Time slowed.
What Gift? What was Anthony talking about? My Gift hasn’t manifested yet? Why would he think -?
It was a flash of memory, a burst of fleeting remembrance. It was a voice - Joaquin’s voice asking a question, deadly serious, spoken no more than a week ago.
“You taking ‘roids, dude?”
He’d been lifting weights. It was something he had hardly done in the past and yet, the final week he’d been in the World of Man…
…His eyes found his friend again…
…“Where do you think it came from?” It had been Joaquin talking.
“Where what came from?” he had asked.
“All this energy, this itch to want to lift and stuff.”
“I don’t know actually. Lately, I’ve been waking up wanting to do more than just sit still or go through the motions of my day. It’s like I have something bottled up inside of me that’s going to explode out of me if I don’t do something about it. Exercising seems to quench it for a while, but, after more down time, it kinda… well, it just creeps back into me and I have to do something else.”
“How long does it take to build back up?”
“I don’t know about a day I guess.”
“You taking ‘roids, dude?”
The Hël-Hünd was inches away now. Its’ tongue was lolling out of the side of its’ mouth, trailing thick, lumpy spittle.
Jason could feel himself moving, could see everything within the cave begin to blur, though his eyes never left the snout, the jaw, the teeth of the Hël-Hünd.
“You taking ‘roids, dude?”
The world suddenly went gold, the color blossoming from the edge of his vision until it influence what he saw. Everywhere he looked was tinged with it, like he was looking through a pair of sunglasses with lens tinted thusly.
“You taking ‘roids, dude?”
Snout. Jaw. Teeth.
It fell into place. As though some ghostly key had turned in his chest, he felt incredible heat surge through him.
The gold turned slightly red.
The Hël-Hünd loomed.
Why was it so close now?
Did it matter?
Like a batter on the left side of Home Plate, Jason swung the wooden log he’d been holding the entire time. He swung for the fences. The front of the Hël-Hünd’s jaw had become an invisible fastball, right down the pipe. It was beautiful. It was terrible. It was perfect. It was a home run.
Expecting the log to crack loudly against the bone of the creature, Jason was amazed when the wood swept through its’ jaw as if they were made of paper mache and kept going. It ripped through the cheek, then the gums, then the hinge of its’ gaping maw and into the base of the Hël-Hünd’s skull. Having played baseball competitively as a child, Jason knew his forearms must turn over themselves in order for the swing to be true. As he completed this memorized motion, the log came free of the corrupted dog’s head, right below its’ ear, a gigantic swath of blood and brains following.
It had just registered. He had killed the Hël-Hünd. The momentum of his swing making his arms twist the upper portion of his body as far as it would go when a second Hël-Hünd smashed into him, knocking him to the floor. The wooden log, now covered in gore, spun away, lost.
He hit the ground hard, air expelling from his lungs explosively, pain and shock immobilizing him. He skidded to a halt, the large malformed dog already on top of him. He tried to bring his arms around, so he could defend himself. They were stuck under the clawed foot of the Hël-Hünd. He couldn’t move them. He was pinned, helpless.
The teeth of the beast descended.
Then, it simply wasn’t there anymore.
*****
Mikalah heaved with all of her might, which wouldn’t have amounted to much if she hadn’t hit the Hël-Hünd with every ounce of speed she could muster in such a short distance. The effect, though, was immediate.
Where her tiny hands touched the hind-quarters of the evil canine - the fur, the skin, the muscle, the sinew and the bones - all of it, crumpled, folded back upon itself. When the jumbled mass of flesh finally resisted, Mikalah shoved at it with every last bit of strength in her possession. As if thrown by a giant, the Hël-Hünd flew from its’ perch atop her newfound friend, sailed some thirty feet away, crashing with terrifying force against the wall of the cave. Its’ brains were dashed into pulp, nearly every bone in its’ body snapped or simply shattered from the impact. It hadn’t even had the time to make a sound. Its’ life was extinguished before it knew it had died.
