by Greg Ramsay
“Go. This novice cannot best me.” Monster informed them like he was playing a casual game of chess, all the while countering every lumbering strike the Mot tried against him.
Slicing into his opponent like chef would cut sushi, Monster deftly held the line. Meanwhile, Bruce’s team, backed by their two remaining Mot allies that survived the shooting all raced through the last three floors. Combining vicious hand to hand skill with precise cuts, Monster’s opponent finally fell, having only got a flew blows in.
“Traitor...” The Mot exclaimed with its last breath.
“Proudly so.” Monster retorted, wiping the blood from his eyes that seeped from a superficial scalp wound.
Grabbing his opponents club in his free hand, Monster ran hard to catch his friends, the floors shaking with every purposeful stride. Higher up, Bruce was becoming increasingly weary. There’s practically zero forces here. We’ve advanced two floors and I’ve only fired three shots. Thanks to all the chaos, my arrow count is getting low.
I hope we’re ready for the finale! Bruce thought as he ran, counting only twenty arrows left in his quiver by feel. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed his fellow archers were worse off. Makes sense, they tended to handle suppression so we could advance. I’ll have to headline the fight to come. The five remaining fighters found themselves on the upper floor at last.
Save for extremely spare torches, the entire space was eerily black and ominously quiet. Relying on their sensory training, Bruce and Spirit took the lead, listening for any sign of an ambush. Instead, they found themselves faced by a massive metal door with a busted keypad. The entrance to the skyscraper’s penthouse suite. Both archers were suddenly halted by muscled hands that pushed them back, eager to show their leaders what they could do.
Curious, Bruce obliged, ensuring Spirit was in cover on the other side of the door before tapping the Mot’s shoulder as a go sign.
“King Bonerend!” Both allied Mots roared in unison.
“We’ve captured the terrorists. Permission to enter?”
“GRANTED!” Bonerend yelled out from somewhere in the distance, the echo of his voice followed by a makeshift locking mechanism being manually moved.
Vaguely illuminated by the torch far behind them, Bruce could barely make out the glint of a gun in each of his ally’s hands. Smart. They’re clearing the way and have an attack plan. Bruce thought proudly. Bonerend’s door flew open, bathing the area beyond in firelight.
“Where are they?” Bonerend demanded impatiently, noticing the armed Mots first.
“Behind us.” One replied.
“SHOOT!” Bonerend commanded with paranoid urgency.
On a makeshift balcony above, his last two gun-toting soldiers opened fire. While their fire was drawn by Bruce’s allies now left staggering for cover, he and Spirit raced in and slid behind two structural pillars for cover. In a matter of seconds, they were engaged by two wounded but still firing gun Mots and ten armoured Mots of various sizes, from near-human, to big enough to make Bonerend look tiny. Strength waning, filled with bullets, the two allied Mots spent the rest of their ammo firing wildly into the enemy. One enemy gunman was finally killed along with two armoured foot soldiers.
Savage charged in from the blackness beyond, guns blazing with a huge lethal smile on her blood spattered face. Her wild rage ended three more enemies until one intelligently seized her bow hanging on her shoulder from behind and yanked her to the ground. For its trouble, the Mot received a bullet to the chin that sent its corpse crashing down on her.
“Fuck!” she exclaimed, frustrated, completely pinned under hundreds of pounds of mutated muscle. “Stay Down!” Bruce screamed right before the remaining gun Mot opened up on her.
Bullets raged up the body of the armoured Mot she’d killed, heading right for her head. Without any consideration for himself, Bruce fired an arrow that pierced the gunman’s heart, then was forced to duck a powerful swing from an enemy that had taken the opportunity to advance. In such close quarters, Bruce was barely able to draw an arrow, but opted to slam it into the Mot’s throat by hand, leaving it to gurgle on the ground. He and Spirit refocused on the five remaining armoured opponents that created a resolute wall between them and Bonerend.
Compounding their struggle, Bonerend had the bright idea to take up his underling’s gun. Now the archers were left scrambling for cover once more. Shredded concrete rained down on their bullet-scarred armour from the already compromised support pillars. Bruce and Spirit alternated turns basically blind-firing as Bonerend rapidly alternated the focus of his fire.
