Legend of the Red Sun Village

by Mark Swaine

  Two raiders finally grasp how dangerous the inventions are and suddenly back away as two winged machines powered by miniature turbines in their underbellies suddenly take to flight. A large iron Wasp and a Mosquito of steel flap their carefully crafted wings and give chase as the two raiders flee the scene. In their escape, the large wasp fires consecutive stingers into its victim. The metal spikes exit the raider’s chest and he drops into a lifeless tumbling roll. The other raider, believing himself free of the large winged mosquito, slows to a stop. The raider freezes as he hears a buzzing pass his ear, and he is suddenly faced with the hovering insect as it lowers in front of his face. The beating wings of the mosquito blows his hair back and without warning, it shoots it proboscis into the centre of his forehead. Impaling his skull, the long needle sucks the blood from his body and ejects it from two vents on both sides of its thorax in a lateral spray of pink mist. As one last curious raider picks up a curved metal object resembling a banana, the raiders beckon him to drop it, fearful of the unpredictable repercussions. The raider shrugs and the others sigh in relief as nothing happens, but almost a second later a rusty clunking chimpanzee runs under their feet and jumps onto the large raider’s chest. The raider falls flat onto his back and with a single joint fisted overhead blow, the raider’s head explodes in a splatter of skull and brain. The chimpanzee rips the raider’s arm from the dead man’s socket and pries his chubby fingers open to reclaim its banana before powering down with its banana cradled in its arms.

  “Where is he, where is that man-witch?” says one of the raiders murderously.

  Mǎkè stands panicking, urging the suit to complete the seemingly endless sequence of finalising its internal arsenal as he catches the raiders looking at him a short distance over the toppled stall. The suit of armour final stops ticking and the limbs, chest and face open up with an inviting snap of metal and a gush of steam.

  Mǎkè quickly lies down in the leather cushioned suit as the raiders approach with weapons ready. Mǎkè huffs and puffs in rapid focussed breathes as he secures himself in with buckles, straps and support frames, then he slides an arched metal bar from the machine's waist and locks it ready. Mǎkè suddenly looks up to a circular formation of dirty bloodied faces looking down on him with sneering scowls.

  “Answer me one thing before you die 'man-witch', what is this thing?” asks a raider, with his blade poised for a downward strike.

  “I have not yet named it,” scowls Mǎkè with an angered defiant expression, “shall we see if it works?” sneers Mǎkè.

  With his arms secured within the mechanical limbs and his finger tips resting on spring activated leather pads, his black and green armoured hand slams the circular emblem on the arched solid belt. The fifteen foot suit of armour slams shut before rising amid a cloud steam ejecting from its vents. Within the intimidating suit, pistons rush and coal burns hotter than the fires of Diyu. As the suit's clawed feet clamp into the cobbled ground, the green and black tiger head rises above the heads of the raiders with its eyes glowing. Mǎkè observes his surroundings via capsuled glow-worms and a network of tilted mirrors whilst maintaining his balance with tubes of ball bearings and mercury mounted on a series of gyros. Mǎkè presses a key and mounted spikes flick open on his forearm, and with a single swipe from his striped and spiny arm he knocks the raiders flailing through the air. Dead or dying from the sheer brute force of the blow, they lay bleeding with expressions of shock embedded within their mangled faces. The machine is heavy to use, but it works, and with every lift of his legs he finds the machine's performance improving until he finds himself in a gentle wobbly jog. The unsteady run turns into a sprint as he maims mercenaries in his path. He pushes and slides two panels supporting his feet and the huge metal tiger lurches forward, sprinting on all iron fours. Zui walks away from the crippled Joro-Gumo and catches sight of a keg of ale leaking in an arched spout. Unable to accept the ale going to waste, he staggers over and drops to his knees and puts his mouth to the open hole of the barrel.

