Otherworld Soldiers- Rise of the Apocalypse

by Fox Lancet

  “Enough, we need to get you hard and get this on your cock so I can fuck the shit out of you.” Whiskey slid from Hunter’s lap into a kneeling position between his knees. Hunter watched her curiously, wetting his bottom lip.

  “Unfortunately, I am not quite sure what you mean. However it sounds rather fun, so I will permit you to continue,” Hunter decided aloud. Whiskey responded with a crooked, critical smile. She liberated the button and zipper on his pants and bent her head over his lap. He watched her intently until her purpose made its way into her mouth. Hunter sucked in a sudden breath and released it slowly with a light groan.

  “Aw, damn.” He clenched his teeth and watched her with his head tilted back. His hands wandered toward her head, grasping the rhythm of her movements. After just minutes, she pulled away and inhaled deeply. Hunter felt his control slipping further as the moments of pleasure ensued and though he had never learned this interaction, his body screamed for his response.

  Whiskey gasped when he stood and jerked her from the floor with him, the red in his eyes peering through tiny pinpoints. He kissed her aggressively.

  “Hunter,” she breathed when he pulled from the kiss. He was trying desperately to understand what his body wanted from him. A growl escaped his throat. Whiskey’s brown eyes widened and she pulled herself from his grasp to clumsily pull her panties down her legs and off her feet. She ripped the condom wrapper open, distracting Hunter’s attention for a moment while she slid it over his hard cock.

  “Okay, okay,” she breathed as she lay back on the foot-rest and spread her legs. When Hunter saw her naked opening, his mind finally met with his physical desire and hesitation vanished as he came down over her and pushed into her.

  Whiskey let out a moan as his hardness pressed past the resistance of her walls. Hunter grabbed her hip with one hand and her shoulder with the other to keep her from sliding away from his indignant indulgence.

  He grimaced with determination as he thrust in and out of her. His eyes closed and he released a raspy breath. Each plunging motion warranted a peel of pleasure from Whiskey’s parted lips. As Hunter resigned himself to the overwhelming sensation of her wet pocket, his smile returned.

  “Wait, wait,” Whiskey managed breathlessly. She pushed at Hunter’s hips and slid off him. He hissed in a breath at the action. His eyes held her form fervently as she turned herself over, settling on her hands and knees. Just as she was looking over her shoulder to let him know she was ready, he was already entering her again. She half-screamed in surprised delight, causing a broad smile to spread across Hunter’s face. Her bun had fallen away and her long, wavy hair slid across her pale back. Hunter had been using her hips as handles but when he noticed the curls spreading over her skin, he couldn’t help but reach for them, keeping one hand on her hip. He held it lightly before pulling it slightly to gauge Whiskey’s response. She crooned her approval between moans and in turn, he pulled harder.

  After a minute more, Hunter disengaged from the position. Though it felt good, he wanted it another way. So he turned her toward him and he led her backwards toward an open space of wall. Once there, he pushed her against the wall and grabbed both of her full thighs, sliding her up the wall effortlessly until she was level with his cock. Whiskey smiled and wrapped her legs around him as he proceeded to fuck her again.

  Sweat glistened on their skin as they searched for each article of clothing. Whiskey leaned her shoulder blades on the wall as she retied her top back in place. She was still attempting to catch her breath. Hunter slid his shirt, his final piece, over his head and watched her apathetically. Once she was fully dressed, or as dressed as she originally was, she looked over at him.

  “Damn,” she said, lifting both her skinny eyebrows.

  “I believe you mean that in a good way, correct?”

  She smiled. “Need you ask? Of course I do. I can’t remember the last time I got fucked like that.”

  Hunter smiled proudly. “I am glad I pleased you.”

  Whiskey shook her head lightly. “You are so dark and intimidating, yet you seem so innocent sometimes.”

  Hunter’s smile vanished and he stepped forward suddenly. “There is nothing innocent about me!” he growled. “Just different, just new. Wait for some time to pass and this world will be in ruins, only a remnant of its former self. And not by anything you humans have ever anticipated!”

