Paranormal Chaos

by Joshua Roots

  “Like a clown fish living inside a sea anemone.”

  He faced me, his large eyes shining in the moonlight. “I’m not familiar with those terms.”

  “They live in the ocean and have developed a symbiotic relationship. The anemone provides protection and food for the clown fish while the fish defends the anemone from predators.”

  “The beasts we’re hunting give nothing back to our land, but this clown fish sounds fascinating. I respect any being willing to protect its home.” He smiled wistfully. “I’ve never seen the ocean.”

  “It’s beautiful. And terrifying. Water is one of the most powerful forces on the planet. Even a surprisingly small amount can wreak significant damage. But the ocean also houses countless life forms and mysteries.”

  “Perhaps I shall visit it one day.”

  “Listen, you ever want to come to my neck of the woods, I’ll take you on a boat ride into the Chesapeake. Even give you the grand tour of DC.”

  “That’s where your leaders are headquartered now, yes?”

  “It is. The Elders moved the Council out of England long before I was born.”

  Makha grimaced. “Sometimes I wish my clan was willing to relocate. There’s much of this world few of us have ever seen. It would do us good to experience life rather than just survive it.”

  “I heartily agree.”

  He placed a fist on his breastplate. “Thank you, Creator.”

  “For what?”

  “For listening. It’s something that I’ve longed for from your kind. It gives me hope for a united future.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened between our people?”

  His smile faded. “Time happened.”

  I frowned in confusion.

  “Long ago, our two species were more than friends. We were brothers and sisters in arms. United, we stood between a great darkness that threatened to sweep the lands. Creatures now extinct threatened all life, yet the combined might of our peoples turned the tide of war. In the aftermath of those great battles, we brought peace to much of the civilized world. Sadly, that perfect marriage did not last.”

  “Did we go to war ourselves?”

  He shook his head. “Far worse. The passage of time saw your people grow in population and power. Soon, all other species became afterthoughts. The Minotaurs were the last of these, but we too faded into history. Our contributions to you and the nations you had forged were simply forgotten.” Sadness touched his eyes. “It was not war that separated us. It was the forgetfulness of your species.”

  I couldn’t help but feel for Makha. How awful had it been to grow up reading stories about the greatness of our joined people, only to realize that the real world was nothing like the one in the history books? Minotaurs hadn’t been defeated, they’d become irrelevant. For someone like the euphor, an apparent lover of history, that must have stung.

  I held out my hand. “For what it’s worth, I think both our people deserve to be friends once again.”

  Makha’s palm enveloped mine. “As do I, Creator. Now then, let’s finish the Great Hunt so we may take action to create that future. Together.”

  We continued our searching in silence, each focusing on the dark crevices of the rock formation. Despite our efforts, we found nothing but cold and ice. I was beginning to lose interest in the hunt until a shout echoed through the trees.

  “At last,” Makha cried and dashed toward the noise. I sprinted after, following the sound of him crashing through the underbrush. Moments later, we blasted into a wide meadow surrounding an enormous lake. Moonlight bounced off the water, illuminating the area like a spotlight.

  I screeched to a halt and gazed up at the horrific creature prowling around the banks. “What the hell is that?”

  It looked like a centipede on steroids, towering over Steve and his small group by several meters. The thick armored shell was cracked in several places, and green blood leaked from the wounds. Dozens of legs moved like a blur as it spun to keep the pincers at its head trained on the Minotaurs. It snapped at the nearest warrior, who skillfully deflected the blow with a massive blade.

  “We call them nuktheria. The closest translation in your tongue is ‘night beasts.’”

  Of course.

  “Rather on point, don’t you think? Why not something fancy like ‘Lunar Fiends’?”

  The euphor smiled. “The ancient world didn’t speak like that. Only your kind wastes good words on easy prey.”

  One of the Minotaurs charged, diving out of the way as the beast lunged at her. She rolled, deflecting a pincer with her shield and striking at the creature with her sword. It recoiled before her blade made contact.

