by Corin Cain
A grim smile comes to my lips. This will be a battle worthy of all the legends. For a moment, I try to calculate how many of the beasts I might be able to take down before I’m finally killed in a glorious confrontation – and I make a promise to myself to try and best that number.
Hadone’s eagerness for battle surges through the Bond too, mirroring my rage. Then I feel something different. Something protective. I turn my head. Darok has two small humans in his arm – and instantly I know I must live.
The glory of an honorable death means nothing if it comes at the cost of an innocent life. My desire to die in combat is instantly snuffed out. I can’t embrace death and glory while these small humans need protection.
And yet, there is no hope – even the three of us cannot withstand that wave of Scorp.
“We need shelter!” Hadone yells, hefting his war-hammer in front of him.
I know, damn it all! I know!
I keep the words to myself and hold my mind steady. As leader, I must serve as an example, buoying up my triad. I look to the right, searching desperately for a way out.
There’s a large piece of wood built into the wall opposite, unlike the rest of the stone surface. It reminds me of the entrance to our cave back home. I grab at a handle on the wooden panel and pull – but it doesn’t budge.
Scorp warriors are charging towards us, getting ever closer. In desperation, I use my Orb-Daggers to cut the metal that connects the wooden pieces to the stone wall. I push, and the piece of wood moves inward. The three of us rush through the opening – Darok still clutching those two small humans.
Inside the structure is a human male – and it seems like he was waiting for us.
He’s holding a large stick that he points at me. Beside him cowers a beautiful, human woman.
The battle fades out of my mind the moment I lay eyes on her. I’m stunned. She simply looks… right. I stare at her with confusion, my heart pulsing as I witness her majesty. I can see her in such stark detail it’s as if time itself has slowed.
For example, I instantly notice a deep cut on her palm, bleeding through the white bandage she has wrapped around her hand. I observe her hair, and notice it’s the exactly the same hue as the northland plains at dawn, when the sun shines against golden grains sparkling with dew. I see her lips, plump and full, and think immediately as how they’re as red and succulent as the summer plums that grow near our cave. They’re as tempting, too - begging for my kiss.
The moment I see this vision of womanhood, I ache to take her – to press my lips against hers, and pull her body against mine.
Her eyes draw me in as I stand, stunned. They’re not the uniform grey and green of my species. They’re instead a deep blue; like a pool of water I could quench my thirst from for the rest of my existence.
I’m frozen on the spot. Instantly, all thought of glory and battle leaves my mind. If this woman exists, then I must live. The coldness of death would pull us apart.
She is why I was brought here! She is the reason the portal opened!
I take a step towards her, moving my Orb-Daggers to my right hand and reaching out with my left. I don’t care that there are Scorp Warriors closing in fast. I need to feel her. I have only moments before I will have to turn and fight, and I want to experience the touch of her skin before I do.
Then, suddenly, my legs stop working.
Confusion fills my mind. A boom of thunder has assaulted me – like a punch that hits my chest harder than I’ve ever been struck before. It’s as if an invisible giant has just slammed his huge hand into me.
Across the room, the stick that the man is holding gushes smoke from the end of it.
I’m suddenly weak. I fall to my knees, my eyes wide open as I stare at the beautiful woman standing there in front of me. I know something’s wrong, so I drink in as much of her essence as I still can.
Then, finally, I blink – and it’s as if my senses have returned.
I look down at my chest and find the source of my sudden pain and weakness.
Green blood is spurting from a gouging rend in my chest.
6
Tammy
Those are Aurelians!
When the door burst down, I was ready for Scorp Warriors. Instead, three of those huge, marble-skinned overlords power into the room – as if they own it.
I’ve never seen an Aurelian in the flesh, but I recognize them instantly from the pictures I’ve seen. Yet these three look like nothing like I could have prepared for.
The Aurelians I’ve read about and seen pictures of are supposed to be noble creatures, haughty and clad in expensive armor or robed like the Romans from the ancient days of Earth.
