“I suppose you’re not a crier” the officer mocked, the prisoner in the back of his police cruiser didn’t moan aloud or whimper at his fate, but kept up a silent sulk. “Well supposedly that is your privilege to keep silent and all. Just remember the Magistrate could’ve gone a lot on you during sentencing.” The lecture made the prisoner scoff contemptible. “Keep up that attitude and I’ll work you over before dropping you off, remember you’re the problem here, not me.”
The drive was hours long, and Clark Pattington didn’t have anything to eat or drink, and his left leg was giving him problems, the old injury was acting up in the chilled autumn weather, and he felt a chill going down his unlayered back. Wearing a typical gray dress shirt, slacks, and uncomfortable work shoes, he wasn’t dressed at all for the early frost in the air.
Outside both sides of the car was the same site, an endless row of bare trees having shed their foliage weeks ago, it was a bleak time of year, and the night was coming a lot quicker than before. Squirming in his seat, he felt his stomach growl, loud enough for the cop to hear and smirk at him, as if it was well deserved for the prisoner to go hungry.
“You had your chance during the sentencing, confess your crimes and you can have one last meal, but you just kept silent—” arrogantly he snorted his nose, “—serves you right.”
After a period of silence between police officer and prisoner, the car slowed as the sight of their destination was coming closer and closer. A long towering silo of brick and mortar, covered in depressing gray siding loomed over the trees, it was a hideous sight, and sparked a soul scorching dread in Clark’s mind, he was not used to such a feeling of hollowing despair.
“We’re here.” the police officer tried to sound ominous as he spoke, as if it were a horror movie.
Turning into a driveway, Clark saw it arched by a metal gateway that was wide open, as if waiting for them to arrive, between the withered trees was a large courtyard, walled off by a towering fence, with gaps between the bars too narrow to squeeze through, and razor wire on the top and wrapped around the wall. The officer parked at the front of the estate Clark will be spending the next twenty years in, a towering building with unfamiliar architecture, blackened windows, gray siding, and hard, almost metallic looking wood. If the house was alive it would have passed away a long time ago, it’s almost tragic how despicable his new accommodations were; the weight of it fell on him fully when he was taken from the back of the car, wrists still cuffed, and he stood at the steps of the building, feeling how dwarfed he was in comparison.
“You brought this on yourself.” the officer teased further, as he shoved him up the stairs of the stoop, his bad leg made him stagger forward, nearly sending him to the ground. “Oh, I almost forgot.” the officer pretended to be absent minded for cruelties sake. Going into the trunk of the cruiser he pulled out a small satchel and an ebony cane with brass handle and embroidery.
Waiting for the officer by the door, Clark heard a groan behind him, an echoing, unearthly deep sound, when he turned over to look, panic in his eyes, and sweat forming on his forehead, he saw the door open by itself, and inside was dim.
“Eager to start your sentence?” The police officer was a jeering jackass and his face showed it, as he sneered at Clark. “Too bad, your sentence doesn’t start till tomorrow, you were brought here early cause there is no room for you defiants in our society. Be grateful the Masters don’t just exterminate you, like the useless special needs case you are." Having unloaded a particularly venomous outpour of contempt, the officer shoved Clark inside the door opening, and this time he fell over, and landed on his left side.
Numbness shot through his leg, and he felt a shot of pain through his system, as if someone stuck a needle through his arm and out his neck. “Pathetic.” the officer threw the cane at Clark, and dropped the satchel, “you will be staying here for the duration of your sentence. No messages, visitors, and the usual contraband still applies so no books!”
‘That is why I’m here isn’t it, cause I dared to be literate.’ Clarks mind said the things he would say if he wasn’t being silent with malice.
“Food is provided by the ration vendor, it's stocked for the next century, and don’t think about wasting it either, it only serves food once every morning at six, and once at six in the evening, no snacks, no substitution. Enjoy your stay, I am sure you’ll enjoy yourself.” slamming shut the door, the officer briskly moved to his car and as soon as he peeled out of the driveway and speedway, the gates automatically closed, sealing the estate shut from the outside world.
Alone, on the floor, cold, and hungry, Clark stood up, and noticed the smells of dust hung heavy in the air, and by the quietness in the building he was depressingly assured he was all alone. The magistrate said as much, he was to serve twenty years in complete isolation in one of their deprivation camps, one of many spread out buildings in the wilderness where convicts served out their sentence.
