should an impulse to fly in dire combat overtake the duty to steer the massive warship.
The direction of his current battle made Anguhr restless. The Theracon armies engaged his demons in tactical withdrawals. As he walked closer, the front drew back farther. He smiled. They were curving their battle lines like the shapes of their canyons. When a battle line became an arc, its ends could join and form a circle. Anything inside the belligerent diameter is cut off and killed. The Theracon forces had never seen Anguhr fly. They were using his desire to meet their front and curved their forces to surround him. If they could kill the Destroyer, perhaps the demons would fall with no leader. The horde did have a descending command structure. Recognized demons had names and specific duties. Anguhr’s Field Master, Uruk, flew towards him.
“Lord Destroyer! The enemy sets a trap for you!” The tones of Uruk’s warning pitched his voice to the sharp hiss of lava striking a frigid ocean. “They dare make you are a specific target!”
Anguhr was also a giant among his demons. They were large enough to interact with him on a level that could be considered personal among the scions of darkness.
“I have deduced their strategy, Uruk.” Anguhr said as his loyal second alit near him. Anguhr’s voice was similar to the deep rumble of rock subducted beneath a planet’s crust. It was low, but powerful. The tone hinted at the inexorable force and inner heat that drove it. “They seek to encircle me and focus their firepower at a single point.”
“They will fail!” Uruk barked in triumphant tones.
“Yes.” Anguhr said with a nod of affirmation.
“Victory is always ours. Always Hell’s.” Uruk slung his rifle and raised his sword in salute. “You bring glory to the Dark Urge!”
“All hail the Dark Urge!” The autonomic chant sounded amid explosions and weapons fire. It came from all demons within earshot of Uruk. Demons had exceptional hearing even on a thundering battlefield, and there were many demons around. The chant seemed to roll across the hemisphere.
Anguhr sighed. The tedious work of piety was second nature to demons. They did not think before displaying preprogrammed devotion. Their belief in the almighty power of the Dark Urge took form before their limbs grew in the generation chambers. They were loyal soldiers and true believers. Most were without true sentience. Through service to their Lord and General they would descend to everlasting darkness. They would return to their mother and become part of her, part of Hell, and thus become immortal after death in battle. Their General was the means to achieve this ascent through service to their military Lord. The loyalty of Anguhr’s horde was unquestioned, and bolstered by his triumphs. However, he did not share their unconditional faith, nor did he ever voice that personal truth. For now, the tactic of his canny enemy held his passion.
“Allow this enemy to think it has succeeded.” Anguhr told Uruk. “I will see the pinnacle of their armaments before I cut it in two.”
“As you command, as always, Lord.” Uruk bowed his head. “I could also order a salvo from orbit.”
Anguhr reached behind his back and brought forth his massive axe.
“Although your axe shall work equally well, Lord Destroyer.” Uruk saluted and flew overhead. If discretion was the better part of valor, then Uruk knew great valor when his General sought combat.
Anguhr’s footfall thundered through the chambers and passages of each city he walked over. He approached another canyon. The city before him sat in the opposite slope of the ancient river bend. Theracon engineers halted further erosion and built their cities within the curves and slopes. The hardening of their landscape could not halt the forces of Hell. Their current gambit was to halt Anguhr. Two beams flashed from opposite ends of the arced cliff face. They were too weak to be weapons. A third joined from near the canyon bottom. Anguhr found himself faced by another giant. This one was merely a projection.
The Theracon’s image conveyed his strength and nobility. All four of his alien eyes faced forward in a predator’s stereoscopic stare. Its upper eyes had clear lenses for focusing light. Below them sat a smaller red and recessed set for sensing heat. The Theracons had adapted to the shadowed depths of the canyons and river systems and light on the surfaces above them. They also thrived in the region where the permanent night of the planet’s far side gave way to sunlight. There, a band of eternal gloaming formed at the border of permanent darkness and day on the tidally locked planet.
