Awakening

by Hayden Pearton

  *

  The shadows chased after them, as the last sliver of sunlight faded from the world. In the darkness, a sea of crimson eyes hungrily followed their progress. The howls had changed, becoming shorter barks, which seemed to drive them forward, towards Wareven. If Barsch had been in a calmer state of mind, he would have been worried about this, but unfortunately, with Alza unconscious and Kingston injured, he had no thoughts to spare.

  Soon, the moon rose, its surface amber and its light harsh. Slowly, the village drew nearer, its silhouette acting as a guiding beacon to the panicking youth. Wareven had been built after the South Wars, when humanity had begun abandoning its heavily polluted cities and migrating to the cleaner countryside. As the last dredges of refugees escaped their burning nations, they began to seek out places of safety, where they might have hoped to wait out the end of the world.

  The weak and the weary had fallen first, with bandits and beasts picking off both young and old alike. Encroaching pollution and dwindling resources had felled the rest, leaving behind smouldering ruins and ghost cities. In stark contrast to the steel and glass of the Quantum Age, Wareven had been built for nature, out of nature. Its solitary main street was dotted on either side by wooden saloons and oak houses, while desolation filled in for the lost souls. An eerie silence had descended over the tin roofs, as if the village was holding its breath in trepidation of what was to come.

  Finally slowing down, Barsch and Maloch entered the dead village, searching for a place where they might find sanctuary from the nearby howls. The darkness that infested the town created creatures in every alley, and enemies at every turn. The shadows seemed to twist and unravel as Maloch’s high beams passed by, their unnatural existence temporarily extinguished by the light. In the dead centre of Wareven, they found what they had been searching for.

  Denoted by a large, stylized crimson cross, the town clinic was a low, squat building. Its few windows were barred; its sheet metal door was bolted shut, and its paint cracked walls looked more than sinister and less than welcoming. Still, with Kingston barely conscious and Alza already unconscious, Barsch could not afford to be picky.

  Without slowing, Maloch bashed through the front door, taking a fair share of wall with him. Upon reaching the hole the door had previously occupied, Barsch felt compelled to turn around. As he did, he felt his breathe catch in his throat. There were dozens of crimson stars blinking in the darkness. After counting thirty pairs of eyes he gave up. He watched as the beasts inched forward. They were cautious, no doubt due to what had happened to their scouts. But hunger was stronger than caution. The howls had quietened now, in a way that was somehow worse than the hunting calls.

  One of the braver pups crept forward, its vile stare locked on Alza’s listless body. Instinctively, Barsch moved to protect her, before realizing the futility of his actions. Watching the pup out of the corner of his eye, he instead turned and walked inside the clinic. He laid her helpless figure down on an unused bed, noting how peaceful she looked. As he turned he saw Maloch do the same with Kingston. As he reached what had once been the door, he felt something tug on his arm. Looking down, he saw Kingston had brought out his compacted Solar Staff and was holding it out in one hand. Barsch took it without a word. At that point, they weren’t needed.

  Returning to the circle of fangs and snarling death, he felt every wound -healed or not- that he had suffered from since the beginning of his journey begin to ache. His head was pounding, and weariness clawed at his swaying figure. A treacherous voice was whispering in his ear, telling him to just give up… to let the eternal rest take him.

  He was so tired. He had fought hard, hadn’t he? He had made it across the desert on his own! Except… he hadn’t. If Terra had not been there, he would most likely have died. It was the same with the wooden bridge. Maloch, risking life and limb, had saved him, while he had done nothing to save himself. And the only reason Alza was unconscious at that moment was because she had had to save him.

  No More!

  “I’m tired of having people save me. For once, I want to be the one to save them!”

  He had promised, hadn’t he? To protect her… to protect them all!

  “I’ve heard your howls for a while now… and I have to say, I’m not impressed…”

  The assembled cóyotl did not answer him, but he continued nonetheless. “I’ve heard your voice, now hear mine! MY NAME IS BARSCH LA TERGAN, HEAR ME ROAR!” he shouted, charging forth.