Either it was this or death, but the magistrate believed death was no fit sentence for a former soldier, a member of the air force in fact, who fought bravely for the Masters and his society, till he got crippled and became deviant. Tolerating his disobedience this long was due to the respect he earned in the war, but catching him reading was the last straw, even if it was an ancient pulp novel from before the war.
Stories Clark heard about those who were sentenced to those camps would either kill themselves or survive but have gone completely insane. That also doesn’t include starvation from the lack of nutrients in the rations or dying from illnesses or injuries because there are not doctors visits out there, he started to think he would die there, a thought that made it harder for him to stand up again.
Groaning in pain as he leaned down to retrieve his cane, he didn’t have the stretch to lift up his satchel bag yet, all he was preoccupied with was getting some food. Limping across the stone-like wood floors, when he planted his cane down to move himself it made an echo that seemed to reverberate off the walls, as if he was in a subterranean crypt.
Moving to the next room he saw a standard dining area, a long wood table covered in a layer of dust, and the benches of either side had cobwebs streaming off the back as if they were filthy hair strands growing from a bald head. There was no light there in the ceiling, in fact there were no electrical lights, just the muted daylight that filtered through the black windows.
When the sun goes down, so does the light inside, leaving everything in absolute darkness; not wanting to stumble around in the dark, he hurried to the kitchen, which was bare, except for a sink, and a ration vendor.
Hurrying to the vendor he pushed the large red button so it can dispense his rations, but a loud, obnoxious beep came out from the speaker at its front, and a loud monotone voice said aloud, “I’m sorry you have missed your rations for the day.” desperately, he tried to hit the button again, the hunger pains were too intense to be ignored. “Any further insistence will result in forfeit of rations for forty eight hours.”
Recoiling at the warning, Clark retreated, defeated by the unmerciful machine that he believed would be his only companion for the next couple of decades. Sullenly he searched for a bedroom, smelling the dusty air that hung in heavy layers. Brushing it aside as he did, he could swear his hand made contact with someone else’s. Stopping he looked about the ever darkening gloom and saw no one, heard no one, but he could feel them, touching him, guiding his way, and one even saved him from falling over.
The hands of some invisible entity, held him courteously, straightened him till Clark could stand on his own power, and with gentle direction led him to a bedroom. A cold, gray bedroom, with a bedroll rolled up, over a hard iron bed frame. No blankets, no pillow, a flash of lightning blinded him momentarily, and in the flashes of sight and blindness, he could’ve sworn he saw something different in his new dwelling.
Gray, dreary, and barren became softly lit, grandly adorned, and warm, it was a fully furnished mansion of luxury and high class. Once sight fully returned so did the glum prison that was now his home. Ice cold rain made the unheated room nearly unbearably cold, unrolling the mattress he laid down and slept, too weary to wonder why he felt as if someone was placing warm blankets on top of him as he laid down.
***
Feeling the sunlight burn his eyes through the window, Clark took a few minutes to realize he was on a strict schedule. Getting up he hurried to the kitchen, nearly forgetting his cane, reaching the ration machine as quick as he could, he slammed his hand on the activation button.
“You are late, by zero minutes and ten seconds, please be more prompt for the evening rations.” slamming his fists into the machine out of frustration, Clark immediately regretted his rash action when the machine let out a shrill grinding sound. “You have forfeited rations for the next forty eight hours, any more violent actions will result in an additional seventy two hours.” swearing aloud, Clark felt his stomach churn demanding any kind of sustenance. Sadly he had to survive missing five meals, nearly five days of no food already was making him weak, Clark could understand why prisoners would kill themselves. Stumbling over the dinning table, he nearly collapsed when he sat down on the bench, and dropped his cane.
“God help me.” He said the forbidden phrase, reading the Bible, preaching religion, and believing in God or any higher power than the Masters was a capital offense. Laying his head on the dining table, he felt like crying, his eyes watered and his mouth drooled, as he felt a severe headache start behind his eyes, and start pushing at the back of his skull. “I’d do anything for a plate of hot food, and a cold root beer.” as if an angel answered his prayers he felt something land on the table.
