Otherworld Soldiers- Rise of the Apocalypse

by Fox Lancet

  After scanning the lobby carefully in an instinctive warrior habit, they moved to the right hallway where they followed a dimly lit ramp descending past three elevated platforms that gradually shrunk in elevation before settling into a flat concrete plain in front of the stage. A staircase protruded on either side of this floor, emerging from the sidewalls and leading to the balcony that bordered the midlevel of the theatre, leaving an opening from floor to arching ceiling.

  Since attending the last three metal shows, Hunter had become fond of the mosh-pit that always materialized on the lower level of the theatre. Syler found it mildly entertaining and, though he would never admit it aloud, felt deference toward the chaotic ritual. It paired well with the genre of music: bodies colliding under the drawl of heavy guitar growls and deep drum beats; an eddy of pushing and shoving, scowls and wordless yelling only seemed appropriate.

  Humans unleashing their lust for violence was relatively captivating. When Hunter did feel obliged to join, he had to keep his strength in check, otherwise he would end up knocking down too much weight for what seemed possible for a man of his stature, or he’d break human bones.

  One band had already finished playing and the second was roaring into their first song. Syler enjoyed watching the mosh-pit. However, he was not quite sure how he felt about the head banging. Regardless, it was like a disease. The first head to start bouncing often spawned many more in a slow wave. Its movement went in time with the drumbeat, making it even more contagious. Syler caught himself bobbing his head inadvertently when focus on his surroundings became impenetrable. Once he became aware of his own actions, he would cease.

  During the second song of the band’s set, one of the humans had begun throwing fists and feet in the center of the pit. The rest avoided him while Hunter watched with a confounded expression, not impressed with the solo act.

  Pivoting on one foot, the same boy kicked his leg through the air. The momentum of the action put him near to Hunter and the boy simultaneously swung a fist out. It connected with Hunter’s jaw, forcing his head to the side. The boy continued on without notice, but was shortly disrupted in his flailing by newly propelling bodies entering the pit.

  Syler flinched when he saw the boy’s fist hit Hunter’s face. He stifled a chuckle and bit his bottom lip to contain his smile. Hunter turned, his eyes brushing over Syler to verify that he had seen what had happened. Syler was surprised to see a sly smirk on his face rather than one of scorn.

  Hunter pulled his shirt up over his head, revealing the AK-47 tattoos adorning his chest. The edge of his pants rested low on his hips, giving way to the V of his pelvic bone. A ball-chain necklace dangled down his chest, holding two silver slates between his pectoral muscles. Syler had fashioned dog tags for himself and Hunter. The tags were embossed with their names, Legion, and regiment status: Hunter of The First, Elite Commander.

  Hunter tucked the shirt partially under his belt, the remaining material dangling to the back of his knee. Syler watched him expectantly. Hunter placed himself at the edge of the pit and locked his fingers together in front of him, seemingly casual. The boy was slowly making his way around the circular pit, toward Hunter. When he was close, the boy was shoved viciously on a parallel path past the waiting Demon. His body hurled by Hunter whose elbow darted up just in time to meet the boy’s temple in a blinding movement. Immediately after the elbow slammed into the side of the human’s head, the boy went limp, his motionless body flying to the center of the pit away from Hunter.

  Turning toward Syler to repel accusing stares, Hunter threw his head back as a deep laugh bellowed from his core. One of his hands rested on his naked abs as the laugh shook from him. His fine black hair fell across his left eye. Syler could all but repress a smile, not only because of what Hunter had just done, but because of the sheer hilarity he had procured from such a simple deed.

  Syler was returning his attention to the stage when his cohort’s laugh amputated. He jerked his attention back to Hunter, his head and hands burning, ready to strike out in anger at any foe. Hunter remained intact. In fact he had frozen, hair still swaying in his eyes from his last, sudden movement. The pupils of his eyes were teeming red, growing dangerously bright. His gaze was fixed solidly on something in the balcony above and further back in the venue. All amusement had drained from his face and a profound look of determination and utter focus hardened his features.

