Kane watched as the other airborne craft let loose into the storm, sending whatever they could into its heart. Into Anu. He hoped something would hit home and at least knock the bastard out of the sky. He knew the assault wouldn’t kill him, but at least they might be able to delay or maybe disable him for a while.
Like Hank did to Susanoo in Miami, he thought, remembering how Nicole had broken his body enough to get away. That’s all they could hope for now. Between the water and the wind, Camp Arifjan was about to become a total loss. It’s something the United States, as a whole, couldn’t afford to let happen. Their success in the Middle East depended on this fortification. It was also a beacon of hope to the people of Kuwait.
Regrettably, most of the projectiles were thrown off course by the gusting winds, but some did thread themselves through. Three explosions rocked the interior of the cyclone, but Kane wasn’t sure if they were direct hits, or just glancing blows.
“Sir,” the pilot said in their ears, “we have the USS George H.W. Bush carrier on the horn. Said they may be able to help.”
Kane turned his head and watched his uncle as he spoke into his headset. They could all hear the communiqué as well, being on the same frequency.
“This is General Carrack, go ahead carrier.”
“General Carrack, this is Admiral Franklin, we have a destroyer with us that may be able to help.”
“Tell me what you have Ned,” Carrack replied, obviously knowing the man well.
“She’s of the Zumwalt-class, Steve.”
Kane perked up. “No shit?”
Nicole cocked her head to the side, not understanding the military terminology.
“Send it in, and Ned… Thanks.”
“Ever see the movie Eraser?” Kane asked, gripping the machine gun harder as they jerked to the right, narrowly avoiding a lightning bolt.
After thinking for a second, Nicole understood the significance of the movie reference. Kane and Hank loved the part when Arnold Schwarzenegger lugged around two mini—
“Railgun,” Nicole said.
Kane nodded, smiling. There was literally nothing that could defend against the might of an electromagnetically launched projectile. Each round had the same explosive force as eleven pounds of C4. Kane knew from experience that a pound of the stuff, give or take, could demolish a large truck.
“Damn right we have a railgun!” Kane shouted, pumping his fist.
Nicole was impressed, but until she saw it work, she’d have to reserve her enthusiasm. She tried to look back and see Hank, but they had moved off too far to the west and even higher. Her vantage point was blocked by the rear of the chopper. She’d just have to continue to hold out hope for him.
She joined Kane at the left side rear door and clipped on next to him, getting her VECTOR assault rifle ready. Kane watched as her muscular arms manhandled the intimidating weapon, showing no signs of the pre-battle jitters. Nicole had become a cool and collected warrior in a very short amount of time.
Kane’s confidence in them succeeding grew even more with Nicole sitting next to him. Hank was their unwilling leader but did a good job. He’d known him long enough to know he was truly uncomfortable ordering people around, though. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for someone’s life. It’s why Kane tended to take over when they saw action. It was in his nature. He led an ultra-elite Army Ranger squad a few years back for a reason. He was a born leader. It’s why his uncle suggested Ranger school after Matt died.
Nicole and he were Hank’s muscle in essence, even though Hank didn’t really need the help anymore. But he did need the moral support. Hank was emotional and always second-guessed himself. Their jobs were to be by his side, supporting him whenever necessary. Yes, Hank was Kane’s close friend, but he really did care for the digger—like he did Matt once upon a time.
“You ready?” Kane asked.
Nicole nodded. “Always.”
They both nodded to each other and cut the chitchat. It was about to get really crazy as the Blackhawk continued its trek west. Attack choppers similar to that of Aegis-One back in D.C. roared past them, going in for the kill.
“Attention carrier group,” Carrack said in their ears, “ready your battleship. We are going in for a second run. On my signal.”
“We read you,” a voice replied. “We’ll be waiting.”
Nicole and Kane watched as the six Vipers surrounding them let loose with another barrage of missiles, all in various sizes and payloads. There had to be at least two or three from each helo this time, making their way towards the approaching twister. But in her gut, she knew the totality of the assault wouldn’t be enough.
* * *
She waited for the signal, then she’d come up to the surface and attack. Her job was simple. She was confident she could follow through…but did she want too? Did she want to do any of this? She knew she didn’t.
Terra was different from her siblings. While they laid in wait—for years at a time in some cases—until called upon, only showing themselves when they thought necessary, she lived every moment of every hour that she’d been alive. She’d seen things that the modern world thought as myth. For instance, Nessie just wanted to be left alone and was quite benevolent in nature. Terra also witnessed other things, like the building of Stonehenge and the Pyramids at Giza. She’d secretly helped in both, lessening the load on the primitive people from below.
I became more human than god, she thought, looking at the earth around her. As far back as she could remember she was revered like a deity, someone to praise and give sacrifices to. Every time she appeared and helped, that culture made her a god, or her influence did. As the years went by, the planet’s population—its innocence—had rubbed off on her. She closed her eyes and focused on the light vibrations traveling through the ground between her and them. Boyd’s group knew they could handle whatever attack was coming. They were confident in their abilities.
If only they knew the truth…
She and the other Judges were to eliminate everyone. Boyd’s team could not survive the day. If they failed here, it would mean their deaths. The master had even said as much.
