Otherworld Soldiers- Rise of the Apocalypse

by Fox Lancet

  Standing far from where he wanted to be, he untied one of the rags knotted around his right forearm. All Demons tied as many tattered cloths to their bodies as they deemed necessary before riding out for war. The articles were placed by design as if for uniform, though their existing purpose was for mortal wounds. His eyes were locked on the chaos in the distance as he retied the tattered cloth at his wrist to slow the draining blood.

  The red sun was failing against the three moons, but still strained to cast the last of its dying rays across the plains.

  He threw his head from side to side, cracking his neck bones loudly. Finally he looked from the battle and glanced around the dirt floor. He spotted his clawed hand several paces in front of him in the direction of his cohorts. As he trotted lightly to the bodiless appendage, he untied another fabric bandage from one of his biceps. The moment his hand was in reach he snatched it from the ground. He continued at the same pace as he stuck his hand to his wrist and wrapped the second cloth between his claws and around his wrist several times to temporarily bind them together. In time the severed pieces would grow back together, though it would take many passing moons and the dismembered hand would never again regain its original strength.

  Once he reached throwing distance of the battle, he yanked out one of the many daggers encircling his lower leg and began hurling them into Seraph flesh, momentarily distracting them from their targets. As he drew nearer, he caught the beginning of the flying beasts’ downfall. His commander, Nefarion, had his mace-tipped chain wrapped around the neck of one of the serpent’s thick necks. Surrounded by a resisting wall of Demons, Nefarion and his steed struggled backwards. Another Demon joined the tug of war, visibly bringing the monster closer to the ground.

  Nefarion, his steed, and two others heaved at the chain wrung tightly about the sky serpent’s neck, leading him downward slowly but effectively. A wing of Demons encased them and protected their progress by warding off any Seraphs.

  To the right, and beyond the battle within the battle, Syler broke from his engagement and raced his steed in the direction of the ensnared monster. He re-sheathed one of two swords and removed himself from the saddle, propping himself in a skillful crouch on the galloping horse’s back. A short distance before he paralleled the creature’s neck, his steed vaulted into the air. When his horse reached its pinnacle, Syler bounded from its back, closing the distance between himself and the serpent’s levitating form. He clutched his serrated sword in two powerful claws as he came down in a low arch to meet the serpent’s flesh with the fatal teeth of his weapon. The sword sliced through glittering scales and made it through the ample neck three quarters of its girth, cutting the creature’s unruly scream short.

  A deep green liquid shot from its neck in a rampant fountain of blood. Its scaled body came to a crashing descent in an erratic cloud of dust next to the battle. The remaining two sky serpents circled hesitantly after their comrade’s demise.

  Elevated confidence spread through The Horde like a plague as the winged serpent’s body crumpled lifelessly beside the battle; the next one went down with perforated wings that were quickly severed from its serpentine body. The third creature wrested its master’s control and disappeared into the distance, leaving its brothers as black, radiating carcasses on the battlefield. When the last sky serpent vanished from view, the Seraphs trickled back into the shadowed confines of the new night.

  With the battles end, the moons had finally claimed the sky, cooling the land to a deep blue and gray. The Hordes’ eyes gleamed red as they saw their enemies off the field, their forms easy to discern in the darkness as the moons lit their light skin and garb.

  Nefarion sniggered, his fangs crowding his Demonic mouth. After the last Seraph had disappeared from view, he eyed his army.

  “Tie any Seraph corpse or wiggling white flesh to your mounts and let us make haste.” His remaining troops responded immediately. They roped the larger dismembered body parts to their black equines and left the remaining scraps to wither in the dirt.

  Hunter and the Demon with the recently amputated hand came upon a groaning Seraph. His blue-glazed insides dangled from his side and one of his legs had been cleaved away and was absent from the general vicinity. The two Demons glowered down at the helpless form. After a moment, Hunter grinned fanatically. His companion agreed in a similar fashion and even began to chuckle harshly. Without a word, the two creatures knotted a heavy rope around the Seraph’s neck and hitched him to Hunter’s horse, Carrion.