  With a wordless scream, he brought up the barbed blade. It seemed to come alive as he ran, taking form from his anger. The blade roared as it was jolted awake, before the sounds of killing overshadowed its hateful scream. The fearless cóyotl shrunk back in the face of this bold attacker, but the reassurance from its pack and its empty stomach gave it a bravery to match Barsch’s, and it met his charge with one of its own. The two younglings collided in a rush of metal and flesh, with the favourite carving a path through to the rest of the beasts.

  Suddenly, three of the older and more experienced creatures attacked, their mangy forms twisting through the air with surprising grace. They had been raised together, and had used the same technique for decades. The leader of the trio, bearing a jagged scar across its muzzle, aimed for the neck, while its cohorts tried to circle round and take out the legs.

  In an astonishing display of foresight, Barsch withdrew a humming metal cylinder from his coat pocket. Extending it in the blink of an eye, he flung it down to the ground with all his might, discharging the stored light in a wave of energy that scattered everything in its path. The unleashed lightning arc snaked its way through the air, immolating everything in its erratic path. The uncontrollable electricity began to earth itself in the tin roofs and corrugated iron doors, bathing the area in white-blue light. The prolonged flash illuminated the full extent of the trap, as scores upon scores of blood-red eyes were reflected in the electrical luminescence.

  For a few seconds, both man and beast were blinded by the bright flash, allowing Maloch more than enough time to pick his targets. Before the spots had cleared from his vision, Barsch’s ears were assaulted by the roar of the sonic cannon. When he finally regained all of his senses, he was relieved to see that at least a third of the cóyotl had been incapacitated. Wrenching the solar staff from the dusty street, he whirled it overhead, sparks streaming from its spinning surface. Planting his feet, he brought the weapon around, throwing it like a lightning covered javelin. It sailed through the air, trailing light.

  With a thunder clap, the staff struck an unfortunate cóyotl, releasing another pulse in the midst of the pack. The stricken beasts pin wheeled through the air, their twisted bodies raining down in a canine flurry. The pain-filled cries filing the air brought a small smile to Barsch’s blood-streaked face; until the realization that he was enjoying hurting living creatures replaced it with a tortured grimace. Trying to block the howls of the dying from his mind, he revved Lanista, using the thundering roar to gain a small amount of inner peace.

  Switching the black blade to second gear, he charged forth once more, immediately encountering more cóyotl. These were different from the first, evidenced by the grey streaks in their bleached coats and the multitude of scars adorning their flanks. Their eyes too were different, somehow more malevolent and hate-filled than the adolescents. He counted seven, though he knew that many more were lurking in the shadows.

  Barsch moved forward to engage them, but his legs refused to comply. He could feel the still unhealed injuries of his previous fight, draining him of energy. He tried to pound life back into his treacherous legs with clenched fists, but that only brought him more pain. He had been immobilized by sheer exhaustion alone, which made him an easy target. For an instant, his stammering heart was louder than his screaming sword, as he watched his life unravel before his eyes.

  The cóyotl, sensing that their fearsome opponent was distracted, attacked as one, every beady eye focused on his disabled form. With a cry, Barsch brought Lanista
up in a much too late attempt to shield himself. However, luck was on his side, as the haphazard swing managed to knock two of the beasts out of the air, and his sudden movement caused him to stagger and inadvertently dodge another three. Unfortunately, there was only so much that luck alone could do for him, as the two unscathed veterans sank their ivory claws into his wide back. He could feel the blood start to flow, as he desperately tried to escape from the white-hot nails. Dropping to the floor, he rolled away, barely managing to dislodge his relentless attackers.

  He lay there, teeth clenched in an attempt to hold back the pain, watching the cóyotl circle round, their eyes already filled with triumph. Using Lanista as a crutch, he warily raised himself up on one knee. In the scurry, the blade had fallen silent, and it infuriatingly refused to restart. A sudden crash to his left caught his attention, just in time to watch Maloch fall to his knees, his power depleted, his eyes devoid of light.

