ã€ŠA Quest of Two Worlds 2ã€‹


 Prologue

    What should have been a peaceful slumber for the sole occupant of the mountain was suddenly, and somewhat rudely, disturbed by tremors that shook his home to its very foundations. The brief rumbling of earth and stone was enough to jolt him out of rest and into an alerted state that left him running through rigorous calculations in his head; Was the exit blocked, could he make it to the exit in time if he ran now? Were they under attack and if so, who? Was it a violent tectonic disturbance and was it something he could counter? It was as though the entire cavern system trembled in fear of something dreadful.

    Having his home inside a hollowed-out, active volcano came with its upsides but it also came with an equal set of downsides to it. For instance, it was prone to sudden quakes that varied in their intensity and duration. Whereas those stemmed from the wrath of Mother Nature herself, this one felt too light and too brief for it to be caused by the same tectonic shifts. He had felt the ground shake before, he was used to them and this was not one of them.

    It had felt more like an impact, the kind from something heavy striking the ground with such force to cause a tremor. What in the great world of Munhiero could have been capable of causing a tremor such as that?

    The cavern once was the primary magma chamber of the volcano a long time ago before it was magically diverted away and drained to create a massive cavern befitting the sole resident of this mountain. It was shaped like a triangular prism. Wide at the bottom where the walls then angled towards each other and met at the ceiling. At a guess, the ceiling was at least a hundred feet tall and a hundred feet wide on the floor. The cavern stretched for at least a kilometre with rivulets of magma flowing on both sides, pouring out from channels created to provide a soft illumination and heating for the residence.

    In the centre of the triangular corridor was a raised dais platform that acted as both study, office, and bedroom for the sole occupant of the volcano. A massive black dragon with crimson accents that ran along his hardened belly plates and wings, atop his head he had two sets of obsidian black horns stood out from his head. One on the crown of his head and the other jutted out from the side of his lower jaw, and both sets curved back then upward like a pointy crown. The leathery membrane that made up his wings was torn and shredded by years of combat, wear and tear, and of battles long past. Only one of many remnants on his body indicative of the struggles he had taken to get to where he is now. He craned his long neck back to inspect the rest of his body, ensuring that there was no damage and that he was in good enough shape to fight or defend. When nothing presented itself and everything seemed to have returned to normal, the dragon got up and shook the pins and needles sensation out of his extremities.

    He briefly craned his head to look over his hind left leg; Intense scarring and burn marks covered the limb¡¯s entire femoral bicep. The burn marks on his leg were from an old injury that always reminded him of a stupid decision he made and the life he could have had was gone as a result of it. At the very least, the Dragon was glad that despite its appearance it hadn¡¯t impeded his ability to use the limb. The Dragon also possessed a lengthy, thin whip-like tail with a spade of keratin capping the end. The spade could be used both like a whip and a spear to impale his opponents who got unlucky enough to engender his ire.

    He was a titan in his own right, a formidable presence that couldn¡¯t be described in the same manner as every other creature below him. He wasn¡¯t just any dragon, he wasn¡¯t any being in a position of power and influence. No, he was in fact a force of nature unto himself.

    He is the Dragon Lord. Nature¡¯s champion.

    Sometimes he would call himself that and chuckle at the overly pompous title as though he thought it to be beyond a ridiculous description of his real title.

    For the moment the Dragon Lord thought he was wrong about his initial suspicion about the tremor and braced himself for the imminent aftershock, waiting for that slight tremble of the earth beneath his feet as Mother Nature herself shifted the ground to her designs. But it didn¡¯t come. How odd.

    Perhaps it was just a light one this time? He thought to himself. No, this is something else. Something was not right.

    Barrelling out of one of the adjoining tunnels was a small dragon with crimson scales. ¡°Master, Master!¡± Called the young drake. His voice was still in its soprano stage but just on the cusp of breaking into a lower, baritone voice that was becoming of an adult dragon. ¡°You need to come out and see this, sire. There is a massive cloud of fire and thunder!¡±

    The Dragon Lord looked up, partly worried. The younger dragon was a servant entrusted to do the bidding of his master. But despite the similar species, the servant was far below his master. If he was a god then the servant dragon was a peasant at best. But he did his best to not treat them like one, unlike his predecessors the Dragon Lord had instead opted to show them the same kindness and levity he would any other in his diplomatic duties.

    ¡°What are you talking about, Ilyun?¡± The Dragon Lord replied softly. Contrary to his servant, now called Ilyun, his voice was kindly and smooth like caramel. He had had a warmness to it that could melt frigid butter if he whispered compliments to it.

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    Ilyun looked between his master and towards the passage he had entered from with panicked terror. His eyes were unfocused and flighty, they seemed to be looking at everything but his master directly. ¡°It¡¯s- its¡­ I don¡¯t even know how to describe it, you need to see for yourself!¡±

    The Dragon Lord cocked an eye ridge in confusion but complied nonetheless.

    The Dragon Lord started towards the steps that led off his dais platform and passed by shelves that contained his many artefacts and personal possessions. The artefacts themselves were passed down onto him from the previous Dragon Lord and were objects of magical and historical significance that were crucially entrusted to him as part of his job. But the rest of the trinkets belonged to him and him only. To everybody else these things would puzzle them as they tried to work out their significance or their importance to the Dragon Lord. But to him these possessions held the most amount of value. He approached a massive table off to the side of the stairs and reached for one small item in particular. A behaviour that he adopted whenever he was forced to leave the mountain home for whatever reason.

    By comparison to the Dragon, the object was tiny. So tiny in fact that it required steady hands to pick it up between two of his claws and look at it with his enhanced vision. Age might be wearing him down physically but his eyesight remained just as sharp and keen as it did when he was in his prime.

    ¡°Why do you bother with that thing, Master?¡± The flighty servant, Ilyun inquired with a sneer. The servant Drake found that piece of memorabilia lowly for even the Dragon Lord to keep around, much less prize highly. ¡°It and the lowly creatures depicted in it are nothing. They mean nothing to someone as important and as high as you, sire.¡±

    A brief flash of anger welled up inside the Dragon Lord before he got a good hold of it and locked it down tight. In his head he imagined his anger as a raging fire that he could control through willpower alone and grabbed it. As though it were a physical thing that he could manipulate, the Dragon Lord imagined scrunching it up between his claws until it had been reduced to a small ball he could hide in one hand and placed it in a locked box before having it buried deep.

    To anybody else, it would have looked as though that comment did nothing to upset the Dragon Lord. They would not have known about the brief loss of control had they known to look for the telling signs in his body language. He really wanted nothing more than to yell and scold Ilyun so much that he would be shaking in his scales for a week just for that comment. Instead he took in a deep breath then exhaled. The picture in his claws would puzzle everyone else trying to figure their significance, and in doing so fail to grasp the true value it held.

    Only a trusted handful of his older servants and closest allies knew what it was and the value it held. He had to remind himself just how inexperienced Ilyun is. Rather than explain it, The Dragon Lord set the pictograph aside carefully and followed his servant through the tunnels. While he did so, he thought back to how many of his advisors and servants called his idea for a proposed experiment ridiculous and beyond stupid. That in no way was it going to work. But he did it anyway and for sixteen wonderful years he had thought he proved them wrong, in fact, he had even considered giving up his career as Dragon Lord in pursuit of raising his family instead. Oh, the looks on everyone¡¯s faces when they heard he was considering early retirement was almost worth the verbal barrage he copped that day. He could have sworn the entire Dragon enclave had smoke rising out of their nostrils in fury at what he was implying.

    But it seemed that the fates had a different path for him, one that only he didn¡¯t rejoice in being placed in. His family life, the only time he had ever learn to love¡­ was taken from him.

    Still, everyday he kept his hopes up that maybe one day he will get to see his children once more. The thought of being reunited was enough to keep him going, even in his advanced years. The elderly Dragon Lord hung his head low as he tried to remember his children''s faces and the warm feeling he got whenever he planted a kiss on their tiny heads. It was a feeling that was enough to keep him going.

    At the far end of the tunnel, light was creeping in. That was really strange, as far as he knew it was still night-time. So, unless his servant woke him up early the next day or he slept in far later than he normally did there should not be any light whatsoever. Even the glow from the magma did not glow that bright. Once outside the mountain, the tunnel entrance was at the end of a large stoney plaza decorated with ornate pillars and statues of some of the world¡¯s greatest heroes. Many were of Dragon Lord¡¯s past with few from the other species who had demonstrated tremendous courage and bravery that was worthy of being immortalized. On his left, three pillars away was the Centaur archer Bathis, front hooves raised and ready to fire an arrow at any given time. Two pillars right, the Wood Elves¡¯ first leader Tanith. His was for being the first person to unite the scattered wood tribes into one nation.

    But despite these fabled heroes and legends with their likeness and heroism long last to myth and fable, and their form greatly exaggerated to give them look of a hero were not what drew the Dragon Lord¡¯s eyes.

    Sure enough he was right, it was still night when they emerged. The smell of sulphur clung to the air like an unwelcome stench that lingered too long but it was not as pungent as other days. Two of the three moons were at their zenith with the smallest of the trio nowhere to be found, the faint light casted down a silver glow on the sands of the desert stretching all the way out to the Great Mountain Range before him. Except that was the problem, the mountain range existed just on the horizon before him. So he should not be able to see it, period.

    And yet he could easily make out its distinctive cragged peaks from where he was standing. The silhouette of the mountain was cast by the presence of what had the Dragon Lord initially believed to have been a disastrous volcanic eruption. This assumption was quickly squashed when he realised that his mountain home was the only active one for thousands of miles around.

    He couldn¡¯t help but stare at it. Thick smoke lit an ominous red billowed out as arcs of red lightening flashed across the thick, broad trunk of the mushroom cloud. Its very presence disrupted any nearby clouds leaving a noticeable clearing in the sky above, but the orange light cast from the hellacious mushroom cloud had illuminated the Soulfire desert and everything else like it was day.

    The servant dragon said in a panicky tone. ¡°What do we, sir? Is it the humans?¡±

    The Dragon Lord frowned.

    ¡°It may very well be. They are the only ones who could do such a thing. I fear the Wood Elf tribe has been decimated by something powerful and utterly dreadful that the humans have concocted. Send for a scout to inspect the damage and report back to me. We need to know how bad it is and where resources can be allocated. In the meantime, have supplies like food and water prepared in caravans ready to go at a moments notice. And send out patrols to look for any survivors, we may need to take on refugees and look after them until we can get the full scale of this disaster understood.¡±

    ¡°As you wish.¡± Ilyun replied with a bow of his head before disappearing amid a crowd of onlooking spectators.

    The Dragon Lord continued to look at the symbol of human destruction, the great and mighty Munhiero permanently scarred by such senseless destruction. Just what the Hell were they thinking, why would they do this? He quickly regained control over his own thoughts and tried to maintain his objectivity. He had no clue or evidence to suggest this was the work of humans... Yet. But he could sense it within his very core that it was. His chest grew heavy and with a saddened sigh, the Dragon Lord spoke softly so only he could hear.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t the world I wanted for you, my sons. I only hope you can forgive me for what must be done.¡±

 Chapter 1

    <u>Thomas</u>

    <u> </u>

    When Thomas was a young boy of perhaps ten or nine years of age his mother had left the television on for him after she had finished watching the latest episode of one of her favourite soap operas. It was a boring show that chronicled the lives of a wealthy family that ran some kind of office building in the heart of the largest city on the planet, with drama that was more fake than half the processed foods he had eaten, Thomas found it to be incredibly boring and unrealistic. However, what had been shown next was a rerun of a popular science fiction show that, for the life of him, could not recall the name of it nor who the actors in it were, or even what the overall plot was about. But one thing that did stand out to him was a scene that would stay with him for as long as he lived.

    In it, the lead actor, at least that is what Thomas believed him to be, was a Caucasian male with slim facial features and light brown hair gelled back to expose a sharp widow¡¯s peak. He stood looking over an empty bay with twin mechanical doors embedded in the floor. They clanked open and bright blue light flooded in to expose the surface of a planet below; The camera switched perspective to show a long, cylindrical object with four jets being lowered below the belly of a spaceship. Almost unexpectedly four jets of violet plasma burst into life shaking the camera and propelling the cylinder down into the atmosphere of the planet. What followed next was a long, drawn-out CGI sequence that followed the missile as it entered the atmosphere of the planet before the nose cone of the warhead blew apart and four small rockets launched themselves out. The rocket continued to travel its course when the adjacent section of the rocket removed its panels and another four missiles launched themselves in different directions. Then the next section blew about and another four launched themselves, and another four until the rocket shrank to just the four jets that were already firing. Eventually, small explosions ruptured the brackets that held the rockets together and went off towards their chosen target. What had started as one large missile being deployed resulted in twenty separate nuclear explosions that blanketed an entire continent in fire.

    Thomas could not quite remember if the episode in question addressed the necessity of the weapon or even who the factions in it were but it seemed to be more focused on the good guys striking their opponents first and dealing with the aftermath.

    Back in those days, Thomas was, just like any other kid his age, more interested in seeing the towering columns of smoke and fire billowing high into the sky surrounded by the devastation it had wrought in lieu of seeing the devastating after-effects such a powerful weapon possessed. Many details in the cinematic depictions were always leaving things out like the effects of acute radiation poisoning or fallout and the resultant nuclear winter. As he grew older, Thomas began to wonder just how accurate their portrayals truly were.

    Even halfway down the mountain, obscured by many dozens of metres of solid granite and limestone shielding him from direct contact, he could still feel the sweltering heat from the Pyrosonic explosion bite into his already irritant skin like a hundred small insects. Ominous orange light beamed over the craggy peak like rays of morning sunlight peering through the clouds, except it wasn¡¯t early morning, it wasn¡¯t even day¡­ It was late at night. Thomas¡¯ skin was sticky with sweat that dried up in the presence of the heatwave and he wondered if there were some kind of after-effect from being exposed so closely to the Pyrosonic bomb. Michael claimed the dosimeter feature embedded within his implants showed no sign of any radioactive materials present but Thomas wasn¡¯t sure if that meant the radioactive material hadn¡¯t reached them yet, or that there was some other by-product that the dosimeter did not detect, or that there were no harmful elements that would prove detrimental to the group¡¯s health. If it was the first one they would really need to get a move on and get as far away as they could before any radioactive particles settled down on them. If it was the second then Thomas feared what symptoms would arise as a result of exposure and what their chances of survival would be. And if it was the third option then apart from the persistent ringing in his ears after the massive shockwave adjusted the pressure so dramatically that it had felt like someone had hit his ear drum with a mallet, he would be fine in due time.

    By all accounts, it should have been pitch black and chilly with faint light bouncing off one of the moons above, but the fiery column behind the group had provided enough illumination and ambient heat to make their journey ahead as clear as a summer¡¯s day. It was starting to mess with his perception.

    Thomas glanced over the group to check up on them to see how they were holding up. Their reactions were mixed; Ghilya and Michael looked distant and sullen, they were going to be a problem if he didn¡¯t do something to address their issues. The former had just watched her home be reduced to ash in a matter of seconds, killing off who knows how many friends and family of hers, whereas Michael on the other hand hadn¡¯t fully recovered from his recent near-death experience. The stress of this journey was starting to get to him and it was only going to get worse if nothing was done about it. Even Thomas had to agree that the amount of stress on his young brother¡¯s shoulders was unfair for someone like him.

    Poor Michael, Thomas thought.

    His young brother was not emotionally prepared for the hardships that were ahead and yet he bravely suggested the idea of going to the most powerful figure on the planet in the hopes of stopping the invasion of their nation. Just what was he thinking when he suggested this; that it was going to be like one of those old fables of a brave hero going on a quest to parts unknown and face many dangers but in the end return a legend? Even when things were normal, Michael had always been behind the average person his age in regards to his mental faculties, on top of that, there was also the issue that he never grew up to know who his father was. Neither did Thomas for that matter but he had at least developed some memories of the man.

    Somebody behind him worked to clear their throat. Thomas looked back to see a mature man behind him with a silvery flattop and sagging skin on his face that gave him a double chin; Senator Clarke.

    Clarke was a politician in the Lower Senate for the Federal Republic of Balko. His domain covered the sprawling megacity that made up almost two thirds the state Michael and himself resided in, in fact by many accounts the rest of the nation considered the megacity itself a state of its own. Clarke was usually a pasty white in colour but looking at the man now Thomas could see he was tanned a vibrant red that looked like a really bad sunburn. But that could have just as easily been from the effort of trying to get down this mountain. Out of the four of them, Clarke held the least energy or stamina for such a journey which occasionally made Thomas wonder if bringing him along was even worth it.

    ¡°Are you okay, Clarke?¡± Thomas asked. The question was less from a place of concern than it was expected for him to ask the question in the first place. Since the formation of their little coterie there had been no rigid hierarchy or structure assigning each member to any role, and yet without any discussion it had seemed like Thomas was made the de facto leader of the group; guiding them and looking out for them when the need arose.

