Death Drop (The D-Evolution)

by Sean Allen

  “What the shit?” she whispered as she turned to Simon. She had forgotten he was still in character and jumped a little bit at the sight of him, but she knew underneath the ghastly costume his yellow eyes were filled with terror just like hers.

  “But first,” the possessed prisoner said, “we will try to make the simulmorph shift at our will. Something even Lord Helekoth has been unable to accomplish with their kind!”

  “Yes, yes—forgive me, my lords,” Runca sniveled. “Experiment! Experiment!”

  “Experiment! Experiment!” Creteo joined the ominous chant.

  “But where is Gundu with the Kaniderelle?” Runca pressed.

  Dezmara’s gut was telling her there was nothing they could do to save her cellmate from the Durax and she and Simon should get the hell out of there now. She grabbed him by the bony shoulder and wheeled him around to sprint back to the dockyard when the growth let out a piercing scream. The alarm had been raised; the prisoners were escaping.

  Tentacles sprang from the ceiling and snatched them both off the ground, ensnaring them around their arms and smashing down with near bone-crunching force. They both gasped for breath and cried out, but to Dezmara’s surprise, Simon stayed in the hideous guise of a Durax soldier. The fleshy columns elongated from their perches in the ceiling above the passage and shot into the bridge with wet, sloshing burbles. They stopped only inches from the cretinous faces of the Durax generals and then snapped back several feet to hover them in front of the little prisoner-turned-puppet.

  “Kaniderelle!” the prisoner said and pointed his finger at Simon. The tentacle mashed tighter around his torso, and Simon grunted in pain and then rippled into his own form again. The gun he was clutching by his wounded thigh fell to the deck with a splat! A gaunt hand reached between their dangling feet and scooped up the pistol.

  The real Gundu circled around from behind and stood facing them with a scowl. Simon had used Gundu’s likeness in a ruse that had almost enabled their escape, and the Durax soldier seethed with anger. He raised the pistol at Simon and then lowered it with a yelp.

  “You are lucky we don’t kill you for your carelessness!” the prisoner said, and Gundu slunk back between Simon and Dezmara. He was clutching his foul head and stopped his retreat only when he reached the stair below the one his fellow soldiers were standing on. “You’re a fool, Gundu, but we’re sure you’ll find your lust for vengeance slaked as you watch this!”

  Simon screamed a horrible yell that instantly brought tears rushing to Dezmara’s eyes. His eyes turned as stark and white as his torturers’ as the yellow of his irises disappeared into the back of his skull. The generals were breathing heavily, and their teeth gnashed together in loud, clicking chatters as they spiked his mind. Dezmara could see traces of blood begin to trickle from Simon’s nose as they ravaged his mind.

  “Stop it, you fucking bastards! YOU’RE KILLING HIM!” Dezmara thrashed against her meaty restraint, kicking her legs wildly and screaming until her throat was raw.

  “Silence!” the prisoner shouted in his sinister, harmonized voice, and it was Dezmara’s turn to feel the spike. Her eyes joined Simon’s in their ghostly retreat and her body trembled uncontrollably as she wailed in agony; and then Dezmara fell silent.

  Simon trembled and moaned for a few more seconds before he, too, sagged in the clutches of the growth.

  “What’s wrong, General Calib?” the prisoner said. He was still facing Dezmara and Simon but the general on their right had turned to stare at the other. “Is she Human or not?”

  “I’m not sure, General Lerot,” the prisoner said, but this time, in a lower demonized voice as the general sitting on the left returned his equal’s gaze.

  “What do you mean, you aren’t sure? Does she think she’s Human? Are there memories of others? Tell us what you see?”

  “There’s…too much. Too much information in her head. I…I can’t make sense of it!” The Duraxian general called Lerot sounded distressed.

  “Work with me, brother,” Calib said. “Together we will break this one!” A few seconds later, Dezmara was shaking again and blood was streaming from her nose and mouth.

  SPLAT-SPLAT! SPLAT-SPLAT! RAAAAEEEER!

  The sound of charging footsteps on the fibrous rot and a fearsome howl shook Simon from his coma. His eyes fluttered back to the front of his head and he saw the blurred outline of something gray and black fly through the air to his right. He heard the sound of ripping meat, and the growth covering the room screeched a terrible, piercing cry as the tentacle holding Dezmara was slashed in two. She fell to an alloy floor that hadn’t felt the touch of air in thousands of years, and as the sinew retreated, the tentacle holding Simon released its grip and sped for the ceiling.

