Battle Beyond Earth - Box Set (Books 6-9)

by Nick S. Thomas

  “Not an enemy in sight, you’d think they’d have defended this place from the very doors.”

  "I guess she thought she was safe until someone dropped nukes on her armies," said Rogers.

  Jones had to smile. He despised the use of such weapons, and yet the one thing he hated more was Bolormaa and those that followed her. The ramp was beginning to level out, and the room expanded out into a vast hall. Fifty-metre-tall columns reached from the ground to the ceiling, and at the far side of the huge open space were too large doors. They thought they had entered Bolormaa's palace. This was the only path to it. The columns and floor glimmered with a texture similar to marble, and great chandeliers hung from the ceiling.

  "Where the hell is everyone?" Jones asked.

  It appeared abandoned, but they could just make out movement from the doors at the far end. They watched and waited intently. Finally, the creature herself appeared at the door. Alita was close behind, following her like a slave. Taylor's face turned red with anger, and he felt his hands clench more tightly around the grip of his rifle. He was furious, and he had every right to be.

  "You have been a worthy opponent, Colonel Mitch Taylor, but the time for games is over."

  Even though almost half a kilometre away, her voice carried as it was projected from speakers all around the room. Her voice was chilling, but it had no hold over him anymore. He had faced her enough times to not let himself be overcome in the way that she intimidated her opponents.

  "You are right about that. The games are over. There was no need for this war and this senseless killing. All that power, and you used it for evil."

  His voice echoed, as that too was transmitted like her voice had been.

  "Humans, you preach to me about good and evil? I have been here to see good and evil over millennia! I have used my power, as nature would have me. That is the natural order of things. The weak will be crushed."

  "Yeah? How's that working out for you? We've come banging on your door to claim your head."

  "And you think you can take it?"

  She laughed. Her deep and eerie voice echoed about the hall, making them all feel uncomfortable, all but Taylor.

  "You are going to pay for your crimes against our people. I really wish your suffering could be prolonged for all eternity for the things you have done."

  "Pathetic humans, come back to me when you are worthy," she snarled.

  She turned and vanished through the doors, clearly having some kind of a plan. None of them knew what to do.

  "What now?" Jones asked.

  There was movement from behind a number of pillars ahead of them. Enemy fighters who had been hidden stepped out into the open. But they were no ordinary enemy. Six Princes. All well armed and ready to fight.

  "Well, that's not nice."

  "You didn't think this was going to be easy, did you, Jones?"

  "You were fools to come here!" one of the Princes hissed.

  "So what now?" Jones asked once more.

  Doors on each side of the room opened, and dozens of Morohtan warriors poured in.

  "The only way is forward."

  "Move!" Rogers hollered.

  They rushed down a flight of steps as gunfire lit up the room. Taylor didn't even have time to activate his shield. Instead, he sprinted for the cover of one of the columns as flashes of light rushed past his head. He drew out a high explosive grenade and tossed it in the general direction of the enemy. Before it had landed, he raised his rifle and peered around the corner of the column. He fired two well-aimed shots into the face of a warrior, ducking back as a burst of gunfire came his way. Chunks of the column were ripped off, and dust and debris erupted in the air. He was safe, but not for long.

  He activated his shield and ran towards the right flank of the room. He felt several impacts against his shield, but he kept on moving. He hadn't looked back to see what his own people were doing. There were no orders to give here. It was a free-for-all. As he closed towards the right side of the room, an enemy warrior appeared before him as they took the bend. He opened fire and struck it down with a burst, but he didn't slow down. He leapt up onto the far wall and over the weapon of the next enemy, firing into its face at point-blank range.

  Jones watched Taylor vanish around a column. He was way ahead of any of them. They had become bogged down from the weight of the fire. Unlike Taylor, the rest of them had clung to the cover.

  "What the hell is he doing!"

  Jones shook his head at Rogers, for he had no idea.

  "He's going to get himself killed!"

  Jones knew exactly what he was saying. They had to back him up.