A small click preceded Bonerend screaming “CHARGE!” sending his remaining elite forces into a brutal melee engagement when he abruptly ran out of ammo.
Arrows stuck from their defiant muscles, which met a brutal onslaught of precise melee strikes. Spirit slammed an arrow into the back of an elite guard’s knee immediately after ducking under a wide strike. The Mot’s free fist slammed hard into her face then grabbed her in a vice grip. Bruce fired an arrow into its back that was essentially ignored by the vengeful Mot, who violently slammed Spirit into the ground head-first, putting all its weight into her to relieve its compromised leg. Bruce charged like a human battering ram, forcing the Mot to budge to the side then rammed an arrow into its neck to sever an artery.
A sudden flurry of strikes forced him back. Weaving around a pillar with careful skill, Bruce watched his latest opponent get tripped up by its allies corpse. No situational awareness.. Bruce mocked inwardly, his bow loosing an arrow right through the Mot’s eye.
“Four left, then you die!” Bruce called out to Bonerend, his voice filled with calm malice.
A bead of sweat trickled down Bonerend’s face, still contorted in a murderous rage. Spirit reached around the back of the exsanguinating Mot that pinned her fast. Unfazed, she let it lean in closer so she could pull Bruce’s arrow from its back. Precise and violent stabs to its other arm made it collapse to her right, leveraging some of its weight from her head. Roaring, Spirit rolled the Mot off of her using its weak struggles to back away to her advantage. Finally able to wriggle free of its grasp, she rammed the arrow into its windpipe, leaving its hulking body propped up by the arrow shaft to bleed out and die.
“THREE LEFT!” Spirit roared powerfully, a proud smile dripping with blood adorning her fair face. Thumping footfalls announced the triumphant return of Monster, who charged in screaming and beheaded an elite guard with one swing.
“Hey big guy!” Bruce exclaimed cheerfully.
“Greetings.” Monster replied.
“Hey muscles, a hand?” Savage called out angrily.
Kindly, Monster pushed away another attacker casually so he could lift the body off of her. In return, Savage shot his would-be murderer in the face. Laughing, Bruce nocked an arrow in synchronicity with Spirit. Together, they loosed their arrows directly into the final quivering, bucket-helmet wearing guard, directly through his eye slits. Seething openly, Bonerend aggressively stood.
“Ready for your turn?” Bruce asked mockingly.
Growling, Bonerend suddenly jumped to the side like a secret agent dodging bullets. In one shockingly fast motion he raised the barrel of a gun, spraying bullets wildly. Monster quickly threw Spirit aside as she’d been standing in front of him to be in line with Bruce. Immediately, Bruce dove desperately, landing on his front facing away from his friends so he didn’t see Spirit or Monster fall. Frantically rushing to a shredded support pillar for cover, Bruce turned to see a horrifying scene: Monster’s chest was full of bullets while Spirit lay on the ground bleeding profusely from an apparent gunshot to the head. Enraged Bruce broke cover, nocking his last arrow.
“Savage- get Spirit out of here!” Bruce screamed, desperately hoping the faint breathing he heard was hers. Savage, meanwhile was in a state of utter shock, staring in utter broken depression at Monster’s bullet-riddled body.
“SAVAGE!” Bruce screamed, holding his ground until she gathered her senses, left
her bow behind on the ground for ease of movement, and drug Spirit away.
Disdainfully Bruce sadly looked back at Monster’s face, hoping he was just asleep, which is how his normally perpetually angry looking face appeared now.
“You’re alone now Blackbow.” Bonerend mocked.
Expecting a trap, Bruce wearily scanned their area. Bonerend’s open-concept penthouse still had four, albeit damaged, pillars supporting the added weight of its flamboyant dome roof. Looking for shadows poised to come crashing through, all Bruce noticed on a quick glance was it was constructed with various coloured metals serving as ornate detail to highlight stain glass sections. The dingy sunroof in the center of the dome served to Illuminate Bonerend’s cocky approach in murky light.
“As are you.” Bruce growled while drawing his bow to end Bonerend finally.
Laughing, Bonerend spread his arms wide. “Go ahead, I’ll give you one free shot!”