  Just as The Horde was about to continue their quest toward the mountain range, there was a brief yell accompanied unexpected hoof-beats. Purposefully bringing up the back of the army, Hunter turned his body casually toward the upheaval. A lone Seraph had resurfaced and was charging toward Hunter and his gurgling trophy. He surveyed the vengeful Seraph skeptically; the white creature was at such a distance the Demon was able to turn languidly and anticipate how to eliminate the approaching threat. He drew one of his serrated swords and waited patiently for the enraged Seraph to reach him.

  Suddenly the jangle of a chain mace joined the Seraph’s war cry and the white enemy was torn from his steed. Hunter’s head snapped in the direction of the interruption, but relaxed when he saw it belonged to Nefarion. The pale horse continued on its path and Hunter gladly decapitated it on passing. Its body slowed but gained several more feet before collapsing inertly among The Horde.

  “Enough!” At that, Nefarion retreated in the direction of the mountains with the unfortunate Seraph dragging raggedly behind him.

  With a loss of eight, the rest of The Horde thundered after him. Hunter and Syler reined in their horses and trotted a good distance behind. Their red eyes persistently scanned over their shoulders to survey the blackness outside their field of night vision, the enemy’s veil.

  The two black Demons kept their position trailing the army in case the foe was en route behind them. Occasionally, the pair stopped dead in their tracks, more silent than the air around them, waiting and listening for long periods of time. After they paused for the third time, the sound of The Horde’s rumble was finally lost. They took no heed of the loss, but relaxed in the tranquility of the night. Still there was nothing. After a short time, the baleful duo was finally satisfied. Syler’s equine, Famine, snorted and stomped its right fore-foot impatiently.

  “We will have to assume they made camp or are approaching at a wide berth around us,” Syler stated.

  A faint growl resonated deep in Hunter’s throat. The sound received a casual sideways glance from Syler’s lustrous eyes. “Relax, my fiend, I am sure there will be more bloodshed to slake your lust.” He paused and a grin gradually grew on his face. “If not in this world, then perhaps in the next.” His eyes turned to glowing slits as his grin grew into a wicked smile. Hunter regarded him incredulously then relaxed and chuckled at Syler’s sudden light mood. He turned, unsheathing his sword to sever the rope that dragged the now fully dead Seraph.

  Syler spoke under his breath and Famine reared, breaking into a run with Hunter and Carrion following promptly.

  One of the three moons had fallen behind the jagged silhouette looming against the night sky ahead of them. The remaining two spheres made a lingering descent as the two Demons raced across the flat expanse, kicking up clouds of dust in their wake. Their horses drew in ragged breaths at each lunge, their muscular bodies flexed and perspired from acute effort.

  As the mountains swelled gradually at their approach and another moon was halfway vanishing behind the mass, Hunter saw them. He let out a short bark to sway Syler’s focus from the path ahead. Syler didn’t turn his attention to his cohort but instead glanced in the opposite direction. He bared his teeth then eyed Hunter.

  “How many?” Syler bellowed over their horses’ heavy hoof beats. Hunter glared out ahead in response.

  “I can confirm only three. But we should anticipate a dozen,” Hunter replied as the two led their horses closer together.

  “Our mounts cannot
keep this pace for much longer,” Syler growled. “I confirm six now.” He scraped his teeth together in agitation. “We will have to out-run them for as long as possible. Then we must dismount and send our mounts onward as they will be too weak to carry us in a battle. They will be evidence of our ambush.” Syler finished as Hunter jerked to the right, dodging a dagger that flew past his shoulder.

  “By the time they come to aid us, there will be nothing left to slay.” Hunter sneered deviously at Syler, who looked at him, teeth flashing.

  Finally, when only one moon remained suspended above the colossal profile towering over the pursuit, and the sky behind them began to glow a faint blood red, Hunter and Syler could feel their equines losing alacrity. Their red eyes met briefly before they simultaneously released vociferous roars that sent their steeds reeling in surprise and anger. The call echoed faintly through the night air as they slid dexterously from the creatures’ backs and let them run into the remaining blackness.