  Simon hit the floor feet first, but he was too weak to support himself and his legs gave out beneath him. He fell face down and fought the overwhelming urge to slip into unconsciousness after smacking into the hard deck. He blinked his drowsy eyes, and as they cleared, he could make out Dezmara’s body—still wrapped in the severed, quivering tentacle and covered in gore—and somebody else he was very happy to see. Standing guard over the captain’s body, with razor claws and teeth bared in a vicious growl, was the other member of their crew: Diodojo!

  The face of the prisoner was contorted in terror as he screamed out two words. “MEWLATAI! IRONGORE!” His body fell to the deck as two figures—moving so fast and silent, they seemed to come from nowhere—appeared next to Diodojo.

  Simon pushed himself up into a sitting position and stared. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The Mewlatai were elusive creatures that were fast slipping into the realm of myths. The one standing closest to him was a female. Her fur was a creamy white color, and in the low light Simon could see the faintest outlines of opaque stripes on her face. She wore the traditional armor of a Mewlatai warrior, and its deep blue color matched her fearsome eyes. Curving from her paws and glinting in front of her was the legendary weapon of the Mewlatai and the symbol of the fight against the Durax—her Kaiten sword.

  The other Mewlatai was just as awesome a spectacle. He was larger than his companion, but not a hulk by any stretch of the imagination. His fur was burnt orange, and he, too, was striped; but unlike the woman, his markings were strong and painted his face in bold, black strokes. The tiers of armor covering his left shoulder were a deep bronze color, and as Simon studied him, he noticed something different. His Kaiten was gripped with only one hand—his right. The other was bent across his upper abdomen and Simon could see that the clawed fingers were misshapen and bunched together. The Kaniderelle’s battered, aching brain wondered how the warrior managed to stay alive with such a disadvantage, and then another peculiarity registered in his slow-clicking mind. Floating behind the Mewlatai’s back, clenched by its intricately woven, thread-bound handle and beneath its battered, square guard, gripped in his tail, was another gleaming sword.

  Simon looked from his would-be saviors to Diodojo. He wasn’t aware of it before, but now he could see that Diodojo was somehow related to them; in some way or another, he was connected physiologically to the Mewlatai. Simon felt waves of guilt pour over him for his mistreatment of Doj on the Ghost; especially for cracking him in the head with a wrench. He felt like he was going to be sick, but the chugging of the growth wrenched him from his nausea, and he looked up to see what devilry the heinous noise would unleash on them this time. What he saw took him right to the edge of death by pure fright as the tentacles returned from overhead with two monstrous shapes stuck in their mucous-fortified clutches.

  The tentacles released, and the things slammed into the deck with dual, rumbling KABOOMS! Once upon a time, the Durax had had no need for physical combat skills. Every race they encountered cowered and fell beneath their superior powers of the mind; and then they came across the Mewlatai. The Irongores were the butchered bodies of the Ironak: a warrior race the Durax sought out for their advanced fighting skills and augmented to serve as their own bodies in comba
t against the greatest warriors that ever existed. At fifteen feet tall, the Irongores stood almost twice as high as the male Mewlatai. The heads and the necks were gone and their entire torsos were hollow and gaping open. Massive ribbed tubes curled from tanks on their backs and pumped a green luminescent fluid through needle-tipped injectors that were spiked into the torso, arms, and legs of the monstrosities to keep the tissue from rotting.

  Irongores were augmented to their masters’ likes, and some had to be repaired from damage sustained in battle. Because of this, almost all of them had some aspect of mechanization spinning, chugging, or grinding inside of them. Both of the abominations bounced eerily on the top tier of the chamber, swaying like vacated shells of demon monsters anxiously awaiting possession. The teeth of giant cogs could just be seen jutting past strands of exposed muscle at their shoulders and hips. Both fiends gripped enormous, curved swords and huge rotary machine guns in their taloned hands.