He was a mysterious man if you wanted to call him that—a man. He may have been at one time or another. She actually knew very little about him except that he was extremely old and held knowledge that no one else on Earth possessed. She had heard rumors mostly, but some of them she believed to be accurate. He was a genius as well as a psychopath. Everyone, even Anu and Phoenix—the most callous of them—feared him.
Terra didn’t want to think about it anymore. If those two, as well as Susanoo, were frightened of the master, she was downright terrified. She even had nightmares about encountering him. She’d never even met him before—none of them had.
Her dreams horrified her actually. It was a reason she stayed awake and lived, unlike the others. Some of the things she’d seen, some of the things she’d done, they still affected her psyche after all those long millennia.
After the fall of An’tala, she fled with the surviving citizens until the Judges were called upon by their master. They were told to wait for Nannot or Coaxoch to find them, but they never did. Their parents never came back. Hank Boyd had eventually killed them both.
While they really were her parents, Terra didn’t feel any angst over their deaths now. If it had been centuries ago, she would have been much more perturbed by it. But like her own feelings towards humanity, she also began to resent her origins—her parents included. They were truly foul people, claiming themselves to be gods instead of just gifted individuals.
Everyone in An’tala was gifted in one way or another.
With her father’s immortal soul imprisoned and her mother on the lamb doing as she pleased in Central America, it was the master who found them one by one. He had secretly trained her parents in the dark arts right under Thoth’s nose—a man he was all too familiar with. It was a brilliant scheme really. The king was so blind to what was going on within his o
wn kingdom that he essentially let it happen. By not destroying Nannot’s soul when he had the chance, he unknowingly condemned the world by showing his son mercy. Without Nannot’s presence, none of this would have come to pass.
Hank would have never been called to investigate the find.
Dr. Boyd would still be alive.
Terra would still be in Italy, living among the humans in peace.
The death of one to save the many. It was a common conundrum throughout the world. Whether it be by murder or sacrifice, the theme was ever present in a variety of the planet’s cultures, both now and in the past.
But the master shows no such mercy. Her skin broke out in goosebumps again.
“Go forth,” a voice said in her head.
Terra closed her eyes and grunted, raising her hands. She then pushed with all her might, feeling the pressure around her build and the land begin to bulge.
Her eyes flashed open, sparking with a white-hot glow as the earth above her started to open. Soon it would reach the surface, and when it did…the day would be won.
22
Camp Arifjan, Kuwait
I slowly backpedal as Susanoo steps out of the surf. The Judge is no longer human—if he ever was one. His overall body is a slap in the face, taking me back to the priests in the Atlantean necropolis.
He’s easily seven feet tall, not quite as big as the priests, but close enough. He’s tall and lean, but no doubt incredibly strong. He has no mouth as well, just like the hero triplets. But that’s where the similarities end.
For instance, his skin is blue, like the deep waters of the ocean, and he has scales running over his entire body like a fish. They glimmer in the sun, looking frail, but are no doubt as tough as my own Kevlar armor. Next, they mixed with harder looking skin. It reminds me of a crocodile’s, coming to a point as they climb his outer arms, ending at his shoulders. Also, his hands and feet are clawed and webbed, perfect for swimming—and slashing. My eyes climb his body, stopping on his armor covered chest. Then, they continue up his neck, settling on his face.
“Very few have seen my true form, Mr. Boyd,” Susanoo says. His mouthless face tells me he’s communicating in the same manner as the priests did, telepathically.
His two massive lifeless black eyes, settle on me, stirring my bladder. They radiate hatred and loathing, squinting slightly as he gazes my way. And unlike the priests, who had long flowing blonde hair, Susanoo is bald, minus the mix of scales and armored ridges that crest the center of his skull like a stubby Mohawk.
“You look like Ariel did it with the Creature from the Black Lagoon,” I say, thinking aloud.
Oops…
The sea demon’s eyes squint harder, none-to-pleased with my jab. I honestly didn’t mean to antagonize the thing any more than he already is, but I couldn’t help it.
Damnit, Hank. Good going.
“Why don’t you look like the others—the three priests I mean?”
He grumbles. “Our parents were not pure of heart, or blood, when we were conceived. Our blood runs the same as theirs did. Yes, the ‘Three’ were disfigured due to the elixir given, as were we, but our unnatural parentage had a more pronounced effect. Our external appearance took on our individual personas.”
Really? Can’t wait to see the other Judges…
“So naive,” he says, seeing my inner struggle to understand everything. “We have been around as long as history itself. We are the things of legend, the inspiration of myth.”
“So the mermaid thing was an actual account of you?” I ask.
He nods. “I may have been seen in this form once or twice before by ancient mariners. Most thought their stories outlandish—”
“No kidding…” I comment.
“But yes, most of the legends do have a sprinkling of truth within them.”
“Like Atlantis.”
He bows, pleased. “Some of the survivors of An’tala may have let their tongues slip on occasion as the years went by. But again, who would believe such a tale?”
“No one,” I reply. “Only the nut jobs would believe it and thus be ridiculed, keeping your secret safe and labeled a myth.”
