He heard the machine gunners open fire, all six of them aiming for the front left leg, up near the torso. Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of screaming. Toan thought at first that perhaps this was the chatter of the tongues, the beast lashing out with visions of despair. A spray of blood hit him, boiling hot, molten, pouring easily through the fabric of his uniform, eating into the skin of his chest and neck. His instinct was to dive to the ground and roll, but this only served to spread the burning mess further so that his whole upper body roared with the painful fires.
Kadalynn picked up Toan by his legs and dragged him backwards, retreating with the majority of the front line, but the machine gun fire continued, and an arterial gush of the beast’s blood caught her on her legs. With the noise and force of a landslide, the beast lunged forward, its reptilian head jabbing fast, mouth wide, one of it’s teeth shearing cleanly through the body of the soldier to Kadalynn’s left. She dropped Toan and dove towards towards the girl’s torso. Kadalynn’s legs seared with agony and her instinct was to feast on the girl, but the bitch cried for help. Can’t eat a comrade when they’re crying for aid. She grabbed the girl’s hand and made towards Toan. There was a strong breeze, the snap of jaws, a whimper, and her load was suddenly too light. She threw the severed arm down-field, grabbed Toan, and ran as hard as she could, hoping that she could feed them both before more trouble came.
Tiernan’s platoon faired no better. Three of his front line had gone down with the first hit of blood, the scalding clots hitting them full in the face. They had choked and thrashed about, then in three quick thrusts, their bodies were lanced through and scooped up by the beak of the beast’s birdlike head. The head cocked back on its long neck, and the bodies tumbled to their end. It was so fast. That was what bothered Tiernan more than anything. He remembered the Mythologue. When it came to the beasts of the void, he had a very different perspective from most members of the battalion. He had been one of the worst beasts himself. He had been mighty, cunning and ravenous, but he couldn’t have been that fast.
Stephanie looked through Dannum’s eyes, and Dannum looked through hers. Always a step ahead. He could see the soldiers movements before they had even thought of them, and he was there with his beak, or his teeth. Stephanie closed her eyes to it as best she could, but that didn’t stop his torrential emotions, his wave of euphoria as he swallowed, or his horrendous hunger for wrath when he bled. She looked beyond, because she had to; past the now, seeing the retreats, the fades, the advances of each platoon. Dannum quietened. This was better. Her way.
With the chatter and wagging of a million tongues, he unleashed Stephanie’s vision, flooding the minds of the soldiers with a sea of possibilities, ghosts of themselves writhing and tangling with one another. Not even the strongest and oldest of them could withstand his thrall. With the soldiers blinded by their own uncertainty and panic, Dannum beat his wings, pouncing forward, soaring over their heads.
When he landed, the ruined fields burst apart beneath the heavily armored Blood-Bastards, the rear half of the battalion lost in the chasm which opened up around them, the rest of them tumbling fast towards that same dire drop. Dannum roared and shrieked, his spit sloshing and foaming as he rammed the armored personnel carriers, hammering his giant claws down, driving the vehicles into the dirt. He turned about, each footstep heard and felt for many miles around. His blood boiled for one man. He knew Tiernan’s mind, the creaking of millennial gears, the clicking cogs of centuries of arrogance, but even with his raptorous eyes Dannum saw nothing.
Stanwick stood up and helped Stephanie to her feet. She led her towards the trough between Dannum’s shoulders and she pointed towards the abyss that he had created, “Now, we go down.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Damian Huntley is a science fiction author based in County Durham, England where he lives with his wife and two cats, Schrödinger and Cat Stevens.
CONNECT WITH DAMIAN HUNTLEY
Website: www.damianhuntley.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/damianhuntleyauthor
Histories of the Void Garden, Book 1: Pyre of Dreams Page 40