*
It was around noon when they finally stopped, having reached the outskirts of the city centre. While Kingston and Barsch searched the nearby buildings for anything edible, Alza kept watch and Maloch began performing what few repairs he could. After ten minutes of searching, Kingston and Barsch returned with what little they could find. It was a paltry meal, consisting of a few cans of long-life vegetables and three strips of treated meat, but it was a meal nonetheless. They ate in silence, each member of the group thinking back on their encounters in the forest of ç'aether.
Alza was particularly interested in the man who had wielded powers similar to hers, and had claimed to know of her past; whilst Kingston thought of the innocence he had had and lost as a young man. Barsch tried to figure out who the stranger had been, but he hit a dead end when he realised that he did not even know his true name. Maloch spent the time to run further diagnostics, and try to analyse how much damage he had taken. The answer was quite dismal: he was down to less than forty percent of his chassis integrity, and his sonic cannon was malfunctioning. In addition, his power reserves had been almost completely drained by the mining laser. He would have to find a repair station soon or risk slowing down the others.
After their less than filling meal, the group set out once more, towards the city centre. It soon became abundantly clear that whatever had destroyed the city had started in the centre, as the destruction became more pronounced as they approached the hub of the city. Piles of rubble replaced buildings and cracks plagued the streets, making even walking a treacherous task. In addition, the sky overhead had been consumed by the poisonous cloud, which was now bulging with acidic death. As they walked, Barsch began to feel a pang of dread, which slowly grew worse as the neared the city nexus. It was as if his body was doing everything in its power to force him to turn back, but a mixture of stubbornness and curiosity prevented him from doing so.
Although the temperature had been raised with the destruction of the ç'aether forest, it was still cold enough to cause goose-bumps to form on Barsch's exposed skin. He pulled his coat tighter, but too much fighting had left it pock-marked by holes and gashes, which allowed the chilled air easy access. Neither Alza nor Kingston seemed particularly bothered by the cold, which Barsch attributed to Alza's general apathy to the world and Kingston's years of fending for himself. Maloch, as always, was a paragon of immutability, as nothing seemed to slow down or deter the giant re-mech. However, Barsch had noticed that he seemed to be walking in laboured strides, whilst carefully picking his path. Maloch's damaged eye had eventually lit up once more, but much dimmer than its previous incarnations.
A flashback to the man who wielded lightning brought Barsch to a halt, as he tried to recall what had seemed so familiar about him. He was positive that he had never met the man before -not counting dreams- yet he still had brought an unmistakable sense of déjà vu with his appearance. “I guess I can always ask Terra the next time I see him, after all, a man controlling wind and lightning can't be all that common.”
On a whim, Barsch reached behind his pack and brought out Lanista, noting how it's midnight-blade seemed to swallow the noon-day light. Although he had promised himself he would try and use the blade less, he would no doubt need it if any more “strangers” appeared. As he held the chainsword, he felt the polished surface with his index finger. Splattered across the length of the blade -long since dried- were spots of blood.
Lanista had seen its fair share of violence since he first picked it up, making its name even more appropriate. The Instigator of Violence had been bathed in blood before, but it had always been Barsch who had actually swung the sword. “Control the violence,” Kingston had said, “and don't let it control you.” Sometimes it was so hard to resist the temptation though, and it took all of his strength to keep the blade from cutting what was precious to him.
As he stood there, contemplating the purpose of his weapon, a worrisome feeling came upon him. Without waiting for him, Kingston, Alza and Maloch had reached the city centre. Now, they stood as still as statues, frozen in place by something out of sight. Lanista still in hand, Barsch ran towards them, intent on finding out what was so interesting. Overhead, the poisonous cloud gave a threatening rumble, signalling it's imminent rupture.
