by Lee, Tristan
His sword lies about twenty feet away next to an overturned hot dog cart. Ronin leaps towards the sword, but the bruiser kicks him in the gut and puts him on his back again. Most of Ronin’s powers, like teleportation and most forms of his telekinesis, are linked to his sword. He groans, but gets back up and quickly throws six throwing stars at the bruiser. The stars embed themselves in the bruiser’s armor, but it just growls and rips them out before bull rushing Ronin. His head is pounding, but Ronin continues hurling his throwing stars at the bruiser, each one slowing it down a tad, but he has his other hand extended and open, using his spiritual connection to the magic in the blade to draw it to him. Since his head is still throbbing and he probably has a concussion, he cannot focus his powers and his sword is not pulled to him as quickly as usual.
The sword enters his grip just as the bruiser reaches him; Ronin swings his sword upwards, making the bruiser freeze in its tracks. The bruiser looks as shocked as a heavily-armored, scaled gorilla can look, and even Ronin is uncertain about whether or not his slice made contact. But there is the sound of an orange being peeled as the bruiser falls into two equal pieces. The remaining Aotiuer do not move to attack Ronin, proving his theory; the leader is dead and now the rest of them have lost their ability to act as a unit.
“Who’s next?” Ronin asks, reminding himself of Demoness and Titan.
Unfortunately, he is not a veritable giant like Titan is and his mock question obviously does not have the desired effect since the Aotiuer start to swarm him en masse again. He fights as if some god of war has decided to occupy his skin, but since he is alone and there are so many more of them than there are of him, he is eventually overwhelmed and forced to his knees in front of another bruiser, this one unarmored. The bruiser kicks his sword away and shrieks to a drone. The drone comes up behind Ronin and places a long, cold claw against his throat. As he feels the claw begin to pierce the skin of his neck, he jerks his head down and bites down on the drone’s finger. His teeth crunch through bone and sever its finger from its hand. The drones automatically move to help their comrade, allowing Ronin to kick and punch his way free of them. He spits the finger into his hand and holds it like a dagger; none of the Aotiuer are brave enough to try and take him down.
“Heads up, ninja-man,” Nightshade’s voice says over the Falcon’s broadcast system.
Ronin quickly stabs the bruiser with his improvised dagger in the throat and replaces the claw with his sword, using it to teleport away as Nightshade and Sandor open fire on the Aotiuer. The combination of Nightshade firing the 60mm cannon and Sandor operating the Vulcan armor-piercing minigun tears the Aotiuer apart, especially since this legion does not have any armed troops anymore. As the twin miniguns shred Aotiuer to bits under their hail of steel-jacketed rounds, the splash damage from the 60mm cannon obliterates large pockets of Aotiuer at the same time.
“A ‘thank you,’ would be nice,” Nightshade comments.
“No time,” Ronin answers. “There are still too many Aotiuer out there. Keep fighting.”
With that, the Blind Swordsman teleports away.
“Asshole,” Nightshade mutters.
“He’s right, though,” Sandor says. “We need to take these things out.”
Defender’s eyes open slowly as he regains consciousness. He blinks groggily and looks around the upside-down cockpit of his crashed fighter. Defender punches out the cockpit shield and crawls outside, landing hard from the twenty-foot drop before sitting up, hitting his forehead on . . .
. . . The barrel of an Aotiuer rifle. The bruiser holding the rifle shrieks and four more armed Aotiuer approach. Defender surveys the five Aotiuer carefully; he doubts that the five of them could best him in a fight, but they are armed and his crappy replacement sidearm is still in its holster, currently inaccessible. Plus, he guesses that the crash messed up the gun, not that it was working that well to begin with. He tests to see if either his grappling hook or his shock harpoon are working; the grappling hook is functional, albeit a tad impractical while being held at gunpoint. The shock harpoon would be more useful, but it is mangled beyond repair. Out of weapons and out of options, Defender slowly raises his hands and puts them on his head. The lead Aotiuer shrieks again and one of the others hits him in the head with the butt of its gun, sending him spiraling into darkness again.