  Makha watched but made no motion to join his people.

  “Shouldn’t we help?” I asked.

  “Short is the battle conducted in haste, Creator,” he said, his eyes never leaving the fight. “Observe how the enemy moves. Eventually it will tell you its weaknesses.”

  Another Minotaur drove a pike at the beast. The tip glanced off the armored plating. The creature twisted, lowering itself to the ground. Another attack with the pike, but this time the weapon wedged under the flap of scale plate. Makha’s man pressed forward, and greenish ooze leaked from the wound.

  The creature reared up, slashing at his attacker with razor-sharp feet. The Minotaur scampered out of the way, ripping his pike from the beast’s shell. The giant bug dropped to the ground once more, crouching low and backing toward the lake.

  “See how it seeks the safety of the water? If we keep it on dry land, the advantage is ours. We must also focus on the weaker underbelly instead of the armored hide.” His lips curled back in a feral grin. “Now that we know how to kill it, we can join the battle. Do be careful, Creator,” he added.

  “No promises.”

  He gave me an approving nod, then turned to Steve. “Heir, keep the enemy distracted while we flank it.”

  “On it,” Steve replied, dancing around in front of the centipede. The creature snapped at him, but Steve was well out of the way before the pincers reached him. Instead, the jaws clamped down on the snow-covered mud, then the centipede reared back, shaking its head with frustration.

  Seeing his opening, Makha charged the beast.

  I ran to my friend, drawing the Glock as I reached him.

  “Need a hand?”

  He laughed, the fire of life burning bright in his eyes for the first time since leaving the Centaur camp. “I certainly don’t mind an extra target for this thing to focus on.”

  I centered my sights on the creature’s face. “I’m a Warlock. I’m trained to be expendable.”

  The Glock recoiled violently with a deafening boom when I pulled the trigger. The centipede wailed as the.45 caliber’s hollow point punched through the tough shell. Green blood leaked from the hole, so I emptied the magazine.

  The beast thrashed, shaking blood all over the meadow. It splattered on me and Steve, hissing as the hot ichor landed on cold clothing and snow. Thank goodness it wasn’t a Xenomorph, otherwise we’d have been burned beyond recognition.

  But holy crap did the stuff smell.

  As I swapped the empty magazine for a fresh one, Makha and his people maneuvered between the bug and the water, cutting it off from the safety it would provide. Keeping it on land and off-kilter, they pressed the creature with the unrelenting fury of their weapons.

  One of Makha’s people successfully drove a sword between a pair of scales and the creature recoiled. The moment its head left the ground, Makha lunged. A foot swiped blindly at him, but he grabbed it, yanking with all his might. The leg separated from the main body with a grotesque snap, dousing the euphor in gore. Undeterred, he flipped the limb, then drove it upward into the belly of the beast. Leg dangling from its abdomen, the centipede wailed louder and bac
ked away.

  And directly into the swords of the other Minotaurs.

  Steel flashed with murderous accuracy as Makha’s people sliced through the protective shell. The centipede snapped violently at its attackers, but it was too crippled from the mortal wound Makha had inflicted to keep up with the fury of the assault. Bit by bit, the Minotaurs butchered the creature. A leg severed here, a destroyed scale there, until Makha dove between the flailing razor-feet and gutted the beast from stem to stern. He rolled out from beneath it, coated in violence, and grinning from horn to horn. The creature wavered, then collapsed to the bloody ground.

  Makha walked around to the head, keeping his sword at the ready. Then he knelt, gripped one of the pincers, and spoke to it a low voice.

  “Why doesn’t he just kill the damn thing?” I asked Steve.

  “He is sending a message. It needs to know it’s been defeated.”

  When the euphor finished speaking, he stood and drove his enormous blade through the creature’s skull. The legs and pincers twitched before finally going still.

  “A fine kill,” one of his guards exclaimed, approaching the beast. She ripped off a foot and examined it. “This will make a fine trophy.”