“Kingston, Alza, I think we should find somewhere to sleep. It's looks as though the acid rain could come at any mo-”
Barsch's words were cut off my a long, heart-stopping howl. It was a call for blood, and it immediately brought back a fear that had been hidden in Barsch's genetic memories for millennia. It spoke of despair and panic, born in a time when men had lived alongside beasts; sometimes as the hunter, and sometimes as the hunted. Although the majority of this was lost on Barsch, he did not fail to notice the overwhelming desire to run and hide. After a time, the deep howl came to an end, and Barsch could finally step forward and see what had sung the song of death.
Standing in the dead centre of the plaza, atop a mound of rubble and bones, was a wolf larger than any Barsch had ever seen. It was a massive thing, measuring at least five feet from scarred snout to frayed tail, and it's coat was snow-white with patches of grey. It peered at the world through crimson eyes; eyes that seemed to contain only malice for all two-legs. It bore a resemblance to a creature Barsch had only heard of in myth, which told of a beast that hunted sinful humans for the amusement of the gods. Its name had been Fenrir, and it's capacity for violence had been unmatched by any other deistic animal. Subconsciously, Barsch had already named the beast before him, though he thought that the name fit it perfectly. It had been fearsome in his dream, but in reality that presence was magnified a hundred-fold. Thankfully it's Master was absent, but the terror it invoked was no less real.
Behind it lay a half-visible fresco, which showed a man being hunted by a wolf. Disturbingly, the portion containing the man’s head had been removed, leaving him headless. “The Eternal Cycle of Predator and Prey,” he read, wondering what the words meant.
A small sound snapped his attention back to the beast. It was watching them now, as the scent of fresh meat filled it's mind. With clawed paws the size of plates, Fenrir took a confident step forward. It's gaze swung between Alza and Kingston, as if it was trying to decide which one would be tastier. Maloch had been relegated to the background scenery by its meat-oriented brain, and it would come for Barsch once it had taken care of the weak and the old. Having apparently finalized its eating order, Fenrir let out a second howl, which somehow managed to be far more terrifying than the first.
“Kingston, Maloch, stay back. I-” He glanced at Alza, who had strode forward beside him, “We, will handle this.”
“As Barsch said, do not get in our way,” Alza said, not looking back at the old man and the damaged re-mech.
With a simple flick of his wrist, Lanista roared into life. It's teeth were already thirsting for blood by the time they had made their first revolution, a desire that only increased with every passing second. Almost immediately, Barsch could feel the violence which lurked within him begin to stir; but he firmly suppressed it before it had the chance to surface.
Beside him, Alza was trying to prepare for the confrontation in her own way. Calming her thoughts, she tried to once more summon forth the power that dwelt within. At first, there was nothing there. No violet light. No ephemeral warmth. Nothing. Panic flooded her thoughts, as the mysterious energy continued to evade her search.
Finally, hiding in a dark, unused corner of her mind, she found it. It was weaker than before, and gave off a feeble pulse when approached. It was clear that the battle with Crimson had used up a lot more energy than she cared to admit. Stubbornly, she persisted, as she began to mentally drag the power to the surface of her sub-conscious. It was a tough battle, but sheer willpower has always beaten projected personifications of phantasmal energy, and, after a short mental tug-of-war, Alza felt the power fill her mind.
It was at that moment, when Alza was wrestling with her uncooperativ
e abilities and Barsch was struggling to contain his violence, the beast struck. There was no warning, save for a strangled cry that barely escaped Kingston's lips. Wielding bone-crushing fangs and claws made for slicing through flesh, Fenrir began its onslaught. It's paw, backed by evolutionary adaptation, connected with Alza's ribs with a sickening thud.
For a moment, she became a rag-doll, as her helpless body flew through the air. However, the power shining through her inhuman eyes was already hard at work, resetting bone and knitting skin, so that by the time she landed, it was if the injury had never been. Confusion immediately clouded Fenrir's face, as it visibly pondered why it's prey was still able to stand. Barsch took this moment of uncertainly to strike, as he swung Lanista in a wide vertical arc that should have cleaved the beast in two. As it was, luck was not on Barsch's side that day, as the uneven footing produced a handy, fist sized rock in his path, which caused him to miss his target entirely.