    Clarke looked up, sweat dripping down the sides of his head, breathing heavily. It made him speak with a tired, gravelly voice.

    ¡°Yeah¡­ Yeah, I¡¯m alright. Just need to take a break.¡±

    Thomas nodded. He looked toward his brother and Ghilya.

    ¡°How about you two? How¡¯re ya holding up?¡±

    Despite the brave faces they wore, Ghilya seemed distant and with a vacant look in her eyes while Michael seemed forlorn and exhausted.

    ¡°I just watched my home and friends and family burn to-to nothing and you ask me how I am doing!?¡± Ghilya shrieked. ¡°Well since you asked; I am doing fine! Really, I am. Watching your whole world be consumed in flames and leave nothing but scorched earth where there are no bodies for you to mourn aside from a cloud of ash, can put somebody in a somewhat irate mood!¡±

    Her reply came out so loud and sudden that it took Michael by surprise causing him to flinch. He glanced between Ghilya and Thomas, uncertain if he wanted to say anything out of fear of saying the wrong thing.

    Truthfully, Thomas knew not to take it personally. It was understandable and relateable to some extent, though granted his home was not vaporised to its constituent atoms, but it was under siege by all manner of creatures whose only commonality was of their shared hatred of humans led by the pyschopathic Wood Elf commander Xareith. And everyday more people were losing their lives at the hands, talons, claws of these creatures.

    In fact, it was because of this that Clarke had tagged along with them in the first place. As a politician he wanted to come to some sort of agreement with the Dragon Lord as an official representative of humanity.

    They found a small platuea that they could safely rest on. After a short ten minute break that honestly felt like it was less than five minutes, the group continued their trek downward and stopped at a ledge that had a view of the desert ahead of them. Thomas took a momentary glance out to the vast stretches of sand before them and noticed that the light grew dimmer as the mushroom cloud lost its energy, his eyes had just adjusted to the presence of light and now they were about to be plunged into darkness once again.

    I¡¯ll be lucky if this doesn¡¯t fuck with my body clock and my sleep.

    Another hour later and they had made their way down toward the ground. Still, nobody spoke out of fear of saying the wrong thing or they had nothing worthwhile to say. It could have been both. But Thomas looked around to see if there was any place they could hide out in the plains that didn¡¯t leave them exposed. Silently he cursed at the limited options, then looked back at Ghilya and asked.

    ¡°Hey Missy-¡°

    ¡°I told you not to call me that!¡± She bit back venomously.

    ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you know of a good place we can hide while we are out there? Don¡¯t want us to get snatched up by a dragon because we are in plain sight.¡±

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    Thomas had partly expected her to reply back immediately, perhaps with a snide comment to him or about humanity in general. When she didn¡¯t respond immediately, Thomas thought she was ignoring him. He was about to face forward when she said something.

    ¡°Well, there is one area I can think of¡­¡± It cane out more like a disapproving mumble than an actual response.

    ¡°Sounds like a start, where do we find it?¡± Clarke asked.

    ¡°For starters, it''s still a day¡¯s journey from here and it is an old outpost.¡±

    Thomas stopped in his tracks and spun around to face her. ¡°When you say ¡®outpost¡¯ what do you mean?¡±

    She looked puzzled for a moment, her eyes darting between Clarke and Thomas.

    ¡°It¡¯s an old human outpost. Really old. You don¡¯t know about it?¡±

    Confused, Thomas turned to face Clarke who shrugged his shoulders and held up his hands in an I-have-no-idea gesture. Finally, he said. ¡°I know we had some old military base over two hundred years ago but I never heard of one this far out from our borders. Must be really old or something.¡±

    ¡°Or its a super secret base where they make experiments and dangerous hush-hush, you-never-saw-us black commando type stuff. Like orbital lasers and powerful guns.¡± Michael said in a hushed voice. Feigning paranoia over top secret government projects. ¡°The kind where not even high ranking officials know about it for plausible deniability.¡±

    Clarke chuckled amusedly at the idea. ¡°I am pretty certain its not one of those kinds of bases.¡±

    ¡°How would you know? Maybe its an element of the government or military you don¡¯t belong in that is doing rogue stuff.¡±

    ¡°Its not... Because if it were, I would have at least liked to have known about it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Clarke. My brother does have a point; It could have been a faction that was very secretive and you weren¡¯t trustworthy enough or something. Might even be still classified from you to this day if you even knew were to look.¡± Thomas said with a smirk. He wasn¡¯t truly taking his brother¡¯s side so much as he was entertaining him to help him feel better.

    Ghilya, with a shrug of her shoulders said. ¡°I do believe your outpost has been abandoned for quite some time.¡±

    Michael took a step forward with a raised finger.

    ¡°Like, that outpost we saw a few days ago? The old military one?¡±

    ¡°What outpost?¡± Clarke and Thomas said together.

    ¡°We didn¡¯t come across any old base a few days ago.¡±

    Michael nodded enthusiastically and recounted his findings of an old concrete bunker that had long been since abandoned while looking for Ghilya. Due to his own negligence, Michael had been leaving his rubbish lying around and by the most unfortunate of circumstances this slight had come around to bite all of them in the ass. Ghilya responded to this with what Thomas believed to be something of an overreaction and stormed off, leaving them to fend for themselves. Still, he had to teach his little brother a lesson and send him to find Ghilya and do whatever it took to apologise to her. During his chronicling of events, Thomas began to take notice of several details that seemed to be implausible for reasons he could not explain but dared not to interrupt his brother¡¯s story telling, for now he wanted to see what the whole story was.

    ¡°-And thankfully, Ghilya came running as soon as she heard the gunfire and distracted the dragon long enough for me to impale it with my arm blade!¡± He said proudly as he brought out his right arm and summoned the Ithinite blade embedded within. ¡°I still remember it telling me I was a worthy opponent just before it died in a pool of its own blood. And then I apologised to Ghilya, told her how much we needed her and we came back.¡±

    He sounded so breathlessly excited and giddy like a child. Clarke and Thomas looked disbelievingly at each other, then to Michael who wore a proud grin on his face. Ghilya looking equally unimpressed by the events described had her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes lidded.

    After a moment¡¯s silence, Thomas looked over to Ghilya and asked. ¡°So all that is bullshit, right?¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah.¡± She nodded.

    The look of disbelief at seeing his whole display of bravado come undone quicker than it took for him to build it up was an almost worthwhile sight. For a moment it looked like Michael was about to protest but had chosen not to say anything. Thomas had to avoid making his pleasure known to prevent Michael from slipping down further his depression. Sure, he might have been okay and cracking jokes now but that was a fa?ade he was using to hide the pain inside. For now Thomas would go easy on him until he has had time to deal with it.

    Ghilya continued. ¡°But he was telling the truth about the outpost. The one up ahead is even larger and made out of thick stone. But its been abandoned and I¡¯ve heard stories about it.¡±

    ¡°What kind of stories?¡± Michael asked.

    ¡°Just strange ones; I heard from one traveller say they heard strange noises coming from it, didn¡¯t even go near it to rest. Another one I heard said that they explored it on a dare and claimed that they felt like they were being watched.¡±

    ¡°Soooo¡­ we aren¡¯t going to go to this place right? I mean as if that wasn¡¯t ominous as fuck already.¡± Said Michael.

    Thomas shrugged his shoulders. ¡°We may not have a choice. Besides, you already used your veto power once on the mountain tunnel, its why we are even hiking this friggin¡¯ mountain in the first place.¡±

    ¡°Since when did we get voting powers? And need I remind you that my choice turned out to be the correct one? After all, we saw what happened and now we know we need to pick up the pace. Had we been in the spider infested tunnel it might¡¯ve collapsed on us and we would never know why.¡±

    Clarke tenderly placed a hand on Michael¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Your brother is right. We don¡¯t have many options. And we can¡¯t be picky about where we stay, especially in our situation.¡±

    Michael sighed resignedly.

    The gravelly path beneath their feet soon gave way to solid rock, then to sand. Large rocks of various sizes peppered the surface as we walked toward the volcano just over the horizon. Still a long way to go, and with plenty of night left, getting to the old building was going to be their primary priority. About an hour into it, Thomas could hear strange sounds escaping from Clarke¡¯s mouth. When he spun around to see what was causing it he could see the Senator scratching at various parts of his face and arms.

    With a raised eyebrow he said. ¡°You alright there?¡±

    Clarke hissed through his teeth. ¡°No, my skin is itchy with blisters from the blast. I bet if I had those magic tattoos you guys have maybe this wouldn¡¯t be as bad.¡±

    Internally he rolled his eyes, but he couldn¡¯t help but ponder the man¡¯s words. It was true that he and Michael both had their skin reddened from the excessive heatwave but were nowhere near as red as the senator himself. The tattoos didn¡¯t seem to come alive at all during the blast but he had to wonder if there was some kind of enhanced dermal durability that came with it.

    ¡°Maybe,¡± Thomas said distractedly. ¡°But I personally find these tattoos more trouble than they¡¯re worth.¡±

    ¡°They saved Michael¡¯s life once already.¡± He rebutted

    ¡°Four times!¡± Michael swiftly corrected.

    ¡°See?¡± Clarke said extending an arm toward Michael.

    ¡°I agree with Thomas, these things are annoying as hell and are bloody inconsistent. ¡°Michael added. ¡°These tattoos are not all they are cracked up to be and hopefully we can ask the Dragon Lord to remove them.¡±

    ¡°How can you say that?¡± Ghilya sounded surprised with a small gasp escaping her throat. ¡°Do you have any idea just how powerful someone has to be to place those on a living being? I certainly could not do that if I tried. In fact, I doubt even Xareish is powerful enough to do it. And for as strong and powerful as he claims, even he would be the first to admit he could not cast magic that powerful.¡±

    ¡°Its just that they seem to attract unwanted attention when they flare up and they seem to be very selective about when to activate.¡± Michael replied.

    Michael¡¯s voice sounded so matter-of-factly about it, though Thomas couldn¡¯t blame his brother for his thoughts towards them. Did it save their lives? Yes; But that didn¡¯t mean they were free of their own drawbacks that slowly proved they were becoming less useful and more problematic.

    When Ghilya spoke, she almost sounded stunned. To Thomas he thought she viewed these magical tattoos as something they should feel fortunate to have.

    ¡°But even still, for someone to cast such a spell on you two, you must be very special to someone really important and really powerful. Its not every day you see that.¡±

    Thomas turned around to face her while walking backwards. ¡°Yeah, you see that¡¯s the thing I have trouble with; Neither of us knows anybody that would cast this on us. I mean why would they, we¡¯re just two guys who grew up in Sanctuary Hills, we don¡¯t matter.¡±

    ¡°Is it possible this spell serves some other purpose?¡± Clarke asked carefully. ¡°You said they were for protecting something important but do they have any other function or is that their only one?¡±

    Ghilya shook her head. ¡°Its only for protection as far as anybody knows. Only the casters themselves would know the full details.

    ¡°How is the whole spell put on a person? Like, what are the details?¡±

    ¡°Like most magic; you have to put your heart and soul in it. The spell and where you are sending it have to be at the front of your mind, you have to mean to cast it with all your heart, and on top of that you have to have a really, really good understanding of spells and magic.¡±

    Thomas fought back the temptation to shake his head dismissively and instead opted for a short roll of his eyes that nobody noticed. Had he not seen the whole thing with his own eyes and experience the effects of the tattoos themselves he would have been a lot more sceptical towards Ghilya¡¯s explanation of magic. Personally, he was not one that believed the heart had anything to do with anything that was besides its sole function.

    Working as a technical assistant in Tobar¡¯s clinic, Thomas was graphically exposed to the true inner workings of the human body and the functions each organ was assigned. The spleen functioned as an internal blood filter, sifting out impurities and storing them away in the lower bowels to be expelled along with the rest of the waste. Adjacent to that was the liver which aided in digestion and breaking down ingested substances. But the heart, that had only one job and that was to keep blood flowing throughout the body for as long as it can.

    Much like his brother, Thomas was different from the rest of humanity in his belief that the heart had no bearing on his emotional state or thought processes. Even after centuries of it being proven, the common people acted based on the feeling they felt in their hearts. Or doing what the heart wants. But the heart doesn¡¯t want anything. It does not want. It only pumps blood and that was it. The rest of it was decided by some small, emotional part of his brain that he tried to keep under a tight lid to prevent from interfering with his day-to-day life. Yet, despite his beliefs, here he was being told that magic involved the use of his heart. At the back of his mind he heard a voice gently whisper to him ¡°Well that settles it; you are not going to be learning magic any time soon.¡±

    He sucked in his lips and frowned as he felt something else in his mind sadden at the thought of not being able to learn magic. But the thought was quickly vanquished by the conscious part of his awareness perplexed by such a feeling. It was the kind of sadness one felt when something associated with them was taken away. Not the gut-wrenching pain of grief and mourning one felt from the loss of a loved one, but more akin to losing a toy or a piece of clothing they were fond of and now realising they won¡¯t see it again. Thomas however, had no prior relationship to magic, at least not to his own knowledge. So it made no sense to him that he would pine for knowledge he never knew about before.

    ¡°So it isn¡¯t possible that this spell was casted on them by accident?¡± Clarke asked, the inflection in his voice made him sound more uncertain than if he were asking a question. ¡°Like, they weren¡¯t in the wrong place at the wrong time and somehow it got casted onto them instead of something else?¡±

    Ghilya shook her head.

    ¡°What if they were really, really born lucky and they naturally came with this thing on them?¡±

    Thomas chuckled derisively. ¡°Hah-hah, yeah right! We were lucky enough to be born with this shit on us but none of that luck could have gone to making us win the lottery or come from a wealthier, well-off family? Get the fuck outta here!¡±

    Michael¡¯s face split in half with the grin he was wearing. He lowered his submachine gun as he looked between Clarke and Thomas. ¡°Oh yeah, real lucky we were. Hey Thomas, you remember the days when we were loaded and had Esses falling out of our pockets as we sat back and basked in the sun of our Cedar Heights summer home. Ah, what good times they were when we had too much money.¡±

    ¡°Hah, yeah, and anytime we needed some money our mother would always tell us to go to the vault where we keep the gold and chip off what we need!¡± Thomas added, laughter still present.

    ¡°You aren¡¯t born with it, nobody is. All that is required is the caster maintaining a steady train of thought as they recite the passages and summon forth the magic to create the spell in the first place.¡± Ghilya explained, keeping her hands folded across her slim chest.

    ¡°So, no then?¡± Clarke asked.

    ¡°No. But, there may be a way we can get answers¡­¡±

    ¡°And how do we do that?¡± Michael asked cautiously. ¡°I thought you said only the Dragon Lord or whoever put this on us would be able to give us answers.¡±

    ¡°I did and that is still our best shot,¡± Ghilya spun on her heels to face him. ¡°but if I were to teach you a magically enhanced meditative technique then it is possible you might even be able to find out who did it yourself.¡±

    ¡°How they fuck does that even work?¡± Thomas asked.

    ¡°Every time someone uses magic they leave a small imprint on it. Most of the time it means nothing but it acts like a signature or some kind of identifier of who did it in the first place. If we get you two to focus really hard and meditate then perhaps you¡¯ll be able to find out who did it in the first place.¡±

    Though he didn¡¯t say it out loud, Thomas glanced over toward Clarke who was staring back with a raised eyebrow in perplexion. Surely there was no way she was offering them how to use magic or at the very least give them meditation classes? Clarke took in a deep breath and sighed heavily.

    ¡°I doubt this is the best time or place to start thinking about doing some meditation. We should check out the abandoned base and if its secure, we can revisit this topic.¡±

    Silent nods of agreement from everyone. From there on as they continued to walk, nobody spoke for what seemed to be hours, though Thomas was not really sure just how much time had passed. Back in the city where there were advertisements playing everywhere and every screen was equipped with a small clock in twenty-four time always present in the top right corner made it easy to find out what the time was by looking in any direction. For those who were rich, or really poor, or even those who fancied themselves as collectors would have a separate timepiece on their wrists.

    Thomas worried that things were only going to get more difficult from here on forward, and worse, he was not certain if they were up for what might lay ahead.

 Chapter 2

    <u>Michael.</u>

    The first hour of daylight began to creep in past the horizon and onto the vast expansive desert before them. A stark contrast to the light of the explosion from before, whereas the light from that had felt ominous and threatening there was something peaceful and calming from the sun¡¯s own light. As though it were the conclusion of some ancient battle between two forces of light rather than between the typical fictitious light and dark sides. But long before that, the stars had faded from sight as the first glimpse of light started turning the sky all sorts of pastel purples and oranges.