  Uncaring to the cracking sound behind him, he gulps the frothing ale vigorously until a sharp force pins him against the bar. In a daze, Zui sees the points of eight legs stamping around him as the bulbous body of the Joro-Gumo lowers to the ground. The black, hairy leathery body of the mutant spider hovers before him, and the middle man affixed to it smiles craftily. The Joro-Gumo prepares to douse Zui in a shower of acid as she wails a white toxic mist. The middle aged drunk looks away in self disappointment, not caring so much for his demise, but nor does he welcome it. A loud clanking rattles through the air as a large metal body pounces onto the Joro-Gumo's large round abdomen. Mǎkè jolts both his elbows and releases four curved claws from his gauntlets and drives them deep into the creature's body. The internal workings of the armour work over in hissing bouts of steam and grinding cogs as he climbs over the erratically moving body with his dug in claws. Mǎkè makes his way to the hag's semi-mortal body and lurches forward whilst pressing the consecutive keys within his grip. The tiger's mouth clamps around the hag's neck and she staggers in twisting falling circles whilst screaming aloud. Spiders escape the wide confines of her dagger toothed mouth until her head crushes with a loud crunch. Spurts of green and dark yellow goo exit her neck and her long limbs weaken as her two segmented globular bodies drop to the ground. Zui watches a pair of stamping metal clawed feet stand beside him, and the strange looking saviour cuts him loose from the net. Zui slumps back against the bar and holds his staff. Mǎkè kneels to a clunking knee before the skilled drunkard.

  “If you do not wish to fight for our Emperor and homeland, then fight for your honour,” says Mǎkè.

  “Honour, I have no honour,” slurs Zui laughing.

  “There is honour between friends... is there not?” replies Mǎkè extending his hand.

  “Not for the Emperor, not for my homeland, not for honour or any foolish dreams,” says Zui lifting his head, “but for you, and Xan Li,” adds Zui gripping Mǎkè's metal hand and rising to his feet.

  “Where is Xan Li?” asks Mǎkè.

  Zui points to a pile of rubble with a Katana clenched hand shuffling upward. Mǎkè leaps over in bounds and removes the rubble from the trapped Onna-Bugeisha.

  “Mǎkè?” says Xan Li looking up at the tall metal tiger,

  The glowing-eyed tiger head nods before forming an attack position as more raiders begin dropping from the undead dragons above. Zui cuts a path through the hordes of adversaries and arms, legs and heads whizz through the air until he meets his two companions in the centre of the square. Back to back with the survivors in the centre, the three friends fend off corrupted mortals, undead Samurai and countless creatures with Katana, tiger claw and twirling cutting cane. Even though they red wash the marketplace with every invader they cut, eventually they find themselves completely outnumbered. Mǎkè notices that most of the attacks are directed at Zui and Xan Li, and knows it will not be long until they are swarmed. Mǎkè flicks a switch and a modified spyglass springs on to his headpiece. He quickly scans the crowd, zooming in and out until he’s content there are no civilians. Mǎkè presses a sequence of keys and two circular saws flick open on his shoulders and travel down his arms. With two swipes of his arms he flings the magnetised blades into the crowd. Severed spinning heads, high pitched screams and luscious leaps of blood race through the crowd creating a crimson border around him and his two companions protecting the survivors. The circular jagged blades return to Mǎkè and as the rest of the insane raiders charge to collect the bounty on Xan Li's and Zui's head.Mǎkè flicks a heavy switch and quickly holds his sweating hands cross armed to his chest as the torso of his arm spins rapidly on its waist. Suddenly four dagger ended, scorching hot wires fires from both sets of rushing knuckles. The spinning wires retract to the metal Tiger’s knuckles and as the torso slows to a face forward stop. The raiders wonder what searing pain has travelled through them as they slow to slowing halt. The raiders choke on their own blood as their neat smoking wounds begin to widen
, and one by one their torso's slide from their lower bodies. With the marketplace finally rid of attackers, a new sound fills the sky as undead dragons with shredded wings crash through the surrounding buildings. Two rotating winged shadows descend upon the square, and the giant lizard screeches a booming roar as it lands with a gentle thud. The dragon purrs softly as its wings form ramps to its wide spiny back, inviting the survivors aboard. Zui, Mǎkè and Xan Li escort the survivors aboard and the dragon lifts off, taking them to the safety of the citadel walls beside the Tower of Guang. As the dragon tears away in beats of strong leather wings, another descends, preparing to evacuate the remaining survivors. In the dark alleyway, the survivors, now accustomed to the presence of the blood thirsty stranger, dare not venture out into the open, even though the fighting has stopped.