  About to chastise Hunter for his carelessness by allowing his eyes to burn with so many humans nearby, Syler was hit with an invisible wave that made him ache all over. The feeling settled to a comforting hum and his eyes responded in kind.

  Hunter catapulted from the concrete floor with his preternatural ability. From the floor, the balcony was ten feet high at the top of the rail. He cleared seven feet in one leap. Using a support beam as leverage under his foot, he grabbed the bars of the barrier to heave himself up and over the remaining distance.

  Syler cursed and looked about strategically. The venue’s authority figures scurried from their positions to pursue Hunter. He headed quickly to the nearby stairs to intercept them.

  In the meantime, Hunter was up and over the railing, knocking over several humans in the process. Everything but the coveted key was restricted to his peripheral vision. He met no resistance, though he anticipated its arrival at any moment. His target had backed away from the railing and was hesitantly receding from Hunter’s avid approach.

  The key was a female who looked like she was in her mid-twenties. Her pale skin reminded Hunter of his enemy back on Trissana. She was short and curved in all the attractive places the typical female human did: at the breasts, waist, hips, thighs. Her hair was a naturally fine obsidian and pulled back tightly from her high-cheek boned face. Hunter locked eyes with the voids of her black ones, which must have been considered exotic among the mortals of this plane. A muscle at the corner of his mouth twitched at the thought: evidence that she was more than a mere human. This, in addition to the fact that she was instinctively avoiding Hunter, told him that she must, in some way, know who or what he was.

  A younger man accompanying her placed himself before her after he had overcome his confusion over the girl’s cautious, backward retreat. Hunter ignored the man, unfazed.

  Syler had reached the top of the stairs with three security guards trailing him. He looked past Hunter and the man in front of him. He squinted at the sight of the mortal woman emanating a faint red glow. Instantly, he knew who she was. He growled, turning abruptly on his heel. A roar ripped from his throat as the first pursuer reached the top of the stairs. Syler kicked him, sending him slamming into the man behind him, and the man even behind them. The three security guards crashed into the crowd at the bottom of the stairs.

  He turned back in time to see Hunter serve the man challenging him with a powerful fist to the face, knocking him out. It only took his cohort one long stride to close the distance between him and the key. Hunter bent at the waist mid-stride and wrapped an arm around the girl’s legs, moving his shoulder into her stomach and coming up without pausing in his step.

  The girl screamed shortly and clasped Hunter’s bare back with sharp nails like a frightened cat. He did not acknowledge her scream or her nails as he continued toward the opposite stairs from where Syler had ascended to stairs that led back down to the lobby. He could feel Syler at his back as he descended the steps, pushing past anyone who impeded his forward movement without checking his strength.

  One man, who seemed to be trying to aid in the girl’s salvation, was thrown into the wall with a crack, denting the paint and plaster. Hunter stepped off the last stair into the lobby and was met with a pair of police officers with guns drawn and several more security guards. He paused and snarled.

  Syler came to the landing on the stairs and saw the opposition. In a quick turn, he retrieved the man who had recently remodeled the wall. Lifting him with ease, he brought him up over his head let out a guttural command.

  “Down!” The word was lost
to human ears, but Hunter responded immediately and dropped to a knee. With a shriek, the man flew through the air over Hunter’s head. Some of the security guards darted out of the way, but the man ultimately fell into the two officers and one security guard. A gun ejected and panic exploded through the heavily populated venue.

  Hunter stood and Syler came up behind him. People were running for the front doors, congesting the lobby. The mob inhibited the officers from getting up in a timely manner and Hunter and Syler began effortlessly shoving their way to the doors. Security guards either opted to join the crowd or were put off the chase by the chaos.

  “Put me the fuck down,” the key screeched, slamming her small fists into Hunter’s back. The two Demons and their prize were clear of the swarm of the crowd and the lights of the theatre. Syler was trotting ahead to get the car started to try and clear the vicinity before more police officers arrived.