  Immediately, the two Demons unsheathed one sword each and backed into one another, while liberating their chains from their belts. Flickers of white permeated the outer darkness as their enemy circled outside their night vision. The chains whistled, waiting for a target as their Demon handlers twirled them deftly, avoiding each other’s weapon.

  Hunter shouted—his eyes dimming to purple—as a dagger bit into the hard flesh of his right shoulder, throwing the slack of his chain mace out of rotation. He dropped to one knee as the offending Seraph solidified out of the night and raced toward him on his fragile white horse.

  Syler twisted around just as his cohort stooped over after being attacked; he let his chain mace fly from his claw to ensnare the Seraph’s steed by the front legs. He wrenched the weapon back and the horse squealed, landing head first before them. Hunter jerked the dagger from his shoulder, and as the faltering horse and its rider came stumbling at them, he stood and slammed the same dagger into the side of the Seraph’s head, killing him instantly.

  With no time to revel in their first kill, both Demons immediately began preparing for the next attack in the form of three mounted Seraphs materializing like ghosts off the breeze. Hunter already had his chain back in motion, disregarding the blood draining from his shoulder, and Syler deflected another airborne dagger with one of the steel plates strapped to his forearms.

  They crafted a quick plan before dispersing. Hunter rolled to the side of the oncoming Seraphs, maneuvering his mace so it spun continuously. Syler ran directly away, guiding the Seraphs in his direction and sliding through the dirt to dodge any more flying daggers.

  Two Seraphs riding side by side slowed their steeds but held their course. One averted his gaze and locked eyes with Hunter just as he swung his razored-chain mace. It wrapped around their two bodies and wrenched them together tightly, the razors slicing deeply wherever they met Seraph flesh. Both cried out as Hunter dragged them off their mounts, blue blood already draining copiously from several small but deep lesions.

  In the meantime, Syler maintained swordplay with the third mounted Seraph. When the Seraph heard his comrades’ cries, he glanced abruptly in their direction and kneed his horse their way. Syler took the opportunity to sever the back legs of the Seraph’s steed with his keen, serrated sword. The horse screamed and fell onto its side, kicking its front legs and violently throwing its head, blood gushing from the remnants of its hind legs.

  As the Seraph pulled himself from under his fallen steed, two more Seraphs entered the fray on foot. One ran at Hunter while the other slipped from the dark at Syler’s back. Before the enemy behind him could swing his sword, the Seraph he had just forced to demount called a warning. Syler glanced over his shoulder and saw the white enemy hesitating behind him. He turned back to the other Seraph, who pointed his sword at Syler and spoke in Demon tongue: “Mine.” He glared menacingly at the Demon who stood two feet taller than him, his glistening eyes weakened to a pale blue, losing their glow. Syler grinned and ran his purple tongue over one of his fangs, before noticing the Seraph that had been behind him racing to aid his brothers in an attack on Hunter. Syler’s eyes darkened to deep purple when he saw a third Seraph—sword raised—approaching Hunter furtively from behind. Syler roared a vicious warning and lunged past the Seraph awaiting their duel, who screeched and took a wild swing at the retreating Demon.

  Hunter looked up just in time to see Syler leaping over a fallen horse, a Seraph sword slicing through muscled torso and thigh, black features bent in anger. Syler shouted his rage at the attack as he landed, but continued running toward Hunter.

  Finally Hunter understood and ducked just as an enemy sword cut through the air where his neck had been moments before. Hunter came up seizing a second Seraph who had been heading for him from Syler’s direction. He grasped the surprised foe by the throat in his right claw and squeezed. The sound and feel of crushing bones satisfied his senses just before a Seraph’s sword pierced through his stomach from behind. He let out a powerful growl and took several steps forward to disengage himself from the blade. Swinging around, he tossed the now deceased Seraph’s body at the sword’s wielder.