    The moon, Charybdis hung stubbornly at its zenith as though it were peering down on the group with a curious crescent eye. Michael¡¯s heart still thumped in his chest ferociously after his near-death experience and he found that his hands, though replaced with carbon fiber mesh weaves and titanium ceramic rods that acted like his bones, surrounded by plates of porcelain and rubber that mimicked his original skin colour couldn¡¯t stop shaking. Combine that with the thrilling detonation of the largest non-nuclear explosion he had ever seen occur so close to him it was no wonder why his heart was in a perpetual state of agitation and stress. Every part of him seemed to tremble with anticipation and nervousness. Wondering where the next threat to his life would come from and how to evade it.

    Michael wondered if this was normal for his heart to remain in a constant active state for so long; He knew the long-lasting effects of medications were a call for concern but he never did figure out if his heart racing was also a bad thing. In the end, he tried to refocus himself and his breathing in order to bring it down a few beats per minute but found it to be an exercise in futility. Sand had started seeping in through every crevice and gap in his shoes and he could feel the coarse, granular texture rub between shoe and skin. Except, it wasn¡¯t skin either.

    His real arms, legs, and various organic bits were cut off and disposed into a biohazard waste bin somewhere back in Balko¡¯s capital city, rotting away and attracting all sorts of insects to feast on them. Something about that seemed so distasteful to Michael. Granted it was not as though he was dead and someone had desecrated his remains but he couldn¡¯t help but feel that his discarded organic components were deserving of a more dignified respect. Like a part of him he wished to give a farewell to instead of rotting away in a plastic bag marked for incineration. Something about it made him feel like what was taken away from him needed to be respected more.

    On the outside, he was given arms with retractable blades, legs that had inbuilt acoustic dampeners, and smaller implants attached to many of his major organs with small pumps to inject whatever chemicals were needed at the time. Michael despised all the mechanized bodily augmentations that had become the norm in human society these days and had hung on to the hope that one day the rest of the world would see things as he did, but after the invasion his brother had insisted he go through with it and have himself augmented to increase their chances of survival in an otherwise hostile world.

    It had felt like a betrayal of his beliefs and he felt like a hypocrite for it. He was already self-conscious enough as it was to know that if his younger self had saw him now he would have been disappointed and shocked beyond belief, possibly try to do everything to avoid meeting this outcome. But, he had to begrudgingly admit that undergoing the process might have saved his life once or twice, something he was never going to admit out loud lest he never hear the end of how the opinion of his brother is always the right one.

    Michael took a sip from his water canteen and looked around, scanning his surroundings. With each step he took, he felt as though he was forcing himself upward forcefully and swore he could feel a strange tugging sensation from the implants inside him. Though Thomas would claim it was all in his head, Michael could swear that he could feel the implants bounced up and down with each step he took like a weight that wasn¡¯t meant to be there, tugging along his organs. It was an alien sensation but one that didn¡¯t seem to make him nauseous, which Michael was grateful for.

    ¡°We will need to pick up the pace!¡± Ghilya said loudly. ¡°It gets really hot here and its still a few hours away.¡±

    Ghilya briefly glanced at him before returning her gaze to the front. Michael could have sworn he saw grief in her eyes like he had never seen before. Deep and profound, it was as though staring at them for too long would drag him under the ocean of depression and struggle to breathe under the waves of sadness batting him around like a piece of driftwood. Instead, he kept his gaze forward and continued to march forward.

    When the sun came up it illuminated everything brightly. No clouds in the sky were present to provide temporary shade or relief, any moisture that was to be had had long since evaporated.

    The river they followed all the way to the Great Dividing Mountains did not proceed beyond the mountains. Leaving them to be without any source of hydration in the sparse, dry, desert. Clarke was the first to show signs of tiredness and fatigue, his cherry red skin and constant perspiration would have been cause for alarm had it not been so obvious just how out of shape the senior politician was.

    Oddly enough it was neither him nor Michael that was the first one to complain about the sweltering heat. Instead it was Thomas who opened his mouth to whine.

    ¡°Fffffuuuucck!¡± He shouted skyward with a long drawl. ¡°Its too fucking hot!¡±

    Each of us glanced at him with a deep scowl.

    ¡°I know!¡± Michael replied, his voice tired and annoyed in equal measure. He used his forearm to wipe the sweat dripping freely from his face. ¡°We¡¯re all hot and bothered, just keep going.¡±

    Thomas said nothing. His exhausted state preventing him from firing back any witty remark.

    Michael was looking forward to the safety and security of this old military outpost that Ghilya was leading them toward. Though, in light of his previous experience with ancient human dwellings this far out he had tempered his expectations in favour of lichen-covered stone that would be thick enough to withstand direct explosive attacks. He even expected it to have holes and partially collapsed walls after decades or centuries of neglect. But as long as the roof was still there and providing some shade then it was all Michael could hope for.

    Given the stillness of the air and the absence of any sound aside from the group¡¯s feet shuffling through the sand it took Michael by surprise he didn¡¯t hear the wings of a dragon approaching.

    ¡°Get down!¡± Ghilya whispered harshly.

    Thomas and Clarke looked back at her for a moment before adjusting their view toward the sky. There it was, over the mountains they had climbed, a trio of dragons flapping their wings hard before nose diving along the mountain. They shot at velocities Michael struggled to estimate and did as Ghilya said. He threw himself to the steep incline of a sand dune and pressed himself flat.

    ¡°Bury yourselves!¡± Ghilya commanded.

    The three men looked at each other in confusion before Ghilya repeated herself. Michael shuffled his whole body in the sand like a worm to partially submerge himself in the granular ocean. Where he couldn¡¯t sink, he used his arms to fling sand over himself while silently cursing how dirty he was getting. He did not like this.

    Ghilya stood up and kept a firm gaze on the approaching trio of dragons.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t ya gonna bury yourself, missy?¡± Thomas asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

    Ghilya shook her head. ¡°I can be out here in broad daylight. None of you can.¡±

    As soon as she had turned her back on them, Michael had taken the opportunity to roll his eyes in annoyance at her. The way she had said it came off to him as something akin to a boast. ¡®I can be here, I am allowed to. You aren¡¯t, so there!¡¯. He could imagine her sticking her tongue out in a juvenile fashion like a child bragging about what they can do and what other¡¯s cannot. It was not as if he had deliberately forgotten the nature of their journey, with the threats and dangers present it was clear to him just how far out of their league they were.

    The dragons kept getting closer. They had to be within a kilometre of them, he could almost make out their details and features from here. Ghilya stood around and inspected her own equipment to make herself look busy for when they flew overhead. Was she afraid if she didn¡¯t look busy then the dragons would find her suspicious, or was she perhaps taking the time to do a mental inventory of her gear while she had the time? Or perhaps the most disturbing outcome that came to mind was the possibility that she was preparing to fight them.

    Michael found himself nervous at this outcome because if they came too close to the ground then the dragons would see them and they would be easy pickings while Ghilya tried to fight them off. As subtly as he could, Michael shifted his arms under the sand so if a fight were to occur then he could spring into action as quickly as he could. The dragons drew closer, their colours more prominent now, horns and other ornamental details started to take focus and shape. The one in the centre that Michael categorized in his head as the leader was a black dragon with bright orange accented scutes and wing membranes. Several bands of gold pierced its hide in many places giving it the appearance of a dragon punk. He could see the jewel encrusted rings on its lip and studs dotting along the eye ridge, each one glimmered in the sunlight like a miniature star radiating its own light. It made Michael think that it would help spot him and his brother and Clarke if they were illuminated by the reflection. They were almost right on top of them and then... They continued on. The sounds of their wings flapping grew distant until he strained his hearing trying to pick up any sound that wasn¡¯t the gentle hiss of sand moving.

    Ghilya looked hard in the direction that the dragons went, she placed a hand on her forehead to shield her eyes and leaned forward. After a few seconds she turned to look at us and gestured for us to come out of the sand.

    The time it took for them to clean the sand out of every crevice, every niche, every pocket on them had taken nearly ten minutes of trying to rid themselves of sand. He hated it from the coarse texture and its ability to get into every crevice it could find. Though he hadn¡¯t checked yet, Michael was certain he would find sand in his pants and rubbing against his skin in uncomfortable ways that he wasn¡¯t comfortable checking right now.

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    They continued on, the heat from the sun reflecting off the sand amplified its power ten fold.

    The sand dune they ascended looked to be over twenty metres tall at a rough estimate, though Michael was certain that it was more than that if he actually measured it. There was no way around it as it looked to be hundreds of metres wide like an imposing barricade made of sand. Michael entertained himself with the idea of tunneling through it then shook his head as though to rid the stupid idea from his mind. When the group had reached the peak of the dune, they were able to see everything for kilometres in every direction, if there was anything worthy of noting then it was not visible to them for all they saw was sand.

    Except, that it was not all they could see.

    At the base of the sand dune the ground had flattened itself out into hard dirt with dry, spindly looking shrubs sparsely placed around the circumference. In the centre of the dirt bowl was their goal: The old outpost.

    It looked larger and even more decrepit than the one Michael saw last time back in the jungle. There was no moss or lichen covering the thick concrete exterior of the blocky building and there didn¡¯t seem to be any sign of damage that could provide a breach in security, at least none that he could see from here. The building was shaped like a small warehouse made of feet-thick concrete and steel that shared a domed glass roof in the centre and a rusting radio tower. The front of the structure looked partially buried under mounds of sand that had piled up over the years.

    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± Clarke asked with disbelief. ¡°That place is going to be infested with sand mites or something.¡±

    Thomas replied. ¡°Its all we have for the time being, so unless you want to take your chances and keep on going-¡°

    Clarke waved his hands placatingly, almost like a gesture of surrender. ¡°No, no. I was just... Uhh... Making an observation, uhm, regarding the accommodations.¡±

    Thomas snorted. ¡°What you mean is that this is far removed from what you are used to back home. No continental breakfast, no masseuse, no room service? Just how on Munhiero will our beloved representative of the people survive such... austere conditions?¡±

    Michael stifled a laugh.

    Clarke shot a dirty look back at Thomas that Michael could easily distinguish as unamused. When he spoke, the disdain for the comment was even more prevelant. ¡° Hey, I¡¯ve lived in sparse places before. I¡¯ve been to some seedy hotels when I travelled across country. I¡¯ve been to third world nations where plumbing is the height of their technological achievement. I¡¯ve been to the moon base, dammit! That was no five star accommodations I can assure you.¡±

    ¡°It still sounds so unbelievable that you were able to achieve this.¡± Ghilya said sounding a little sullen. ¡°I mean, just how far has human science gone? You can replace limbs and fly to the moon. Wagons that can fly and guns... Your bombs.¡±

    When Michael heard that, he didn¡¯t think about what to say next. It was as though his body went to auto mode and selected the first random subject generated from a list of ¡®anything but that¡¯ and went with it.

    ¡°Heeey! So, have you been to the Dragon Lord¡¯s lair, Ghilya?¡±

    ¡°...Yes, I have.¡± She sounded puzzled and gave Michael a strange look. ¡°I am pretty certain I have told you this before.¡±

    ¡°Oh good, well at least we won¡¯t have to worry about getting lost. You are familiar with the way, yes?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I know where to go.¡±

    Clarke cleared his throat. ¡°So are we working on our tans here or are we going to go inside and get some sleep. I think I feel a yawn coming on.¡±

    He let out a long yawn that stretched his mouth wide open and held it for a few seconds like a snake stretching its mouth muscles. Michael saw the tendons in Clarke¡¯s neck tense like suspension cables before his mouth closed. Like an infection, Clarke¡¯s yawn seemed to have infected Michael and he yawned too, causing Thomas to follow up. Ghilya didn¡¯t seem fazed or she was holding it in.

    Thomas shifted his posture where he stood. ¡°Hey, Mikey. Can you zoom in and spot anything that might give us trouble in there?¡±

    Exposure to the sunlight helped stave off the sleeplessness for a bit but now that the sun was draining them of their energy it was leaving them in a near purgatory state between wakefulness and sleepiness.  Michael did his best to keep his eyelids from closing over his vision to briefly scan the outpost. It had been weeks since his surgery and still after everything that had happened to him, using the ocular implants and zooming in on a target had been disconcerting to say the least. It had felt like he was traveling towards whatever he was viewing at a great velocity and his body would tense as though he was preparing to collide with it. His heart hammered and he started breathing heavily in anticipation of an impact that would never come.

    When his stomach had settled, Michael carefully looked over the old outpost intently. A cursory inspection revealed nothing new that he hadn¡¯t been able to ascertain from afar but he was able to take in new details that spoke of the history of this building. The front of it, though partially buried in sand, reminded Michael of medium sized police stations with a set of stairs leading to an exposed area in front of a set of double doors that most likely held a waiting room or reception behind them. The stony construction still looked sturdy despite the many decades of neglect, and unlike its rainforest counterpart it didn¡¯t have any exposed holes in the walls. Towards the back of the building where it appeared to have been buried in the sand dune like it was being consumed by a wave that had suddenly stopped, the base of the radio tower was wider and less rusted than its other counterpart. Whereas that one was tall and thin, this one appeared to be wider at the base and its antennae and radar dishes atop reminded Michael of a early model mobile cell tower. Suspension cables hung taut from the base of the array to the roof of the building, for the supposed age of the building, Michael was impressed that it was still standing after all this time.

    ¡°I can¡¯t see anything different.¡± He eventually said with an uncertain shrug. ¡°It just looks abandoned with no one around, no structural damage that I can see.¡±

    Without saying another word, Thomas made his way towards the structure with everyone closely following behind.

    When they arrived under the sheltered front area, it started to hit more closely just how neglected this structure was. Michael spotted a raised moat that ran parallel the two walls leading to the front door and spotted the spindly and twig-like remains of some kinds of plants that had long since dried up and died. Perhaps when this place was operational the occupants had proper greenery and had kept them watered regularly.

    Thomas approached the glass double doors with a casual gait, when the doors didn¡¯t part wide open as expected he merely leaned forward and pressed his face up against the glass to see inside. A part of him had expected to see some faint movement behind the thick layer of dirt encrusted over the glass to suddenly leap out and shatter the glass in a bid to attack them but nothing came of it. Still, Clarke and Ghilya had their fronts facing outwards for any sign that someone or something was coming this way, not thinking that a third set of eyes was necessary, Michael approached the glass next to his brother and peered into it. Faint, distinct shapes took place but the thick layer of dirt on the glass obscured too much for him to make out anything with accuracy. Thomas pushed himself off the glass and approached the centre of the double doors and widened his legs, he was able to work his fingers into the gap and made a muted grunting sound.

    ¡°Michael!¡± He grunted with effort. ¡°C¡¯mere and help me with this. Pull out your blade and try using it to help pry this door open a little.¡±

    Michael had never once considered using his Ithinite blade as a lever before and he was hesitant to comply mainly of fear of snapping it in this attempt or damaging the mechanism that held it within his forearm. He complied with Thomas nevertheless and carefully forced the serrated blade in-between the two door frames. Trying to twist it to create a big enough gap for Thomas to get his fingers in was a strange sensation. The stress of doing so could almost be felt in each and every one of the mechanical components that made up his arm, when he had achieved an ideal gap he was eager to retract the blade and assist his brother in prying the door open. The door frame budged little by little, an ear piercing shriek let out by the dried up and disused bearings made Michael constantly scan for anything that might be hiding or resting that could hear the noise and come running. The door widened from an inch wide gap to three, to a foot wide until it was just wide enough for everyone to shimmy their way in before closing the doors behind them.

    Inside the outpost, the shade provided a much needed relief whose effects were already being felt by Michael. He could hear the others let out a soft breath of relief as well which was good to hear.

    The three humans of the group activated the flashlights attached to their guns and found the room they were in looked to be some kind of reception area. There was a desk in front of a wall with the old military logo of the Balko armed forces; A five-point star surrounded by two chains. On the right side of the reception desk were multiple bollards that lined up the pathway to go around and behind the desk. No, not bollards: turnstiles.

    They each seemed to be missing their barricade which allowed for the group to walk through them easily. The room behind them was illuminated by sunlight coming in through the sand stained domed ceiling. The room was round with a round elevated platform surrounded by a thin railing. Desks and computers lined the walls like some kind of command centre but there were more corridors and signage than the jungle outpost.

    Neither Thomas or Clarke seemed at all interested in the round room and instead walked past it and down the hallway. There was something strange about this place, Michael thought to himself. It felt way too silent.

    His stomach cramped with nervous energy, the feeling of being observed weighing inside him like a stone. The horripilation of his neck hairs unnerved him more than the abandoned facility they were exploring in.

    ¡°My god, look at these!¡± Thomas muttered more to himself than anyone else.

    Thomas gave a closer look at the old cubical computers and desktop monitors with a look of amused interest. He hadn¡¯t seen computers this old and in this good of a condition before. Technology made obsolete by centuries of progress. Michael was pretty sure that the enabler module in his submachine gun was more sophisticated than the combined processing power within this very room. Clarke approached Thomas from behind and placed a hand on his shoulder.

