by O. J. Lowe
His predecessor had burnished a name on these gardens and only yesterday they’d been beautiful, alight with the colour and life that the light of his life had worked to give them. However, that they’d once been known as the Killing Ground didn’t escape him. As they made their way across, several of the D’Han rose up out of hiding, each of them packing BRO-70 rifles in one hand, spirit summoners in the other. All of them were outfitted with a czernikian lion, a magnificent crimson furred feline beast with a shaggy black mane and twin tails, the symbol of his administration. When he’d formed up the D’Han to be his own personal guard, he’d written it up as a decree that everyone who entered the order would be granted one of the spirits as the sign of their authority. The creatures were protected; he’d seen to that. Only he could authorise the release of one from their reservation where they were allowed to breed in peace.
Those two groups of clones never saw it coming, taking attacks from a dozen different angles, not just from rifle fire but also from uniblasts courtesy of the lions. As strong as those shields might be, they weren’t impenetrable, concentrated fire would get through eventually. All it would take was time and they’d fall. This wasn’t the main force, just an advance guard to weaken resistance so the rest of them could move in. Nwakili knew their priority was to minimise casualties while ensuring complete elimination of the enemy as quickly as they were available to. Eventually, they’d get through.
Eventually wasn’t soon enough.
Something… Someone moved in on the D’Han almost faster than his eye could follow and one of his elites was down with his neck at an odd angle before he could even react. Credit to them, their attention didn’t immediately deviate from the assault on the battalion but as another went down under the huge bulk of a figure who’d broken into the fray from out of nowhere, their focus started to turn. Nwakili watched through a scope, saw the remaining D’Han open fire into the big man’s bulk, saw him stagger back a few feet, throw his head back but didn’t fall. He couldn’t hear anything, no sound but were his shoulders shaking…
Fuck!
He’d read the reports from what had happened many months ago, heard all the stuff about what had gone down between Coppinger’s forces and Unisco, not just at the calamity that the Quin-C final had become but what had taken place on her bloody airbase. Rumours of a man who had been able to shake off being shot…
Fuck!
He was supposed to be dead. The big man moved, scooped up a D’Han, one in each hand and squeezed hard, breaking bone under the sheer force of his fingers before throwing them down, laser fire cutting away at his body. His clothes came off worse in it all, the skin and muscle beneath them burning away and reforming several inches at a time. The lions went for him as well, those brought more problems for him, he went down under the sheer weight of six huge cats and Nwakili saw the ground run scarlet underneath him, claws and teeth ripping away through fabric and flesh, straight down almost to the bone. He felt hope fill him up, however momentarily it might be. This could be the turning point.
With the lions in the process of ripping the troublesome man to pieces, the D’Han went back to face the battalion, turned just in time to take faces-full of laser fire themselves, torn to pieces in seconds by the relentless assault. As their callers went down, the lions ceased attacking the big man and went for the clones. All but one of them bounded for the shielded clones, intent on doing to them what they’d just done to the brave men and women who’d brought them into existence.
That final one tried to move, found it couldn’t as Domis… Nwakili thought that was his name. David Wilsin’s report had been scant in places… grabbed it by the tail and tugged it back towards him, determination etched on his face as he slammed an elbow down into its spine, the roar of pain drowning out every other possible sound as the lion’s legs buckled down behind it. With his face etched in concentration, Domis lunged forward, wrapped those huge arms around its upper body and held it in a chokehold, his face contorted with concentration as he cradled it almost lovingly as if he wished to bury his face in the fur before twisting violently.
It didn’t take long for them to get to the front door after that, Nwakili noted with a feel of grim fascination. They were certainly an effective unit, he’d had to concede that. If what he’d heard was true, and he had little reason to doubt that it was, then they’d been bred to do just that. Their jobs were simple. He’d liked to have fought with soldiers like those at his back. As highly skilled as fellow agents had been at Unisco, it had always been worth remembering that they were as much a group of individuals as much as anything else. These guys moved as a team. Already they were laying charges around the doors, determined to get in before too much more time had passed. They’d breach soon, he was sure of that. There might be a few of the D’Han left but their numbers too scant to make a difference.
