《I'm on TDY from Hell》 Before the Beginning His rapid breaths in the cold morning air betrayed his fear. Despite the emotion he stood tall with his eyes forward. The confidence might be a veneer, but it was better than nothing at all. His fellow soldiers deserved that at least. The thin blue line stood alone against the rolling sea of red. It was clear who would win this fight, but the line of blue held fast. To do anything else invited disaster. ¡°Steady men, steady.¡± The Colonel on horseback rode back and forth behind the three ranks of infantrymen. ¡°Steady.¡± The words seemed more for the senior officer¡¯s sake, but it still projected confidence for the common men. Confidence was something they desperately needed. Anything less would send the new regiment of the Continental Army running for the hills. If they ran, the Redcoats would have a short march to the Army¡¯s supply line. If that was cut then General Washington¡¯s troops would starve and the war for independence would be over before it even began. Gerald knew a sacrificial move when he saw one. He¡¯d been playing chess with his father since he was a young boy, and the signs were the same. Their little regiment was no match for the main force of the British Army. They were here to buy time and were expected to die doing it. At twenty-four Gerald had lived a good life compared to most. His father was a well-to-do merchant from Boston who defied the British during the occupation by smuggling goods to the militias in the countryside. He was captured, tried, and hung for his crimes. Gerald was here today to fulfill his father¡¯s dream of freedom. He helped dump the tea into the harbor in defiance of the Crown¡¯s unfair tax. He¡¯d also stood with his fellow patriots at Bunker Hill when the Redcoats charged their lines repeatedly to take the hill. But he¡¯d never stood on an open field waiting for an army of British regulars to open fire at him. If he died today, he would die as a man of honor fighting for the righteous cause of independence. That was worth fighting and dying for. He took a few deep breaths to try and get his anxiety under control, but it didn¡¯t do any good. He would be a target for the men marching toward him. He doubted he¡¯d survive the first volley. Gerald was taller than the average man, standing an inch over six feet. People compared his stature to General Washington¡¯s. Gerald was broad of chest and shoulder, with thick legs, a handsome face, and a powerful chin. His long blonde hair was tied behind his neck with a strip of leather, and his sharp green eyes watched the approaching force with resolve. The sea of red¡¯s march brought them nearer and nearer to Gerald¡¯s position. The ground trembled from their stomping feet. Finally, when they were close enough for him to see the whites of their eyes, and smell the stench of their sweat, did the mass of enemies halt. Gerald could throw a rock and hit the British Captain standing at the end of the rank of soldiers. The two armies stood facing each other, hundreds of eyes darting back and forth. The British clearly outnumber the Colonists. They knew it, Gerald knew it, and the colonial regiment¡¯s Colonel knew it. As far as Gerald could tell the British officer was being a gentleman about it. He was giving them the opportunity to step aside. The war was still young enough that the British wanted to give their rebelling colonies the chance to surrender. Gerald saw the enemy¡¯s demeanor change when nothing happened. ¡°Poise Firelock!¡± Gerald¡¯s officer yelled the first command. Gerald had been training for this day since he joined the Continental Army, and his instincts took over. With his left hand he turned the firelock brusquely bringing the lock to the front. Then he brought the firelock from his shoulder directly in front of his face. ¡°Cock Firelock!¡± Gerald cocked the firelock by dropping down his elbow. He immediately placed his thumb on the breech-pin, and his finger on the guard. ¡°Take Aim!¡± Gerald took a small step back with his right foot while bringing the butt of the musket against his right shoulder. He moved his left hand forward to the swell of the stock. He moved his right index finger from the guard to the trigger and looked down the barrel with his right eye. Now that he was looking directly at the enemy he could see they weren¡¯t so different from him. Cold puffs of air from their heavy breathing created a steam of fear that rose from their ranks. A few had their eyes screwed shut and were moving their mouths in prayer. Unlike Gerald¡¯s regiment, they just stood there waiting, daring the colonists to fire. ¡°FIRE!¡± Gerald focused his attention on the man directly opposite him and pulled the trigger. The big musket bucked as fire and metal screamed from the end. Powder-smoke was thrown into the air, and breathed in by everyone along the thin blue line. Gerald choked on the smoke and lost sight of his target. He had no idea if the man was alive or dead on the other side of the haze of gray.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°Half Cock Firelock!¡± Gerald didn¡¯t even register the command, but muscle-memory drove his actions. He was too busy listening to the screams of the injured and the commands being yelled on the opposite side of the battlefield. ¡°Take Aim!¡± The voice was not Gerald¡¯s commander¡¯s. Gerald felt his bladder empty down his leg in fear. ¡°Handle Cartridge!¡± That command was meant for him. Gerald reached into his pouch, seized a cartridge, brought it to his mouth and ripped the top off. The taste of the powder was repulsive, so he turned his head to spit as he brought his thumb up and covered the opening. ¡°Prime!¡± Gerald reached down to shake the powder into the pan. ¡°Fire!¡± The world erupted into madness as the longer, thicker line of red fired into them. Men screamed and fell all around Gerald. Some were dead, some were injured, and some cried for the end to come faster. Gerald screamed to. It was the natural thing to do. ¡°Shut Pan!