Not believing what he saw or smelled, it took touching materialized objects to get him to believe it exists, looking around he saw no one, no one to thank for answering his prayer. Presenting before him was a silver platter, and on it was a plate filled with rich golden brown gravy from chicken fat, a large drumstick with plenty of seasoned skin, and juicy meat. Mashed potatoes whipped with butter and onions, with a healthy pour of gravy, fresh, hot bread rolls that were soft but had a hearty substance to it, and mini corn cobs, smothered with butter and asparagus.
On the platter were silverware utensils, salt and pepper shakers, and a frosted mug of frothy root beer, something he hasn’t had since he was a child. Hardly able to control his heartbeats and breathing, he drank deep the lip numbing drink, and began to devour his meal, using both fork and hand he finished it in seconds. Belly full of the meal that heated his stomach and radiated to his chilled fingers and toes, he was stunned when he saw as soon as he finished the platter vanished and before him was a ivory napkin.
Wiping the sweet remnants of his meal from his face, he let out a belch of contentment, and felt his strength return to his body. “Thank you.” he said meekly, unsure if anyone heard him, he wasn’t sure who gave him that food, but he was sure to find them, searching the house, he found no one. Not in the dusty basement, where the dim daylight filtered through the egress windows and showed nothing in the dust filled cellar.
No furniture, no pictures, nothing, everything that showed other people lived in the house were stripped away, upstairs, and in the attic, he found nothing but different shades of darkness and light. Only place left was the silo that was on the east-wing of the mansion, closed off by double doors, adorned with faded imagery that seemed nightmarish even when he couldn’t see what they were exactly.
Grabbing the knobs he felt a slight resistance, most likely from years of unuse, twisting it with as much effort as he could, he heard a cringing snap, and backed away, fearing he broke something integral, but before his eyes the doors opened all by themselves, as if by the smallest degree by unseen hands between gaps in time stoppage.
“Jesus.” he said again, as he looked at what lay beyond the door, entering it, he was entranced by what was beyond. A room of burgundy and gold adornment, carpeted floor of foreign design whose people were long extinct, framed painting displaying the portraits of—things.
Seven things, humanoid type creatures of some bizarre and alien race that if the world hadn’t become to illiterate he might have a stronger definition for, for all he knew they were inhuman mutants, hellish devils, whatever they were, their paintings shimmered with movement, as if something of themselves resided in the lead and paint. Glancing upwards Clark saw all along the cylindrical walls, jewels of rare cut and color, and other paintings, some more vivid than others—hundreds of them, each with a bizarre subject, looking more unnatural and fantastical than the last.
Sunlight coming from the glass dome on the ceiling was amplified by the gems and crystals adorning the walls and furniture, and to his wonderment Clark saw a rainbow shoot from the ceiling, and ricocheting off a gem to another gem, through a crystal lens, splitting the rainbow in streams of different colors, only to be rejoined right behind Clark, and to his amazed horror he saw the rainbow pointed to a painting—it was a painting of him, in his military uniform.
***
Lying on his mattress in the cold, black room that was his bedroom, Clark sucked his teeth, and began to seriously consider a fantastical reasoning behind what he saw in the silo, and the food he received earlier. Ghosts, specters, apparitions from another dimension—possibly Hell, converging on the deprivation camp, like something out of the science fiction pulps he would read in secret.
Fantastical, in all ways, exciting, terrifying, and confusing, why was he in that painting? Showing him in his prime? Uniform and all, he was a pilot beyond peers he would admit to himself if he wasn’t so modest, almost to a self-deprecating degree.
Unable to sleep with his thoughts so filled with thoughts he couldn’t reason through, he barely noticed the approaching storm, a terrible, hurricane of a storm, whose winds pulled many of the trees surrounding the estate by the roots, flinging them into the air, and bearing down torrents of ice cold rain.
It was after a flash of lightning filled his black room with ivory white light did things change, once the flash ended, so did the storm seem to, all sounds of stampeding rain on the roof, world shaking thunder, and bestial wind vanished in a an instant. From the doorway came a golden light, it blinded Clark at first, but after sometime he could see clearer, and it was as if another house materialized outside his room.
Rising from the bed, his leg stopped hurting, so much so he didn’t need to limp or need his cane, walking through the doorway he was surrounded by an atmosphere of high class comfort. Furniture of warm fabrics with exquisite embroidery and extravagant design, electrical lights and lit candles lit up the halls and rooms, and from the walls, floor, and ceiling was sanded, painted, and decorated in such ways that he only read about in books.