    ¡°I remember my dad still having one of these that worked when I was a kid.¡± Clarke said in a hushed but fond tone. ¡°He used to have these games on CD¡¯s, hundreds of them. I doubt you could find any of them nowadays.¡±

    ¡°What kind of games?¡± Michael asked.

    ¡°Uhhh, let me see... There was one called ¡®Cold Protocol¡¯, it was an old shooter where you explored a large wreck underwater and have to survive the remains of the crew. There was a few that were just math games and even an educational one about airports. Another fun one was called ¡®Invasion of Planet Kappa¡¯ where you played as a soldier on the frontlines where you have to kill these giant bugs that just come at you in massive numbers. Honestly, it was pretty impressive for a game of its time.¡±

    ¡°Do all your games involve violence and killing?¡± It was Ghilya¡¯s turn to speak. She sounded curious and uncertain rather than disgusted. ¡°Because it seems like its all your culture and entertainment seems to focus on.¡±

    ¡°Not everything is about blowing stuff up and shooting stuff. Some games are educational and some are relaxing. I¡¯m more of a city builder kind of guy myself.¡± Thomas said, placing a hand on his chest at the end of his sentence. ¡°There¡¯s something about having everything exactly the way you want it, designed purely to fit your own creation.¡±

    Everyone had moved on from the ancient computers and proceeded down the hall. After twenty feet of walking the air seemed to shift another degree lower as though the corridor was sectioned by various degrees of temperature. Michael was convinced that they were under the sand dune that swallowed up the rear end of the building. He wondered what hidden treasures or secrets lurked under the sea of sand, and if there were any comfortable places to sleep.

    Rows of closed doors lined the walls of the corridor with what appeared to be a fire escape access at the very end.

    ¡°Clarke can you check the left side? I¡¯ll check the right.¡± Thomas whispered in a hushed tone.

    Michael approached his brother from behind and asked in an equally hushed tone. ¡°What should I do?¡±

    ¡°Just watch our backs and be ready to come running if we need help. Same goes to Ghilya.¡±

    And so he did. Watching them carefully open each door and inspect the rooms in succession made them look like plain clothes cops on their first day of the job. Each door could be opened easily via the handle and in the instance where one didn¡¯t budge, neither Thomas or Clarke seemed to hold any reservations about kicking the door down or shooting the lock. Ten doors on each side and three had been inspected, Michael and Ghilya kept close to the elder men and occasionally glance into each room that had been opened, inspected, then cleared before moving on to the next one. Each room looked plain and unassuming; a miraculously pristine but dust covered office, a breakroom more confined than the one in Thomas¡¯ clinic, another untouched office. The doorknob on the fifth door rattled quietly as Clarke tried to open it to no avail. He raised his revolver, took aim then shot the doorhandle and kicked the door open. He made a ¡®phew!¡¯ noise as he blew air out his mouth and waved one hand around his face.

    ¡°Fucking hell, that is rank!¡± He exclaimed.

    Michael and Thomas approached the Senator with guns raised on the door and that was when the smell had hit them. It was as though a wall of every single repugnant scent had been thrown into together and left to fester and merge until it had all become one overwhelming stench. It made his skin crawl just being near it, his olfactory senses were so overwhelmed that it had translated into taste that nearly triggered Michael¡¯s gag reflex.

    ¡°The fuck died in there!?¡± Thomas asked, his voice nasally from blocking his nose by pinching the organ together.

    Though he really didn¡¯t want to, Michael raised his flashlight in and recognised the small white tiles and cubical stalls that lined up the wall. There was no signage to indicate what this room was but judging by the mixed smell and the tiling all along the walls it was very obvious that whoever used this room last did not leave in as presentable a state as the surrounding offices. Nobody dared to look inside in fear of the sight being equally as unappealing as the smell itself and were equally enthusiastic to resume clearing rooms.

    The final two left for Clarke didn¡¯t need to be opened for there was no need to. Two brushed stainless steel double doors with a small touchpad on the side indicated these to be elevator shafts. Michael knew it was too much to hope that they would be in working condition but was happy to see them nonetheless. Thomas on the other hand, approached the fire escape and inspected the staircase. It went down to an abyss of pure black that seemed to consume light and sound, Michael wanted to let some spit dangle from his mouth and watch to see how long it would take for it to hit the ground before Thomas proceeded to head down the stairs.

    One floor down, two, then three floors down. Each door on the landing was locked or obstructed on the other side, nobody knew for certain. By the time they had reached the seventh floor they had found the door to be left ajar slightly. A gentle breeze escaped through the narrow gap along with the familiar scent of industrial oil and the same musky smell that seemed to permeate the rest of this building. Thomas opened it up, the hinges croaked loudly in protest, joints that had been rusted and dried grinding loudly like a ghastly, ethereal moan making them all wince in anticipation at the potential consequence. There was a catwalk in front of them, the room was dark, and everyone brought their source of light up to bear and gasp at what they saw.

 Chapter 3

    <u>Thomas</u>

    <u> </u>

    Thomas leaned forward using his legs to push his weight against the reinforced metal door. From dried, rusted hinges and bearings it groaned loudly in protest like an obstinate child refusing to get out of bed and going to school. When he was successful and had pushed it wide open he had raised his rifle mounted flashlight up to spot the grated catwalk that ran all along the walls. The others did the same and waved their beams of light around as though they were trying to scan for something that hid in the shadows.

    There were no creatures hiding in the dark but what they did see released a collective gasp from the group.

    Down beneath the catwalk looked to be a vehicle bay far larger than the outposts external appearance would have suggested. It was one thing for the base to go deep underground further than anyone expected but it was another to see a motor pool with large, boxy vehicles lined in a row. Thomas was never a car enthusiast beyond the simple appreciation of a performance vehicle¡¯s design and speed but he could recognise the distinct design choice that immediately told him which model and which manufacturer they belonged to, the shape of the trucks that filled the garage was a large rectangular block with four large wheels on each side. The intake grille on the front was larger than the door Thomas had just forced open and the top of the trucks had a small cabin big enough for one person to fit semi comfortably in.

    Though they were limited by the effective range of their own flashlights, Thomas could see at least four vehicle bays and a small workshop to his left and right side. Still, he kept his guard up as he approached the railing and scanned the ground below him for anything, it was as though the people running this place had been ordered to abandon it and leave everything as it was. Thomas was certain that if this was a military or private installation then surely whoever was in charge would have made sure that everything here was packed up and accounted for before leaving it for nature to reclaim. He thought about that for a second, glancing quickly over toward one of the workshops and took notice of the dull glimmer of ratchet spanners and other assorted hand tools that had been left on the bench for the taking. If this was indeed a military base, and they left everything here...

    ¡°Whoa!¡± Clarke exclaimed excitedly. ¡°Would you look at this! Do you have any idea what this would sell for on the classic car market? Can you imagine if we were able to get these to work then we might be able to use it to carry us the rest of the way to The Cauldron?¡±

    ¡°How would we even fit?¡± Michael asked inquisitively. ¡°There¡¯s only seat for one person and nowhere for us to sit. Plus, wouldn¡¯t the fuel have gone off like a hundred years ago or whatever?¡±

    Clarke made a small ¡®eh¡¯ noise that didn¡¯t sound like an agreement nor disagreement.

    Thomas spotted a stairway that leads down into the vehicle bay and proceeded toward it. He had no idea what he was going to find down there or why he was even going, only that he wanted to explore and check out the rest of this place and see what he could find. As he got off the final step, the porous concrete wall to his left caught his attention with a giant laminated sheet, its glossy surface reflected the light so strongly that Thomas had to lower his weapon lest he blind himself and not catch any of the details printed on it.

    It displayed a layout of tunnels and rooms at an angle that gave a three dimensional view without any details being blocked by things around them or above and below them. It was a layout of the floor plan for this place, he was certain of it as indicated by a red dot located on a long, rectangular room with giant lettering that said YOU ARE HERE.

    The vertical corridor at the far end next to where they were had to have been the fire escape they descended through. Thomas saw multiple corridors sprouting off from the garage and into a interlacing network with multiple rooms. He could hear the others climbing down the stairs with a metallic clank clank clank but didn¡¯t turn to look at them, instead he lazily gestured to the map with one arm.

    ¡°Come check this out, looks like a map of the place.¡±

    They stood next to him but none said anything. Thomas continued to scan the layout and commit each detail to memory for future recollection.

    ¡°Where do we go from here?¡± Michael asked.

    There was a brief pause before Thomas could answer, he had heard the question but was intent on forming an informed response by studying the layout. The pause lasted only a second but in his mind it might as well have been half an hour.

    ¡°Well,¡± he began, taking a step towards the map. ¡°If we¡¯re here, then we would need to find a way to this corridor here as that seems to lead to the rest this floor has to offer. These could be offices or private bedrooms or something so if we are going to stay here then we should investigate them. This looks to be like a breakroom or some kind of lounge area, I doubt there¡¯s anything edible but you never know and we might get lucky to find something we can snack on later. But this here...¡±

    He pointed to parts of the floorplan as he spoke to demonstrate his line of thinking. There was a room at the far end whose lettering had long since been removed but the imprint left could still be made with a bit of focus, he pointed at it intently.

    ¡°Its a bit hard to tell but I think the letters say that this was a breaker room. We might be able to get some power on in here if we are lucky. So that¡¯s where we will go first.¡±

    Nobody protested or offered up an alternate suggestion. Thomas had hoped Clarke or even Michael to make a mildly useful suggestion to contribute to the discussion, he didn¡¯t want to feel like he was making all the decisions for the group for them. But he had to admit that the idea of them following his guidance around without question or hesitation made him wonder just how far they would follow him. Thankfully Thomas didn¡¯t have intentions on abusing that power or deliberately lead them astray but he found the idea that he could say which direction they were to take and no one would question it.

    ¡°You okay?¡± Clarke asked.

    Thomas snapped back to the present and refocused, without even being aware of it they had found the corridor they were looking for and were carefully walking down a concrete tunnel with linoleum tiled floors and plaster ceilings. It was in remarkably clean conditions despite its proximity to a large garage and being neglected. The corridor opened up to massive room that connected to the three tunnels. There was a small kitchen to the side with a few dishes and cups still stacked on a rack next to the sink and underneath a wall hanging water heater.

    This must have been the first break room that Thomas spotted on the map. He ran through the memorized image in his brain to figure out where exactly they were in relation to the map layout. If they were in the first break room area then they would need to go down the left corridor and turn right at the next Y junction, follow it down, then turn left, follow it through and then look for the breaker room on the right.

    The network of subterranean tunnels winded with rooms connected to one another. Some were offices with windows that had their blinds lowered, some appeared to be empty. They turned right where the hallway split, a sign poking out from the wall indicated men and women toilets. Given the pungent stench from the lavatories above them, Thomas didn¡¯t want to risk a second exposure to something he was positive could be labelled as a bioweapon or even a crime against humanity.

    Something primal deep within his core tickled him uncomfortably, it was as though the sensation of being watched and claustrophobia had merged together to become something else entirely leaving the intact, pristine corridors to be left with a sense of dread and fear. Thomas knew he wasn¡¯t the only one feeling it, when he looked behind to check and see if the others were following him he could see the hyper-vigilance and anxiety in them. Their eyes darted around uncontrollably looking for any signs of something that could be hiding. Their hands shook with the only steadying factor stemming from the grip they held on their weapons.

    The door for the breaker room appeared down the hall. A small ounce of relief washed over Thomas and he let his guard down just enough to stow his weapon and open the door. He grabbed the handle, turned, and the lock clicked so loudly that it rang down the halls like a gunshot. A brief spike of panic shot through Thomas and he pushed the door open.

    The room smelled of old dust and stale air, columns of ancient server towers lined up creating narrow avenues of cables and loose parts. Thomas thought of a messy computer parts shop where none of the staff had cleared out the boxes of obsolete motherboards and assorted circuitry, leaving behind a chaotic assortment of waste that barely left any space on the floor. At the end of the electrical avenue and turning right Thomas spotted a panel he had mistaken for a door at first. It was as tall and wide as the one they had just gone through and familiar black and yellow chevrons rimmed the outer perimeter of the panel, on it were the words CIRCUIT BREAKER.

    If there was any chance of getting the power back on in this place he figured this was as good as any other. A collage of stickers and symbolism of hazards present were faded but not to the degree that Thomas couldn¡¯t understand. In small print there were what he believed to be instructions but it had been degraded enough that it was almost useless.  He opened it, a small creak as it swung wide to expose the circuit breakers and a lone red eye.

    A small glimmer of hope filled Thomas but he kept it under control to avoid jinxing their luck in the immediate future. And while he was happy to see the small light glowing angrily at them as though it had been disturbed by its slumber, he had to remind himself that there was every chance for this to go wrong.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Still, if that light is still powered on then that must mean wherever it is drawing power from has to be able to power up a much larger generator.

    ¡°Question!¡± He asked no one in particular. ¡°Does anybody know much about these things?¡±

    Thomas knew the only other person who could help was Clarke. He was certain that his brother would not know anything and that Ghilya knew even less which eliminated them both.

    ¡°Lemme get a closer look,¡± Clarke said as he pushed in closer.

    Clarke leaned close to the breaker, analysing each switch and abbreviated name stencilled against the black canvas. ¡°Uhhh huh... Yeah, okay... Mmhm... Ah! I think I got it.¡±

    Thomas stepped back as did Michael and Ghilya. Clarke gripped a small handle and swung his arm down four times and pressed a big red button. A gentle hum came from the panel, at first Thomas had expected the lights to come on and blind them but all that had happened were for multiple little red lights to come on next to a switch. Clarke analysed each switch then began to flip them, then pushed on a green button that lit up as he did so.

    There were no loud clicks. No high pitch whine escalating from a generator cycling up, just an instance where there was only darkness and the thin tunnels of light from their guns, and an overwhelmingly bright flash of icy blue light seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere.

    Thomas squinted as the rest of the gang did to reduce the input.

    Well that went better than expected.

    Drives clicked and whirred all around them as the server stacks filled with electricity. They hummed to life, booting up their programs, initiating their functions and executing their responsibilities. Thomas allowed himself to crack a small smile.

    To his right, he spotted a layout of the facility. A map similar to the one he found in the garage; where that one had been larger and shown a detailed layout of this particular floor, this one was smaller and gave a overall layout of the entire facility.

    Before, he had thought this was as far below as they could go except now he discovered there were at least another seven floors beneath them. A tunnel that looked to be at least two kilometres long connected to the garage led to the surface while the other floors had their tunnel network spread out and overlap each other to look like a geometric spiderweb.

    ¡°We should go upstairs.¡± Thomas suggested thoughtfully.

    ¡°Why, what for?¡± Clarke said, Thomas could hear the elderly man¡¯s eyebrows rise along with his intonation.

    ¡°If I¡¯m reading this map right, it looks like there¡¯s a place for all of us to sleep and an armoury we can stock up on.¡±

    ¡°Do you think it will have ammo we can use? I¡¯m running a bit low.¡± Michael added.

    Thomas could only shrug his shoulders. ¡°Best case scenario; we have compatible ammo. Worst case; we ditch these,¡± He gestured to the weapon in his hands. ¡°and pick up some replacements that can take the ammo we do find.¡±

    Though Michael didn¡¯t complain or say another word, it was obvious in the look in his eyes that he didn¡¯t want to abandon his weapon. It had been his first weapon to own ever and despite prior misgivings about his little brother owning a weapon he had actually been handling it and taking good care of it more than he or anybody else would have thought. It made Thomas smile on the inside to see his sibling being responsible. But because of its status, Thomas knew Michael would be sad to lose it, whatever the circumstances may be.

    The door to the floor above didn¡¯t creak as loud as the one beneath it had. The hallways were pristine albeit covered in a layer of dirt and dust, the break-room for this floor had a cotton style carpeting who¡¯s design hadn¡¯t been used in the last century and fabric couches surrounded a large square coffee table in front of a large television. The adjoining kitchen had dark walnut pattern panels and a large sink just behind the couches. For what appeared to be a military installation the common spaces looked more homely than one would have suspected. It made the whole room feel like an old showroom display that had long been abandoned and left to be buried along with the rest of the facility.

    With the lights on and the facility powered there didn¡¯t seem to be any reason for the group to remain intact. When Clarke had discovered the sleeping quarters near the break-room he let out a celebratory whoop that made everyone else jump. He claimed the first room he had found which started to make Ghilya and Michael to spread out and search for their own room and claiming it, all Thomas could do was shake his head and chuckle to himself.