  "Oh, hell, come on!"

  Jones ran onwards, taking a dozen impacts on his shield as he ran towards the last place he had seen Taylor. He almost reached the spot when something struck him like a truck. He'd been cowering down against the fire and focusing on what was ahead that he'd paid no attention to his flank. He flew almost ten metres through the air, crashing down onto the steel like hardness of the floor and rolled to a halt. The wind was taken out of him for a moment, but he knew he had to get back onto his feet. He lifted himself up onto one knee and peered around. The sight was a horror to behold. A Prince was standing before him.

  Holding a large halberd, and adorned in the finest armour, he was nothing short of an intimating and terrifying sight. Jones was under no illusions. The Prince could have skewered him like a wild boar, and yet he did not. Neither did he charge him down when he was on the ground. The creature was standing its ground as if waiting for him to make the next move. The Prince showed no fear at all, and that amused Jones a little.

  That'll be his undoing.

  He stood upright and drew his Assegai ready for the fight. He was smiling. The Prince couldn't understand why.

  "You foolish weaklings, how could you think you could ever have defeated Bolormaa?"

  "Because I've got friends!"

  A war cry rang out as Rogers charged at the Prince from his right flank. He turned at the last moment and lifted his halberd, but the advancing Assegai slashed through the shaft. It left the Prince hold half of the weapon in each hand. He pulled the blade back and sprung it forward, extending the grip as he did so. The sharp reflexes of the Prince allowed him to move a little, and yet the spear still struck his armour. It cut in a few millimetres before being cast aside.

  It was the first time Rogers had ever felt any resistance against the custom weapons that he and Taylor carried. It was deeply worrying, as it meant whatever armour the Prince wore, it was tough beyond anything they had seen. At least he had done some damage on the glancing blow. He went forward again and thrust, but the Prince parried off the strike with the head of the halberd, using it as an axe. He proceeded to strike at Rogers' arm with the shaft of the halberd and hit his knuckles. The impact transmitted right the way through his hand and forearm, and he let out a cry in pain as the spear fell from his hand.

  The Prince was quick to follow up on the opening he had created. He cut down with a powerful blow with the axe, but Rogers lifted his shield and took the impact. A second blow smashed the shield down again, but he quickly drew his pistol and opened fire. The shots couldn't penetrate the creature’s armour, but they were an annoyance and a distraction. He fired repeatedly as he ducked and weaved, taking more strikes against his shield.

  Jones rushed forwards at the creature to assist Rogers, but the beast kicked out one of his legs, smashing him down onto the deck before he could get a strike in. He was kicked a second time and slid away, the Prince once again turning his attention to Rogers. His pistol was empty, but he continued to dodge and parry multiple strikes from the axe until finally a kick drove up beneath his shield. It struck him in the stomach, and a beat from the weapon pole knocked him down onto his face. He tried to get back up, but the Prince placed a foot on his back and held him down.

  "Pathetic human. Bolormaa should have never let you live this long. Her obsession with you has let you live far longer th
an you ever should have. You are nothing. You are just a disease."

  He lifted up the axe to deliver a killing blow, but a voice cried out, "No!"

  Denver rushed forward and smashed his shield into the Prince. He stabbed wildly with his Assegai time and time again, driving the creature away from Rogers. He was swinging wildly like madman, having no care for his own life. He only wanted to save Rogers. The Prince parried and voided strike after strike until one lucky thrust struck its lower torso and hit home. The beast screeched in pain. It dropped the pole and grabbed hold of his shield, forced it down, and smashed the axe down into Denver's head with such force that it split his helmet in two and embedded in his brain. He was killed instantly.

  Rogers was back on his feet and had seen the last few blows. The thrust his comrade had landed, and the final blow he had received. He was overcome with rage like he had never felt before. He had trained endlessly to never let such emotion overcome him. He knew that Taylor thrived on it, and it led him to such great victories. Not only that, but he could see blood oozing from the wound where Denver had landed his blow. He couldn't believe Denver had done what he did, quickly realising that they would all do the same for one another. It was the reason they had made it to where they were today, the reason that they had a chance of winning. They fought for one another like the enemy never could.