  Makha removed his sword, flicking carnage on the ground. “Indeed, but we must be cautious. These creatures always travel in pa—”

  His words were cut off as another centipede burst from the lake and snatched the warrior woman by the leg. She snarled in pain, slashing at the mouth with her sword. The hardened metal split the weakened flesh around the pincers and the centipede wailed. Another deadly swipe of her blade and the beast released the guard. She seemed to hang in the air for a moment before landing with a thud in the snow. Blood fountained from her nearly severed leg, soaking the ground around her.

  The rest of the hunting party descended on the creature as it snapped at its attackers. The razor-sharp feet stomped all around the wounded Minotaur who struggled to pull herself to safety. Another guard reached for her, but was thrown backward as the head of the beast slammed into him.

  Shoving the Glock into its holster, I drew my sword and sprinted into the fray. While the Minotaurs focused on trying to kill the damn thing, I dove under its belly and started hacking at the razor feet. The beast shrieked, backing away just enough that I was able to grab the collar of the injured woman’s armor plating. Pumping every ounce of Skill into my muscles, I hauled her, inch-by-inch, from beneath the centipede.

  We were almost clear when one of the hundred feet came down on us. It missed carving my face in two by millimeters, but punched through the armor just above the woman’s right breast, pinning her to the ground. She gasped, her eyes widening in pain. Without thinking, I swiped, bisecting the leg neatly at the knee. Gripping the Minotaur tighter, I pulled with all my strength, dragging her away from the fight.

  As soon as we were out of the engagement zone, I dropped to the ground to provide whatever aid I could. Blood pumped from her chest and gushed like a waterfall from her leg. The centipede had sliced through the bone cleanly just above the knee. The only thing keeping it attached was the massive muscle of her hamstring. Opting to treat the worst of the two injuries, I removed my jacket and used my sword to slice the sleeve off of my sweater.

  Nearby, the centipede wailed and I looked up just in time to see one of the guards drive his sword through the creature’s heart. Then I went back to my patient.

  “The fight,” she groaned.

  “Fight’s over,” I replied, wrapping a strip of sweater around the near-stump of her leg and grabbing a long stick. I tied the ends of the sweater around the stick and twisted. The woman gritted her teeth, but didn’t cry out.

  Holy hell, these folks were tough.

  I felt, more than saw, Steve skid to a halt behind me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Makeshift tourniquet. All combat specialties learn basic field triage. It won’t save her leg, but it may keep her alive long enough for a doc to work on her.”

  Steve knelt. “How can I help?”

  I twisted again, then pointed to the other strips of my sweater. “Wrap these around the leg and tie them off so the tourniquet won’t slip.”

  More Minotaurs arrived on scene.

  “Turina,” one of the men whispered and reached for her.

  “Back off, pal,” I snapped.

  “She is my mate.”

  “She has a near amputation of the left leg and a punctured right lung. She’ll be dead in minutes, so give me some space while I try to keep her alive.”

  “Do not touch her, human,” the male snarled and lunged. Makha, however, restrained him.

  “Let the Creator work.” His voice was low. Soothing. “Right now she needs his healing hands and your heartfelt prayers.”

  “What she needs a damn medic,” I retorted. “I’m no Healer and the best I can do is slow the inevitable. You can pray after you get off your asses and find someone who can actually save her.”

  Makha blinked, apparently taken aback by my tone. Then he turned to his favorite guard. “Go.”

  Melifinous raced into the darkness.

  “Can we do anything?” Makha asked, keeping a firm grip on the boyfriend.

  I placed my hands over the hemorrhaging stump. “Now you can pray.”

  Closing my eyes, I began murmuring the words of the Healing Spell. Heat burned my palms as my Skill poured into the damaged flesh. My mind followed my Skill, traveling into the carnage and feeling the ruined sinew and bone. Time slowed as I concentrated on the shattered arteries and veins near the femur. One by one, I cauterized them with ethereal fire, working my way in a circle, expanding outward.