No one in his life possessed such opulence, maybe the Masters, but no one saw them in their personal surroundings; even those directly under them didn’t have anything resembling beauty in their surroundings, just boring, simple shapes, made of muted colored stones. That was what his world was stiff, uncompromising in its basic necessity, nothing had any unique beauty, only foreboding binding of all to a tyrannical hydra.
“Welcome.” a voice said from the next room down the burgundy hallway, it surprised Clark that made him jump and when he recovered from the shock he saw a wall mirror. Looking into it he saw himself, his age and body was reversed to the days of being an ace pilot. No lame legs, just a man with raven hair, cut to be both regulation and stylish, bright eyes with heavy black bags around them, as if they were two silver pearls shining from the bottom of a well. “Does your appearance please you?”
Turning his head, Clark saw one of the creatures from the paintings, it was a masculine humanoid with seven crimson legs, on a bulbous torso, and a pair of muscular arms, his head was narrow and long like a wisemans hat, and had a long nozzle and his face resembled a gas mask.
Clark wasn’t afraid of the creature, instead he felt the emboldened confidence of a man fresh out of the flight academy, ready, and able to destroy the enemy. “Yes.” he answered with a tone that spoke from his thick chest. “I am more than pleased in fact, should I thank you for this change?”
“Not at all.” the creature gesture that he follows into the dinning room. “It is your natural state in the Idverse.”
Following the creature, Clark found himself guided to a dining room, with a long table, covered in ghostly white cloth, and chairs lining all around, only four were seated at the long table, which could have easily seated twelve. Immediately he recognized the four others at the table as some of the creatures he saw in the paintings, all had odd glasses that Clark didn’t recognize as wine glasses, holding a greenish-gold fluid with fog hovering over its surface.
“What is the Idverse?” Clark wasn’t sure what that was, but he got the gut feeling whatever it was, was just as benevolent or malevolent as his hosts.
“Come sit by me Clark Pattington, and I will tell you all you wish to know, and what we desire from you.” The one speaking was an odd humanoid with large unblinking black eyes, affixed to a stitched up head of bone fragments. Wearing a cheshire smile, he was dressed in black and white clothes that might’ve seemed drab, but were quite fitting his skeletal host.
For a moment he hesitated, but decided that either the creatures were friendly or he’d be dead even if he returned to his prison. “Alright.” Clark saw the red creature take a seat at the other end of the table, and as he moved to his assigned seat, he saw the eyes of the other creatures. Making eye contact made him feel eerie, as if something extraordinary was about to happen with his life.
Seated next to the skeletal creature Clark was about to ask further questions, but a creature came out boisterously from the kitchen, this one was quite feminine, her slim waist, and naked navel showed off her voluptuous female form, and her long snake-like body that spun around the table. She covered up overhead, her aqua-teal skin glistened like many shards of glass on the beach on a bright summer day.
“Since you enjoyed the last meal I prepared for you, I made this one with extra care.” Clark could practically taste those honey sweet words.
“You gave me that plate of food the other day? Thank you, that meal saved my life and I will be eternally indebted to you.” Clark’s words made her giggle and blush, as she swaggered her bubbly bosom to and fro, they shared an affectionate stare, till the skeletal creature coughed aloud. A distracting sound that had the divine female creature leave her place above Clark’s head, and slither to the other side of the table, where both of them would steal glances at one another throughout the meal.
What was served was on another silver platter, this time it was a variety of rich foods that Clark had never seen before, but the smell and presentation of it made his stomach rumble. As he took a spoonful of the rice dish, he let out an appreciated groan of satisfaction.
“Thank you, this is delicious.” he praised as he chewed on the savory meal. She blushed and hid her face, her feigning shyness made the other creatures groan in derisive annoyance.
“You wanted to know about the Idverse?” the skeletal creature reminded Clark, breaking him out of the romantic stupor which had him enraptured.
“Ah, yes, but I’d rather get to know your names, since you know mine.” The reasonable request was such a guise to learn the fetching snake woman’s name, something he could moan softly to himself in bed, as he obsessed over such vivid scenarios playing out in his imagination.