Fenrir did not wait for him to regain his balance, and struck out with one of its massive paws, which caught Barsch in his abdomen and removed him from the battle. His flight through the air was quite similar to Alza's, but differed on one account. Where Alza's supernatural power had saved her, his human body failed to save him. He crashed into the half-broken fresco with enough force to add a dozen new cracks to the hunting scene. He lay there for several seconds, trying to work through the pain that was now spreading throughout his midriff.
While Barsch had been unsuccessful in his attack, Alza was not. With a swift motion of her hand, she sent out a blast of air towards the great beast, hoping to end the battle quickly. Unfortunately, in her drained state, the air-burst did little more than ruffle Fenrir's fur. Without missing a beat, Alza leapt forward, her next attack already in motion. Using thin tendrils of unseen energy, she mentally picked up a dozen pieces of body-sized rubble, which began to orbit around her lithe frame. Using three of the pieces, she brought them together in the shape of a lance, which was then hurled towards the great wolf with a speed that defied all laws of physics.
Once more, her lack of energy prevented the attack from being fatal, as one of the pieces broke apart mid-flight and another veered wildly off course. The third, staying true to its purpose, struck Fenrir, though it's force was not great enough to cause any significant damage. If anything, the attack only served to enrage the creature.
In all of its years of hunting and killing, it had never encountered prey who had given it such a hard time. However, far from being off-putting, it increased the beast's resolve. Killing Alza and Barsch had gone from being a necessary task to a violent yet fun game, and it revelled in every second of their continued existence.
It counter-attacked with increased ferocity, managing to take out two of Alza's shields with a single swing of its massive paw. Alza, for the first time since the fight began, voluntarily took a step back, if only to keep the beast's claws from her tender flesh. Within seconds, she was down to just three pieces of rubble to act as shielding, and it was all she could do to just hold them in place.
With a roar, Fenrir side-stepped and struck out, destroying the last barriers as it did so. Alza, already moving out of the way, was oblivious to the looming wall behind her, which impeded her manoeuvre and gave Fenrir an easy target. Alza's last sight, before she closed her eyes, was of the faded sign on the wall of the shop that had doomed her. In a cruel sense of irony, it said, “PREMIUM LIFE INSURANCE AVAILABLE INSIDE... BECAUSE YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN THE END WILL COME!”
“ALZA!”
The scream opened Alza's eyes just in time to witness a black blade whirl past her face. The next thing she saw was Barsch's broad back, as he took a defensive stance between her and the beast that desired her flesh.
“Don't worry. I will protect you!”
Alza could see that his hands were shaking, but did not comment on it. Instead, she stood up and went to stand beside him. Fenrir had dodged away in order to avoid Barsch's screaming sword, but it's hunger was driving it forward once more. It licked it's blood-stained teeth, in anticipation of its meal.
The sky overhead gave of a rumble that only increased the tense atmosphere. Barsch's thoughts were momentarily occupied by a mental image of the cloud break that could happen at any moment. The rumble from the heavens grew louder, before cumulating in a massive strike of violet lighting that struck the centre of the plaza. As if on cue, Barsch and Alza leapt forward, towards the wary wolf. Snatching up Lanista as he flew forward, he brought the black blade up in a smooth motion.
In mid-leap, Barsch noticed Alza's eyes light up, and watched as a ball of flame appeared in her outstretched hand. It was a beautiful, if deadly thing, burning bright blue, though tinged with white. Simultaneously, Alza noticed Barsch's eyes take on a hard edge, and watched as his grip on Lanista's hilt tightened.
They collided with Fenrir as another bolt struck the plaza, in the exact same place as the first. Unable to deal with two attackers, Fenrir was forced back, towards it's throne of rubble. From the force of the impact, Alza and Barsch were flung away from each other, with Barsch landing closer to Kingston and Alza colliding with Maloch's sturdy frame.