¡± His Colonel¡¯s voice roared above the screams. Gerald moved his hand to shut the pan he¡¯d just poured the powder into, but nothing happened. His fingers refused to move to that portion of his weapon. Instead they released the musket, allowing it to fall to the ground, and both of his hands flew to his gut. ¡°Charge with cartridge!¡± The Colonel was moving on without him. Gerald screamed to himself, but his body refused to cooperate. His knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground. The ground was cold and hard, but slick with the blood of the men on either side of him. Both had been killed by the first volley, their bodies lay lifelessly in the dirt. Gerald looked from them, to the growing red stain on his white undercoat, to the opposite side of the battlefield. Down here below the haze of powder smoke he could see to the other side. Men in red were screaming, twitching on the ground, or lying in the stillness of death. Gerald scanned them, even as his vision began to waver, and found one familiar face. He was lying face down, with his chin partially buried in the dirt, and looking straight ahead at Gerald. It was the man Gerald had aimed at. He¡¯d killed him. The musket-ball fired by Gerald had blown apart the top portion of the man¡¯s head. The face was still recognizable, but its similarity to a human being ended there. ¡°Take Aim!¡± ¡°FIRE!¡± Gerald missed the rest of the commands leading up to the second volley. The whole world seemed to be shrinking around him as the stain in his gut grew. He remained on his knees though, and despite the pain and approach of death he reached for his musket. His fingers touched the cold metal of the butt and he tried to pull it toward him. It was too heavy, and the weakness spreading through him wouldn¡¯t even allow him to pull it across the frosted grass. He looked up just in time to see the Redcoats raising their rifles to their shoulders and taking aim for their second volley. His attention was drawn to a man, who couldn¡¯t have been much older than a boy. The boy was shivering in fear, and his rifle was angled away from the man directly across the battlefield from him, and pointed directly at Gerald. His barely functioning mind screamed at him to do anything to get out of the way. But his fight or flight instincts were locked away beyond his reach. His body no longer responded to its commands. He couldn¡¯t feel much of anything anymore. The total helplessness was overwhelming. Gerald didn¡¯t even see the second volley fired. He just felt the punch of a second musket-ball going through his chest. He didn¡¯t even know it had hit his heart until he fell over backward, looked up for the last time into the pale blue morning sky, and died. *** Gerald jerked awake. One hand reaching reflexively for the weapon that never left his side. He used the hand not gripping his weapon to rub the sleep from his eyes. The ground was hard where he¡¯d slept. Rocks jutted out at angles and were sharp enough to cut if you weren¡¯t careful. It was a stark contrast to the open field he¡¯d died on all those years ago. Of course, he couldn¡¯t be sure how long ago that actually was. Time worked different down here in the lower-realm. He rolled his neck back and forth feeling the vertebrae pop and the pressure being released. It felt good, and it helped wipe away the memory of his death. It was the only dream he was allowed to have in this place. Part of his punishment for his actions that day; actions with consequences he didn¡¯t expect or understand. No one had been more surprised than Gerald Fuller to wake up in Hell, and he couldn¡¯t have been more surprised by how different Hell was from the description given during Sunday sermons. The Priest decreed from his pulpit that Hell was a place of fire and brimstone, a place where the sinful were banished for all eternity. There they were punished for their crimes against Almighty God. That was what Gerald had been taught, and that had influenced his decisions throughout his entire life. It determined how he interacted in society, how he handled his relationships with women, and ultimately, why he decided to take up arms against unjust oppression. So when he awoke in the arms of a beautiful woman descending into a golden hall he¡¯d been more than a little confused. The woman had smiled at him with fanged teeth as her metallic wings beat against the air to slow their descent. Everything in the hall had a subtle glow to it. A glow that filled him with warmth he¡¯d never known had been missing. The glow infused him with pride, courage, and hope. He wasn¡¯t alone. The seemingly endless hall was filled with hundreds of men and women of all ages and colors. Gerald considered himself an educated man, he¡¯d gone to a university at his father¡¯s request and learned about the world. But there were people here in garments and fashions unlike anything he¡¯d ever seen. Even the traders from Europe hadn¡¯t been dressed so strangely. Some might be from the Orient, and some he just couldn¡¯t tell what they were. The beautiful winged woman gently deposited him among the crowd of people and jumped back into the air. She didn¡¯t even spare him a backward glance. While in the crowd Gerald learned the truth. He was dead. He¡¯d sinned grievously. And he was in Hell. A Hell very different from the Preacher¡¯s version. The lower-realm was made of many kingdoms, ruled by different Lords of Hell, who divided the souls of the damned and brought them into an afterlife that Lord controlled and influenced. Due to the life Gerald lived, and the manner of his death, his soul belonged to the realm of Seere. Seere ruled over a kingdom of fallen warriors; men who had fought nobly, but because they had sinfully taken life, were cast into Hell. It was under the command of Prince Seere, and within his twenty-six infernal legions, that Gerald started his new life. His eternal life. Servitude Gerald remembered