Prison Break
August 9th
When Defender wakes, he does not know where he is. The room the Aotiuer have put him in is dark purple and red in color, but the walls have pores and ridges instead of being uniform and smooth. One wall even pulsates, as if it is alive. His cell is spacious enough, about a hundred feet by a hundred feet, but the floor is revolting. It is almost entirely composed of partially decomposed or mostly intact bodies. None of the bodies are Aotiuer, but Defender does not recognize any species from Earth amongst the remains. He is not bound by anything, but there is no obvious way to exit the room. That’s when he notices his fellow Invincibles and prisoners.
“Hey, Defender,” Fastball says. “We were waiting for you to wake up.”
“You were out cold for fifteen minutes,” Dr. Invictus adds. “I thought that when they knocked you out they had accidentally killed you.”
“Where are we?” Defender asks, massaging the lump on his forehead.
“We’re inside the big ship,” Dr. Invictus answers. “One of the warships, not the pillar one.”
“Shit. How are the others doing?” Defender asks.
“The brain-connection thing is iffy,” Fastball says. “Sometimes we can use it, sometimes we can’t. From when we were able to, about an hour ago, Demoness, Titan, Ronin, and Nightshade are still alive and kicking. Sandor’s still good and the Aotiuer seem to be letting the people of Haven evacuate.”
There’s a groaning sound and a large mass starts to move. Defender scrambles backwards and points his grappling hook at it, only to realize that it is not there.
“Whoa, whoa, chill out, Defender,” Fastball says. “Don’t worry about this guy, he’s cool.”
The mass turns out to be another alien. This one stands taller than any Aotiuer and would tower above Titan, standing at Beyomaht’s height, if not above that. This one is the same dull grey color as Beyomaht, but it has four arms and more pronounced bone ridges on its shoulders, knees, elbows, forearms, and face. Six bone spikes jut out of its head like a Mohawk and it has some kind of blue luminescence emitting from its eyes, mouth, and various open wounds.
“I understand your concern,” the alien says in a gravelly voice. “I do look quite threatening.”
“What is it?” Defender asks.
“A bit rude, but he is called Kaiju,” Dr. Invictus says. “He’s a prisoner here too.”
“Forgive me if I don’t really want to shake your hand,” Defender says.
“I understand,” Kaiju says. “And I don’t blame you. My name isn’t actually Kaiju, but it isn’t pronounceable on your tongue, either.”
“What is your real name, then?” Defender asks.
Kaiju lets out a sound halfway between cymbals being smashed together and glass shattering for about two seconds before stopping. Fastball laughs at the stunned look on Defender’s face.
“Yeah, it was a bit of a shock to us, too,” he says. “But Kaiju’s totally trustworthy; the Aotiuer wiped out his people and took him prisoner ‘cause he’s batshit cray-cray and totally awesome.”
“We were waiting for you to awaken,” Kaiju says. “We have formulated a plan to escape.”
“How?”
“Fastball uses his speed to drill through the wall,” Dr. Invictus explains. “Once we’re out, Fastball is probably going to be puking his guts out since he doesn’t have his harness, so it’s just going to be the three of us fighting our way out. We find their hangar bay, hijack a fighter, and get back into the city.”
“How do we know where the hangar is?” Defender asks.
“I can take you,” Kaiju says. “I have been on this ship for three hundre
d years now, and in that time I have learned a few things about the ship.”
“When do we start?” Defender asks.
“Now,” Kaiju says, “if you would be so kind, Fastball.”
Fastball approaches the wall and squares his shoulders, taking a deep breath, “This is going to suck.”
He starts to punch the wall, slowly at first, like a boxer at a punching bag, but he slowly starts to build up speed. His fists move faster and faster until finally they are a blur, Fastball’s face starts to turn green as he continues to punch, but chunks start to fly off the wall. Eventually, after creating a divot about a foot deep and two feet tall, Fastball begins to vomit uncontrollably. A chunky orange and brown puree of everything Fastball has eaten for the past day or two is ejected from his mouth straight into the path of his fists. Fastball’s punches send his vomit flying around the room, as if it were thrown into a fan. The vile mixture splashes on Defender and Kaiju, the former hurriedly wipes it away while the latter maintains composure. Finally, after five minutes and well over six gallons of vomit, there is a hole two feet tall that leads to outside the cell.