This coming from the one who desperately relied on a gun just moments before. Bruce thought sarcastically.
“King Bonerend, you have failed this species!” Bruce growled then loosed his final arrow. To his horror Bonerend snatched the arrow with one hand in mid-air, a mere inch from his face. Laughing he snapped it apart in his fists and threw it away.
“Your species failed itself, I just put the worthless remnants of it to a well-deserved slow death. You however, I’ll kill painfully, swiftly and paint my tower with your blood!” Bonerend roared, following up his insane reflexes with equal speed of movement.
Before Bruce cold dodge properly, Bonerend back-handed him into a nearby pillar. The pillar broke further under savage blows that pounded Bruce into it like a replacement for the concrete it lost. Bruce’s bow lay uselessly by a dead guard. Once more, Bruce could only brave blow after blow. Bored, Bonerend savagely punched him with disorienting force in the face and threw him away, making him fly over Monster’s body to land hard about a metre from his bow. He crawls to his fallen bow as the King of slavers cockily advanced.
“Look at how you crawl. This is the only proper stature for your egotistical species. So vain, so weak, hiding in metal boxes because you didn’t even have the integrity to face the horrors you caused. We did. WE are the rightful inheritors of the world. Your kind should grovel gratefully that I’ve allowed any of you to exist, but you aren’t even smart enough to notice that. And so this is the only natural conclusion. Reflect on your weakness until you die!” Bonerend concluded his monologue with a burst of intimidating laughter.
Bruce had desperately aimed his bow, his head swimming, without a single arrow to shoot. Bonerend’s laughter was so strong he had to turn away to lean on his knees, actively trying to breath while wandering away a few steps.
“Bruce.” Bruce blinked, finally clearing his head, ignoring what he’d thought was Monster’s voice in his disoriented confusion.
Then he heard a faint thump almost drowned out by Bonerend’s roaring laughter and self-righteous rambling. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Monster had managed to move, not only that, but his tapping hand held two used arrows from nearby bodies. With the last of his strength, Monster tossed the arrows Bruce’s way before falling silent on his back once more. Immediately, Bruce sat up, nocked, and loosed an arrow directly into Bonerend’s genitals right as he turned back to finish the job. Struggling to move through his multiple bruises and other injuries that felt like broken bones, Bruce fired his final arrow into Bonerend’s throat.
The arrow grazed his windpipe leaving him wheezing both in unimaginable pain and a near-inability to breath. Driven by rage induced adrenaline Bruce gradually rose. Slowed by pain, Bruce ducked his swing then punched Bonerend in the side of the head with his bow. Holding his breath from the pain, Bonerend’s eyes reflected insane rage. He slammed a fist hard into Bruce’s stomach, knocking him back. In one motion, he grabbed Bruce’s unintentionally dropped bow and snapped it apart, discarding the jagged broken body beside Bruce like an annoyance.
With the last of his strength, Bruce crawled to Savage’s bow. Bonerend stomped after him with great difficulty, his suffocating body swaying with the effort of enacting his rage. Bruce ripped an arrow from a Mot’s body and after struggling to rise, charged Bonerend. He savagely beat him using the bow as an extension of his techniques, sending the failing Bonerend staggering backwards. Eyes ablaze with determination, Bruce rapidly nocked his last arrow, this time succeeding in burying it deep in Bonerend’s forehead. Together both combatants dropped to the ground, the fight was finally over.
Chapter 10 – Broken King
“Bruce.” Monster called weakly. Painfully Bruce crawled over.
“We did it!” Bruce exclaimed. Monster smiled weakly.
“Remember: behead Bonerend, you’ll become King. Otherwise his slavery won’t end! Don’t argue, it must be done! Please protect Savage...” His eyes pleaded like a man unable to express feelings of deep importance.
Despite the physical and emotional pain, Bruce managed a confident smile
“I’ll do my best.” Bruce said like a promise.
Then Monster’s eyes closed, his final breath rattling free at last.
“Goodbye, my friend.” Bruce said sadly, his expression stoic per his training, although his eyes betrayed that he was clearly saddened. Gradually, Bruce gathered his broken bow and arrows. Now outside Bonerend’s suite, Bruce tossed Savage her bow.