She let time speed back up to normal, stopping fractions of an inch from Jason, who was still lying upon the ground. She wasn’t looking his way, though. She managed to see Joaquin finally edge his way about the fire, heading toward Andrew and Louis when the cave went dark.
Elena had dispatched the last of the Hël-Hünds chasing the large teen toward the back of the cave. It was a pile of ash before the light returned.
Mikalah nodded in satisfaction. Sweat was beading upon her narrow brow, her stomach utterly empty now from the tremendous amounts of energy she’d been exerting. She hadn’t eaten anything this morning.
Instinctively, she turned toward the sounds of combat, seeing the Fist, minus Mugzy, finish off the last of the Hël-Hünds they’d been fighting. Claws and teeth, they used with devastating efficiency. She was about to smile when the Isig-Pjäs crossed her field of vision, striding awkwardly upon three legs, heading straight for her brother, the last four Hël-Hünds following.
Though she was faster than any human to have ever lived, she knew she couldn’t reach Anthony in time. For a second time, in less than a week, her brother was about to die right before her eyes.
*****
Elena’s eyes moved from the left to right across the expanse of the cave. Leaving the husk of the Hël-Hünd in her mental wake, she settled her stare upon Mikalah and was surprised to see terror written on her face. Why? We are winning? she thought, following her sister’s gaze. She was shocked to see the Isig-Pjäs hurtling down the very middle of the cave toward Anthony, a wicked grin on its’ misshapen visage, its’ man-ish orbs insane with hate. Instantly, she gauged the distance, resigned with bottomless sorrow when she realized Mikalah wouldn’t make it in time. The dog-man was too close.
Anthony was quickly backing up toward the makeshift bedding, trying to make room between him and the Isig-Pjäs.
Andrew, Louis and Joaquin were back-stepping toward the end of the cave.
Out of nowhere, Mugzy came streaking from the other side of the chamber and smashed into the last of the Hël-Hünds, gutting it from chest to groin with a single tearing motion. He rolled away and sprung to his feet.
Still, the dog-man was too far away.
It would have Anthony within seconds.
She scowled her focus like a laser upon the Isig-Pjäs. The cave went dark. She would burn this bastard so bad, there wouldn’t even be ash left behind.
Wicked, red-hot fire beamed from her chest in a continuous line re-directed, mashed together, intensified a thousand-fold. It struck the dog-man in the neck, just passed its’ ear.
Elena readied herself for the impending explosion, half-turning from what would be a great blast.
Nothing happened.
The Isig-Pjäs kept coming as if the girl hadn’t done a damn thing.
Over the din of battle, she heard Joaquin yell and her heart broke. There was nothing she could do.
“They are immune to fire!”
Somehow, her eyes found her sister’s. They shared a plaintive look. That’s all there was time for.
Mikalah disappeared.
*****
Joaquin’s eyebrows rose of their own accord when Mikalah simply vanished from sight. He could feel her Gift, so he knew she was still within the cave. It was raw strength, power, velocity all wrapped into one. Though she was a small girl, the amounts of each she wielded were monumentous. She was like a controlled solar detonation, moving faster than his eyes
could follow.
At his side, Andrew growled in anger and suddenly threw the piece of wood he’d been holding for protection.
“What the -?” was all Joaquin was able to ask, the last word dying in his throat. It had gone dry and constricted for some reason.
It was a ridiculous throw, easily fifty feet, maybe more. What the fuck was he thinking? wondered the larger teen when the log cracked into the Isig-Pjäs’ knee of his only good fore-leg.
Still trying to stride for Anthony, the creature didn’t realize, when it continued with its’ stride, its’ leg had been knocked out from underneath it. It struck the cave floor, yelping with surprise and outrage, skidding across the uneven rock, turning slightly.
“Holy! Shit!” exclaimed Joaquin as the remaining Hël-Hünds tried frantically to maneuver around the flailing dog-man.