If not for bodies of their colonial soldiers, Anguhr would have expected this world’s people to be tunneling creatures with powerful forelimbs. Something squat with weak eyes and overdeveloped olfactors. Instead he saw the gaze of a bird of prey that left the skies to hunt on the ground. The only squat feature was the beak on the raptor’s face. It still held a curved tip for cutting flesh. Where demon wings swept behind their backs, the same Theracon limbs had evolved away from flight and curved forward. The Theracon projected before Anguhr rested its arms against a thick torso encased in a dark-bronze chestplate. Black striping marked its upper left. A wide rim circled between straight shoulders where a helmet sealed onto the suit. Rims for missing gauntlets revealed dexterous talons that gripped the chestplate’s rim. Plated, pressure suited legs with splayed boots hid strong, lower limbs. It was more than a uniform. It was armor for combat in space. The projection was of a Theracon warrior.
Anguhr surmised the Theracons developed technology before burrowing into the layered rock. Somewhere on the surface, most likely in the equatorial plains, there must be an ancestral city buried in time by sediment. The rest of their civilization would also fall in the rending doom of their world.
“I am Kolodan, the commander of Theracon’s united forces.”
Anguhr heard the voice projected from the city and across multiple frequencies beamed at him.
“I am projected here, to intercede with you.” Kolodan continued. “My words are broadcast on all known wavelengths and in all languages and information systems my world has created or learned of from other spacefarers. I bid you pause your attack so that we may communicate.”
“I understand you,” Anguhr said. “I am General Anguhr. Speak so that you may entertain me, and also entertain the hope this time buys you. It is your first and only boon I grant.”
“The nations of my world have suspended all political actions, all laws, and placed all their power, all their hopes in me.” Kolodan said. “Many see you as merely a monster, a dark force. Annihilation. Others see you as judgment, or the final gateway event we must endure for our civilization to become a great interstellar force. I see you as another commander. A military leader. I bid you, one commander to another, before we destroy each other, to negotiate. Tell me what you seek. Why have you destroyed our outer worlds? Let us put future destruction aside. Let us both be strong enough to seek understanding. I appeal to you, warrior to warrior. I ask that we both show reason. I know there must be great intellect at work that guides your ship and your forces. There must be strength of mind and of leadership controlling such power. Let us both see logic and justice preva
il this day.”
“You are persuasive, to those who would listen.” Anguhr said. “I have no doubt both your ego and your people chose you for good reason. I recognize that you show strategy and courage. But you are your species’ final leader. I am not judgment. I am the bringer of war. It is why I exist and why I attack. Your appeals were doomed when conceived. If you can defeat me, then you can call that justice. But I have no doubt victory will be mine. Fight well, for I am here to burn your world.”
“General Anguhr, even in war there can be reason.” Kolodan replied. “Reason is the only path to common ground. Use it here, not your weapons.”
“Your only hope is to fight,” Anguhr leaned his head towards Kolodan’s projection. He intended his burning stare to convince the real Kolodan of his conviction. “I will only respect that reply. It is only combat I enjoy. Now, fight. Die in battle to die well. But have no doubt that I am here to fulfill my titles, all. I am General Anguhr, Lord of Demons, leader of Hell’s horde. But most of all, I am the Destroyer.”
Kolodan’s projection vanished. The lights of the cliff city went dark. Several large missiles roared at Anguhr across the landscape beyond the cliff. Anguhr smiled. He swung his axe and destroyed an arc of the ballistic weapons. Two exploded at his sides. The detonations shook the ground and caused landslides in the canyon. It was merely the opening Theracon salvo. A cloud of steel seemed to rise over the horizon. Evolution had stripped the Theracons' ability to fly, but they had compensated with sleek, warcraft shaped as narrow deltas. Anguhr's horde had destroyed several in the raptors’ outer colonies. Thousands of them had been massed here for the final battle. They soared at Anguhr loaded with armaments and angry pilots.
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