    The room Thomas claimed for himself was incredibly spacious; a double bed that had its sheets neatly tucked and folded, a lone chair sat in the corner next to a small table with a lamp on it. To the right opposite the bed was the entrance to what Thomas believed to be a small toilet and sink. Unlike the corridor outside, unlike the breakroom, the motorpool downstairs, the rest of the facility, Thomas¡¯ room had a small layer of dust covering everything that it spoke of how little this particular room was used compared to the rest of the rooms.

    When he shrugged off the shoulder straps of his backpack Thomas hadn¡¯t realised just how tired and stressed his shoulders were until the weight on his back had slouched off and fallen to the floor with a tinny, metallic clank. He sighed, the bed calling his name proved to be difficult to ignore, and he did nothing to stop himself from falling onto the mattress with a muffled thump!

    The bed; a basic, simple pleasure overwhelmed Thomas with relief. In another time, in another life, Thomas would have called the mattress to be stiff or to firm for his liking to get a good night¡¯s sleep. But after spending weeks out in the wild with danger at every turn, life threatening beasts on the hunt for him and his brother, and spending nearly every night on the damp, hard grass or gravel had hardened him up to the point that he found this particular bed to be the softest, most comfortable bed he had ever slept on. How long had it been since he last slept? A day, thirty-six hours without sleep? None of them had a chance to sleep last night, they couldn¡¯t. The adrenaline filled them with energy from nearly dying and witnessing the largest explosion they had ever seen.

    Thomas breathed heavily. Then yawned so hard that he felt something pop where his lower jaw was connected to.

    Sleep came easy for the exhausted adventurer. Within minutes he was asleep and in a deep sleep cycle. But he didn¡¯t have a pleasant dream.

    The dream Thomas suffered was a mixture of real fears mixed with nonsensical events that only made sense to his dream self. He dreamt about his old life; working in his clinic with all his staff members present and doing their usual things. Michael is there, working as either a receptionist or his personal secretary he could not tell but he wore regular, everyday clothing. Michael took a scalpel and cut his wrist in a line that went around his arm and the flesh sloughed off to reveal the bones and tendons and flesh underneath... Except that isn¡¯t what was there. What should have been muscles and tendons and bones was instead replaced with a matte dark grey framework that resembled small metallic building blocks with exposed cybernetic implants in the arms and chest.

    He couldn¡¯t remember why what happened next happened but the dream turned into a nightmare that had all the flesh of his brother disappear and in his place a robot of some kind with the implants he gave his brother exposed and in clear view for all to see. And yet, despite the horror he should have felt, his dream self acted as though this was his brother simply acting out and that if he ignored this call for attention then it would simply go away.

    Thomas woke up not remembering the dream at all, only a few frames lingered in his memory after immediately waking up. His back was sore but he was certain that it had nothing to do with the firm mattress he slept on and more likely a result of hauling around his backpack for days on end with little rest. He got up to try out the bathroom facilities adjacent to his bed and tested to see if the water actually worked. At first Thomas was certain that the plumbing was beyond any reasonable use without significant replacement when he heard it groan loudly. It was a deep, low growling sound that he couldn¡¯t tell if it came from the walls or the pipe itself, then without any notice the tap coughed out light brown coloured water for a few seconds before releasing a constant stream of clear water. He let it flow freely for a little while, then cupped his hands and tentatively tasted the water captured in his hands, after swishing it around in his mouth to find any traces of detectable grit or calcium buildup and not finding any he proceeded to swallow.

    As strange as it was, Thomas found the water to be the best tasting thing he had ever experienced. It slid down his parched throat and he sighed quietly in relief.

    Outside his bedroom door he could hear footsteps walking down the corridor and past his door. Thomas knew that it wasn¡¯t Michael because he was usually heavy-footed and the footfalls weren¡¯t making enough of an impact to suggest it was him. Ghilya¡¯s steps were a polar opposite to Michael in that she was more quiet and soft, these were not soft footsteps. Which only left Clarke to be the only person that could be walking outside. Thomas reached for his gun and pulled the bolt back to inspect the chamber, when he was satisfied that there was round in the chamber and that the magazine currently inserted had enough ammunition in it that if he needed to use it he could put up a decent fight before reloading. Thomas opened the door and looked down the hallway and followed where the footsteps were heading to until he came upon the breakroom where Clarke was searching through the cabinets.

    Thomas relaxed his posture a little and sat his weapon on the couch.

    ¡°Hey,¡± He said in a voice that was more croaky than he really felt.

    Clarke shot up from what he was doing and spun to face Thomas and replied with a tired but pleasant voice. ¡°Oh, Thomas. Hi.¡±

    ¡°Whatcha doing? Trying to find something to eat? A midnight nibble?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, pretty much. No such luck I¡¯m afraid. All these cabinets here are filled with cups and plates and shit. Back home when I woke up in the middle of the night I usually found a small snack and some warm milk helped put me back to sleep... Except, well, y¡¯know...¡±

    Thomas let out a small content chuckle.

    ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you need any help? I just woke up myself.¡±

    Clarke smiled as he shook his head gently. ¡°Nah, thank you.¡±

    Thomas nodded and was about to turn around and collect his weapon before heading back to his room to try and get more sleep when Clarke called out for him.

    ¡°Hold on, mind if I ask you something?¡± Clarke asked.

    Thomas turned around, eyebrows raised questioningly. ¡°Sure, what¡¯s up?¡±

    Clarke gestured for the couch and proceeded to sit down on it. ¡°I wanted to know more about you and your brother.¡±

    Thomas sat down on the opposing side of the couch but kept his curious expression. ¡°Whaddya wanna know?¡± He shrugged.

    ¡°Well, how did you lose your old man? I know we spoke of it briefly back on the mountain,¡± He jerked a thumb back. ¡°But what¡¯s the full story if you don¡¯t mind me asking?¡±

    Thomas let out a breath he hadn¡¯t known he was holding in and scratched the back of his head. ¡°Well it happened when I was six and Michael was about two at the time. From what our mum told us, he was working construction on the Barrier during its final stages. A welder or something, I dunno. Apparently there was a gas pipe that was leaking and some electrician let a wire spark out and it ignited causing a chain reaction that got about fifteen other people, our dad included.¡±

    ¡°I remember hearing about that, the Sanctuary Hills explosion. It had halted construction efforts for like a month while investigators tried to figure it out.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, when we got told about what had happened I think mum took it the worst and Michael was lucky enough to be too young at the time to know anything.¡±

    ¡°So you and he never really had much of a father figure growing up?¡±

    ¡°Not really no. I only have a few blurry memories of him to begin with. Not to mention our mother had a few less than stellar partners since dad¡¯s passing and none of them really gave the vibe that they would be a suitable role model.¡±

    ¡°Did she start seeing deadbeats?¡±

    ¡°To put it mildly. I remember there was this one guy she met when I was ten, hung out with him for a few months and then got rid of him when she realised he was this deranged enforcer for the 241 gang. Then about a year later she went out with this guy who had been making money boosting cars in our neighbourhood.¡±

    ¡°Geez!¡± Clarke exclaimed disbelievingly.

    ¡°Yeah, not long after that she gave the dating scene a rest and tried to focus on raising us two, she worked nearly three jobs and barely spent anytime with her. I think she was proud of me when I moved out knowing that I was now able to take care of myself. Then she focused all her efforts on Michael who didn¡¯t exactly have an easy time growing up. I think had our dad been around still it might have helped him having a positive role model in his life.¡±

    Clarke didn¡¯t say anything immediately. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and staring blankly at the coffee table. The moment of silence that followed stretched on for what felt like a minute too long before Clarke straightened his posture and looked back at Thomas.

    ¡°If...If we make it back... And this whole thing is over and we got the Dragon Lord to pull his forces back... I will see to it that your mother is looked after financially and that you and your brother are looked after for as long as I am a politician.¡±

    Thomas was about to dismiss Clarke and wave him off before he was cut off.

    ¡°I¡¯m serious. You guys have a friend and a patron in the Senate. I¡¯ll personally ensure you guys are looked after.¡±

    ¡°Thanks man, but, I¡¯m not the one that needs to be looked after: Michael does. I¡¯m afraid that this journey, this trip has got him on edge and I don¡¯t know how that will affect him.¡±

    ¡°Maybe Ghilya¡¯s meditation techniques might work on bringing him peace or coming to terms with everything?¡±

    He said it posing more as a question more than a statement that was meant to assure Thomas that there was something else to rely on.  Though he did not dare to air his concerns so openly in such confined areas, Thomas was afraid for his brother and knew that things were only going to get harder from now on.

 Interlude

    <u>Interlude.</u>

    I¡¯m gonna kill them...

    I¡¯m gonna kill them...

    I¡¯m gonna kill them...

    Over and over again the words would run through his head like the beginnings of an affirmation. A mantra. A guarantee. A promise. A lone thought about revenge turned into an all-consuming obsession until it became the sole focus of the scarred elf¡¯s life.

    I¡¯m gonna kill them...

    Xareith was fixated on his own reflection staring back at him, the thought going through his head as though he was trying to tell his reflection more than himself. He twisted his head this way and that to examine the true extent of the damage done to his visage. When his head wasn¡¯t numb from the burns he would feel a droning buzz in his mind that felt as though an entire swarm of angry bees replaced his brain. Thank the spirits above he was spared from a gruesome fate. That instant when Thomas had revealed his subterfuge and a warming sensation could be felt just between his ears was the first time in a long time that Xareith had felt true fear.

    It was the kind of fear one would expect upon knowing their demise. The sense of dread when confronted with the inevitable and the feeling of unpreparedness when faced with death. And Xareith had his whole life flash before his eyes when it was all suddenly consumed in flames and agony.

    The Elven commander still refused to believe he was fooled so easily by two young men that had no combat experience and had somehow used his own curiosity against him like the sneaky little fuckers that they were. Though he loathed to admit it to anyone least of all to himself, he had to hand it to them for as underhanded as it was, it was indeed a clever trick. He was equal parts sick to his stomach and approving of their use of wit and tactic rather than combat prowess. Perhaps in another life, another time they would have made exceptional tacticians for him. But the part he hated most of all was the weakness he showed for giving in to his own curiosity regarding their machinations and implants.

    There was simply no way for them to beat him one-on-one so they had to rely on trickery, deception, and planning skills to defeat him. A cheap tactic but one that clearly worked.

    I¡¯m gonna kill them. Those human bastards will pay! I will make them suffer!

    The parts of his face that remained untouched by the incendiary device they implanted in his brain sported a sharp, pointed chin and slim facial features with high cheekbones and a dimple in them. His long flowing blonde hair complimented by his porcelain white skin had been charred black and grey along the ridgeline where it had been burned off to expose the cherry red skin on the other side of his face. A part of him felt disgusted by the appearance of looking normal on one side and looking hideous and disfigured on the other. Everything on the left of his head sported a bright red tone from where his flesh had been cooked. He ran a hand along the side of his head in an effort to feel any sensation along his scalp, his fingers caressed the bumpy textured skin that radiated with an unusual warmth but he could not feel his fingers touching his head.

    Xareith¡¯s lip twitched angrily and he was about to slam his fists down on the table when he heard a soft rustling of silk sheets from behind.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± A soft voice murmured.

    Xareith turned around to look at the female occupying his bed. She was as naked as a newborn and had her limbs splayed out across his mattress as though her body was signifying her readiness without her mind being aware of it. Or perhaps she was but didn¡¯t want to say it. Even by Wood Elves standards she was beautiful, equal parts fit and elegantly feminine. True, she wasn¡¯t going to beat him in any physical activity but she was known for her domestic skills which made up for her sub-par fighting skills, Xareith knew this when he invited her and had his way with her. Before he had seen her nude he hadn¡¯t realised just how thin and long her legs were, her agility during their amorous deeds had caught him off-guard.

    For a moment, her name escaped Xareith¡¯s tongue. That had been happening a lot recently since his confrontation with the human boys. Details large and small, obscure and important had all been slipping his from his mental grasp and it frustrated him further to no end. Then it had hit him: Aleera. That was her name. He had almost snapped his fingers when the name came to him but decided not to as he casted a leering gaze upon her partially covered form.

    She moaned softly that could have either meant she was tired or trying to arouse him. ¡°Come back to bed, show me how strong you are again.¡±

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    He let out a huff of bewilderment.

    Xareith wanted to do several things but he could only accomplish one; he wanted to obey her and retreat back to the comfort of the sheets mixed with her body warmth and remain in her embrace. He wanted to use her subtle invitations as an excuse to work out some of his frustrations by copulating with her aggressively while another part of him wanted to simply use her for pleasure and refrain from damaging her goddess-like body.

    She leaned forward and swung her legs around behind her with such incredible deftness that it had looked like she didn¡¯t disturb the sheets until she was crawling on his bed toward him.

    ¡°Xareith, are you alright? Are you still in shock about what happened?¡± She asked in that soft-spoken sultry voice of hers.

    It was both a flaw and a turn on that whenever she spoke it had always sounded so sexual, so sensual and caring. She could make a mundane conversation about the weather arouse him to the point that he had to work out some of the sexual energy lest he become too distracted from anything else. He liked her for it but he also found it quite annoying.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine!¡± Xareith said in a quavering voice. He turned away from her and faced the wall, unable to look himself in the mirror. ¡°I-I just need to... Just need to focus on getting better.¡±

    Aleera crawled off the bed and stood in front of Xareith, the sheets fallen from her exposed body. They were in his room inside a cave that he had been taken to when he was injured by the human boys, after waking up he had killed one of the healers in a fit of anger and claimed the entire area as his private residence, he had also instructed his lieutenants to guard the entrance so no one other than him could enter. Aleera placed her lithe hands on both sides of his shoulders and let them glide up to his face but he could only feel the one on his right, her hands glowed and a pleasing sensation crept along his brain like a fuzzy woodland critter gently hugging each part of his brain. Xareith let out a soft moan that he struggled to hold back in case it echoed out and anybody passing by would get the wrong idea.

    Aleera¡¯s magic went on undisturbed until his hands grabbed her wrists and slowly pulled them away.

    ¡°I¡¯m alright. I just need to refocus and figure out my next step.¡±

    ¡°On the invasion of the human lands or those human boys?¡± Aleera asked.

    He knew she was trying to determine what he was more focused on and depending on which answer he gave it would affect her perspective of him. Possibly even relay those concerns and fears to everyone else and have them question his authority and fitness to lead, he couldn¡¯t have that. Not now, not after everything. He was going to have to deal with her in a rather unpleasant manner should the worst come to pass,which a small part of him felt ashamed of. She really is a fantastic specimen of feminine beauty, it would be a sin to waste her like that because she decided to run her mouth.

    Xareith let out a small chuckle to himself. He was going to feel bad if he had to remove her as a threat but not when he killed a loyal, albeit opportunistic lieutenant like N¡¯karno. Yes, the dragon was more than likely going to attempt to seize power from Xareith once he had amassed a big enough group to back him up. But as an underling he was incredibly useful, if you wanted to rise to the top you have to be prepared to get your hands dirty to ensure you stay at the top, and Xareith had certainly gotten his hands dirty.

    ¡°Both,¡± Xareith said after what had felt like an hour¡¯s silence. ¡°My plans for the human lands will continue as planned. As soon as we can shield the rest of this nation-state and defend the borders we shall use its leaders to control the population and force the neighboring states to surrender.¡±

    ¡°And what of the humans that hurt you?¡±

    ¡°I am still thinking on that.¡±

    This was only a half-truth. Xareith was in fact still thinking out what his plan would be to deal with the brothers but so far he already had a refined outline of a plan put together. The hard part, at least he thought it was, was trying to put his idea together. He wanted to examine the situation and factor in for every variable that could come to his mind except... He struggled to do just that.

    Whenever he tried to focus his head would turn into a hazy, droning mess and he would forget what he was trying to focus on. He would get frustrated, short tempered and then drive his fist into the nearest solid surface with the same thought promising him justice.

    I¡¯m gonna kill them...

    I¡¯m gonna kill them...

    I¡¯m gonna kill them...

    ¡°Xareith?¡± Aleera called out as if this was the fourth time saying it. Her alluring voice tinged with annoyance.

    ¡°Nothing, nothing. Just got caught up in thought.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± Aleera said, her voice returning to its normal sultry tones. ¡°Now, come back to bed with me. I think you have another go in you.¡±

    Xareith thought about that for a second as he watched her carefully stretch herself across his bed. Her shapely  posterior deliberately poised high as she crawled to the head of the bed. As elegantly as she looked she slid her legs under the sheets and covered herself once more. Then, without wasting anymore time he approached her.

    He had no reason to take advantage of Aleera just yet, he was not as eager to restart their coital activities as he was on focusing how he was going to get his revenge. Thomas, Michael, and whoever that elderly man that was with them was, all were going to suffer tremondously. Then, it had hit him. The idea forming into a coherent concept that could actually be realised. He looked over to Aleera and saw her pale blonde eyebrows raised questioningly. Had she asked him something that he wasn¡¯t paying attention to? Oh well, as if her opinion mattered to him at all, she usually had nothing worthy of note to contribute to any conversation or topic, not to mention that she has no experience with what Xareith was doing which only lessened any value her thoughts may have held.