“I did it, Doc,” Fastball slurs drunkenly. He’s dangerously pale and staggers around like a drunk man with head trauma.
“Good work, Fastball. Take a break, we’ll handle it from here,” Dr. Invictus says kindly.
“Any time, bro,” Fastball continues, his eyes starting to slip closed. “You can count on me . . . like one . . . two . . . three . . . “
With that, the fastest man in the galaxy passes out. Kaiju picks up Fastball and throws him over his shoulder with one hand, leaving three more free.
“After you,” Dr. Invictus says to Defender.
Defender grunts and crawls out of the hole on his belly, followed by Dr. Invictus, and finally Kaiju. Kaiju has to throw Fastball through the hole before squeezing his way through, but the four-armed giant picks up Fastball again and puts a finger to his lips. He points down the hallway and gestures to one path, mouthing the word “armory.” At the other path, he mouths “hangar.”
Both hallways are identical; very similar to the inside of the cell, only out here the floor isn’t made of dead bodies, but rather the same organic substance as the walls.
“Armory,” Defender whispers, “we need Fastball’s harness.”
Dr. Invictus nods in agreement and Kaiju leads them down the hall. The armory itself is not made of the strange, porous material everything else Defender has seen is; it is made of steel and concrete like any armory. Inside, there are haphazard piles of Aotiuer rifles and ammunition lying around everywhere, forming a semicircle about twenty feet in diameter. Inside the semicircle are two bruisers inspecting Fastball’s harness and helmet lying on the steel table. Their backs are turned to the Invincibles and they are discussing their new toys, so they do not notice Defender and Dr. Invictus sneaking up behind them.
“On three,” Defender mouths. “One, two, three!”
They each grab an Aotiuer’s head and spin it around until it faces them, snapping their necks. The Aotiuer drop like sacks of potatoes and Dr. Invictus quickly grabs Fastball’s gear, slinging his harness over one shoulder and holding his helmet in the opposite hand. Defender finds upon further inspection that the Aotiuer have broken his grappling hook apart far beyond repair. One more thing to pay them back for. Kaiju rummages around the crates until he finds what he is looking for: an ornate gold belt with a red gem set into the middle of the belt. He wraps it around his waist and the two ends snap together around the gem, forming a wolf-like creature’s head, with the gem inside its mouth.
“What’s that?” Defender asks Kaiju as Dr. Invictus straps the harness to Fastball.
“It allows me to increase or decrease my size at will,” Kaiju says. “Turn the gem clockwise to get bigger, counterclockwise for smaller. The more I twist the more drastic the size change. Press the gem to revert to normal size.”
“That’s fuego,” says Fastball, waking up.
Defender picks up an Aotiuer rifle and checks what he hopes is its ammo load. Satisfied, he grabs two spare magazines and slips them into his belt.
“We’ve spent too much time here,” Dr. Invictus says. “Let’s go.”
Back on Earth, Nightshade is picking up the other Invincibles in the Falcon. The sun is starting to rise, which means they have been fighting for almost twelve hours. All of them are exhausted, but Demoness is so tired that Titan has to carry her onboard as if she is a child after a long day.
“I’m sleepy,” Demoness complains to Titan.
“I know you are, Sweetheart. Take a nap,” Titan says kindly. “I’ll grab you a blanket.”
By that point she is not listening anymore as a result of being fast asleep, complete with snoring and a small trickle of saliva leaking out of the right corner of her mouth and onto Titan’s shoulder. Titan gets her one of the blankets stored in the compartment over the cabin. He covers her up gently and smiles slightly.
“You should get some sleep too, Titan,” Sandor advises. “I have a feeling that it’s going to be a long day.”
Titan nods and sinks into his seat next to Demoness, removing his helmet and closing his eyes. The Prince of Xor always seems to be the most powerful of the Invincibles, but in truth, he is one of the most vulnerable. Simply because he is the strongest man on the planet, he has always felt that he needed to protect and take care of others who are not as strong, both physically and mentally. Although he can handle it, that mindset often leaves him exhausted.