  Both Durax generals floated to the side from their chairs like wraiths, turning in mid-flight to mesh the outline of their gnarled bodies in the evacuated torsos of their respective Irongores. Straps floated across their chests and latched into connectors jutting from the sinew around them. A set of six ribbed tubes, with long needles at their tips, floated from over the top of each depravity and hovered above their heads. The tubes coiled back like serpents and then struck, crunching as they punched through the Duraxs’ skulls and into their brains. The generals were now linked to the Irongores completely; whatever they commanded with their minds, the grisly contraptions obeyed.

  “Get them to the docks!” the male Mewlatai growled.

  “I can help you!” the female said.

  “Kaela, they’re only generals. I can handle them! Now go!”

  “Be careful, Kaelth!” she said with a touch of dismay, but he had already leapt from where he was standing and dashed to meet the enemy in a blur of black, orange, and white.

  Simon watched as the Irongore farthest from him opened fire with its massive gun. Brrrrrrrrrr! Brrrrrrr! Brrrrrr! Tracers flashed around Kaelth’s approaching form, blending with his orange-colored fur for an instant before screaming past his spinning body and crashing into the wall beyond. The growth let out another awful screech as the bullets cut huge, scalding holes in its mass. Kaelth landed in front of the monstrosity as it took dead aim and opened fire again. This time, instead of avoiding the onslaught, the Mewlatai warrior spun his blade in front of him in a whirlwind of metal. The missiles glanced from his Kaiten in flashes of sparks and peppered the bridge in every possible direction.

  “Protect her!” Kaela roared at Simon. He turned from the spectacle of the Irongores to see her jump through the air at one of the Durax soldiers who was wielding a gun at her.

  “With bloody what, luv?!” Simon shouted, but she didn’t respond; she was in the pinnacle of her attack.

  Her Kaiten sank right between Runca’s black eyes and emerged on the other side. His hand dropped the gun and as it fell, Kaela withdrew her sword, spun her body and kicked the gun through the air, sending it hurtling at Simon. Kaela continued her spin, sweeping her blade across her body as she came full-circle. Runca’s head tumbled to the floor as the gun smacked into Simon’s chest.

  “With that!” she said as she moved to dodge gunfire from another soldier.

  “Oi! Watch it, luv!”

  Simon got to his feet and stumbled over to Dezmara. Diodojo shot him a grating hiss and then turned back to his guard duties. He was busy warding off Creteo, who was taking advantage of the current lack of Mewlatai attention in his direction and advancing on the trio from the next tier down. He marched up the stairs slowly with his gun raised, and when his waist was even with the deck, Diodojo sprang.

  BANG! Diodojo gave a yelp that tore at Simon’s heart. It was the same sound he had made when Simon clubbed him in the head with a spanner, and the Kaniderelle was determined to make up for his betrayal. Doj was tearing at Creteo’s arm, but he was weakened by the bullet lodged somewhere by his belly. The Durax soldier’s hand was pawing for the gun that he had dropped a few feet from where he landed, and his long fingers were almost on it. He was touching the handle and flicking it closer as he kept his other arm between his throat and Diodojo’s teeth. He pawed at the pistol one more time and it slid into his hand. Diodojo was growling dazedly and his powerful jaws were going slack with the pain.

  “Don’t worry, my pretty one, it’s all over now!” Creteo hissed as he pressed the barrel of his gun to the side of Doj’s head. BANG!

  Brains and blood spewed onto the floor and Diodojo flopped to his side. Simon lowered his smoking gun and scrunched his lips in his best apologetic face. Diodojo squinted his eyes in the contented ‘thank you’ Simon had seen him give to Dezmara a thousand times. Then he let out a sigh of painful discomfort followed by a short roar.

  CHING-CHANG! CLING-CLANG! Simon turned around and looked up to the top level to see Kaelth in a heated battle with both Irongores. They were too close to each other to risk using their guns, so they were flanking the Mewlatai and taking huge swings at him with their wicked blades.

  SWOOSH! Calib’s blade cut over top of Kaelth and he rolled backward on the ground. He sprang up into the air and somersaulted as the other Irongore sent its sword skimming the deck from the opposite direction. He slashed down on the giant arm stretched in front of him as it followed through, and his Kaiten blade, fueled by his formidable strength and his descent, sliced cleanly through the limb just below the elbow. Apparently the generals’ mouths weren’t capable of speech, but they still retained some of their more animal vocal capabilities, as General Lerot’s spine-lined maw wrenched open and screeched in pain. The link with the Irongores was total: they felt everything that happened to their monstrous, living machine.