Despite the reasonableness of the request, the skeleton creature saw Clark’s true intent, and intended to set some things straight, despite his smile, he was a calculating mind behind a joyous façade. “We don’t use our real names here, and soon neither will you. As I wanted to explain before, we are in the Idverse. An overlapping dimension where only those with an ultra-ego can even comprehend. The fact you can leave your body and join us here speaks of your power.”
“Does it?” Clark played it cool, as he did with rival cadets at the academy, everyone vying for the few once in a lifetime chances to be a pilot. One not only needed to be a master of aerial maneuvering and combat, he had to destroy all rivals before they destroyed him, using allies when needed, every watchful of betrayal. “So why no names?”
“For our safety, you see we are not like this in the regular dimension, we are actually rebels against the Masters.” Clark heard that made him swallow hard, and his eyelids felt as if they were going to tear something by how far they stretched wide open.
“You’re kidding, how?...why? This all just seems crazy, the Masters have…well they have always been the well, masters of the world.”
“No.” The skeleton creature had a sinister edge to his voice as he spoke about the masters. “They are not mankind's leaders, they are not even humans, they are aliens from the farthest reaches of space, who have come here centuries ago, and have poisoned our minds against us. Everything of our history has been destroyed, and even outlawed knowing it, and have slowly begun the devolution of man into willing slaves so they can expand their empire, or kill us all in the process.”
What Clark was told was so beyond what he ever thought was wrong with his society, of himself, could it be true? Aliens? It was so fantastical, but it made sense, why ban science fiction pulps? Could the secrets in those ancient words tell of the true enemy, the real enemy.
“I find it hard to process, I believe you but…how could we have let this happen?” he placed his head in his hands, he lost his appetite as the hopelessness began to form in his mind.
“It happened by the smallest of changes, by infiltrating human society in familiar disguise, they manipulated us into following them as leaders, and over the course of years and years, changed us ever so slightly to be obedient.” that sounded more truer than anything Clark had heard before, and unleashed something in the recesses of his mind.
Memories of all the military training, schooling, and arbitrary rules, all set to the drums of a slave ship that he was rowing towards the total enthrallment of the human race.
“And you’re all fighting back against them?!” Clark was enraged, his punishment was unjust, and evil. With all intentions of making the Masters pay for what they did, he was prepared to shake the hands of the devil himself, to get his revenge. “I’ll join, whatever the cost.”
Enthused by Clark’s rage, the creatures hurrahed and clapped in approval of such zeal for their cause, whatever the motivation.
“Good.” the skeleton creature, placed his hand on Clark and lowered him back to his seat, which he leapt from in a momentary rush of adrenaline. “But first let us introduce ourselves, Clark Pattington, I am Ob Sid, the de facto leader of the rebellion, next to him—” he gestured to a tall yellowish man with a large nose, and big red eyes, and green pupils, “—Eb-Ny, and—”
“—and I am Gem Qua.” the serpentine beauty interrupted, as she looked seductively at Clark who smiled, as he looked at her wanting stare.
“—And!” Ob Sid interjected his voice flaring with anger for a moment, “—next to her Fy Fros.” Fy Fros was most monstrous of them all, he had a long, thick body, and eight bairs of scale covered legs, with powerful looking hands that had menacing claws, and his head was that of a sharp tooth creature with one cyclopean eye on his forehead. “And finally, is Ire Nyx, who you met in the hall.” the red creature bowed his head in greeting.
“It is a pleasure to meet all of you.” Clark said humbly, wanting to make a good impression on his new comrades. They either nodded or gave him a hand shake in welcoming, and Gem Qua leaned over with her long body and gave him a soft kiss on his cheek which made him blush. “But I don’t get why you all look…different from me.”
“We all looked like our ideal selves when we first came to the Idverse, but we all made a compact with the Devourer, Zo, the god of this dimension who granted us powers to best fight against our mutual enemies, the Masters, or as they are known here, the Celites.”
“So, if I make a compact, I will become one of you?” The idea of turning into a monstrous creature made him nervous.
“Only in the Idverse, and in both dimensions you will have fantastical powers to aid our mission, as you noticed, there is not too many of us left.'' The dining hall had a sober glum to it, as Clark understood the depth of Ob Sid’s words.
“What happened?” Clark’s curiosity got the better of him, but he would’ve pried into the sensitive subject sooner or later.