  “You must leave now,” says the stranger.

  “But we are safe here from the raiders,” says the unafraid woman.

  “Not from the hordes of undead that will soon breach the barricades...they always do,” replies the stranger, “the survivors are being evacuated by dragon back as we speak, this is your last chance,” says the stranger.

  The men and women stand to their feet carrying children and escorting elders through the puddles of blood, but the mother hangs back and approaches the stranger, guided by his eyes.

  “Come with us kind stranger,” says the woman kindly holding his cold bony face in her hands.

  “Leave now,” whispers the stranger smelling the scent of young blood from the veins in her wrist, “I said go, now!” growls the stranger ferally.

  “You protected us, you saved my children, my family, how can I ever repay you?” asks the woman.

  “You believe yourself in my debt,” says the stranger gently holding her chin by two long nails. “You owe me... nothing. Were it not for the curiosity of those empty sacks of skin, you would surely have taken their place,” informs the stranger.

  “I refuse to believe that,” replies the woman sternly.

  The stranger laughs deeply with animalistic growl as his eyes slightly illuminate the veins creeping around his eye sockets.

  “What are you?” asks the woman sympathetically.

  “Damned is what I am. Fated to Diyu I am... unless...” says the stranger softly.

  “Unless? What is it that you desire kind creature?” asks the woman.

  “I came here looking for a great warrior, a warrior with the potential to harness a dark burden,” says the stranger.

  “A warrior?” queries the woman.

  “I thought I might find one here, I was wrong. All I have seen is a drunkard who cares only for himself, an immortal wench who no longer believes in herself, and a cross dressing fool undisciplined in the ways of combat,” says the man shamefully. “Go, take your children as far away from here as possible and do not return,” warns the stranger.

  The woman, beckoned crazily by her beloved, runs to her family and stops before clearing the alleyway to leave the stranger with one piece of information.

  “There is a great soldier in the Jade army, he is both skilled in the arts of magic and Wushu, he is strong in spirit and mind,” informs the woman.

  “Name the one you speak of,” says the creature of the night.

  “The people name him... Long Jiao,” replies the woman before leaving.

  The families are waved onto the dragon by Zui as he and his two companions stand guard. With all the survivors aboard, Zui and Xan Li also climb atop the dragon's back. The dragon grunts under the weight of its cargo and Mǎkè backs away from the incline of the dragon's wing.

  “Mǎkè what are you doing, get on the dragon,” says Xan Li confused to his hesitance.

  “Too much weight,” replies Mǎkè.

  “Then abandon your suit of armour,” orders Xan Li,

  “Never, this is my first functioning prototype,” says Mǎkè,

  “‘Tis just a piece of metal you fool, ‘tis not worth your life,” replies Xan Li crazily, “come with me. Discard your suit and come with me,” pleads Xan Li.

  “I will find you,” says Mǎkè reassuringly.

  Xan Li runs down the dragon's wing and climbs the metal behemoth until she finds herself level with the tiger's head.Mǎkè's pulls on a short lever and the internal face of bent mirrors opens up. Mǎkè, strapped to a yak pelt back support stretches his neck as far as possible to move his chin over the rim of the collar. With his head movements restricted by his leather head piece and chin guard, he gasps with a strained smile as he breathes in the fresh air whilst looking upon Xan Li's gorgeous face and beautiful elliptic eyes. Xan Li holds Mǎkè's dripping face in her hands and kisses him passionately on the lips, and Mǎkè returns the spirit lifting sensation in a dream come true. The dragon bellows loudly, urging haste and Mǎkè lifts Xan Li onto the dragon's wing as he enjoys the lingering sensation of her thin lips upon his.

  “Survive,” says Xan Li concernedly.

  “I will do more than survive,” replies the love-struck inventor.

  “Be well Zui,” says Mǎkè.

  “You are full of surprises Mǎkè. If you survive this day we shall rejoice with more ale,” replies Zui.

  “Are you buying?” asks Mǎkè.

  “Are you growing cheap on me Eccentric One?” asks Zui whilst thudding the dragon’s back.