  As if on cue, gunshots interrupted the noisy music bumping from the other side of the door. Hunter grinned maliciously.

  “It would appear Syler has grown weary.” He headed for the door, but paused. “I suggest you stay in here if you value your life.” He looked back at her with a smile, his red pupils growing on his slick, black eyes.

  Humming in delight, Hunter stepped into a darker room where blown out lights were blinking as though trying to understand the sudden turn of events. It did not take long to find Syler stationed in the center of the room, a terrified man locked in one of his arms.

  As the door shut behind Hunter, another man attempted to dash past Syler in a devastating assumption that he was preoccupied. The man’s mistake became painfully apparent when Syler immediately threw out his free arm, ramming his open palm against the man’s collar bone and thrusting him down on his back. A roar ripped from Syler’s throat over the static now coming from the speakers. He then proceeded to stomp the man’s head in with his preternatural strength before returning his attention to his original victim. Syler wasted no more time and snapped the man’s neck. He crumbled into a heap beside the crushed man. There was no pleasure in Syler’s face, only determined destruction. After he had finished off the two men, Syler took in a deep breath before finally noticing Hunter.

  Hunter was aware of the strippers cringing under the tables and against stage walls, but none had been damaged. He knew he should avoid them if he wanted to avoid Syler’s wrath. He did not fear Syler; he merely found his anger irritating and side-stepped it as often as possible.

  A security guard thought himself stealthy and was creeping carefully along a black corner in the direction of Syler’s turned back. Hunter’s night vision alerted him of the movement and without a second’s hesitation he pulled a pistol from his oversized back pocket and shot once, eliminating the guard immediately. When he glanced around to locate any more threats, he saw only frightened women.

  In the blinking light he could see walls of splattered blood as if someone had tossed jars of it onto them. Many still bodies lay strewn out across the floor or propped against walls and chairs. A smile crept carefully onto Hunter’s face, not surprised in any way that Syler had eliminated so many men in the matter of a few minutes. It was a small club and Syler had scarcely sated his bloodlust since they had arrived in the new world.

  They glanced at each other when they heard distant sirens.

  “Human law enforcers,” Syler spat, his face stuck in a disgusted scowl. Hunter nodded once and began surveying the room for a more discreet exit than the front doors.

  There was a click amongst the static of the speakers and humming ticks of the broken lights. Whiskey peeked through the door and only when they relaxed and ignored her did she step out fully. Her jaw dropped as she witnessed the sanguinary scene. She did not move.

  “Whiskey, is there an exit out the back, or better yet, is there one leading to the roof?” Hunter demanded of her as he continued to look about while Syler checked doors.

  Whiskey lifted a shaking hand and pointed at a door tucked in the corner. Syler tried the knob. It was locked. He stepped back purposefully and lifted his pistol. The bang rang out in the small room, causing heightened sobs from the surviving women. Whiskey still did not move and the duo quickly retreated into the narrow stairwell.

  6

  The Fourth

  The knife made a slick, metallic sound as the black Demon claw liberated it from Seraph flesh. Blue blood oozed steadily from the gap. He wiped the blade on the corpse and returned it to its scabbard around his ankle. The Demon stood up strai
ght and carefully studied the disaster covering the small radius. He gritted his teeth in discomfort with the silence and the lack of life. Even the horses had been eradicated. The sun’s red glare was growing dim and the brightest stars were starting to prick through the somber sheet of sky.

  Double-checking his weapons—no sheath empty—he shook his head.

  “Nefarion will be severely displeased,” Calious grumbled. Wounds littered his black hide, but none could compare to his severed wrist that had occurred in one of the previous battles and still needed more time before fully reconnecting. Fortunately, the process had not been hindered during the most recent battle.

  Calious stretched his limbs to crack his joints. He took a moment to survey the steep incline ahead of him, beginning to feel remorse for abandoning his post at the gate. There had been no choice once his few surviving regiment soldiers had slid through the mouth of the cave. If he did not return to the fortress to inform Nefarion, the legion could suffer devastating consequences that would allow the Seraph enemy to interrupt the Demons’ objective. He glanced back at the peak—out of sight from the gate—where a collection of Seraphs and Slecktics now resided.