“She good?” Bruce asked Savage who’d applied a poultice to Spirit’s wound and wrapped it.
“Superficial bleeder wound. Odds are she’ll have a sexy scar, but she should be fine.” Savage replied. “What about you?”
“Had worse during training, I’ll walk it off.” Bruce stated with an unintentional grimace.
“What about Monster? He’s just out right?” Giving her a regretful expression laced with pointed silence in response, Savage’s eyes teared up. She wiped away the tears and adopted a stoic cold expression herself.
“May I borrow your sword?” Wordlessly, Savage passed him the sword. Many violent hacks that left him nearly doubled over in pain later, Bruce held up Bonerend’s meaty bald head in his hand by the arrow shaft. When she saw Bonerend’s head, the look in Savage’s eyes was like she wanted to kill everything on the planet herself.
“Urrm” Spirit groaned as she gradually awoke to find herself laying in Savage’s lap. She tried to clear her left eye but couldn’t so, she reached for whatever was blocking it.
“Don’t ghosty... you got a cut. I wrapped it up but for now one of your eyes is covered.” Savage cautioned.
“Did we-?”
“Yes.” Bruce said, holding up Bonerend’s head for her benefit.
Slowly she stood, taking in her surroundings, then she noticed Bruce standing very tense.
“You’re injured...”
“He didn’t go down easy... we’re all that’s left.” Bruce said with a hint of lingering sadness that he couldn’t suppress. Probably just some bruised or broken ribs, nothing new.
“We should make a show of our accomplishments, then head back to the holdfast for medical attention.” Bruce suggested.
The three remaining warriors from the original 6-man strike team marched out of Bonerend’s tower into the muddy street beyond. Residents gathered nervously one by one, abandoning their dead to confirm their suspicions. Some armed Mots joined them soon after. Looks of awe and horror could be seen on every face, some even looked strangely hopeful, while others were confused beyond words. Holding up Bonerend’s head by the arrow shaft for all to see he braced for the chaos he imagined would come.
“Your tyrant king has fallen! From this day forth there will be NO slavery of Human or Mottled peoples. NONE. Any caught disobeying this decree will meet Bonerend’s fate!” Bruce decreed forcefully before somewhat awkwardly stepping away.
“You need to say more than that!” Savage exclaimed irritably.
“Like what? They want to be commanded and I don’t have time... Spirit needs medical atten
tion. Then we’ll doubtless have to spread word of this if we’re to have any hope of Monster’s sacrifice counting. You know I don’t want to be some king!” Bruce argued frustrated, then he had an idea.
“You’re in command here, make sure our allies are buried, we’re leaving now.” With that he took Spirit by the hand, leading them both forward.
“We have liberated you, live your lives the way you choose. By your customs, I am now your King. My first act will be to appoint Savage here as your faction leader. She will guide you as I would, instituting fair wage and trade among our species’! Secondly, I ask that you join me in spreading the word to your fellow Mottled factions: Slavery is dead by decree of Blackbow. Those who would enslave, let Bonerend be your example: no matter where you are, we will find you, and we will kill you! That is all.” A few meek Mots actually cheered while the rest were either shocked beyond comprehension or openly enraged.
“My livelihood is over!”
“Someone else acting for a King? Inconceivable!”
“What will we do?” Many arguments attacked the group in waves.
Undaunted, Bruce shot the rope chains off any slaves that came forward.
“Where should I get fair wages for the freed people?” Savage whispered in his ear.
“Confiscate it as a tax from surviving slavers. When they see the funds dry up they’ll be forced to find a new lifestyle or die.” Bruce responded coldly, then took Spirit and left.
What few soldiers remained from Bonerend’s rule that were late to arrive suddenly turned their weapons from Bruce and began systematically killing Bruce’s loud-mouthed objectors.
“Wait stop, why are you murdering your people?!” Bruce demanded of the soldiers.
“All Mottled factions obey universal customs, one is to ensure safety of new kings by murdering those fool enough to cause opposition. Many may dissent to a human King. We, however, have integrity...” A large soldier with scars on his face that looked like they’d been caused by caused by three claws explained. His eyes were filled with obvious hate for Bruce, but he stood proud of his conviction regardless.