  Lerot whipped the stump back in an unexpected move that caught Kaelth off his guard. The powerful limb slammed across his chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him tumbling across the floor. The far wall stopped his advance with an unyielding crack and Kaelth was down.

  Simon scooped up Dezmara and quickly fled down the steps as the Irongores turned their attention to the lower levels of the bridge. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Simon dropped Dezmara next to the wounded Diodojo as softly as he could under the circumstances and shielded them both with his body as bullets whizzed around them from his right. Kaela was busy dodging bullets from the last Durax soldier left—Gundu—as the ground shook from the rushing part-flesh-part-machines on the top tier above.

  Kaela’s Kaiten rang out with a sweet vibrating schling, and when the guard kissed the top of her sheath once again, Gundu’s body fell to the floor in a pile of dismembered blood and guts. She turned to charge up the stairs and help Kaelth with the Irongores, but it was too late, they were coming for her.

  A humongous veil of black closed around Kaela as general Calib’s horrible contraption leapt from the upper level of the control room into the air above her. The tip of its sword was piked down to skewer her where she stood, and there was nothing she could do. The curved blade could pierce Mewlatai armor and cut through flesh, blood, and bone. Kaela tumbled out of the way as the Irongore slammed into the wall with a deafening crash. Kaela didn’t understand how she had survived until the machine-beast backed away. Its sword was lodged several feet into the wall and there, hanging from the center of the blade, was the lifeless corpse of her only brother—Kaelth. He had run as fast as he could from where he had fallen and jumped into the path of the Irongore’s blade to save her.

  Calib’s Irongore lifted its gun and the cannon spat fire and bullets. Kaelth’s body danced a sickening shimmy as metal pulped his flesh and crushed his bones, tearing away any features that would have made him recognizable. Lerot’s monstrosity had skidded to a halt above the first step as the other Irongore began its attack, and it was aiming its gun at Simon, who was facing upward with his back arched over the top of the two unconscious figures of his friends. General Lerot of the Order of the Durax s
ent his Irongore into a disturbing, silent shudder at the sight of the ravaged Mewlatai, and Simon could only assume it was an expression of amusement, like the movement a body makes when someone laughs, but the only sound coming from either monster towering above him was the clicking of Lerot’s teeth.

  Simon pulled the gun from his belt in a lightning draw fueled by fear and anger that would have made Dezmara proud if she’d been awake to see it, and he squeezed the trigger over and over. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! The Irongore dodged nimbly out of the way of each bullet with moves right out of the book of the Mewlatai. The gun clicked empty and Simon dropped it to the deck.

  “Bloody mind readers!” he said. He huddled against Dezmara, not in a futile gesture to protect her, but because he knew Lerot wouldn’t open fire as long as there was a chance of hitting her. He thought he was safe, but he had forgotten what the Durax could do. The spike drove deep into his mind and commanded him to stand. His body responded, and he reached behind himself to push off the ground. Somewhere in his burning brain, Simon Latranis knew that once he stood all the way up, he would end up just like poor Kaelth.

  ROAAAARRR! The deafening sound coming from his left was powerful enough to jar Simon from his trance. Even Lerot twisted the torso of his Irongore to see with his own dead eyes what had made such a terrible call. When Simon looked up, he saw Kaela standing at the top of the stairs, puffing in battle-charged breaths and staring down at him with the same fire in her blue eyes that he had seen in Dezmara’s—only Kaela’s was much more intense. The Irongores were both down. She had moved so fast, Simon found himself remembering the details of what happened from his subconscious rather than understanding it fully as it unfolded.

  Kaela had drawn her Kaiten from her side and swept it up as the monster that just killed her brother hammered down with its fist. The mechanically enhanced limb flitted through the air in a fountain of blood, oil, and preservative fluid that made a wet rattle as it sprayed against the wall behind her. Before Calib’s vile mouth could cry out, Kaela’s sword sliced through the Irongore’s leg, sending the whole thing toppling to the ground. The thought that he should use his telekinetic powers to unlatch the harness holding him in place was carved in two inside Calib’s brain, as the tip of Kaela’s sword punctured through his forehead and sank several inches into the floor.