    ¡°What?¡± He asked.

    ¡°I said ¡®is it true that the dragon scout was killed in hand-to-hand combat?¡¯ The one from last week that had all the scars and was near that old human outpost?¡±

    That got him to think carefully about his next response. That particular dragon¡¯s body was hidden from plain sight as the healers tried their best to revive him or learn what had happened. The public wasn¡¯t privy to the how or why it had died. If he answered truthfully then it could give the illusion that this trio of humans were more capable fighters than everyone initially thought. Which Xareith had found to be implausible. Sure they had gotten an advantage over them but he had no reason to believe that it would work a second time, if they were able to put up a fight against a dragon then they should have at least been able to fight him, even in a crippled state. But the fact that they didn¡¯t told him that they weren¡¯t capable and if he were to attack them directly then the odds would be very well in his favour.

    On the other hand if he were to tell her a carefully worded response with just enough truth sprinkled in such as ¡®the dragon had succumbed to the weapons the humans used, they were able to get a few lucky slashes in but nothing fatal¡¯ then it could be enough to maintain their incompetence as fighters. There was also the option to outright lie to her and say that the Dragon had died from some other cause and the humans were lucky to get it in an already weakened state.

    Whichever one he chose he would have to maintain that cover to everyone else except those already in the know. He couldn¡¯t count on her discretion even if he had asked her, she was too big a risk to expose it all. Xareith must have frowned when he thought to himself that she would have to be taken care of eventually because he heard her ask.

    ¡°Is something wrong?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± He lied but with a voice of practiced confidence. ¡°Everything will be just fine.¡±

 Chapter 4

    <u>Michael.</u>

    ¡°Maybe Ghilya¡¯s meditation techniques might work on bringing him peace or coming to terms with everything?¡± Clarke spoke softly.

    Michael frowned at the comment. He hid around the corner from the breakroom where the lights from the kitchen didn¡¯t reach him. He listened intently on what was being said with no regard for the invasion of privacy.

    But if they were talking about him, then privacy shouldn¡¯t matter if the subject of discussion was about him, right? Surely that can disqualify any notion of privacy from conversations? If they were talking about him then he was already a part of the conversation whether the others knew it or not. From an early age Michael had learned that people had a fascinating relationship with their sense of privacy and when it was okay to invade it or not. When he was thirteen years old and in his eighth year of schooling he had been accosted by a group of bullies who picked on him solely for reasons known only to them and that he didn¡¯t have a lot of friends that would back him up whenever they targeted him. During his lunch break he had anticipated the arrival of the group and had set his personal device¡¯s camera on to capture footage of him being picked on. After they left, despite sporting a few new bruises on his arm and torso and learning of new creative insults about his character and interests, he wore the biggest smile on his face thinking that now he had irrefutable evidence to prove the bullying he underwent weekly, and he could see to it that justice would be served and the bullies would be expelled.

    At least that was how his prepubescent brain perceived justice.

    Had he slammed his device on the Principal¡¯s desk any harder he might have broken it from the overwhelming enthusiasm of hand delivering the evidence needed to end his torment like a journalist submitting a folder full of evidence condemning someone in a position of power. Michael explained what he did to the Principal, a man he only knew as Mr. Massey who had ropey, weathered skin with the self assured cockiness that he finally had won by outwitting his foes and justice would prevail. The Principal nodded, his beet red skin jiggling with the gesture and told Michael that he would review the evidence and to come back later to collect his device.

    When he returned to retrieve his device from the Principal, any sense of excitement and joy to hear what punishment was to be delivered upon his tormentors was utterly swept away when the Principal interlaced his fingers together on his desk and looked at Michael with a serious expression.

    The man Michael had trusted to rule in his favour and end his torment looked at him with stern but caring eyes and explained that he had deleted the footage and that he did not watch it. Michael¡¯s heart sank and he was sure the colour drained from his face. Mr. Massey, the Principal would go to further explain how what Michael did was wrong and that recording others without their knowledge or consent was considered illegal thus why he would not do act upon the ¡®evidence¡¯ he had brought before him.

    In that moment it was the first time that Michael had felt the sense of betrayal and irritation for the law and the contradictory nature of this one particular rule stating you could not obtain footage without consent. How could that be the case, surely there must be hundreds of examples where what he did was right. Anytime he walked into a shop and spotted the security cameras he was certain he did not give consent to those. Anytime he passed by a camera on the street he was certain he did not consent to the footage those recorded. So why was what he did any different to those cameras? Why was the footage he obtained considered illicit and not worth considering? Surely it was not as though the bullies would have acted the same if they had known they were being recorded. And he doubted that criminals would consent to footage of them being recorded as they committed their crimes. And any footage of those people was usually obtained without consent or knowledge so what was so different that he was in the wrong?

    Michael shook his head from reminiscing about that moment and refocused on the conversation he was listening to. He didn¡¯t want to look past the corner he hid behind and risk them knowing he was eavesdropping, but he heard the sound of cushion fabric rustling as though someone was shifting themselves on the couch. He assumed it to be Thomas.

    At first when Michael had let his body fall onto the bed he had every intention on catching up on his rest but then he heard the sound of a door opening through the walls and followed the sounds of footsteps outside his room. Initially he had no intention of finding out who it was until he heard a second door open up and swiftly follow after the first. Then the mumblings of a quietened conversation began echoing down the hall and into his ears. Despite the obstacles and low volume the conversation was carried in Michael was still able to make out some words but otherwise it was all a monotonous blur of sounds that had no meaning. He was almost about to ignore the conversation entirely when he heard someone, though he couldn¡¯t tell who, started speaking about his dad. That was when he could not hold back his curiosity any longer and set out to see if there was something going on that he needed to be made aware of.

    ¡°Maybe,¡± His older brother replied. ¡°But I don¡¯t want to put all my hopes on him having the patience and understanding to do a bunch of yoga poses and expect to suddenly find himself at peace. That¡¯s not how his mind works. If we had a lot of time to practice and not have the life threatening dangers we deal with every day then maybe it would work, but right now we need something steadfast.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a licenced pyschologist but I do have lots of experience listening to people whine and complain and expect me to come up with the answers for them. I could talk to him if you¡¯d like?¡±

    ¡°Nah,¡± Thomas said. The way he said it sounded as though it was accompanied by a dismissive wave of his hand. ¡°He just needs to get laid.¡±

    Both men chuckled warmly at that. Michael found himself smiling a little at the comment too, even if it was a dig at his life.

    He thought about leaving the conversation to its supposed privacy as there was very little that actually interested him and then turned around to head back to his room. As the young man went down the narrow hallway he kept his head low, almost facing the floor when he heard a small cacophony of small little tik sounds coming from above. It was reminiscent of the sound of rain hitting sheet metal. An almost calm background noise that seemed to fill in the void of quiet. But there was no sheet metal above him, only the ventilation duct and there was no rain to be had inside. They were in a secret base in the desert, several dozen metres underground.

    A small part of his mind wanted to take further action into investigating the sound but it was ultimately overruled by the rest of him explaining it to be the metal work settling. At first it seemed like an answer that satisfied him but he couldn¡¯t avoid wondering why it sounded different to what he expected. In the end, Michael shook his head and tried to not think about it, there was no use pondering about it and even if he brought it up he would most likely be told by everyone else that he was jumpy and imagining things. Maybe that was also true.

    Maybe...

    The sound grew distant as he walked further away from the breakroom, the door that led to his room was left open as were the others except for the one Ghilya occupied. Hers was right next to him, and the sound of her breathing could be heard through the door.

    Except it was too loud for her breathing. Too loud for any normal sounds, it sounded more like crying.

    Michael carefully approached her door, taking every ounce of caution he could to avoid her noticing his presence and placed his ear close to the door. Sure enough he could hear her muffled sobs and the occassional sniffle. Not much information was available to him at the time but Michael considered it to be a binary decision of whether he should check in on her or not, knocking on the door and asking if she was alright was not going to work because she could easily dismiss him and say she was alright when that was clearly not the case. On the other hand she was a skilled hunter with lightening quick reflexes so her reaction to his intrusion might not be amicable. The thought of her knives suddenly appearing and making their way toward him had sprung to mind.

    He drew in a deep breath to prepare himself and twisted the door knob open, then mustered up a voice that was both calm and understanding without necessarily being patronizing. One that was guaranteed to be a quick stop to getting one of her blades inserted in some nonspecific part of his body.

    ¡°Ghilya, are you alright?¡±

    Michael had expected her to be curled in on herself on her bed and softly rocking her body back and forth. Instead he found her hunched up in the far corner between the bed and where the bathroom was. She had her arms wrapped around her knees which where already close to her chest and she made soft motions as her chest heaved spasmodically and snot dangled from her nose like a stalactite made of mucous. Her otherwise pale face had been turned into a rosy shade of red most prominent around her eyes where they looked puffy and bloodshot. She was able to lift her head from her knees and gaze at the human standing in her doorframe with a mixture of sadness and disgust.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± She sniffled in a low, croaky voice.

    She underwent a series of sharp inhalations without a similar number of exhalations leading Michael to think her breathing was far from regular.

    ¡°Go away.¡±

    Michael closed the door behind him, the hinges croaked almost identically to her voice and approached Ghilya steadily, not wanting to make any sudden movements. For a moment, it was almost like trying to approach a stray animal that had all sense of hope beaten out of it and distrusted everyone and everything around it. He had to resist the urge to slowly extend his hand to reach out and pet her in some form of comfort. Instead, he sat on the corner of her bed and looked down at her as she refused to make eye contact. She repeated her earlier statement albeit in a slightly louder voice but still drowned out by the sadness and worn out vocal chords.

    Michael cleared his throat. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Michael,¡± Ghilya said still not looking up at him. ¡°Please go away, I am not in the mood for talking.¡±

    And there it was. The invitation of saying it was okay and understandable if he left her here. One ignore-a-person-in-distress-guilt-free pass. It would have been a simple choice. Nobody would have given him shit for it if he took her up on it. But deep down he knew that it would have eaten away at him until he was wracked with guilt.

    ¡°Then I won¡¯t say anything.¡± He replied.

    She looked up at him with those pleading, puffy red eyes. Small motions of her facial muscles pulled in such a way that for Michael he would have sworn she gave him a brief look that said ¡°thank you.¡± He chose not to say anything out of fear of ruining the fragile peace and understanding that momentarily existed between Human and Wood Elf.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    For what felt like an hour, Ghilya¡¯s emotions ran high with her breathing consisting of short and shallow gasping in an effort to regain some semblance of control followed by letting her head fall into her lap and sob silently.  Though he wasn¡¯t certain how long he was there watching her cry herself, Michael found an instinctual drive that seemed to elude the higher reasoning centre of his brain and brought himself to sit closer to Ghilya with his back on the wall. Perhaps, he wondered if it was right to do this was because he still hadn¡¯t had the chance to process his own grief and that by assisting Ghilya with hers it would do something for his own. For now he would put it on hold with no concrete understanding of when he was going to be able to deal with it. The thought of unloading his grief and sadness on her right now was, for the most part, a dick move and something she might interpret as him making it all about him.

    Then, something he had not expected had occurred: Her body shuffled close to his own until her body pressed up against his and her head listed toward his shoulder.

    Before he could protest this her arm reached around him for support and she cried into his shoulder. Michael¡¯s eyes widened and his arms were raised in surprise. The move came from out of nowhere, not to mention unexpectedly that it left him wondering if this was really happening at all. He looked around as though some kind of indicator or clue in the room would present itself and tell him what to do next, when nothing did, he instead slowly lowered his arms and set his left arm on her back and gently patted her. She sniffled in response and continued her sobbing fit in his shoulder while he gently brushed his hand on her back in circular, clockwise motions and giving her an occassional pat on the back.

    Somehow, the physical act of touching her came as an interesting experience that Michael didn¡¯t realise he lacked. He took note of her back muscles and the way her shoulder blades jutted out from beneath the skin so prominently that the tactile sensation almost stirred his curiosity.

    Is this what people do? Normal people do this when someone is sad, right? What do Elves do when they are sad, are they the same as mine?

    Thankfully for Michael he would receive his answer far sooner than he had anticipated. When he looked down at Ghilya she had stopped her sobbing and was breathing raggedly.

    Over time she came to her senses and eventually worked herself off of Michael leaving a damp spot in his shirt and stood up, looking down on him.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± She said sniffling. Her voice quiet and croaky. ¡°Really. Thank you, Michael.¡±

    Ghilya wiped her tears with her forearm gauntlet and looked away, ashamed and disgusted by her current state.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright. I know what its like to see... That. To see everything you¡¯ve ever known be thrown on its head and see the ruin and the devastation it caused is hurtful.¡±

    Still, she didn¡¯t face him and had crossed her arms across her slim chest. ¡°Was this what it was like for you?¡±

    Michael swallowed, the saliva might as well have been a gold brick with how suddenly his stomach sank.

    ¡°Well, for me it was because I had nearly died a few times and somehow it keeps getting scarier and more terrifying each time-¡°

    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t mean that... I meant when my kind invaded your home.¡±

    ¡°Oh! Oh, well, I guess. Truthfully, with everything going on it had slipped my mind and I had forgotten all about it.¡± Somehow even acknowledging it felt like he was betraying his own kind. Michael looked back on his memories and tried to recall the sense of dread and fear he felt when his once poverty stricken suburb had been invaded by beings of all shapes and sizes from Dragons unleashing columns of flame onto entire streets, Elven hunters jumping from building to building and striking down unsuspecting humans trying to flee from the danger, Nagas with their long reach spears slithering across the ground and impaling their prey.

    And yet, all he could feel in that moment was the briefest sense of excitement and adrenaline at how fast paced everything had become. And it was that feeling that disgusted him into thinking he had betrayed everyone back home. They were still suffering, still under the oppressive boot of the creatures wanting to take over human lands assuming they were not already killed and here he was safe and secured in an underground complex complaining about the near deaths he avoided.

    It prompted his head to ache just behind the centre of his forehead.

    ¡°I mean it was shocking seeing the Barrier get overrun,¡± He continued. ¡°But I was so busy with trying to stay alive with my brother and then planning this expedition it just... It just took all my focus away from that. I guess with everything else going on I have to make this work so everything was worth it in the end.¡±

    Ghilya still didn¡¯t move though her face had somehow managed to look even more miserable without adjusting her facial muscles. Michael started to think answering that was a mistake and aided in making her feel more miserable. Still, he had to try and managed to get up off of the floor with his back scraping against the wall and stare at Ghilya who refused to meet his gaze. He still felt uncertain about why he cared or what he was supposed to do next but the one thing he did know with any sort of certainty was that he wanted her to stay and help them end this conflict.

    ¡°Look,¡± Michael said taking every precaution of keeping his voice warm and sympathetic. ¡°I know nothing I can say will undo what has been done but if you just want someone to watch over you while you cry yourself to sleep or-or comfort you then...¡± He shrugged his shoulders with uncertainty. ¡°Just come get me and I¡¯ll be there if you need it.¡±

    She exhaled softly and let her arms fall to her sides, she still didn¡¯t meet his gaze but her arms were thrown toward and around him until she was pressing her body firmly against his and Michael consciously worked on suppressing the awkward feelings he was experiencing from her embrace. Despite her size and twig like limbs she was surprisingly very strong with her embrace. Her face came close to his and it was the first time since they met that he realised just how tall she was compared to him, up close she was at least another inch taller than he was, maybe two, and he was impressed by how wonderful her skin looked from such close proximity. Her face inched closer to his, Michael¡¯s eyebrows shot up thinking she was going to kiss him until she spoke with a soft, breathless voice.

    ¡°Thank you, Michael.¡±

    When she released him from her hug there was an overwhelming tsunami of relief that came over Michael. His heart raced and he could feel a discomforting sensation throughout his body as a result. For a moment he wondered if he should kiss her or if she was considering doing the same. Ghilya¡¯s whole body slumped a bit and he lowered his head to check her face to see if she was going to be alright or breakdown into another fit of sadness. She nodded at him in a silent acknowledgment that he was allowed to leave her be for now and he graciously took it.

    Once outside her room Michael closed the door gently and sighed heavily.

    ¡°What¡¯cha up to?¡± a voice with comically high tones asked.

    Michael jumped on the spot, startled by the unexpected voice and looked to his left to see Thomas staring at him with arms folded across his chest and a cheeky smirk plastered on his face. Just how long had he been standing there? Was he also eavesdropping on himself and Ghilya? Did that mean he knew about Michael spying on them, and if so, how did he?

    ¡°W-what?¡± Michael replied breathlessly.