And as for the dire wolf: A long line of blood across it's flank marked where Barsch's black blade had briefly made contact, and a large patch of burned flesh was the only remnant of Alza's flame. This time, it's howl was a howl of pain, mixed in with frustration. Barsch could see it weighing the options: continue fighting and possibly gain enough food to last it a month; or retreat and escape relatively unscathed.
Whatever its decision was, it was never carried out. In the end, nature was the grand decider, as a third and final bolt signalled the end of the battle. Without a sound, the poison-laden cloud above burst, sending thousands of litres of acidic rain towards the unprotected denizens of the earth below.
The first drop struck Barsch on the back of his neck, sending a bolt of pain towards his heart. The next struck his arm, sending another bolt towards his core. Steadily, the rain grew stronger, as the burning water blanketed the city in corrosion. Eyes half-shut to protect his delicate retina, Barsch painfully called out, “Alza! Take Maloch and run! We'll meet up after the rain stops.”
He had originally intended to make his way over to her, but Fenrir lay in his path, and he would rather avoid a confrontation with a pain-crazed wolf which had only moments before been trying to kill him. Instead, he turned and ran towards Kingston, who was trying to avoid the falling death with little success. Grabbing the elderly hermit by the arm, Barsch began to race down the street while frantically looking for any kind of shelter.
Before he left the plaza, he happened to take one last look, and was pleased to see that both Alza and Maloch were nowhere to be seen. He was less pleased to see that Fenrir too had disappeared, but the continued pain falling from the sky soon brought his mind back to the task of finding somewhere to hide.
After several minutes of fruitless searching, it became apparent that there were no intact structures left in the city that could provide adequate shelter. The burning rain had not lessened in the slightest, and it's painful strikes drained Barsch of energy whenever they connected with unprotected flesh. In addition, his wound from the earlier battle with Fenrir slowed him down tremendously, and every step was accompanied by a bolt of pain. Kingston fared a little better, but his age meant that he could only move so fast. Soon enough, he too was drenched in the corrosive rain. They were half-walking, half-falling as they travelled down an unremarkable street, still searching for anything that would grant them sanctuary.
“Barsch! Over there!”
Barsch followed the old man's pointed finger towards a small building at the end of the street, somehow untouched by the decay and devastation that had destroyed its neighbours. With renewed vigour, Barsch began to pick up his pace, as he tried to will his body into moving ever faster. With salvation in sight, fate was indeed cruel in what it did to them.
Barsch, now crawling over the cracked surface
of the street, body beaten down by the unrelenting downpour, froze in place when he heard Kingston's scream. With effort, he tore his gaze from their saving grace, and turned back towards his friend. In his haste to get to safety, Kingston had slipped on the slippery surface and fallen badly. As Barsch inched towards his friend's fallen body, his heart sank.
The old hermit's foot had become stuck in one of the many crags that littered the city, and, despite his furious tugging, refused to come free. Even with Barsch's assistance, there was no change. It was a hopeless situation. Barsch had only two options: Stay with Kingston and be burned by the rain, or leave the old man and reach safety alone. In his heart, he knew that the second option was not an option at all, not after everything they had gone through.
Kingston had most likely been thinking the same thing, so he called out, his voice barely audible over the pounding rain, “Barsch... It's fine... just go! Save yourself! GO!”
“No.”
Barsch's defiance was lost in the fury of the storm, but Kingston had known what his reply would be before he even said it. With the last of his energy, Barsch lifted himself up and climbed atop the old man's exposed frame. Covering his head with his hands, he could do nothing but lie there, his body the only barrier between the burning rain and Kingston. Immediately, he felt the rain begin to eat through his coat, and then his shirt, so great was its fury.
When the first drop touched his back, and his body was exposed to the might of the downpour, he did not call out. For three minutes he held it in, while Kingston tried in vain to prevent his sacrifice. For three minutes he resisted screaming in agony, as the rain burnt his skin and bled his scars. For three minutes he resisted giving in to the pain, while any other would have lasted one. After three minutes of perseverance, Barsch began to scream. His tortured scream continued on without end, as his words of anguish were drowned out by the never-ending torrent.
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