  “So this is how it ends? I endure exploding cities, barren deserts and deadly obstacles… just to die here? Well, I can’t say that I haven’t had an interesting life… maybe a bit too interesting at times, but it was never boring, that’s for sure… Do I have regrets? Of course I do! I would have liked travel for a bit longer with Kingston... and I would have probably enjoyed trying to get Alza to open up. But now, that will never happen. Dammit! I swore I would protect her… and this is all I can do!?!”

  The cóyotl were getting closer. They knew they had won. It was only a matter of time now.

  Looking up, Barsch saw that storm clouds had gathered on the horizon. At least he wouldn’t die thirsty.

  “I wonder what they’ll say, when they open my pod in five hundred years and I’m not in it? Will anyone ever know what happened here? Will anyone even miss me... and Dad… Dad will be alone... all alone... Dad! What would he say, if he saw me like this? Actually, I know exactly what he would say…”

  “Forgive me father, I almost lost my stride. Never again. I promise,” he said, getting to his feet.

  As if Barsch’s attitude had been conveyed directly to it, Lanista started up with a roar louder than any before it. It echoed his sentiments, as its scream pierced the heavens. An abundance of moonlight bathed Barsch in midnight light, transforming his angry features into a mask of death. The remaining cóyotl shrunk back, suddenly afraid of this fearsome god.

  Suddenly, another sound was heard above the roar, one that brought a fiendish smile to Barsch’s frightening features. Maloch was standing once more, and light was flowing from every outlet and hole in his chassis. His eyes were like two miniature stars, their bluish-white glow blasting away every shadow.

  With a deep rumble, he said, “Undying Soldier mode activated. Hidden power reserves online. Power level: sixty-five percent. Amount of time until deactivation: five minutes. Caution, unauthorized weaponisation occurring. L. Hand weapon unlocked and fully charged. Priming Deep-Bore Mining Laser for firing sequence. Estimated area of destruction: one hundred feet. Targets acquired. Atomic excitation reaching critical levels. Phase-energy radiation complete. Firing sequence complete. Fire when ready.”

  Another sound made Barsch look at the re-mech’s left hand, where another transformation was taking place. In a now-familiar fashion, the four-fingered hand folded away and was replaced by a long, clear emerald tube. It seemed to refract the moonlight, creating a million miniature rainbows along it’s faceted length. An eight sided crystal lay at each end; one blue, the other red.

  From the re-mech’s core, a green light began to pulse in a rhythmic manner, resonating with the light fluctuations in Maloch’s eyes. From within the tube, a small beam of light began to bounce back and forth, from crystal to crystal. As it reached each side, it briefly changed colour; blue, then red, in endless repetition. With every rebound, the beam moved faster and faster, the light becoming more intense and changing colour once more. The air seemed to have grown heavy, and Lanista’s scream was muted to almost a whimper. The beam had become a greenish blur, as each rebound created a miniature shockwave of sound in the quietened atmosphere.

  Suddenly, a peal of lightning crashed down into the noiseless space, bringing sound once more into the night. In that instant, Lanista’s roar reappeared, in full force, whilst the cóyotl howled in unison with the thunder. Barsch readied himself, trying to squeeze a few more minutes from his exhausted frame.

  Another howl signalled the start of the unanimous charge, as each and every cóyotl leapt with frightening precision. Barsch thought that he had seen more than enough beasts flying through the air for one day, and swung Lanista in a wide horizontal arc which sent a gust of wind towards his airborne foes. The gale caught them in mid-air, flinging them back ten feet.

  Before they could recuperate, Maloch began firing his strange new weapon. With every burst, a one inch wide beam of green light fired at an almost imperceptible speed. The laser burnt through everything it touched, be it beast or building. Soon, the area was dotted with inch wide holes, as if peppered with gunfire. Those cóyotl that were unfortunate enough to be hit did not rise again, and even those nearby shrank back in the face of this invisible death.

  Taking advantage of their confusion, Barsch charged into their midst and set to work. At such close quarters, they were packed together too closely to effectively evade or attack, and Lanista was soon soaked in blood.