  Faster than I’d hoped, my grip on the Healing Spell began to waver. The muscle fibers began to slip from my grasp and my mental tour inside the warrior’s leg grew hazy. Patching what I could with the last bits of my Skill, I finally lost the connection. There was a flash of blood and bone, then I returned to the real world in a rush. Time sped up again and I doubled over.

  “Whoa, you okay?” Steve asked, grabbing me. I sucked air like a ravenous man as the universe went gray and sideways.

  “Out of juice,” I gasped. “Did what I could. Too much damage.”

  “She is still injured,” her mate said, gazing at the severed centipede limb.

  “The leg is decreasing the loss of blood. I can’t do anything more right now, so we have to leave it. Remove it and she’ll bleed out.”

  His massive, black eyes met mine. “But she is still injured,” he repeated softly.

  “Husband,” Turina groaned, lifting a hand. Makha released him and he dropped to her side.

  “I am here.”

  She gripped his palm. “It was a fine hunt.”

  He stroked her cheek. “Yes.”

  She patted the tourniquet, then waved at the limb sticking out of her chest. “Ironic. Perhaps I’ll trade one for the other.”

  Her husband laughed softly. Hell, even I smiled.

  “A fine hunt,” she whispered again, her lips curling into a smile. Then her eyes fluttered and her hand relaxed.

  “Turina?” the male asked, panic in his voice. “Turina!”

  I fought the lump in my throat as I watched the woman fade.

  Heavy footsteps crashed through the woods behind us. I turned as Melifinous, no longer concerned about stealth, plowed into the meadow. Behind him, a fleet of armed Minotaurs emerged followed by a handful that were dressed in long brown cloaks. Thanks to getting my shoulder fixed, I recognized the latter’s uniform as that of the Minotaur healing Mystics. Each of the robed figures carried large leather satchels. The new guards took up a defensive perimeter around us, weapons at the ready while the Satchel Gang made a beeline for the dying woman.

  The nearest one pointed at me. “Move.”r />
  I obliged without comment, sliding my jacket back on. Makha and Steve forcibly removed the tortured husband, pulling him away as the Mystics surrounded Turina. They said nothing to each other, simply fell into their various roles. What those roles were exactly, I had no clue. I tried to watch the process, but the few glimpses I caught between the bodies were limited.

  My inability to save her was a knife in my heart. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t a Healer, that I wasn’t trained in the intricacies of patching people together. Sure, I’d helped the Minotaur kid, but my Skill was grossly inadequate for anything life-threatening.

  Deep down I knew it wasn’t my fault, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t mourn my failure. It was a reminder that no matter how far I’d come, there was still so much I didn’t know.

  The ache in my chest made me miss Quinn even more. I wanted her with me, to tell me everything was okay. To wrap me in her arms and let me break down. I couldn’t do that at the moment, not with Makha’s people watching. They needed me to be impassive, strong. My grief would have to wait until I was alone once more.

  Makha walked over to me. “Creator.”

  “I’m sorry.” My voice was soft. My throat tight. “I did my best.”

  He placed a hand on my good shoulder. “Turina is a remarkable warrior. Whether or not she survives is in the hands of the gods now. But she fought with honor, so I won’t be surprised if they decide to spare her.”

  I nodded, unwilling to say more for fear of losing my bearing.

  “Thank you,” he added. “Once again you have given of yourself to aid my clansmen.”

  “I—” My voice caught and I cleared my throat. “I wish I could have done more.”

  “Don’t say that.” He turned me to face him square on. “You have shown more compassion and loyalty to my clan in the past few days than your species has in the past thousand years. I’m in awe of your heart, Creator. Of your compassion. We’re a hard people. We train for combat, fight for honor, and kill for pleasure. We shun weakness. But this—” He waved at the Mystics as they worked furiously on their patient. “This is something that even the stoutest warrior cannot deny is crucial to our survival. Look to her husband and you can see the beating heart of my clansmen. This is who we truly are. This is who we deserve to become. By your example, and with the blessing of the gods, we shall achieve it sooner rather than later.”