Nwakili leaned down, picked up the BRO-60 and ran it over with skilled, practiced hands, running every check he knew to guarantee it was in working order. He’d tried to keep it as much of a secret as possible that he’d been part of Unisco though as with any open secret, the knowledge had slipped out. Some people, when they retired and entered public service, did let it be known. They were under the impression that it’d garner them cheap publicity points. Identities were kept secret while with the organisation for privacy purposes, to avoid reprisals. After though, the records were sealed, and nobody could link you to any given mission bar the director himself. He wasn’t as young as he once had been, but he still did his best to stay in shape. Still lean. Still trained against the D’Han on a regular basis. No better way to test your bodyguards were up to muster.
When first he’d done it, he’d beaten them down easily, suspected that they were holding back against him. His response to that had been to brutally beat the next one he’d fought, proclaiming that this would happen if they held back while in his service. He knew what he was doing, and he’d know if they were doing it as well. As much as it had hurt him to do it, he’d also promised them that should he suspect they were holding back, they’d be dismissed from service and, this had been a particular stroke of genius, would find it hard to find work again in Vazara. He’d noticed a marked improvement in them ever since then. He’d even managed to learn a few new tricks. Past a certain point, the only way to improve was to teach, because through critique of others, you learned new things about yourself.
After all, he’d since pointed out to them that their purpose was to protect him. What better way than to ensure he was in the best possible shape to ensure that he could protect himself just as well, should they all be killed in duty.
The weapon was in good shape, fully loaded and ready to be used. He put it back down, pulled on an impact vest and adjusted it across his body. This model had been reinforced, heavier than normal but still manageable and infinitely preferable to the alternative. Quickly he added various other bits to the ensemble, lukonium spikes strapped to both knees and elbows, even to the tips of his boots. The last thing he added was a special bit of kit that he’d had designed especially for a situation like this, a pair of reinforced gauntlets that came back almost halfway up his forearms, a trio of lukonium spikes protruding across the knuckles, a set of almost invisible wires linking back up to a miniature thumb scanner across the underside of the wrist. If the rumours about Domis Di Carmine were true, and every bit of ocular evidence he’d gathered so far said they were, it might save his life. He’d intended the device to be used against armoured opponents, but it might yet serve purpose here. The man was a monster, a fearsome foe in a fair fight. Good thing he intended to cheat as much as possible.
The doors blew in, the first few clones through the door ran straight into the automated guns, laser fire spitting rapidly out in their direction to shred them into tiny pieces in short order. Grenades came in on them, the explosions boomed, and the guns fired no more, torn apart by the explosive force directed against them. From the shadows, Nwakili cursed. He’d hoped that they’d thi
n out the ranks more than they had. He knew the palace better than anyone currently living, he’d made a point to ensure that was the case for circumstances just like this. It might save his life one day.
Maybe he should just hide out in there, let things blow over. It’d nice to be naïve enough to believe that’d be the case. If they searched the palace and couldn’t find him, maybe they’d give up. Maybe. Or if he was being realistic, they’d probably just blow the place to pieces with their superior firepower and make sure they took him out that way. They could do it. And he couldn’t think of a less satisfying way to die. If he was going to go down, he wanted to see it coming. He wouldn’t be wiped out like a rat, hiding in the dark. He hefted the Broxtie, looked down the sight at those scurrying around below him. The shadows were his friends, always the first lesson he’d learned about stealth back in the Unisco academy. They didn’t look like they had thermal capability as part of their equipment. They couldn’t have planned that far ahead, surely. They couldn’t have predicted they’d be facing him in an environment like this.