“The Celites captured them, put them through torture and experiments that utterly destroyed them from both dimensions, which is why we don’t share our real world identities, in case one of us is captured we can’t be forced to betray one another.”
Clark then realized something and his suspicions turned to doubt of his new allies' intent, “except me, you all know my name.”
“Yes, but that won’t matter anymore.” the skeleton said, his voice betraying an insidious revelation.
“Why? I still got family and friends the Masters could punish if they found out—”
“They won’t.” Ob Sid took a moment to prepare to say the words, as he gripped Clark by the forearm, his boney hands somehow steadied Clark’s nerves.
“You’re dead.” The words stunned Clark like nothing he ever experienced before. “Tomorrow the police will come to the compound and find you dead in bed, having died from a sudden illness. They poisoned the rations, it would’ve killed you horribly, so we served you a toxin that would ease you into death, and on examination would look as if you died from the rations, we staged it to look as such.”
“You killed me?” Clark felt betrayed, he could see the reason but in that moment of shock he felt as if he was murdered without care.
“If we could’ve given you a choice we would’ve, but time was against us, and if you didn’t eat the rations the Masters would have killed you in a more painful way. They only spared you to make the public think they were showing mercy, when you were pegged for death all along.” a macabre sort of comfort eased his mind, as he began to recover from the shock.
“But the ration machine, it didn’t—”
“We tampered with it beforehand, we had to wait till you could fully awaken in the Adverse. Like I said, you’re special, you are the one who has been chosen by Zo, you are his champion.” Clark wished he could gauge Ob Sid’s sincerity, the large, unblinking pitch black eyes didn’t reveal anything for certain, but a glance at Gem Qua showed him a sense of guilt, but a guilt from doing a necessary evil. Her eyes sparkled with desire to make up her own deed in his earthly demise.
“Are you all dead too?” Clark needed to further explore this issue to fully put it to rest.
“No. If we die in either dimension we perish in both, you are gifted by Zo, who wishes to speak with you, when you’re ready, go outside, alone, and your mission will be made clear.”
Looking around, Clark saw all eyes upon him, he then heard a strong gust of wind pick up, and blow against the mansion. Outside the windows he saw pure darkness, nothing seemed to exist outside, but he was silently goaded by the others to go outside and meet with his destiny.
Every second of hesitation made the wind blow harder till it pushed in the door, and a powerful gust rampaged through the house, ripping things off walls, and upturning furniture. Gritting his fists, he went out with all the courage he could squeeze together in his guts, and unhindered by the wind went out into the great darkness.
Once outside the wind died, and he stood upon the porch gazing out at absolute darkness. Nothing seemed to be without, and shaken by resolved spirit walked down the stairs, and the moment he stepped into the blackness he saw the blackness come alive with a rainbow of colors. All things melded into one and before him was the purity of the ultimate within that universe, a being that he could only comprehend through his wavering psyche as Zo, the deity of infinite beasts.
Beasts of water, air, earth, and fire all harmonized in his core being, all heads and claws looked upon Clark and he looked upon Zo and felt the fear of the infinite authority in his new reality. Words could not be exchanged between the Devourer and its new Champion, for that was a pitiful effort between mortals to communicate, however with a God it comes from their grace the knowledge of all of one's life's purposes.
Melted away were his doubts and misconceptions of his past life, and along with it his mortal perception of his form, reshaped as if he were raw clay by the hands of a new God, Clark changed through death to someone anew, a Champion of Devour, he was—
***
Inside a dark metallic room filled with many alien instruments, a man hidden in the shadows, except his gleaming ball bearing eyes and a lit cigar. Seated at a desk of solid metal, he pressed a button on the console beneath his desk, and an automatic door slid aside. Through the dull gold light of the doorway, two dark silhouettes came through, summoned by their Master.
Silent they awaited for their summoner to speak, as their eyes looked at his, filled with agony caused by the hatred implanted in them at gestation. They were mutants, vile creatures of evil science, to appear human enough, but are terribly ugly, and marred with abnormal proportions.
“Kernel Wechsler is visiting his family for furlough, he has the respect of his men, too much. Kill him and his family, and any who witness this, we’ll blame a foreign power, now go." The command once spoken sent the mutants to their task, through the door their forms disappeared and the metallic door slid closed once again, leaving the Master to gingerly smoke his cigar in quiet darkness.