  Hunter’s determined mentality was subsiding into a victorious one as he opened the passenger side door and tossed her between the two front seats into the backseat. He pulled the lever at the base of the passenger seat so it bowed to him and he crawled over it and into the back with the young woman. She bent her knees and kicked him twice before he arrested her ankles and pulled her into him. A gasp forced its way into her lungs.

  “Get your fucking hands off of me,” she demanded. Syler put the car into reverse to remove it from its spot at the curb.

  “You got quite a mouth on you, pretty girl,” Hunter growled in her face. She sneered at him without cowering and neglected a verbal response. This made him glare at her with scrutiny.

  “Play nice, Hunter. Do not forget she is made of a feeble human shell,” Syler reminded, putting the car into drive and preparing to gun it forward. Before Hunter could respond, Syler barked and the car lurched, the tires squealing. It remained where it was.

  “What the fuck?” Hunter had a death grip on the back of the girl’s neck and the other on her leg. He looked past the seats and through the windshield. A slender man with fair features and pale blonde hair had the car’s front bumper in his hands. He smiled wickedly. Syler threw the car back into reverse and it responded the same as it had in drive. He glanced in the rearview mirror and swore. Hunter twisted around and saw another very similar fair man standing at the rear of their vehicle.

  “Seraphs!” The word tore from Syler’s throat in a roar. The girl grimaced, covering her ears.

  “How is this possible?” Hunter snarled, releasing the girl. He bellowed as he kicked his way past the passenger seat and back out the door, “I will have your head from your body before you can even lift a hand to defend yourself, you vile excuse for a living creature.” Finishing his threat as he came to a rigid pose outside the car on the cracked sidewalk, Hunter stood straight to his full height, his shoulders squared at the Seraph at the car’s front end. His attention narrowed on the pallid man, who continued to smile rebelliously.

  Hunter’s eyes burst into a solid red glow like they never had since they had arrived in the new plane of existence. He took one bounding step forward before he launched himself high into the air, coming down hard and crushing the hood of the car with a metallic screech. The force of his weight wrenched the bumper from his enemy’s hands.

  To the Seraph’s dire realization, Syler had thrown the car back into drive and once the tires met pavement, the car slammed forward and pinned the Seraph’s legs between the next car and theirs.

  Surprised by the sudden thrust forward, Hunter swayed back, but threw himself forward to avoid crashing into the windshield. His hands braced the large car behind the Seraph, bending him over his trapped enemy.

  A malicious smile grew on Hunter’s face. In a swift movement, he pulled a knife from his pocket and flicked it open before grabbing the Seraph by his stringy blonde hair and thrusting it hilt deep into the side of the Seraph’s neck.

  He choked and his dead-blue eyes lit blindingly. Ignoring the bright intrusion, Hunter continued to pull the dagger the rest of the way across his neck.

  Gurgling and sputtering, the throat sprayed newly-red Seraph blood all over Hunter’s torso. The blade wasn’t long enough to decapitate the Seraph so Hunter fulfilled his vow by ripping its head off with his bare hands, forcefully separating the remaining muscles, tendons, and vertebrae.

  There was no time to bask in his success, for the Seraph at the rear of the car was lunging for him. Before the Seraph reached him, Syler--having exited the car--clutched the pale man’s ankle and yanked him backward.

  While they struggled, a large piece of metal machinery came crashing down from the building they were parked next to. It landed in the street next to the front of the vehicle, narrowly missing the two combatants. Hunter threw his gaze to the roof and saw three more human-guised Seraphs peering over the ledge. He balled his fists, spun around, and jumped into the street, tearing the Seraph away from Syler, who stood and noted the additional enemies as well.

  With a slick chime, Hunter liberated a larger knife from one of his tall black boots. The Seraph squirmed vigorously in his one-armed vise to no avail. It seemed in this world that they had gained some strength, but still did not surpass the strength of the Demons. If that ratio had carried over then it also meant the Seraphs were still faster. The thought glimpsed over Hunter’s mind as he sent a delighted glare up at the other Seraphs before plunging his blade into their friend’s back, aiming it up and into his heart.