These three look completely different – so much so that I can only identify them as Aurelian from their marble-skin and towering build. They definitely are from that same species of warrior-alien – but so very different to the warriors and dignitaries of the Empire that has kept us subjugated for so many years.
These three wear only loincloths. Their muscled bodies are hewn perfection, just as all Aurelians are. I shiver as I make out each of their defined muscles; and I shamefully imagine what it would feel like to run my hand down their chiseled bodies…
And yet, while their build is the same, they’re nothing like they’re supposed to be. Aurelians are supposed to have pure, unblemished marble skin; as white and flawless as a statue. I know all about that from the tales I’ve read, and from what my friends Jade and Anna have told me; as they gushed over the pure, white skin of the aliens whose harems they joined.
But while these three warriors may have the same ivory skin, their muscled bodies are covered in intricate, venomous green tattoos – a gallery of tribal artwork inked into their skin, with patterns that swirl and trace the defined lines of their powerful bodies. Their veins, too, are clearly visible beneath their marble skin – bright green, as though their blood is pumping with poison.
I don’t know who is more surprised – the Aurelians, or me.
The three Aurelians stagger to a halt the moment they burst through the door, and they all stop with identical expressions of wonder on their absurdly handsome faces. The three of them are staring at me as though I’m some priceless piece of art; or like a sunrise after a long, cold night.
The two huge Aurelians in the front are nearly blocking my view, but my heart pounds as I see Stacy and Tod – the two youngest orphans I care for – safe and unharmed in the arm of the third member of the imposing triad.
They’re alive! Oh, Gods, thank you! Thank you! Two of the street kids are alive, at least – thanks to these Aurelians.
But before I can process another thought, a gunshot rings out. The Aurelian in front stares at me as he suddenly stumbles, falling to his knees. A scream leaves my mouth as the stunned Aurelian reluctantly tears his eyes from me, and instead looks down at the bloody hole in his chest.
The second Aurelian – who has dark, black curls that frame his boyishly handsome face – rushes forward, swinging some kind of massive war-hammer in a deadly arc. A roar of hatred and rage leaves his mouth as he moves to cleave Edgar in two before my boss and protector can reload his rifle.
I don’t think.
I just act.
I jump forward, placing my body between Edgar and the Aurelian warrior.
I hold my hands up – as if they could somehow stop this warrior’s mighty Orb-Weapon. Terror fills me first, and then regret as I realize the foolishness of my gesture.
I stand there, awaiting death, and it’s like I’m watching in slow motion. The alien’s huge war-hammer swings directly towards me, and time practically stops as I see it’s deadly arc.
Then, suddenly, the Aurelian’s eyes open in shock. He tries desperately to stop the path of his deadly swing. Incredibly – perhaps due to the superhuman reflexes Aurelians are famous for – the warrior succeeds. His huge hammer whips to within a half-inch of my face…
…and then stops.
I turn to Edgar, who ha
d used the distraction I’d caused to reload the single shot rifle. He brings the barrel to bear on the Aurelian.
“They’re not Scorp!” I cry, begging him not to pull the trigger again.
“They’re Aurelians,” Edgar growls, his voice filled with hatred. “They’re just as bad.”
Yet he still paused from pulling the trigger – and instead kept the gun levelled at the Aurelian with the war-hammer; poised to shoot, rather than having already done so.
“Put down your weapon or they’ll kill us,” I plead, knowing that if these Aurelian were truly the enemy, the one at the rear of the triad would not be carrying two of my young charges.
Edgar pauses, and I know I’ve got him.
Reason is the only thing that gets through Edgar’s enraged mind. Painfully slow, he lowers his weapon – and the threat of violence dissipates.
The Aurelian with the war-hammer lowers his own weapon, and I rush past him to the wounded Aurelian.
The alien who took the rifle shot to his chest is on his knees, and I worry that it’s already too late for him. He clenches his hand to the wound, but he can’t stop the green blood that’s surging from the gaping injury. I’m sick knowing that it’s his very life blood gushing from his veins. Edgar’s bullet hit the Aurelian on the right side of his chest, and I fear it punctured his lung.