  "Pathetic, just as I said," snarled the creature.

  And yet his blood was dripping and hitting the floor. He was pretending not to notice, and it caused Rogers to smile. That was the moment he realised he was becoming more and more like Taylor every day. He never would have thought it. Not only was he going to do his job here; he was going to enjoy it, enjoy punishing those who had offended them, those who had hurt them.

  An eye for an eye!

  And yet even that would not be enough. He had lost so much since this war began, no amount of killing would make up for that, but he was happy to try.

  "We are going to win this war because we are good people, and because you follow a monster. Your leader is pure evil. We are going to win it because good will always triumph over evil, even if it takes decades or centuries. But it will not take that long now. We have come to end you and your barbaric ways. You and your despotic Queen are relics of a more savage era, and we are the replacement. You don't belong in this age anymore!"

  Rogers couldn't believe what he was saying, and believed every word. For a moment he wondered if he had ventured into the realm of extremism, if perhaps he had become the evil that he had fought for so long. As he thought about it more, he accepted that evil had to be fought with every ounce of energy that the body could give.

  Taylor was right. There’s no reasoning with these people. There’s no justification of their actions or any negotiation to be had. They have to die if the rest of civilisation is to go on living. They are the curse that must be vanquished.

  He looked down at Denver’s body, a man who had served with loyalty until the end. He would not be alive if it were not for that man. But he did not feel guilt for his loss, he placed the blame where it was deserved, and where Taylor had always said it lay.

  "Let's finish this!"

  Finish it like men.

  He refrained from saying it. He no longer thought of the creature before him as a man. The last of his inhibitions about killing were washed away, and he realised he had finally left his duty as a man of God. He had become something else. He had become a weapon, just like Taylor. He screamed as he rushed forward with a bloodthirsty anger. He felt like a different man, as if he was Taylor himself. He couldn't explain it. Maybe it was the drink CJ has given them. Maybe it was the life or death scenario they were facing, or perhaps he had changed as a man. He picked up Denver's Assegai and closed the distance.

  He stabbed and struck out with his shield in a furious attack, but it was not uncontrolled. He was focused the way he knew Taylor would be. He wasn't fighting through anger alone, but a will to win and survive. The Prince's axe descended on his shield, and he brushed it off. He stabbed and struck with his shield like Denver had, but with precision and accuracy. The Prince was forced back and crashed into a column that supported the structure of the room. He appeared stunned to be retreating. He'd clearly not taken a step back in his life and simply didn't know how to defend against it.

  Rogers thrust and drove forward like he never had before. He was a man possessed. The Prince's strikes were beaten aside as if they were nothing. A cry rang out, and Jones stormed in to rejoin the fight. They cut and thrust, smashing their opponent with their shields as if nothing mattered in this moment. They had no idea how the battle progressed, and that should be a concern. They knew that, and yet it wasn't.

  The Morohtan Prince was overwhelmed by the flurry of attacks, and seemingly had no response as he desperately tried to defend himself. Finally, he kicked Jones, who flew onto his back, but Rogers kept going after him. He parried strike after strike, voiding off everything the Prince had to offer as if they fought as equals. Rogers was cutting down with his Assegai as if it were the advanced model he was used to, but it was not having the effect he wanted. Despite that, the Prince seemed no stronger than he as he rained down blows and drove the creature back into the open. The Prince left a trail of blood as it fell back. That blood fuelled Rogers to go forward and keep on attacking. He wanted to kill his opponents. He wanted to see them buried like he’d never wanted it before. His natural instinct towards love and compassion was long gone.