It was all that was needed.
Never having given up, Mugzy leaped upon the back of one of the fell canines, his hands grasping either side of its’ snout. With one vicious yank, he pulled the beast’s head backward with all of his strength. Using his feet as leverage, he broke the creature’s neck, bending it completely back upon itself.
A split-second later, Mikalah annihilated another, hitting it so hard on the thigh of its’ right rear leg, the Hël-Hünd twisted at its’ flanks, the force of the girls’ blow made the lower part of its’ body turn twice before it fell to the ground. Its spine was twisted and broken from back to rump.
The last Hël-Hünd stopped near the Isig-Pjäs, uncertain, surrounded on all sides.
Growling and grimacing in pain, the dog-man came to its’ feet slowly, in a series of jerking motions. Its’ eyes never left Anthony’s.
“You will not win this war, Kring-Hël,” it said with a raspy voice, seething with hatred. “My death means nothing.”
Though some of the others gasped in shock, hearing the foul creature speak. Joaquin had expected it. Isig-Pjäs were highly intelligent.
Anthony had regained his composure, staring back at the ruined dog-man. “It will mean something to me,” he replied.
The Hël-Hünd cowered behind the slightly larger dog-man, whimpering as the Fist approached. Even the smallest of them towered over the two minions of Storm. Quietly, smoothly, Mugzy put Mikalah behind him.
The Isig-Pjäs sniggered. “The Vanguard will surely catch you, prattling. And if they fail, then another faction most definitely will.” It giggled with joy. “You have no idea what the Great Maelstrom will bring to bear upon this sorry, mixed-up world.” It chuckled, glaring at Anthony. “Millions, Kring-Hël. Do you hear me? Millions upon millions upon millions are coming. They will flow like an ocean. There will be no stopping the armies of Storm.”
“How many in the Vanguard?” asked Joaquin, though he wasn’t quite sure why he had in the first place.
The dog-man craned his neck to peer at the large teen. “The Host of the Hand is but a drop in the lake. True, they are powerful, some of our best, but not the most powerful and surely not our best. Their mere thousands are only a small group of highly trained warriors and wielders of Vyche and Flesh.”
Vyche – the magic of Storm, came the words that weren’t his. Flesh – the command over muscle and bone, given onto the Prēosts.
“Who is coming next and when?”
“Everyone!” shouted the Isig-Pjäs, cackling madly thereafter.
“Who!?!” asked Joaquin more forcefully.
“EVERYOOOOOOONE!!!
Anthony snorted. “Get rid of this sack of shit,” he commanded and the Fist attacked.
It didn’t take long. The minions of storm stood no chance.
The moment the Fist was done with its’ gruesome task, the cave went dark again… for longer than any time in the past hour.
All about the cave bolts of fiery lightning struck the corpses of the evil creatures that had invaded their sanctuary and the remaining slugs as well. In the span of a heartbeat, there nothing but ash left behind.
“I am sick of them!” shouted Elena with a stomp of her foot.
Without warning, Louis said loudly, “Hey, where’s Sophie?”
Joaquin turned to look at the stocky boy, his eyes wild with fright. “Oh my god! I forgot! A Crawling Creep took Sophie! It’ll eat her as soon as it feel safe!” His shriek was frantic as tears forming in his eyes, his jaw clenched with anguish.
The snow was still piled high within the twisting passage leading to the outside world, but over the course of the past few days, they had periodically gone beyond the furniture pad bringing in fresh snow with them. They had melted it to use for drinking water or for bathing. This cumulative gathering made the drifted snow angle slightly, away from the cave entrance. By that morning, the sun was able to shine within the cave, the wind had room enough to play about Joaquin’s hair.
“Not on my watch!” roared Garfield. Faster than Joaquin could blink, he was gone.
So was Mikalah. She literally vaulted over the rocks, at a speed none of them could match.