  For the next five minutes, the town of Wareven became a slaughter house, as man and machine fought against beast. Even with Maloch’s deadly armament, there were simply too many cóyotl for Barsch to escape completely unscathed. Soon, he had gained several new cuts and gashes to accompany those he had already accrued. Maloch was not impervious either, as a couple of particularly brave, or stupid, adolescents had added new dents to his armoured exterior.

  In addition to this, the once blinding light given off from his overcharged body had begun to fade, almost in time with every laser burst fired. After nearly five minutes, his eyes had returned to their usual golden colouration, and the light emitted from the tube was noticeably dimmer. Still, despite new injuries and fading power, Barsch and Maloch fought on, till the cries of the cóyotl no longer filled the air.

  Eventually, they could continue no longer, and Maloch’s weapon fell silent. Lanista too, had been muted, with viscous blood coating its black teeth and clogging up the engine. With a weary cry, Barsch sank to his knees once more, his strength completely gone. Maloch had also slumped forward, though his lightless eyes spoke of his resting state. All around them, the bodies of dead or dying cóyotl covered the blood-soaked earth.

  Not all had been killed though, and several had escaped into the night during the chaos. Only one remained upright, though only just. It was an elder, judging from its aged appearance, though the blood on its teeth and claws spoke of a violent personality shift when needed. Barsch looked at the beast through closing eyelids, as his world started to blacken.

  For a moment, Barsch thought that the animal would attack, but it seemed intent on staying where it was. It looked around the killing ground, apparently noting the number of its fallen comrades. Its crimson eyes rested on the inactive re-mech for a moment, before it returned its gaze to meet his own.

  Suddenly it howled into the night sky, calling to its surviving pack. After a few seconds, a handful of cries responded. Appearing to make up its mind, the lone cóyotl turned and limped back into the darkness, where the deep shadows soon hid it from view.

  Overhead, a massive cloud had gathered while the tense exchange had been held, its darkened belly full of thunder and lighting. A lance of light, zigzagging down from the heavens, served to announce the arrival of the torrential rain. Barsch, bereft of energy, could only sit there as the freezing rainfall chilled him to the bone.

  The frigid water should have made him shiver and shake, but it seemed that he did not even have the strength for the smallest of movements. The torrent soon became a flood, washing away the evidence of the battle, until the ground was clean once more. Barsch
knew that he should try to crawl to shelter, or at least cover himself with his frayed coat, but either action would have required energy he simply did not have. For what seemed like an age, he sat in the cleansing rain, his own tears hidden by the downpour.

  Whatever grand dreams of adventure he had had before, they were gone now, washed away by the carnage before him. He could almost feel his innocence wash away, driven into the night. In accompaniment to the roar of the rain, thunder rang out from every direction, with lighting striking the tin roofs of some of the nearer buildings, showering him in burning sparks. Barsch glanced down at the killing tool in his frozen hands, and wept with the thought that he had once dreamed of wielding it to protect others.

  Suddenly, in the midst of his remorseful recollections, the rain vanished. For a while, Barsch stared in wonder at the sudden disappearance, as lighting continued to dance in the sky. Looking up, he noticed that the sky seemed to have disappeared, replaced the underside of a brown coat.

  Time passed, while Barsch tried to realign his shattered thoughts. It was as if he was attempting to complete a jigsaw puzzle in the dark. Slowly, bit by bit, his thoughts stabilized, and he remembered where he had seen the coat before. Turning his head slightly, he confirmed his assumptions, as a worried, age-stained face suddenly filled his vision. Kingston stood there, not saying a word, radiating understanding.

  With a cracking voice, he said, “Kingston.... I... I had to... they would have... I’m sorry...”

  Gently, the old man raised the younger to his feet, and, with tears in his eyes, embraced him. Softly, he whispered, “It’s alright m’boy, you did what you had to. Rest now, and think of fighting no more.”

  When they parted, Barsch was asleep, finally having gained peace. As Kingston carried him inside, the hermit turned to Maloch’s slumbering figure and said, “Thank you for keeping him safe, friend.”

  With the rain once more drumming out its mesmerizing lullaby, silence reigned in Wareven...