Silently, he followed them from the floor above, always looking down on them. They advanced towards the stairs at the end of the entrance hall, they’d be in the throne room in a matter of seconds. What would they do when they found out he was nowhere to be seen? Right here, right now it would be a struggle for him to deal with them. He was outnumbered as long as they were grouped together this tightly and their shields were running hot and linked together. Maybe he should outwait them. Those shields could only hold up for so long before they ran out of power. Combining them together did share the burden but still there was a limit to their batteries. When it went down, they’d be vulnerable. Easy to scythe down with laser fire from here, they’d be dead before they knew what was happening. Classic ambush tactics, attack when they’re vulnerable and don’t expect it.
Before he could consider it too much, the last of the D’Han struck from the shadows like crocodiles from a river, the three F’s. Fast. Furious. Fearsome. He’d taught them that move, after all, used those exact words. Three of them broke out, swept from the murk and he heard the sound of breaking bones in the otherwise silence of the palace. Outside the war might be raging but in here, his home was quiet. Even the boots of the invaders felt muted in the vast below
Until they weren’t. He saw the shadow cast by the big man long before he actually entered, watched him stride past the burning remains of the shattered doors and Domis threw his head back, sniffed the air like a dog for a heartbeat. His clothes were ruined from laser fire and lion attacks, yet he showed no sign of discomfort. Nwakili stiffened, wondered if the man’s senses were as keen as he was making them out to be. What did it mean for him if the big bastard could tell where he was? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He held his breath, lined up the sights with Domis’ head. Any hint of a threat and it’d be all over. If he was certain it’d make a difference, he’d already have pulled the trigger. The great shaved head turned slowly until finally they were lined up with what Nwakili could see through the scope.
One eye winked and Nwakili was ashamed to say he felt his nerve go in that moment, his finger tightened, squeezed the trigger, sent a three-point burst straight through Domis’ skull. The big man went down with a roar, clutching his face and Nwakili went quickly over the balcony, firing the Broxtie into him as he fell, the blasts ripping fresh wounds into the naked skin of his back. Nwakili caught the odour of burning flesh, powerful up close, put it out of his mind as he failed to hold back on the shots, emptying the power pack into Domis. It was overkill, a part of his mind was screaming, nobody human could survive this sort of punishment and yet Domis still twitched, his wounds healing over before his very eyes, old ones recovering even as new ones were borne. Another part of Nwakili’s mind was screaming that he might have made some sort of horrible mistake. Should have run while he had the chance.
Too late now! He’d made his decision now he’d live with it. Stand and fight, for that was the only way this was ever going to end.
He swung out with the butt of the assault rifle, caught him on the jaw with a resounding crack and brought the weapon back to strike again. Domis caught it with one of his shovel-sized hands, twisted it out of his grasp and hurled it away into some far corner of the hall. Behind him, the D’Han were still grappling with the clones, he didn’t have much time. He pivoted, drove the spiked tip of his boot into Domis’ throat, felt warm blood spatter across his arms and face. The smug look on the big man’s face fell away as he grasped at his wound, scarlet flowing hard around his grip.
Nwakili threw out an elbow next, drove it down towards one water-coloured eye, felt it puncture with a satisfying splutter, he knew he’d found his target and it felt good. He left the spike in, felt it break away. Every opponent has a weakness, just a matter of finding it wherever it may be. He went for the other eye, Domis might be strong, might have a freaky ability to deal with whatever damage was being thrown at him but if he was blind then it wouldn’t mean too much. The big man twisted away from his blow, rose like a salmon and hit him square in the chest with a punch that would have made a mule envious. His vest absorbed most of it, regardless the force from the strike threw him back and he was suddenly struggling for oxygen, gasping hard for it. He’d never been hit that hard before. Never. Already Domis was up on his feet, the spike still protruding from his eye. Blood gushed down around it, his face ugly with fury.