  The dragon's wings flap strongly and awkwardly as it adjusts to the heavy load of passengers. Dust and grit blows a circling hurricane around Mǎkè as he watches the large winged beast take to the air and clear the buildings, Mǎkè races off and quickly gathers his treasured creations scattered about the square. Mǎkè happens across a crushed metal bird and he kneels down to carefully gather it in his metal guarded hands.

  “Ménhuán (Knocker),” says Mǎkè in dismay, “fear not my metal feathered friend, I shall make you good as new,” he adds sympathetically.

  Mǎkè rapidly races to his cart and lifts it upright before scavenging in the endless panelled compartments for a toolbox.Mǎkè finds a toolbox and carefully places the crushed metal woodpecker inside it before securing the rest of his possessions. Hearing large pieces of rubble falling loose from the makeshift barricades,Mǎkè quickly secures a leather tarp over the worktop of his cart then double takes at the dragon gland that once belonged to Chao Gao. Practically drooling at the prospect of an invention, he leers lustfully at the organic fuel generator resting in a cracked heap against the wall.Mǎkè feels his suit slowing down as a black smoke chugs from the vents in his back and he wonders if he has the time and fuel power to retrieve the fantastic piece of organic machinery. Mǎkè turns away from it deciding not to take the risk, then quickly rushes back to retrieve it. Ignoring the scraping and growling of the undead preparing to break free of the blockades, he quickly lifts up the large smouldering machine and his suit groans as he carries it to the back of his cart. The obsessed lunatic pulls on two handles attached to a single chain and a flatbed trailer with four wooden wheels springs out from underneath. With his suit screeching for fuel and his movements becoming stiff, Mǎke lies in the ramped compartment of his cart then pushes the emblem on his belt buckle. The suit of armour springs open and he flops out of the steaming hot interior with a soaked and exhausted drop to the ground. The semi-naked man pulls hard on the lever to raise and secure the panel back into the base of the cart. Finally acknowledging the first of the undead squeezing through the gaps of the blockades, pulls even harder in a panicking rage. With a final sweat dripping tug,Mǎkè manages to secure the suit of armour with a satisfactory click, clunk. The undead men and women charge the courtyard seeking out fresh meat to devour. Mǎkè ducks quickly and peers around the corner from his stall. With the undead beings looking away, Mǎke quickly dashes from his stall to Húluóbo.

  Mǎke feels saved as he reaches his trusty steed, and he pats her steel hide gratefully. Suddenly Húluóbo's ears begin twitching and Mǎke holds a desperate finger to his mouth with a nervous and erratic smile as he begs the metal animal to be quiet. H
úluóbo “EE-AWWW's” with delight at the return of his master and follows with a high pitched husky squeaking whine. Mǎkè pushes a small button on Húluóbo and a small panel opens in a sliding grind. Mǎkè peers over Húluóbo's back, hoping that his cries have gone unnoticed to the ears of the few undead occupying the square. Mǎkè's eyes widen as he sees not one or two undead beings staring back at him, but more than his dread filled eyes can count. It’s as if they’re all thinking the same thing, and were just waiting for their instincts to tell them what to do. Mǎkè slides down with his back against the metal wall, pretending he hasn't been seen. As he hears charging feet and screams heading toward him he attempts to aid the slow sliding panel by forcing it open. With just enough room to climb in, he squeezes through as the riotous hordes of hounding undead swarm around Húluóbo. Mǎkè quickly presses a button to stop the panel sliding any further open then spins a wheel to close it manually from the inside. Counting his blessings, Mǎkè gulps endlessly on a pig’s bladder of water before taking the directional stick of Húluóbo's internal controls whilst controlling its rate of speed with his feet on two pedals. With the undead scourge scouring the area for Mǎkè, they pay no heed to the metal donkey pushing between them as it trots toward the fallen barricades. Squeezing the gear stick, Mǎkè slides the yoke in the various direction grooves whilst pressing on the stiff pedals. Guiding the clunking metal donkey up the alleyway of toppled rubble, he breathes shallow and nervously as he listens to the muffled moaning and wailing of the undead, with only a plate of steel separating him from them. He finally clears free of the marketplace and closes his eyes and exhales in relief. As if to foil his moment of triumph, Húluóbo grinds to an unannounced halt, requiring more fuel.