Rest would be beneficiary to all of them, but Sandor and Nightshade need to fly the Falcon and Ronin is far too busy trying to reestablish a mental link with Defender or Fastball. After about an hour, Demoness and Titan wake up, just as the Falcon enters stealth mode to sneak onboard the Aotiuer cruiser. Sandor opens up a compartment next to the one Titan got the blanket out of and removes a bulletproof vest, strapping it on and picking up his assault rifle.
“Ronin picked up the brain waves Defender gives off about fifteen minutes ago,” Sandor explains. “From that, we were able to deduce that he is with Fastball, a large unidentified entity, and we assume that Dr. Invictus is with them.”
“We do have a game plan, right?” Demoness asks.
“Of course,” Sandor assures her. “We’re going to try and maintain stealth once we board the cruiser. Once onboard, Ronin will be able to track Defender and possibly Fastball. He’ll lead us to them, we link up, and then we get out.”
“It’s been a week since we met you, but I have this odd feeling that it’s going to be a lot more complicated than that,” Titan says.
“You would be right. A cruiser this big is going to have some kind of security system; Ronin might be able to cloak us from it, but not permanently. Sooner or later, the Aotiuer are going to pick us up.”
“What do we do once that happens?” Demoness asks.
“Then get ready to kick some ass,” Nightshade advises.
Sandor and Nightshade return to the controls and carefully pilot the Falcon into an open port on the cruiser’s side. The port, or tunnel, rather, leads to a spacious, hangar-like facility with dozens of Aotiuer fighters being prepped for launch.
“Shit,” Nightshade says.
A drone outfitting one of the fighters with a fuel hose notices the Falcon and shrieks, pointing at it. Immediately, all the drones leave their posts to begin shrieking and throwing tools at the Falcon. A cleverer drone sprints for a seemingly blank panel on a nearby wall; once he places his hand against the panel, however, a loud buzz is emitted: an alarm has been tripped.
“Well, there goes stealth,” Demoness says.
Nightshade and Sandor open fire on the drones with the Falcon’s weaponry; the Aotiuer are shredded apart like they were on the ground and none of them are able to retaliate in any way. Although lethal in the air, the flies are as helpless as the drones when they are grounded. There are not any bruisers in the hangar; they are probably on the ground, or too high in the hierarchy to do
something as menial as help their own air support.
“New plan,” Sandor says. “Tear those sons of bitches apart.”
“Aye, aye, captain!” Demoness shouts enthusiastically as the bay doors open. Titan laughs and scoops her up into his arms before leaping out of the Falcon.
“I’d better go make sure they use their inside voices,” Ronin says as he drops out of the Falcon.
“Sandor, it’s going to be dangerous out there,” Nightshade warns. “Maybe you should stay in the Falcon.”
“My team, my responsibility,” Sandor says. “I’m going to make sure everyone gets out alive.”
“All of us aren’t going to get out alive if you die,” Nightshade points out. “You haven’t been trained to take on an enemy like this, Sandor. Out there, you’re going to be a liability.”
“Demoness doesn’t have any combat training,” Sandor protests.
“But she has superpowers and Titan to protect her; you have a gun and a bulletproof vest. We don’t even know if that thing is going to deflect Aotiuer lasers.”
“So, what then? You want me to just hide in here?”
“Currently, we’re invading a heavily defended hostile cruiser. When we get Defender and Fastball and Dr. Invictus, it’s essential that the Falcon is prepped and ready to go. You’re our ride home, Sandor.”
“Fine, I’ll keep the bench warm. Now go, before I fire you.”
Nightshade laughs and jumps out of the Falcon. She hits the ground hard, but rolls and gets on her feet without any broken bones. Nightshade unslings her crossbow expecting a fight, only to see Demoness, Titan, and Ronin milling around about seventy dead drones.
“What happened?” Nightshade asks.
“We were going to wait for you . . .” Demoness says sheepishly.
“ . . . But we got bored,” Titan finishes, like a child caught stealing sweets.