  By this time Syler had breached the loose circle of Seraphs around Hunter, his relentless enemy still on his tail. Syler launched himself at the Seraph who had attempted to decapitate Hunter from behind. He straddled the diminutive enemy, his left palm pressed firmly against his head and pushing it to the ground. With his right claw, Syler secured his grip around his enemy’s neck, then jerked with all his strength. The ill-fated Seraph’s spine was ripped from his neck tissue, his jaw separating from his skull and skin in one tearing motion. The spine lodged at the rib cage, and before Syler could give another tug, his trailing combatant stabbed him through his lower ribs, up and between the steel plates at his chest and back, narrowly missing its lethal mark.

  After an initial howl, a growl reverberated in Syler’s throat. As he spun on his enemy, yanking the sword from the perpetrator’s clutches, he noted four more Seraphs approaching stealthily onto the brightening scene.

  The ruddy sun had risen half way on the horizon, peeking over the distant Schyroline Forest. Its rays cast red stripes across the yawning sky and threw long, emaciated shadows. Several unaccompanied white horses were revealed in the new light, waiting patiently for their masters to return. The last moon struggled to watch the contest, but steadily fell behind the towering mountains whose features were finally surfacing in the light of day.

  Hunter callously stepped over the Seraph he had strangled and tossed away. He unsheathed his second sword and sliced through the Seraph that had just skewered Syler. His sword cut into the top of his enemy’s head and slid vertically through bone, tissue, and muscle. The Seraph’s body fell away from itself in two halves, spilling over with glossy blue blood.

  Chuckling, he turned to find a new Seraph rushing at him with a dagger in each hand. Before Hunter could react, the daggers grazed his hide; one across his front torso and the other across the right side of his chest. It was the second time within one passing of the moons that he had regretted his choice not to wear chest or back plates. As he was recovering from the blows, he noted additional Seraphs joining the small battle. They seemed to be replaced as quickly as they were being eliminated.

  Hunter’s assailant continued to distribute short, shallow cuts across his open skin in adept, quick attacks until Syler came up behind him and caught the white creature’s head between his clawed hands and snapped its neck to the side, its body collapsing lifelessly.

  The scene momentarily calmed as Syler and Hunter were allowed a moment to regroup, backing into each other again. Both Demons had become a blood canvas; crimson blood ran down their bodies in steady rivulets and they were splattered in layers of blue Seraph blood that was nearly invisible against their black hides. Their muscles were tight and their bodies heaved and perspired, but they kept their guards up.

  Six Seraphs were slowly ringing them in, smiles of success splashed across all of their faces. Syler
still growled as he pressed his palm against the generously bleeding puncture wound in his side.

  In the distance, a quiet din had magnified so subtly that no one had noticed it. It was now a steady roll of thunder.

  Just as two of the six Seraphs made their moves to attack, one of their heads was separated from his neck abruptly. The assailing ax clattered to the dirt within the circle. All the Seraphs froze as their comrade’s body slumped to the ground, a pool of blood pumping out of his neck. Its severed head tumbled to Syler’s feet. At that, the sound of pounding hooves finally dominated the air and more airborne weapons flew into the circle, targeting Seraphs.

  The enemy began retreating, rushing away as four mounted Demons raced into the arena, galloping past Syler and Hunter. Only one more Seraph lost his head as the remaining foes mounted their oleander steeds in one quick motion and raced away. The latest Demons did not give chase, but instead angled their mounts back around toward their cohorts.

  In their haste, the Seraphs abandoned the two brothers writhing on the ground in the malicious embrace of Hunter’s razored chain. As Syler dressed his near-mortal wound with some rags, Hunter went on to terrorize his captives. They squealed painfully when he crushed one of their legs under his clawed foot and slowly slid his sword into one of the other’s large eyeballs. He tortured them without his typical smile. Instead he frowned maliciously, the red pinpoints of his eyes scrutinizing their agony.

  “You thought you could have us,” he growled as he advanced his torture with more bone crushing and gradual piercing. “You are all fools and one day I will end you all.” The four mounted Demons watched the persecution unobtrusively with slight grins.

  Syler approached after he had collected the last of his weapons and swiftly impaled one of the Seraphs through the heart. Hunter growled and turned aggressively on Syler, who held his ground but tensed in defense.

  “They are mine!” he snarled in Syler’s face, which was no more than an inch away. A growl rumbled in Syler’s chest.