    The sudden scare took all the air out of his lungs and he took a moment to catch his breath with one hand gripping his chest.

    Thomas shifted a little and started leaning on the wall, his arms still crossed. ¡°I said ¡®what are you doing?¡¯ I thought you would be in bed sleeping for the next millennium.¡±

    ¡°I- I uh, was. But I heard something in Ghilya¡¯s room and investigated.¡±

    Technically true in broad strokes but Michael knew that wasn¡¯t going to placate his brother¡¯s curiosity. He wondered if being his older brother came with some kind of sixth sense that allowed him to know when Michael was telling the truth or telling lies.

    ¡°Uh-huh... And what was it?¡±

    ¡°What was what?¡±

    ¡°What was it that you found in her room? You weren¡¯t watching her sleep or checking her gear while she slept were you?¡±

    Michael flinched back, his face contorted to one of disgust. ¡°What, no! That¡¯s creepy.¡±

    A soft rumbling came from Thomas¡¯s chest as he laughed to himself. Michael then realised his brother was trying to wind him up, rather than retaliate he rolled his eyes instead and walked right past him towards his room.

    ¡°Whoa... Hold on there, little bro.¡±

    Something tugged on the back of his shirt as though it had been caught on something, a strong pull dragged him back and he realised his brother had gripped him by the neck of his shirt. After shrugging his shoulders wide to loosen Thomas¡¯s grip to no avail, Michael conceded.

    ¡°What were you doing in her room?¡± He asked casually as though this was a question that was asked on a regular basis.

    ¡°I heard her crying and went to comfort her.¡± Michael sighed. ¡°That was all.¡±

    For a moment he thought Thomas was unconvinced by his response, but was relieved when he felt the bunched up fabric at the nape of his neck loosen up.

    ¡°I take it it has something to do with that pyrosonic bomb we saw?¡±

    Michael nodded.

    ¡°I think she needs time to process this and come to terms that her village is wiped off the face of the planet.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not the only one,¡± Thomas said folding his arms across his chest. His voice took on an upward inflection that could have said ¡®suck it up.¡¯. ¡°We are still going to need her when we leave this place and introduce us to the Dragon King.¡±

    ¡°Dragon Lord.¡± Michael corrected.

    ¡°King. Lord. Duke. Baron. Dragon Emperor. Whatever, it¡¯s all the same thing with those pompous titles. Point is if she doesn¡¯t have her act together when we leave then we will need to have a serious discussion regarding her position within the group. Last thing we need is for her to have a sobbing fit when we don¡¯t need it.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯ll be alright. She just needs a minute to go through something.¡±

    It was close enough to be the actual truth that he could believe it. She could possibly get through her problems well enough to resume the journey unimpeded if given enough time. So why did it feel like he just told a bold faced lie to his brother¡¯s face? A memory of her getting intimate with him just a moment ago flashed before his mind¡¯s eye followed along with some fantasies involving that scenario. It triggered a biological response in the form of increased heart rate and respiration. Michael quickly hide that from Thomas and tried to hide any sense of discomfort. Should he have told him about that, the closeness of the moment and how he felt? No, that was for him and Ghilya only. Nothing was going to happen between them, and any assumptions otherwise was pure delusion on his part.

    Thomas made a grunt in his throat, neither satisfied nor dissatisfied.

    ¡°Alright,¡± Thomas finally said dragging the first syllable to three. ¡°But she¡¯s your responsibility. If she¡¯s not fine by the time we leave, we¡¯re ditching her ass.¡±

    Michael nodded in understanding.

    Thomas pushed himself off the wall and walked by Michael and went into his room. Once Michael was inside his and the door was shut he took the moment to strip his clothes off to expose his bare, sticky skin to air. The bathroom mirror reflected his form and it was for the first time in a long while that Michael was able to see the extent of what was done to his body. The modifications and the punishment it had gone through in the weeks since.

    Where there wasn¡¯t visible lines denoting where one panel of faux epidermis intersected with another there were bruises, gashes, and scrape marks from where he had been nearly dragged to his death. His chest had a series of scars from his brother¡¯s rushed procedures and several ports hidden behind a plate covering his sternum that had been scratched to the point of exposing the metal underneath. He looked down at his hands and saw the work that was done to them and willed the blades to expose themselves out of his forearms. In his reflection, he looked like some poor attempt at hybridizing a man with a praying mantis.

    Already the self loathing at what had become of him started to settle in and he pulled the blades back in and walked away from the mirror before donning his dirty, sticky clothes once more.

    When he woke up, Michael wasn¡¯t certain just how long he slept but he had to guess at least a few hours. He still felt tired and tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes before considering his next move. Outside his room he heard the pitter patter of footsteps as though a dozen small children were walking around. When he opened the door to see who was outside he found there was no one around.

    Weird, could¡¯ve sworn I heard something.

    Michael reached for his gun and placed the sling over his neck as he left the dorms. Everybody else seemed to be in their rooms if their closed door was any indicator. Michael went to the breaker room, the subtle subsonic hum of electronics and computer parts whirred and ticked softly as though there was nothing to begin with, then he checked the map. It took him a minute to memorise the layout and where he wanted to go next: The Armoury.

    If the map was any indicator, then the armoury was directly one floor below him. He smiled at the thought of seeing the vast array of old weapons and the chance at getting to pick whichever one he wanted out of the lot. He probably should have waited until Thomas or Clarke were available to go with him but a small part of his brain said that they would probably ruin the fun of seeing guns by telling him not to touch a specific one he really wanted to touch.

    After backtracking through the halls and out past the motorpool, he took a turn down the emergency stairs that ran the depth of the base and entered through the creaky door. With the exception of the motorpool above, the layout of this floor was almost identical to the one above. Michael felt a tightness below his navel that came with the sensation of being watched, from where, he couldn¡¯t tell. It was as though invisible eyes were observing him from every corner where light didn¡¯t reach. He tried his best to dismiss the feeling as merely pure flights of fancy. Something his irrational mind cooked up to keep him alert and anxious when there wasn¡¯t a need for it.

    The door to the armoury stood out compared to the others. Where the normal ones, such as the one for his room and the offices that filled the vast majority of rooms in this building were a laminated wood type of material, the armoury¡¯s was a solid foot of metal nearly a meter and a half wide and two metres tall. Faded black and yellow hazard stripes lined the frame as though to warn all who pass by of the dangers contained within its walls. Michael approached the door with a frame of mind already working on how to get it open. From the way it looked, he knew it was going to be next to impossible to pry it open with brute force. And if it possessed a keypad then he was fucked. Resting dead center in the panel was a cold steel wheel a foot in diameter connected to a series of levers and gears that held a metal rod going to the floor and another to the ceiling.

    If this was to be the way to open it, then the only thing better than this was if the door was slightly ajar to begin with.

    Michael grabbed the wheel with both hands, grip as tight as a vice, Each muscle group yelled in protest, working in uniform to make the wheel move even a little. When it creaked after shifting only a centimetre Michael released his grip and caught his breath before taking another shot at it. With nothing to tell him the time, it could have been one hour to multiple hours for the wheel to move enough so the rods were not holding the door in place. Metal groaned in protest against being disturbed after so long, but Michael panted heavily with a wide grin on his face at his achievement.

    What Michael saw inside the vaulted armoury filled him with an exaltation that felt more aligned with boyish excitement. His eyes could not widen any further if he tried and he was certain that his mouth went slack with a wide grin pulling at his cheeks.

    Guns.

    Old guns. Pristine guns. Carbines, assault rifles, shotguns, pistols and many more that he didn¡¯t know the words to. More firearms lined the racks than there were in Sanctuary Hills.. If that was even possible.

    And he could take his pick of the lot.

 Chapter 5

    <u>Thomas:</u>

    The trusty firearms that had served Thomas and Michael faithfully these last two weeks were called Kaitlyn Xavier Industries Magnetar submachine gun. The model itself was of the deluxe range with all the added bells and whistles that the standard model didn¡¯t come with like the palm recognition scanner built into the handle and the trigger mechanism. Or the wireless connection to his optic implants displaying where his weapon was aiming and ammo capacity. But, the main feature that took his fancy, and that of his little brother, was the Enabler module attached to the side of the barrel that altered the effects of the bullets fired.

    Each mode was voice activated and the ability each bullet had was up to the user¡¯s discretion. For Thomas, he found no use to alter the bullets¡¯ properties in any significant way yet. Though, on several occasions, he had hoped there was an explosive feature that could allow him to take on larger targets such as that twisted abhorrent creature they had the misfortune of encountering on the mountain.

    Its foul visage and exposed flesh, black and slick like oil haunted him whenever his eyes closed.

    And still, despite how much time had passed since defeating the abomination he could still feel the fire pulsing through his veins from the surge of adrenaline. He had let his guard down for a moment and his brother was almost taken away from him. Thomas¡¯s heart nearly leapt out of his mouth when he saw Michael being dragged along the ground and toward the edge. In the span of a fraction of a second Thomas had thought to himself

    He¡¯s dead. Michael is dead and its all my fault!

    But he rejected the thought as though his whole subconscious was working in preparation for the upcoming trauma. It all happened so fast he wasn¡¯t even sure what had actually happened, and what aspect of the events were reality and what were constructed by his imagination. He knew he saved his little brother, that much was evident. He knew they saved him from nearly falling off a cliff and they had all managed to witness the destruction of Ghilya¡¯s forest home. But he couldn¡¯t remember how he moved so quickly to reach his brother in the span of a second and grab onto him before being pulled off the cliff.

    Before him, the gun was laid on the carpet in multiple parts; each component sat next to its related counterpart to resemble a blown out diagram of the weapon and its constituent parts. Thomas¡¯ lack of care towards preserving the integrity of the carpet was made clear by the patches of dark stains of old gun lubricant that had thickened beyond any usability. With no spare cloths he could use to wipe away the dirt and grime, he made do with instead wiping the parts thoroughly on the carpet.

    The carpet¡¯s been here for what, a hundred years? It was probably due for a modern replacement anyway. Its style and material was no longer fashionable by any standard anymore.

    Somehow, and without even knowing it, Thomas felt  a strange sense of calm and order wash over him. The train of thought about how he saved his brother and nearness of losing him had caused other terrible opinions and thoughts to spawn and fester in his subconscious until it made his heart race from being anxious about a hypothetical situation in which he would fail. Yet, the terrible thoughts perished and receded far away from his perception until they were no longer noticeable anymore as the assembly of his weapon brought about a sense of calm and order. When he paused to think about it, he found that the process of taking his gun apart and putting it back together had the calming sense of ritual. That the act of cleaning his gun also cleaned some part of his soul that he hadn¡¯t realised needed cleaning.

    The process of putting it all back together had an equal sense of calm that nearly made Thomas want to take it apart and put it back together all over again. The thought made him smile a little and he allowed a slight chuckle.

    With a firm slap, the magazine slid firmly into place until a small metallic click could be heard; the submachine gun was assembled once more. Thomas sat the weapon beside his backpack and began systematically going through the contents.

    A bundle of rope. Water canteen. Empty. Another week¡¯s worth of dried, packaged protein bars. One magazine for his weapon. Pocket knife. His own handgun with a few magazines for it. A first aid kit. And of all things a magazine from Living Homes Monthly. How that got there, Thomas had no clue whatsoever but reasoned it must have been there before he embarked on this journey. Though he had no recollection of reading it, let alone buying it.

    ¡°Should¡¯ve brought some spare clothes with me.¡± He mumbled to himself then lightly sniffed under his arms.  ¡°And maybe a toiletries kit too.¡±

    Indeed, he was starting to realise just how woefully under-prepared he was for this journey. Several items started popping into his head with what he should have brought for this journey but he paid them no mind as it was too late for them to go back and collect them. But he had to forgive himself for coming unprepared. After all, it was not as though he could have known what was required for such a journey, nor could he have known just how gruelling and taxing it would have been.

    When everything was packed back into his backpack with only the gun remaining, Thomas had an interesting thought pop into his head; If he was running low on ammunition then surely so was everyone else. And this base had an armoury.

    It seemed so obvious in that moment that he didn¡¯t stop to think of it further as he got up and left his room to locate it.

    He returned to the breaker room to check the floor map and found it easily below him. When he found it, he found the door was left ajar. Small clanks and cluttering sounds could be heard from it. The sound of feet pottering about inside it made Thomas fear that something else was inside this base and he was about to approach it without a weapon.

    Shit, should I raise the alarm and alert the others? Or do I deal with this myself unarmed? Wait, shit! What if its something real tough like that damned nightmarish thing?

    Thomas knew his head was spiralling toward a dark place he didn¡¯t want to think about. Even the mere thought about the possibility that the creature had somehow survived and followed them here was anxiety and stress he and the others didn¡¯t need to deal with at the time. He shook his head as though the thought would be banished from his mind. At best, he could just observe and report back to his group if this was something he couldn¡¯t handle.

    He could feel his chest muscles quivering and shaking nervously as he approached the door frame. Though he put the doubt and fear aside he could still sense the lingering remnants of them within. Slowly, he leaned forward to peer past the threshold expecting to see some kind of creature either something that will try to kill him or something that will try to kill him that he could talk to. Instead, he found Michael giggling maniacally to himself.

    The relief that came over Thomas was near transcendental. He could feel the muscles in his chest and legs loosen up by magnitudes and his heart starting to settle down.

    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Thomas asked more forcefully than he intended.

    Michael nearly jumped out of his skin, and in doing so he had dropped the rifle he was holding where it landed with a loud CLACK. Part of Thomas flinched expecting the chambered round to fire off. The sound of metal on concrete broke through the silence like a gunshot before Michael could regain his composure and regain control over himself.

    ¡°Are you following me!?¡± Michael yelled breathlessly. ¡°Stop it, please. If I go to the toilet I better not find you there too.¡±

    Thomas crossed his arms and wore a sly smile. ¡°Well what if I need to use it?¡±

    ¡°Then... Don¡¯t.¡±

    The expression on his little brother¡¯s face was one of intense thought and puzzlement. He had seen that look whenever Michael was wound up and was seriously considering his next answer or thinking about a point made against him and how he can argue against it no matter how correct it may be. Nonetheless, he was right about Thomas¡¯s repeated unannounced visitations. He pointed to the weapon at his little brother¡¯s feet and asked.

    ¡°So, whatcha got there?¡± In a jovial tone that countered Michael¡¯s defensiveness.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. This particular model says PATRIOT. I don¡¯t know if that is the name of it or the name of the company that makes them. But I guess this was the more popular one as that rack over by the door is full of them.¡±

    He had pointed toward a thin wire mesh rack that was lined with the exact same PATRIOT weapon. The weapon was a black rifle with a short barrel and streamlined curves where the under-barrel meets with the trigger guard. On top, there was a handle with a sizable scope mounted on top and a laser pointer attached to the side of the barrel. Its outline resembled that of their own SMG¡¯s but with a sleeker and more outdated design.

    Thomas reached for one of the guns on the rack and removed the magazine to inspect the bullets. Without having his existing ammunition on him he was unable to make a side by side comparison but he suspected that the types were the same. True to Michael¡¯s word, PATRIOT was indeed etched into the main body in big lettering along the body of the weapon.

    ¡°So, uh, are we gonna talk about before?¡± Thomas said.

    Michael¡¯s eyes widened briefly, his cheeks flushed, the arteries in his neck could be seen rhythmically tensing and easing. He seemed to be avoiding making direct eye contact with Thomas which only seemed more suspicious than if he had. Thomas noted the sudden uptick in respiration in his little brother and knew he had hit the right spot.

    ¡°Wh-wha-¡°

    ¡°Don¡¯t bother denying it. I knew as soon as I saw you leave her room. Clearly you didn¡¯t know about the tear and snot stains on your shoulders.¡± Thomas said pointing at his brother¡¯s shoulder.

    He looked down while pinching a fold of fabric between two fingers and examined the small wet patches on his clothing.

    ¡°You weren¡¯t just ¡®comforting¡¯ her, were you? Something happened, didn¡¯t it?¡±

    Michael¡¯s eyes widened in shock and he started speaking fast, trying to get his wits. ¡°NO! Er, no. Nothing like that happened. Really, she just needed someone and I was there and-¡°

    Thomas held up both hands placatively. ¡°I¡¯m not accusing you of anything,¡± He said with a calm and soothing voice. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t hold it against you if you and her found yourselves experiencing urges that require a more... intimate company and you-¡°

    ¡°Wait what!?¡±

    Hearing the vocal registry in his brother¡¯s voice shoot up in pitch like a rocket almost made Thomas burst out in a fit of laughter.