Yet even as I use my nursing background to diagnose the extent of this alien’s injuries, my mind also races to answer the unexplained questions.
He’s bleeding… green?
I’ve never heard tales of Aurelians bleeding green instead of red blood – but that’s clearly the case here. From around the alien’s fingers, green liquid spurts out in rhythm with his heartbeat.
It’s ironic. All those glorious muscles – but they did nothing to stop a bullet.
The third Aurelian – the one clutching the two children – has an ugly scar beneath his cheek. Well, on anyone else it would be ugly. On this towering alien, it just looks dangerous. Dangerous, and somewhat beautiful.
I shake my head. I’m biased – not just because of the effect all Aurelians supposedly have on human women, but because this third alien has two of my helpless orphans wrapped protectively in his arms.
Seeing me staring at him, the alien slowly sets down Stacy and Tod, who run to me, their arms outstretched as they rush forward to embrace me.
I wrap the two little kids in my arms and squeeze them tight – breathing in their street-dirt scent and feeling their bony little bodies crushed in my arms. I never want to let them go again.
“I’ll keep you safe,” I promise – although right now, I doubt I can keep even myself safe.
I reluctantly break off the hug, pointing towards the far corner of the workshop – the corner farthest from the door.
“Hide under the table, okay?” I try to keep my voice calm, while still conveying urgency. Stacy and Tod nod, their little bodies quivering in terror. I’ll have to quiz them on where the other two orphans are the moment I’m done with the beast-like Aurelian in front of me.
As the two kids dive under the table, I turn to the alien. I’ve taken care of the orphans, and now I need to deal with the next problem in front of me.
“Keep the pressure on,” I bark at the towering Aurelian, not even sure he understands me. The alien must get the gist, through, because he crushes his hand to the wound to try and stem the flood of eerie, green blood.
I rush to the wall, opening that trusty med-kit for the second time today. I learned how to take care of humans in the Capital, but Aurelians are an unknown element. I know nothing of their physiology.
As I turn back to him, the wounded Aurelian barely even registers my voice. I suddenly fear he’s too far gone. Time feels like it’s moving in slow motion as I kneel down and take in the sight of my patient.
He’s huge – at least seven-feet-tall. While that doesn’t sound much more than a particularly tall human, it seems bigger; because this alien is built like a bull. I once saw a human man who was six-foot-eight, but he looked like a beanpole in comparison. This alien is broad. He must weigh at least twice as much as that man I once saw, and from a quick glance there doesn’t seem to be an ounce of fat contributing to that. The alien’s body is ridiculously chiseled – almost as if he has muscles on top of muscles, and they’re all covered in those intricate, tribal tattoos.
If I didn’t need to move quickly to save this alien’s life I’d feel shy and vulnerable in front of him. Instead, I breathe out slowly, composing myself as I grab the pliers.
That venomous, green blood continues to spurt from the gaping wound, and I know that every moment I waste lessens this Aurelian’s chances of survival.
The wounded alien’s eyes fix on the pliers, and for a second I think I almost see a flash of concern in them. As I approach the Aurelian, I wonder if he’ll use the last of his tremendous strength to reach forward and rip my throat out with the flick of his hand…
Yet despite being shot by my companion, somehow there seems to be trust in this alien’s otherworldly green eyes. He’s still as I hold the pliers out over his bleeding wound.
My hand is trembling as I prepare to treat him. The bright green blood that continues to spill out over the Aurelian’s impossibly-defined abs makes this creature seem even more alien – as though his very DNA is different than mine.
This is going to hurt like a bitch for him.
The trust might leave this alien’s grey-green eyes as soon as the pain hits, but if I have to hurt him, I have to hurt him.
The Aurelian’s eyes are like rocks, staring at me with cool, yet complex alien emotions. A curse leaves my lips as I gently try to pull his hand away, to finally look at his wound; wishing I could just use the sealant gun and stop the bleeding.