  The enemy could only be defeated with blood drawn. Taylor had shown him and told him that so many times, and finally he was able to realise it. They could not be supressed. They had to be destroyed. He went forward once more, thrusting with his blade and striking with his shield. He was overwhelming the Prince, and Jones rushed in to join him again. He had the advanced Assegai and thrust it home. The head struck straight and true, piercing the beast’s armour and driving in deep.

  A deafening cry rang out from the creature screaming in pain. It was so loud it drowned out the sound of the battle raging around them. Rogers seized his opportunity. He jumped up onto the creature’s front legs and drove his Assegai into its collar, and down into its body. The blade was almost buried to the hilt when the Prince grabbed his weapon hand and stopped it from going any further.

  “You will join me in death,” spat the Prince.

  “No thanks.”

  Jones tossed the advanced Assegai towards him. He’d already retracted it to its normal length. Rogers deactivated his shield and caught the weapon with his left hand. The Prince was lifting his axe to strike when Rogers hacked at the throat and almost severed the head in one. The creature’s eyes went blank, and it died, its body stiff like a statue and staying in place. Rogers drew out both blades and tossed Jones’ Assegai back to him. For a second, he stayed where he was, standing on the creature and towering over it. He drew back his blade, held its head with his other hand, and delivered one last slash. It severed the head. Jones was shocked by his actions. Blood gushed out, and Rogers held the head high.

  “You see this!”

  Many nearby stopped fighting and looked up to see him holding the bloody head aloft. He got the attention of several of the Princes, too. Taylor was standing over the bodies of more than a dozen Morohtan warriors. His blade was embedded in one, as he held it in place and watched Rogers.

  “You see this. They are nothing! Not gods, they are not even worthy of being called men! Stay here and meet this fate, for I will kill every last one of you if I have to!”

  He soon turned his attention back to his own people.

  “Fight them. Fight them with everything you have, and leave none alive!”

  A battle cry rang out as CJ and many others rushed forward with such enthusiasm as never had been seen. The room once again erupted into chaos. Two Princes rushed towards him with furious anger. They cut and pushed their way through marines and their own alike, limbs flying from their strikes.

  “Come on!”

  R
ogers egged them on. He activated his shield and leapt from the body of the Prince towards the two coming at him. He was utterly fearless. Jones and those around him felt inspired. They rushed on to help as Rogers flew into one of them. He had so little weight compared to the Prince that he was thrown clear. He tried to cut as he rotated and was cast aside. His blade fell short, and he crashed into two enemy warriors, flattening them as they all fell to the floor. He stabbed down against one and hacked across at the other.

  Rogers was getting back on to his feet when one of the Princes reached him and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him into the air.

  “You will pay for your barbarism!” he cursed.

  Rogers smiled at the hypocrisy of the foul creature, as he was slammed up against a column and his weapon fell from his hands. He didn’t seem to care about his life anymore, but as the Prince lifted its blade to strike, Taylor’s Assegai cut down against the arm holding him in place. The Princes’ left arm was severed at the elbow, and blood spattered out over Rogers’ face as he fell to the ground. He picked up his Assegai and thrust it forward at the creature as it staggered back. The blow would have landed, were it not for the second Prince stepping in and knocking his weapon aside with a shield that his blade could not penetrate. Sparks flew as the two engaged, and Rogers parried a blow from a large hammer that the Prince attacked him with.

  The blow against his shield was the most powerful strike he had ever felt. His arm buckled under the impact, and his shield was broken. His left arm had gone numb. It had to be broken or worse, but he had no time to think about it as the hammer came down once more. He couldn’t hope to stop it, but as it was about to land, it stopped mid-air. It was as if it had met with a brick wall. In fact, it had, and that wall was Jafar. His left hand was locked onto the shaft of the hammer, and he held it like a vice. He lifted his blade and slashed down with a mighty blow, severing the Prince’s weapon arm at the shoulder. He took the hammer for himself, wielding it in one hand like the Prince had. He cut down with one strike after another with his sabre-like blade and hammer in the other hand. The Prince was backing off again and again as it parried with its shield. It was being beaten down more and more with each might blow from the Krys Lord.