***
Driving down a desert road, a Kernel in his staff car driven by a sergeant started to feel uneasy, his home was in an isolated subdivision a few miles from the base and town. Not too many visitors, so it was unusual for a vehicle to follow them, not too close, but far enough to seem unimportant.
“You notice that vehicle behind us Sergeant?” Kernel Wechsler asked, sounding casual about it, despite his reservations.
“Yes, it's been following us since we left the highway Sir.”
“Since we left the base.” the Kernel corrected, he pulled his service pistol, as he eyed the vehicle, he had heard stories of assassins killing military officers when they arrived home, and he feared that if he went home he’d be putting his family in danger. “Do me a favor Sergeant Hoet, let that vehicle pass us, and keep your piece ready.”
Unbuckling his seatbelt, the kernel got low in the backseat, but kept high enough to see out the window, as Sergeant Hoet parked the car at the side of the road, his gun at the ready. You could hear them breathe, both heard their hearts pound as they counted the seconds, as the black car that’s been stalking them came closer to their position.
Slowly everything seemed to move, as the car started to pass by, and the passenger window opened, and then came open gunfire. Automatic rounds pounded the side of the bullet proof vehicle, and shattered the driver’s window riddling the Sergeant with a lethal amount of bullets. Dying with a hard grunt, Sergeant Hoet fell forward into the steering wheel, causing a deafening honk to sound out.
Wanting to avenge his Sergeants death, Kernel Wechsler returned fire through the shattered driver’s window, and managed to blow out the assassin’s rear tire. One of them poked out of the passenger’s window as their car began to skid and was thrown out, he landed hard on the concrete road.
Within moments he got up again, seemingly unfazed by the wall, his eyes gleaming with murderous intent, as he raised his rifle and continued firing. Ducking down, he went to the passenger side door in the back, and leapt out, just as the other car stopped moving, and its driver got out, Kernel Wechsler ducked low, and saw from the gap under the car, both of them approaching.
Fearful he sidled along the edge of his car, leaned over the edge and fired at the closest of the two, he fired three clean shots, all hit their mark. Not one bullet halted the dark silhouettes approach, instead he fired back, and the Kernel had to hide behind his vehicle. He considered making a run for it, but he’d be running blind, and the moon was out, he’d be spotted in no time. Calling for help was out, he’d be dead before he even turned it on, what he needed was divine intervention.
Cause he was down to his last shot, and he had two armed killers, fast approaching—faster than he’d like, cause he saw a dark shadow poke out from around the car, and standing there was a hideous mutant, barring its monkey-like teeth, aiming its weapon for a fatal shot.
Just then a gust of wind blew overhead, the wind was so powerful he sent the mutant flying off his feet, and the Kernel taking the chance fled into the night. The other mutant saw the shadow of his target moving across the desert, taking aim. He felt a stinging pain in his neck, clutching it with his free hand, he found his hand was covered in blood—his slimly blood that spewed from his open wound.
Growing out to his comrade, the mutant was beheaded by the second swipe, leaving one mutant left standing. Correcting himself, the mutant looked in shock as his comrade’s headless body laid in the road, blood still spewing from his body. Raising his gun, he was got unawares by a phantasm from the darkness, with unflinching eyes of predatorial supremacy, the black clad assailant fell upon him, appearing as a bird of prey with wings so razor sharp it split open the mutant’s guts, leaving it to claw at his innards, as he collapsed to the ground to slowly die.
“Vengeance is a fierce and exacting cost for those who do evil on the Master’s behalf.” Pressing his talon shaped boots, to the mutant’s skull, he decided to show mercy, and gave the mutant a quicker but far more gruesome demise, by crushing his skull. Eyes popping from their socket, the bones in the head start to creak, then crack, and then splat, brains and gore everywhere. Wiping the blood and brain from his boots, Exacutor Champion Of Zo, The Devourer, having fulfilled his task, spread his wings made of ebony bones and leathery sinew, waiting for the winds to come and ascend him into the sky.
Soaring across the night sky to exact his terrible retribution against the Masters and those who serve him, with precise cruelty for their evil.
Hey, interesting story. Sounds like a terrible world to live in.
Heads up, somewhere you have "hasn't" instead of "hadn't" I believe, but I can't find where it is again. It was in the first half or third. Hope you don't mind me mentioning it.