    ¡°I¡¯m just saying; its perfectly normal for someone your age to start experiencing things, thinking about girls- though I would have preferred you go after human girls instead - but I get that you don¡¯t have many options to choose from.¡±

    ¡°N-no! Tom, its not like-¡°

    ¡°Its alright,¡± He continued, hands still raised. ¡°Its perfectly normal to sow some wild oats, as mum would say. And as long as she does nothing to hurt you and the both of you consent to it then-¡°

    Still in its comically high pitch, Michael barked out. ¡°Thomas, shut the hell up!¡±

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Thomas likewise closed his mouth shut and didn¡¯t say another word. He wanted to wait until his brother made the next move. And he did. Michael had been breathing heavily like he had just come from a marathon, except without the weary expression on his face, and instead a wide-eyed glare that gave no room for Thomas to say anything.

    Michael stood silent as he regained control of his breathing. His chest steadily resumed its normal proportions each time he breathed in and out.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to have sex with Ghilya.¡± A brief gap enunciated each word until they were a sentence unto themselves. Michel¡¯s breathing had regained control but his massive eyes still fixated on Thomas like a predator sizing up its prey.

    ¡°She was upset about the bombing. I was there to comfort her. That is all. No more. No less.¡±

    With carefully calculated precision, Thomas raised his hands and patted the air softly to indicate that he didn¡¯t want to fight. Choosing to keep a warm and friendly tone, Thomas quietly said. ¡°Okay. Okay, I understand clearly, brother.¡±

    Thankfully his little brother seemed to take it as intended and the muscles around his eyes eased up, removing the wide eyed look he had on him. Did he know that he looked like that? Michael blinked twice as though he had somehow snapped out of a trance before returning his gaze back to the weapon in his hands. He had set the PATRIOT weapon onto the nearest rack with a metallic clik.

    Thomas had done the same with the one in his hands and reached for a different looking weapon that had a large cylinder attached under the barrel.

    ¡°When was the last time you slept?¡± He asked in the same calm and quiet voice. Before Michael could respond he said. ¡°You have gone through a lot in just these past two days alone, you¡¯ve barely slept and I am worried for you.¡±

    The sigh that came out of Michael was more like one big exhalation of breath. When he looked over to see what was going on, Michael had his head hanging limp and his eyes closed shut. There was a brief moment that Thomas had thought his dear, young brother had fallen asleep while standing. When he reached out in an attempt to shake him awake Michael¡¯s eyes shot open and he let out a smaller breath.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know man, I forgot. Maybe two days ago, shit, so much has happened I don¡¯t know how much longer I can go on.¡±

    This worried Thomas more than the death-defying encounters they have recently experienced. Michael had quite a few limits but he hadn¡¯t done anything to push beyond them because he never needed to in the past. Whether that was from a lack of motivation or a by-product of his long running status as unemployed was left to be determined. But this trip was not only pushing him past those boundaries and limitations but it would have pushed beyond those who had actively tried to push them. In fact, a majority of people Thomas knew would probably be struggling under the same circumstances, maybe even have given up days ago.

    He wanted more than anything to feel an ounce of pride towards his brother for making it this far without showing signs of quitting or wanting to slow down, yet the damage being done to his health was taxing enough to render the achievement irrelevant.

    Michael¡¯s voice became croaky and almost a mumble. ¡°Tom.¡± He muttered. ¡°What if we get there and we fail? What if we get there and its too late, or that we don¡¯t convince the Dragon Lord? Will this all have been worth it?¡±

    Thomas knew what his brother was trying to say. ¡®What are we going to do if we don¡¯t succeed.¡¯ He wanted to tell him they could simply go back home and try to make the best of it. Or they could spend the rest of their days with Ghilya learning how to survive out in the wilds here. A nomadic lifestyle didn¡¯t seem too appealing but given the choice it wasn¡¯t a bad one all things considered.

    He didn¡¯t want to lie, didn¡¯t want to fill his brother¡¯s mind with false hope and the promise of a better tomorrow when even that seemed a far fetched concept. At the same time he didn¡¯t want to stamp out any lingering ember of hope that Michael might have been holding on to if he ever felt his faith in their mission waiver.

    ¡°Well, we just have to make the most of it as best we can.¡± And it was almost true enough that he could believe it.

    It seemed to be enough for Michael as he approached Thomas with a sorrowful look. His arms left his sides and wrapped themselves behind Thomas¡¯s back to bring the older sibling into a firm hug. He returned the gesture and took to running his fingers through Michael¡¯s tattered dark brown hair as a sign of affection. The overwhelming need for physical affection and the sensation of touch was one that Michael needed more than Thomas did, they both lacked a lot of it in their lives but while the latter had learned to live without it, the former had instead a drive to nearly hug and openly display his affection to those he considered close friends and family.

    Michael sniffled as he buried his face in Thomas¡¯s chest. After a moment, he broke the hug and wiped the water building up in his reddening eyes.

    ¡°Go and sleep.¡±

    He nodded, then left the armoury to Thomas.

    With a sigh he thought to himself. I hope this journey finishes soon, he doesn¡¯t have much more time left in him. Dad, wherever you are, please send him some strength.

    Thomas gave a quick glance over the weapon racks for anything he might find interesting. Occasionally eying specific pieces of firearms and explosives that he thought might come in handy on their quest. The noise he heard coming from beyond the blast door was a soft hissing sound that was almost barely perceptible. At first thought, Thomas assumed it to be Ghilya, Clarke or even Michael quietly trying to shuffle their way close to the door frame to listen in on what he was doing but something about the noise didn¡¯t add up. It was a soft hissing sound of feet brushing along sand but the sound went on far too long for someone trying to be sneaky.

    After reaching for the nearest weapon and flicking the safety on, Thomas carefully leaned out from the door frame and inspected both sides of the corridor for anyone that was there. He could hear the gentle hissing sound again only this time it sounded like there was more than one entity creating it, then it suddenly stopped.

    There was the very real chance that there was no such thing and that Thomas was simply imagining the sound all in his head and he wanted to dismiss it but the knot in his stomach forbade him from taking such action.

    Surely I haven¡¯t gone insane already, right? I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve hit the limit on my sanity quite yet.

    Just as suddenly as it had stopped, the strange shuffling sound came back, at least from three different sources. Thomas scanned the corridor where Michael and himself had come through, then he inspected the other end of the hallway where it had been obscured by darkness. Most likely from broken or faulty light fixtures. He flicked on his night vision mode embedded within his ocular implants and saw the whole corridor in shades of green and black after immersing himself in the darkness. Nothing stood out to him at first, there were no creatures scurrying along the walls trying to get away from him or coming towards him. Just the empty concrete walls and pipe laden ceiling. He was about to turn around and forget all about it when he saw another door left ajar, Thomas realised the sound was coming from behind the door as the sound of shuffling and soft hissing grew louder.

    Whatever primal instincts remained within his biology engaged his flight or fight response as a surge of adrenaline flooded his circulatory system. Thomas¡¯s hands shook readily for action, every organic part of him shook and twitched in anticipation for what he was about to see.

    Once he was through the door he was again greeted with a blackened corridor that offered no light and nothing to indicate what was making the noise. When he looked down, he saw the floor had been covered in sand that curved upward to form a wall on his right and continue to cover the ground all the way to the end of his left. He tried to scan the sand for tracks but couldn¡¯t find any. The sound was noticeably louder but it went quiet again shortly after he had entered the hallway.

    Thomas tried steadying his breath and calming down his heart rate with little success. The hair on his neck stood on end and he was left paralysed with fear as he tried to think his way through this.

    Okay, fuck this. I¡¯m better off where there is light. Light is good, nothing bad happens in the light. Lots of bad things happen in the dark.

    Just as he started to turn around, this time for good, he was stopped once more in his tracks by the sounds of high pitched chittering and repetitive clicking noises coming somewhere close by. Though he had no idea what part of him made him inspect the ceiling for the source, Thomas was both relieved and horrified to see what was above him.

    How on Munhiero did he not see that before? Looking at it from this distance nearly made it impossible to not have noticed it before.

    What. The. Fuck?

    Above him was not a creature that stared back at him with alien appendages and bulbous compound eyes. But instead it was some kind of strange growth glued to the ceiling above him. The night vision mode made its moist flesh seem to be a dark olivine colour with spiderweb like veins visible from the outside. Thomas took a step back away from the growth and started looking for more of the strange growths. It looked to be about a foot from top to bottom and about half as wide at the base. It looked as though two balls of different sizes were glued together with the larger of the two serving as the base with the smaller one on top. Or in this case, the bottom.

    What uneased Thomas¡¯s stomach about the whole thing was how it seemed to be alive in some way. Whatever it was expanded and contracted as though it were breathing with the occasional protruding bulge from something inside.

    And yet, despite all common sense and rationality screaming at him to turn around and run in the opposite direction, the curiosity in him begged him to go forward and see if there were more of these things. Thomas cursed himself as quietly as he could under his breath as he skirted along the wall to avoid being as near to the thing as possible as he made his way further down the corridor, he turned a corner and his eyes widened at the sight of dozens more of the strange fleshy growths covering the walls, floor, and ceiling for as far as his night vision could allow. He had almost covered his mouth in an attempt to stop himself from exclaiming something loud enough to be heard by... Whatever these were.

    At a guess he estimated there to be nearly thirty of the things. Each one pulsating and writhing slowly, almost patiently. Far away where even his enhanced sight was swallowed up by the blackness he could hear the chittering, soft hissing sound still moving about in parts unseen, it made Thomas¡¯ skin crawl and gave him enough of a reason to get out of there while he still could.

    When he saw the first working light sconce past where he had first seen the strange growth he almost felt a wave of euphoric relief wash over him as his sense of safety was restored. As false of a sense as it was, he was glad to be out of the dark. The chittering sounds grew more intense, while his heart still raced Thomas made a maddened dash toward the stairs and back up to where they had made camp.

    In the hallway where everyone rested in their own private rooms, Thomas banged his balled fists on each door he walked past. He cursed breathlessly and paused to still his breathing as everyone opened the door to see what the commotion was all about. Clarke was the first to open the door. He glanced up and down the corridor, then opened the door further to reveal he was gripping his sidearm. Ghilya entered the hallway next with eyes puffed up and red as tomatoes. She looked down at Thomas with a raised eyebrow and arms folded over her slim chest like a parent that was waiting for a child to apologise for something they did.

    Although Thomas tried to speak, his brief burst of energy drained him severely to the point that all that came out of his mouth was a hissing, wheezing sound.

    ¡°Are you dying?¡± Clarke asked. ¡°You sound like my vacuum cleaner whenever it picks up a coin.¡±

    Before he could tell Clarke to go fuck himself, Michael came out of his room and said. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±

    Shortly after catching his breath, Thomas explained what he saw downstairs. Even though he knew nobody was aware of what he was talking about, subconsciously he had hoped that someone at least had some iota of what he was trying to say.

    ¡°Strange blob things that stick to walls and ceilings?¡± Ghilya said. She spoke slowly as if trying out how each word sounded. Whether or not each one made sense to her understanding or not, she still said it as though it were a question.

    Thomas waved his hand for them to follow him. They all stood before the black corridor where he first saw the strange growths. Ghilya tentatively took a step forward then reached into one of her pockets for a small light blue crystal and brought it up to her mouth then whispered something to make it illuminate. She held the illuminated crystal in front of her as though she was offering it to the darkness instead of using it as a makeshift torch. As soon as the light had struck the strange growth it began pulsating and wriggling as though the light was hurting it, still, Ghilya pressed forward out of curiosity more than concern until her crystal light filled the one darkened corridor.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen this before.¡± She said absentmindedly.

    The strange growth continued to react against the presence of light. Small undulations of muscle fibres and whatever made up this thing continued to move and shift as though it was trying to get away. Even the other growths started shifting and moving about in the presence of light. She scrutinised the one on the ceiling by approaching it. Each step closer and the more violent the motions became as if her crystal was scaring it.

    Two stick like appendages rose out from the bottom of the growth, a small opening of muscle contracted open to allow whatever was inside to come out. Another two stick like appendages poked out then pointed toward the ceiling where it grabbed onto the base of the growth and allowed the round body of a creature with eight legs and two eyes on the end of stalks like a crab or some kind of mollusc. Ghilya jumped back at the sight and reached for her curved knives on her hips, ready to attack. And that was when Thomas saw the vertical orientated mouth and rows of needle like teeth.

    ¡°We need to leave... Now!¡± Ghilya said carefully. Her teeth were clenched against each other as though trying to crush one another.

    Michael replied with a quivering voice that said more about how close he was to screaming in fear. ¡°No need to tell me twice¡±

    But Ghilya shook her head without looking away from the strange spider-like creature. ¡°No, I mean we need to get out of this place. Get our stuff, get back to the surface, and run as far and fast as we can.¡±

    Thomas noticed everyone was slowly taking a step back away from the creature. It made some kind of strange barking sound as though it were trying to mimic a demonic bird call, and more of the strange growths exposed the arachnid like creatures. Thomas looked behind him and saw the door to the armoury.

    ¡°Get to the armoury, all of you. We can arm ourselves and get out of here.¡±

    Still refusing to take her eyes off the strange creature she said in a low voice. ¡°That¡¯s not going to be a good idea for long.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± Michael asked as though the situation was not serious.

    Ghilya¡¯s response came with swift, ballet like precision of her blades cutting through the air so fine that Thomas thought it left a visible wake distorting the air. The spider-like creature had sprung toward her before splitting into two mid-flight. Both halves of the strange creature hit the ground with a wet plop sound, blood as blue as the ocean seeped into the sand, staining it like printer ink.

    All four bodies ran away with Thomas taking the lead, he made his way to the thickened armoury door and pushed it open for everyone to follow inside. Ghilya was the last to enter, at first she hesitated then looked back at the corridor they had vacated and bolted towards Thomas.

    He pulled it shut, though he remained uncertain how to actually lock the thing so instead he went toward the weapon racks and started gearing up, grabbing two rifles and stuffing his pockets with as many magazines as he could find.

    ¡°What the hell are those things?¡± Clarke asked openly.

    Ghilya paced right past Clarke and flicked her blades down, sending small flecks of bright blue blood onto the floor. A few droplets spattered near the Senator¡¯s feet and he flinched back as though he was afraid to contract something.

    ¡°Watch it!¡± He cautioned.

    Ghilya made her way toward a series of cabinets on the opposing end of the armoury and inspected the contents on the shelves.

    Michael grabbed one of the PATRIOT rifles and inspected it. ¡°Oh, of course we just HAD to stumble upon another nightmare species didn¡¯t we?¡±

    ¡°Not now.¡± Thomas said dismissively.

    ¡°I mean seriously!¡± He whined. ¡°We survive an invasion. Survive that pointy-eared asshole Xareith. I survive a dragon attack. Not to mention that abomination that nearly killed me!¡±

    ¡°Michael... Not now¡± His older brother insisted more sternly.

    But the young sibling either didn¡¯t hear it or was ignoring the warning altogether. ¡°What¡¯s next? Death by Centaur jousting? Some creature cocoons us and uses our bodies as hosts leaving us to die a horrible death? Or will a Naga capture us and squeeze us like a toothpaste tube?¡±

    Finally, Thomas snapped. ¡°SHUT UP! I know you are pushed to the limit, but so is everyone else here and you don¡¯t see them complaining. So deal with it!¡±

    Michael wasn¡¯t the only one that was stunned into silence by the sudden outburst. Though it was not clear on Thomas¡¯ face, deep down he was a bit surprised that he lost his cool for a moment. He thought about apologising for it later when things would calm down enough to let him do so. But right now, his attention was focused on dealing with these things. He looked to Ghilya who was inspecting sheathed bayonets lying around on a shelf.

    ¡°Missy, you seemed to recognize these things. Any wise elven insight you care to share with the rest of us?¡±

    The look on Ghilya¡¯s face could easily be interpreted as annoyance had that not known her as well as they did. To Thomas, she looked sternly determined as though she was figuring out some kind of plan for dealing with the creatures.

    ¡°We call them Night Bugs,¡± She stated with a sneer of discontent. ¡°Nasty things that live in darkness. I have encountered them before many years ago. They have a strong dislike of light, any source of light seems to burn them. But fighting them is another thing. They are fast, not much of a threat by themselves but when there is more than two or three of them that is when we have a problem.¡±

    ¡°Further in the corridor I saw dozens more of those things.¡±

    ¡°Then we have an infestation and that is a big problem for us.¡±

    Clarke who had been silent up until now had loaded up his revolver and shrugged his shoulders.

    ¡°Why not just leave them be? If we stay in the lit areas then they won¡¯t come near us. Problem solved.¡±

    Ghilya shot him a look that said he should have known the answer already. ¡°Because that will change quickly now that they know we are here. They dislike light but if they can quickly take out any sources of it quickly then they will do so until we are in the dark and they can pick us off. Which is why we should be grabbing our stuff and leaving as soon as possible.¡±

    ¡°Alright then,¡± Thomas said absentmindedly. He slapped a magazine into the rifle and cocked it into the ready position. ¡°Then lets get going.¡±