  The body dropped, sliding off Hunter’s blade. Just then, distant sirens finally blared, tires coming to a screeching halt on Broadway at the mouth of the side street where the fight was brewing. The Seraphs on the roof slid adroitly down the brick wall to the sidewalk, disregarding the human witnesses. Police officers were shouting empty commands with their pistols pointed from behind their blinking vehicles.

  Hunter and Syler glanced at one another, their eyes settling to red pinpoints. Irritated, they eyed the authority before turning their attention to the remaining three Seraphs. Syler squinted at one of them.

  Like the Demons, the Seraphs had retained some of their Trissana qualities. The tallest was six foot, and all three were lank and pale. Their dangling, jaw-length hair was thin and such a faded blond it could have been mistaken as white. Not being engaged in battle, their eyes were a pale blue-violet. When dying or fighting, Syler had noted their eyes took on their notorious white glow. At the moment, their attire consisted of white button-up collared shirts, un-tucked, and faded blue jeans with white sneakers.

  “Jacob. What an ill surprise.” Disdain colored Syler’s thick voice.

  The middle and tallest Seraph smiled candidly. “Syler, it is never too long,” he responded, his voice smooth and light. He and his company stood on the other side of the car. Shouts ensued in the background.

  “I should have surmised Kaleb would send you and not come himself.” Syler stretched his neck to one side.

  “You know he exists only for the demise of your King. He would only come to this world if Nefarion were here.”

  Syler gave one crooked nod in acknowledgment. Then his face went blank as he sensed an approaching force. All three Seraphs grimaced slightly and turned their attention in the direction of the police, although the police were no longer paying them heed.

  The loud rumble of a diesel-charged engine was escalating, as were the roars of several ominous voices. Police officers were abandoning the protection of their cars, many diving away. Suddenly the rumble exploded into a roar and an enormous truck equipped with a push bar appeared, speeding in from the wrong direction up the street. It barreled at full speed into the police cars that had accumulated to eight in the last few minutes.

  When the resistance of the vehicles’ bodies brought the lifted black truck to a standstill, five human-guised Demons flung from its doors. Their eyes were brightly lit and absent of reserve. They were all without shirts and without visible weapons. Though, they had all taken the time to equip a sturdy pair of boots or sneakers. All grinned fanati
cally and began attacking the police officers with their bare hands and harsh laughter.

  “Rogue Demons,” Syler confounded. He bared his teeth angrily.

  One of the newly arrived Demons bounded to the hood of a police car in an attempt to attack an officer when said officer pulled the trigger of his aimed shotgun. The Demon’s head exploded. Brain matter and bone fragments splattered in stringy clumps behind him, his entire head obliterated. The now lifeless body crumbled to the feet of his killer.

  Hunter roared and wheeled around toward their car. He ripped open the trunk to produce an assault rifle and a semi-automatic shotgun. Throwing the shotgun’s strap over his shoulder as he walked back toward the new battle, he readied the assault rifle at his shoulder and began taking down the officers as he approached. Four fell before he reached them. When he joined the commotion, he threw the assault rifle to the ground and began utilizing his shot gun. A shot through the stomach. One in the leg. Another lost his head. Hunter’s face was devoid of laughter or smiles. Instead, he eliminated the humans with dexterous vengeance.

  “Enough,” Syler shouted as the violent scene began to ebb for lack of humans to destroy. The Seraphs had opted out and were nowhere to be seen and neither were their two corpses. Any human remaining, and capable, scrambled from the area.

  “Demons with no commander! Hunter, check your rage or I will!” Syler tore the shotgun from Hunter’s grip. Veins were pulsing in his neck and temples as he eyed the four new Demons and Hunter. “One of you, retrieve the demised Demon and follow me before more capable authorities arrive.” Syler stepped back and scanned the destruction with a sneer. “What a fucking disgrace. Nefarion would be disgusted.”

  Finally Hunter growled. “Like fuck he would be, Syler,” he snapped, stepping toward his cohort menacingly. Syler did not flinch.