“Until you,” he points a jagged finger at me, “stumbled upon the necropolis’ entrance.”
“Technically,” I say, holding up a finger, “that wasn’t me. We were brought there.”
“No matter how or why,” Susanoo says, stepping forward again. “The only thing that matters is that you were there and that you obtained your gifts.”
Huh?
“Why is that important?” I ask, getting a really bad feeling.
“Because,” he says, smiling in his thoughts, “you are the only other being powerful enough to activate the Source Stone.”
“The what?”
He doesn’t answer, instead he charges, bringing with him the shallows of the Persian Gulf.
I brace for impact and ready myself for a fight, but neither one happens. Instead, I’m lifted off the ground from underneath. He used the water in the wet sand! I’m tossed again, over the fence, just clearing the razor wire coiled around its top. My uniform snags and rips, causing only cosmetic damage. Thankfully, the armor underneath takes the brunt of my hard impact as I slam to the asphalt and roll, covering my head with my hands.
Could have used a helmet like before, I think, recalling the similar battle suits we wore in D.C.’s Union Station.
Battle suit…
I reach up to the rear of my fatigue’s collar and yank the cord connecting the outer layer to my protective armor underneath. There’s a slight pressure buildup and then a poof sound as my jacket and pants burst off, revealing my BSA. It’s jet-black and padded, just like the armor from D.C. But like everything else, Todd has upgraded this as well. My weapons, strategically attached around the partitions, stay put, giving me a much-needed break from my powers. I unsling my AA-12 shotgun and quickly send a barrage towards the airborne mer-king.
He grunts as he lands, shielding his face with an armored arm. I think I may have even injured him, sending one of my slugs into his softer looking armpit area. I pause as I see the blood…black blood. Evil to the core. Unfortunately for me, it didn’t really cause much other damage.
I stupidly continue my ceasefire and watch as the wounds clot, but don’t really heal. I may have injured him minutely, but I’d say he’s closer to full strength than not.
He lets me know by gurgling a throaty growl and advancing further, doing a damn fine gymnastic routine the entire time. I get off another six or seven shots before he gets too close, forcing me to dive out of the way as he slashes out. Instead of hitting me, he swats my shotgun away. It easily slips from my wet hands and I watch as it slides across the soaked tarmac.
Shit.
I stand and raise my fists in a classic boxer stance, ready for the next wave of attacks. They come fast and hard and I do my best to block and parry them only igniting my fists when I throw a punch or have to defend myself—which is often. The quick bursts don’t have much of an effect on my stamina, but they do trade off in power and effectiveness. They still hurt Susan though, like I was fighting an average human.
I land a solid jab to his elevated chin, causing his skin to steam and his head snaps back. As he rocks back, his right hand comes up and slashes across my chest, gouging the ultra-resistant material.
Right, I think, slapping away another slash, get close, but don’t get ‘too’ close. Get inside his range.
The padding in my forearms takes the brunt of the attacks in stride like Kane would do with his titanium arm braces. The only other weapons I have include my useless Glock and—
Damnit! I completely forgot about another of the new additions, specifically built for an event such as this. I roll away and take off in a sprint, deeper into the compound, seeing an absolutely massive tornado approach from the west. I chance a glance up and see a brilliant display of firepower as six attack choppers let fly with an assortment of missiles.
Rememberi
ng that I’m in my own fight, I continue my fake retreat and weave in and out of a group of parked hummers, reaching back and ripping off a pouch attached to the small of my back. I quickly reach into it and pull out a set of matching black gloves, but they aren’t just another fashion accessory.
Susan comes vaulting over the nearest truck as I secure them in place. I turn and blindly swing, igniting the orichalcum-made claws affixed to my gloved fingertips. They catch Susan in the stomach and slice a clean set of grooves, burning him as they quickly enter and exit his midsection.
He shrieks in pain as he leaps away, holding his wrecked abdomen. I watch as he frantically checks the severity of his wounds, but they aren’t anything to worry about. Unless I get in really close and dig deep into his flesh, the small tips won’t eviscerate him. But he does look up with worry. It’s etched all over his mutated face. Even his body language says it. He no longer stands tall and boastful, thinking of me as a weaker foe. We’re equals and he knows it.
The feeling of victory only lasts a second, though. Susan screams a battle cry in my head and charges. He, like me, will go down fighting if it comes to it and from the look in his alien-like eyes, he’s about to prove my supposition right.
We charge together, hacking and slashing each other to bits. I let him land most of the blows to my body, trusting in Todd and Kane’s design to protect me.
Susan goes high, aiming for my face, but his reach is overextended and I counter by easily ducking and throwing a flaming uppercut into his chin. He gets tossed back onto the hood of the nearest hummer, dazed.
I’m about to advance but start to feel dizzy. I’ve been fighting longer than I ever have while using my gifts. I need to end this soon and rest. I glance up and watch Susan slide down from the ruined truck.
Exactly what I thought, no rest.
I bend at the knees, trying to loosen up my quickly cramping legs. When I do, I feel the small cylindrical object in my pocket again. I know what I need to do and it’s going to suck…a lot. Probably hurt like hell too.
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