Both of them raised their fists, went for each other, Nwakili ducking under the first blow, an almost clumsy punch that sailed high over his head. Maybe he’d fucked his opponent’s depth perception and he didn’t know where he was. That’d be nice. He hit him hard in the abdomen with both hands, left two more spikes lodged in the solid flesh. It was like punching a side of beef, hard and unyielding. The wound on his tattooed neck had all but closed up now. Nwakili couldn’t believe something could bleed that much and fail to die but bleed Domis continued to do as he danced around him, left another spike embedded in the base of his back. Not quite on the spine but close enough. The big man roared, almost stumbled to his knees. How he was still standing, Nwakili didn’t know but he took the moment to drive a fourth knuckle spike into the side of his head, straight through the ear. A bellow of pain and the big man was suddenly pawing at his ear to try and pull it out. One in through the eye and one in through the ear, anyone else would have been dead from brain trauma by now.
Nwakili had held this suspicion and was privately amused to have it proved. He wasn’t that good with pain after all. He healed quickly enough to avoid being overwhelmed by it. A laser blast burned flesh, damaged it, tore through it but didn’t leave anything in the wound that couldn’t be fixed in time. These spikes remained in, their edges jagged. He wouldn’t be pulling them out any time soon. That would be excruciating for him. He smirked at his own cleverness, drove his other spiked elbow down into Domis’ shoulder, he was on the ground now and struggling to function, cradled into the foetal position, whimpering like an infant.
Nwakili had felt nothing but contempt for him throughout. If there was any pity in him, it was too faint for him to acknowledge. His people were dying, his city was burning, and this fucker had been in part responsible.
“You want mercy, see the Divines,” he said, kicking out hard, two, three, four times to the face and Domis was on his back, whimpering in pain. Last two knuckle spikes were driven in hard and Nwakili stepped back to survey his handiwork. He picked up the Broxtie, slammed in a fresh power pack before moving his finger to the thumb pad on the inside of his wrist. “Because you’ll see them soon enough. Tell them I sent you. Nobody fucks with Vazara!”
Lukonium might be hard but by the same token it could be hollowed out, just as those spikes had been, unknown to Domis. Anything could be placed inside them as long as it fit. Like say, highly concentrated explosives? He shielded his eyes as each of the spikes exploded one after the other, taking Domis with them. He’d put the poor bastard out of his misery, more tha
n he deserved, that was for sure. Dead. Sometimes, it took an expert touch to deal with a freak like that.
Up ahead of him, the D’Han and the clones had ceased their fighting for a moment, the explosion startling them into inactivity. Nwakili raised the weapon, fired several times and the clones went down hard.
“Vazara will never fall,” he said softly. “It always has been and always will be. Fall back, people. It’s time to…”
Before he could give the order to retreat, he was cut off by a tremendous snap and crack and suddenly he could no longer stand up, the sound beat the sensations as white-hot pain ruptured through him. His leg couldn’t hold him any longer, his ankle twisted at an awkward angle, bone tearing out through muscle and flesh around the iron-hard grip locked around his limb. Fresh agony hit him as Domis tipped him down to the ground, burns healing all over his body even as the big man rose. Half his face was little more than bone, the muscle was knitting back over it as Nwakili could only watch in horror, the eye reshaping in the socket, flesh covering the taut red muscles in a matter of seconds.
“But you will,” Domis said with a rasping voice slowly becoming smoother over the course of his words. “You will fall. Always is not forever.” He bent down, scooped Nwakili up off the ground one handed. There was something almost pleased in his expression, like a father praising a pet who’d performed better than expected. “You came close. You fought well, I expected less from a politician. Good. Good. I won’t forget this day.”
Nwakili spat in his face, not the most dignified thing he’d ever do but by the same token, it’d probably be one of the last, so it didn’t matter. Domis smirked. “I was hoping for at least one of these Vedo I hear so much about, but I was granted a good workout by the grace of my Mistress. This will be a noble death. Fear not, Premier, the five kingdoms will move on. They’re about to be saved, starting with your cesspit of a kingdom. Your friends in the Senate have abandoned you.” He smiled coldly. “Swear fealty to her and I’ll let you live. She might even let you keep all this. She loves life, she will never abandon you in your time of need.”