But Edgar can’t afford good bullets for his hand-constructed, single-shot rifle. If he could, this blast would have gone clean through to the other side of the muscled alien – and the only emergency I’d have to be dealing with would be stopping the hemorrhaging.
Instead, though, Edgar makes his own bullets out of scrap metal collected on the streets – and that means the jagged, uneven projectile has managed to get itself stuck inside the alien’s wound. I can’t try to treat the bleeding until I remove it.
That would be difficult enough as it was – but I suddenly snap my head up as I hear commotion at the door.
Until then, everything had been moving in slow-motion. Now, suddenly, time snaps back to regular speed. The blood spurting from the Aurelian’s injury now seems to be gushing from between his fingers, and just a few feet away I hear the crashing and thumping as Scorp Warriors charge the doorway.
My hand freezes in terror an inch away from the alien’s spewing gunshot wound. I look up, to see a wave of those hideous, misshapen Scorp flood through the doorway.
For a moment I think we’re all dead – that I didn’t even have the chance to save this Aurelian’s life before he got himself killed again.
Then, however, the other two Aurelians leap into action. They move in practiced unison together – dancing forward into battle, one ducking and stabbing as the other swings that war-hammer of his in a brutal arc over the head of his brother-in-arms.
It’s as if the two of them share a single mind between two bodies; their movements pure poetry as they work together.
In just seconds, the first two Scorp fall to the ground in a heap, and the two Aurelians snarl victoriously as they step over the twitching, reptilian bodies and set up defensive positions at the choke point.
Focus, Tammy, focus!
Thanks to those two Aurelians we’re not dead – yet. But the alien kneeling in front of me will be soon, if I don’t continue treating him.
I return my eyes to him. The dying alien looks up at me, and drinks me in with his pained, grey-green eyes.
I know he can’t understand me, but I need this alien to trust me. I run my hand up against his cheek, and the creature looks deep into my soul with those soulful, slat
e-grey eyes.
I shudder as I realize that perhaps I just imagined the trust in those eyes. They’re like a statue’s eyes – so cold and emotionless. I can’t read anything in them. They’re blank slates; and that worries me that this beast could snap at any moment.
But I have no choice.
Concentrate.
I gently grab the alien’s wrist. At first he won’t budge it from the wound, and it’s futile to try and pull his hand away. It’s like trying to move a steel beam.
I pull back, scared of hurting him – but the moment I do, the alien seems to understand. He wets his lips with his tongue and grunts in pain, reluctantly pulling his hand from the bullet hole.
“Be brave,” I say, but I don’t know if the words are more for the benefit of this alien, or myself. It’s terrifying, knowing what I’ll have to do to save this Aurelian’s life; and also knowing that he’ll have to maintain superhuman control over himself to allow me to treat him.
It’s not even like I could ask Edgar to hold down this alien. As big as he was, Edgar would never be able to subdue this beast of a man if he bucked or twisted like an animal in pain. Even on the brink of death, this green-blooded Aurelian would be stronger than the both of us.
Nervously, I press the pliers into the wound. The alien stiffens and snarls in pain, and I know he must be in overwhelming agony. He reaches forward as if to strike me – tensing every muscle in his body as he does so…
…but then his hand suddenly stops an inch from mine. The alien has managed to control himself – barely. He flashes his gritted teeth and growls as he kneels there; forcing himself to remain still as I fish for the scraps of metal deep inside his bloody flesh.
I work as fast as I can, knowing that every second is agony for this huge alien. After what seems like an eternity of digging around, my pliers finally find something hard deep inside the wound and I struggle to pull it out.
Thank the Gods!
I’ve found the bullet – and, better than that, the homemade slug from Edgar’s rifle seems to be intact. As I pull it from the wound, it comes out in a single piece. A long spurt of blood follows, splattering my bare hand. The blood hisses against my skin, stinging and painful.