  Sighing, he turned his attention to the failing light of the sky. “Give me the power and strength sky, to reach my Lord Nefarion swiftly and without disruption, upon my feet alone.” At that, Calious descended the mountainside, sliding down steep slopes of loose soil and dexterously across sections of jagged boulders. Once he reached the bottom of Strace Mountain, the sun slept and the three moons greeted his journey with bright, pink light from over Schyroline Forest and the stars clustered greatly in blinking curiosity.

  Eslendor was the easiest distance, with tightly packed sand reaching toward the forest without disruption; he would not need to utilize his glowing eyes, giving him away to anyone nearby. It was a long stretch for just his two legs. What a steed could cover collectively in six days would become at least nine for him and only if he could maintain a steady pace. This included the trail along the mountains’ base before crossing Eslendor.

  The air was cool and easy to inhale in the open expanse. If the sky heard him, he might even find a stray steed wandering among past battlegrounds. His prior experiences emphasized his optimism: he had escaped a dragon and found his amputated appendage and he had survived the most recent battle allowing him to return to Nefarion. Fortune was on his side. And he was not alone in the latter fortune. He was merely the only one who had thought better of crossing through the gate in pursuit of the Seraph enemies. He also saw the chance to step into the Lord’s good graces, what every Demon soldier coveted, to get as close as the two Elite, Hunter and Syler. Between Nefarion and his commanders, battle was fought like one entity. Even two of them alone could accomplish the same force.

  He breathed long steady breaths. Eight days he could accomplish, but beyond that and into the forest, he would need to renew his strength with a great quantity of rest.

  The sun came and went as did the comforting moons. During the fourth dusk, Calious jogged past the horse carcass from the failed ambush on Hunter and Syler. No steed would be seen here; no Demon was destroyed, only Seraphs. The ninth day dawned on top of Schyroline Forest and the first battle on the plains. Calious slowed, keeping his eyes sharp and alert. The sky serpent corpses glittered magnificently in the places they had not started to disintegrate—sun and time eating away at their tough flesh, softened by death. When he reached the first of the trees’ shadows, the sun had fully emerged and Calious stumbled to the ground, his legs fatigued beyond a quick repair. His breath was short and ragged.

  “Feeble body,” he grumbled. Relaxing, he dropped his back onto the shaded dirt, his chest rising and falling in quick succession. It did not take long for his breath to return to normal; it was his legs that were the hindrance now. Once his breath was under control, he sighed deeply. He stared up through the dappling leaves stretching off the skinny fingers of branches. The red sky grew more and more vibrant with each passing moment.

  Calious stretched his legs and arms again and again, growing impatient with his reluctant fatigue. He pulled his lips back, airing out his fangs in irritation; the grimace stretching the black leather of his cheeks. A purple tongue passed lightly across his black, chapped lips.

  Once the sun floated from the center of the sky, Calious forced himself off the dirt. His movements were unstable and wobbly, but he continued to stand upright. It was far too soon for his muscles, but he knew there would be no excuse worthy of Nefarion once he heard what had happened in his absence. The faster Calious delivered the news, the lesser his Lord’s wrath.

  The soft violet liquid dripped lightly through the air, overcoming the dense growth of leaves canvassing the dark dirt road. Perspiration was camouflaged by the rare falling fluid. Regardless, it was cool and relieved the heat of Calious’s tough hide. It did not often seep from the sky here. Only when the veil of the sky turned deep crimson did he thank Trissana for its mercy. He knew the element would cool his dry body and throat.

  Once Calious had covered a third of the road through Schyroline Forest, his pace wavered under his exhaustion and he padded to a stop. He dropped to his claws and knees, submitting to his failing strength. Keeping alert, he listened to the ticking of the droplets on the surrounding foliage and ground, his heavy breath disrupting the hypnotic pattern. The natural light was a muted red that seemed to calm his breathing.