“You leave my Sophie alone!” was her tiny voice sounding upon the wind…
~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼ }>>>>>>~~~~~~~~
HERE ENDS
THE UNWANTED WINTER
VOLUME ONE
OF
THE SAGE OF THE TWELVES
The Story of the Twelve Continues
In
VOLUME TWO
WINTER’S FURY
~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼ }>>>>>>~~~~~~~~
~ Epilogue ~
Altered Status
Daybreak in a World of Perpetual Snow and Ice…
It had once been a place of pure chaos lacking in detail or anything precise. Its’ weather had changed as if on a whim, its’ temperature had fluctuated as if mad. It could’ve been land in one blink and altered to an ocean in the next. It could’ve been a landscape of flame in one instant and a frozen tundra a second after that, a jungle in one breath, a desert in the following heartbeat. There was no form; there were no laws or rules or mandates, or anything with true definition – even meaning – there was merely pure, unadulterated chaos.
It was an ancient plane, older than all except one. Its’ origins stretched back all the way to the making of things as simple as energy or matter, when mass was but an infant and velocity was barely born. It had been created then, gushing forth from the birthplace of all things, a random possibility of a million, million possibilities. Even in its’ infancy, it was wild and untamed, an inexhaustibly evil place of existence.
It had stayed thus, for countless dreary millennia until He had been thrust into being, a creature who specified such notions as greed and lust and jealousy, because he was them in their truest form. He didn’t represent them or live by them, he was them. Because of it, they made him insatiable, insanely driven, made crazy with boundless want. There was a vast hole within him he could never hope to fill. The qualities that comprised him would never allow him to stop. He would fight on and on, and on, and on. He wouldn’t give in, he wouldn’t desist. He wouldn’t be deterred. Ever!
It had taken thousands and thousands of years, until he had finally seized his prize, grabbed it by the horns and rode it for all he was worth. He had spilled enough blood to make an ocean. He burned enough flesh to blanket the sky with the foul smokes of the dead. He befouled countless creatures with his lust, their numbers larger than the largest of armies ever mustered upon the fledgling World of Man. His wrath was Storm, his will was Maelstrom and his dreams were Destruction.
Over time, this place had begun to change, to slow down a bit, to breathe easy, maybe even sigh with relief. With all of that came a degree of stability. For the first time ever, details became real and not mere figments of the imagination. Things began to cool, chill… then, everything froze. The oceans turned soupy charcoal like molasses, befouled with oils and the detritus of decay. The rivers became inky flows, forever stopped in time and were only liquid at their very cores. The land had grayed and blackened, became stark and desolate. Though capable of
sustaining life, it was life unlike ever before witnessed within Space and Time. It was impossibly aggressive, unimaginably malignant and was as twisted as the creature now ruling over them all. His was a fist of molten iron. His was a heart as blue as ten-thousand-year-old ice, a heart just as cold, dense, lifeless.
This place became a reflection of him. He was embodiment of it.
He became the Lord of the Storm.
It became the World of Storm.
Its’ energy was what powered his whirlpool of carnality. They were two made one, forever and always.
And then, eons passed.
She had been His once, but that was so long ago, in a time that was no more, during a circumstance that she hardly remembered, even if she had wanted too.
She had more pressing issues at hand – items and lists, and lists of items, commands, missives, monies, requests. The tally of them was endless. All of it was spread about the huge desk before her. It was more than she was used too, by far. Yet, it wasn’t every day she was in the process of mustering all of the vast forces at her command, a feat that hadn’t been duplicated since the great Wars of Reunification themselves.
That had been thousands of years ago.
So, she deemed, it might be understandable to find her desk piled as high as it had been ever since the Great Maelstrom had called forth the six great Overlords and the High Kings and the Arch-Demons to his great Citadel. Wherein he had laid out his Grand Design before them all, a diabolical plan of such immense proportions it took him a full year to explain the true extant of it.
The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves Page 72