  The snap of a twig caused him to jump, more extremely than normal. His breath and body paused, awaiting the next evidence of possible company. A quiet shuffle came next. Off his claws, Calious edged toward the interference, making no sound as he crept in the direction of the presence. The liquid drops tapping on leaves and dirt soothed his senses even as he focused on the imminent threat. A blind snort made him jump again, his heart racing, readying his muscles for a battle. The reaction was short-lived when his mind caught up with his reflexes and identified the vocal noise. Calious smirked and growled before breathing a quiet command. Without a moment’s pass, the equine broke through the heavy brush and eyed the Demon expectantly, stomping its forefoot.

  “Your patience will not go without reward.” The giant, black horse bowed on its knees at his command and Calious mounted him slowly, his limbs shivering beneath exhaustion. He exhaled another order to the muscular beast and in seconds the pair was cutting through the wet air like a knife, the liquid stinging their flesh like angry insects.

  Calious rested his upper body on the back of the equine’s broad neck, jolting up and down with its galloping motion. He did not pass into sleep, but merely rested his eyes as the horse finished the end of Calious’s journey.

  The sun dipped below the world, and the falling liquid ceased. The moons came and went with dry air. Out of the forest, the horse slowed to a trot, its own body wearing at the ceaseless run. When the moons began drifting down in the sky and the sun was throwing its rays up on the sixth rise since he had entered the forest, Calious sat up on his steed to find the fortress in the distance, the first of the gallows approaching. He tried to demand his steed back into a gallop, but it balked, rearing against his will.

  Halfway down the road, past the sixth or seventh dangling corpse, and still arguing with the horse, the gates moaned enticingly in the lone Demon’s ears. Finally, in complete defiance, the equine fell to its knees and side, dropping Calious from his back. The Demon stood slowly as two mounted Demons galloped upon the undignified scene. Dust chased them from the road and billowed about their welcomed presence. Calious could barely acknowledge them as they both used their muscles to lift him onto one of their fresh steeds. For the moment, Calious’s bastard steed was left heaving in the dust as they delivered the unexpected Demon to the fortress and its Lord.

  “Calious, what are you doing here?” Nefarion glared at Calious’s form intently. Calious worked his jaw, anticipating his Lord’s anger at the news he was here to deliver.

  “The gate has been breached, Lord Nefarion.” He stood erect
against the screams of his wearied muscles. Nefarion’s eyes immediately flushed to purple.

  “What!” The word tore from his throat in a powerful roar and he stepped toward Calious, who refrained from even a twitch. “How can that be?” His fury showed tight under his black flesh. “How are you here, Calious, why did you not fight until your last breath?” Nefarion restrained his urge for violence.

  “Many did, Lord. However, I knew you would need to be informed of the incident,” Calious spoke clearly after the onslaught of inquiries. Nefarion’s eyes faded slowly back to red.

  “Is anyone guarding the gate?” Nefarion’s gaze was frozen on Calious.

  “No, Lord. Those who did not perish in the attempt to shut the enemy out, besides myself, followed the enemy through the gate.”

  Nefarion snarled. “Wretched Demons!” He turned his back to Calious. “Wretched Seraphs,” he grumbled, walking toward a sliver opening in the rock wall that hummed red.

  It was silent for a long while. With Nefarion’s back to him, Calious allowed his body to shudder with exhaustion.

  “How many moon-falls have passed?” Nefarion finally asked without turning.

  “Sixteen, Lord. Had I not found a steed early in Schyroline, it would have been many more with my faltering strength. I regret to have failed you.”

  “No, Calious, you have impressed me. Were you not here, I would not have been aware that the gate had been compromised for many more moons. You have done well. My anger is reserved for the unforeseen events.” Nefarion turned back before Calious could restrain another tremble. “Tell me, how many Seraphs were there?” He ignored the telling weakness of Calious’s body. Calious paused, attempting to regain some awareness and memory of the short battle. He recalled as many as he could.

  “Not many more than the amount of Demons you left at the gate, Lord. Thirty or more.” Calious looked aimlessly at the surrounding rock wall, using them as blank canvasses to recreate the memory. “The attack was what caught us off guard more than their number. Their goal seemed to be the gate more than it was to eliminate us. They even slaughtered the horses more adamantly than they went for us.”