his time in the Great Hall like it was yesterday. *** The winged woman, whose smile never reached her eyes, left him in the middle of the hall surrounded by other men and women who looked just as confused as him. His eyes scanned the growing crowd as more winged women dumped their charges unceremoniously on the ground. As his eyes swept from side to side he noticed guards placed throughout the assembly area. They were standing silently around the edges and were so still he thought they were statues. But then one shifted slightly from one foot to the other. He cautiously approached the nearest one and realized how huge they were. Gerald always considered himself a tall man, and his friends reinforced that perception, but today he found himself looking up at the nearest guard. Each guard was outfitted from head to toe in gleaming black armor and carried weapons larger than anything he¡¯d ever seen. Carefully, Gerald regarded the one nearest him. The man was a head and a half taller than Gerald and half again as wide. The black armor, like a medieval knight¡¯s, fully enclosed the guard¡¯s entire body. But the armor was unlike anything Gerald had seen in his European History books. From strategic areas in the armor: like the gauntlet¡¯s knuckles, knees, elbows, and shoulders wicked looking barbs stabbed outward. From those spikes dripped what appeared to be black ooze. If that wasn¡¯t intimidating enough the armor itself seemed to instill in Gerald a sense of foreboding. He couldn¡¯t quite put his finger on it but the armor seemed to eat away at the warmth permeating from the hall. Gerald stopped several feet from the armored man and watched the ooze drip onto the floor and evaporate with a sizzle. After a few moments of gazing in silence the armored head turned to regard Gerald, sending a fresh wave of terror down his spine. ¡°Join the other recruits, meat.¡± Gerald gulped, shocked and confused. Not only was the remark from the heavily armored suit an insult, but the voice coming from inside it was clearly feminine. Gerald didn¡¯t have time to ask the question before a loud THUD echoed through the hall. ¡°Attention!¡± A powerful, male voice called from what appeared to be the front of the room. ¡°Assemble!¡± Gerald knew that command and without a thought hurried to obey. He gave one last glance over his shoulder at the deadly looking woman as ran toward the consolidating crowd. ¡°Form up!¡± The voice commanded. There was a lot of jostling as they started to form three equally long lines. Once they were formed up they were directed to reform by height. Gerald moved forward in his rank until the man in front of him was taller, which put him second in line. ¡°Listen closely.¡± The man giving commands finally stepped into sight. He was shorter than Gerald but bulkier, with a black breastplate similar to the armored guards standing around the hall. On his hip was a short sword that Gerald recognized as a Roman Gladius, and on his back, over a blood-red cape fastened at his shoulders, was a circular metal shield. ¡°Do not speak unless spoken to. As you approach our Lord you will kneel and kiss his feet. Do not stare. When our Lord dismisses you with a wave, rise and move off to the side and reform. Do nothing else and you will eat tonight. Disobey me and you will suffer.¡± The man¡¯s last word sucked the remaining warmth from Gerald¡¯s chest. A chest, he failed to notice until now, that still had a steadily thumping heartbeat. ¡°March!¡± The command cut through Gerald¡¯s surprise like a whip, and his feet automatically started to move forward. Marching was something a trained soldier could do without thinking, so Gerald used that time to focus on his surroundings. They were marching down the golden halls, which were guarded every twenty feet by an armored man, or woman, in that frightening black armor. In the distance, farther than seemed possible, was a set of doors. The doors grew taller and taller as they marched closer. Soon the doors towered over them, dozens of feet tall. The hall grew wider near the doors as well. So wide, Gerald was sure the hundreds of people marching toward it could fit through it standing shoulder to shoulder. Decorating the door was an exquisitely carved tree. Gerald was not a patron of the arts, but he recognized master craftsmanship when he saw it. The carving seemed so life-like, to the point the leaves actually seemed to wave in an unseen breeze. Strangely, part of the tree seemed to be in full bloom, and ripe with fruit, while another section seemed to be withered and dying. But not as odd as the serpent encircling the tree. Its fanged maw was open wide and eating its own tail. Like the tree¡¯s leaves, Gerald could have sworn the scales on the masochistic beast were moving as if the serpent was slithering across the ground. He could have spent hours studying the workmanship, but without a sound the giant doors opened into what could only be described as a throne room. And on that throne sat a man. Or at least that was what Gerald thought.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. As the formation drew closer and finally halted, Gerald had trouble of thinking of the creature as a man. First, he was a giant, a literal giant. The guards standing at attention throughout the golden hall were huge, but they paled in comparison to this man. He stood almost three times as tall, approaching twenty feet, and twice as thick. He was clad from head to foot in gleaming silver armor, which unlike the black armor of the guards, seemed to radiate power not drain it away. In his right hand, blade down, was a broadsword taller and thicker than Gerald. In his left hand, tucked into the crook of his elbow, was a helmet of the same gleaming silver metal inlaid with a golden crown. Despite his impossible height, everything from the shoulders down on this man was normal. Then Gerald made the mistake of looking at his face. Gerald had seen the Frenchmen with their wigs, powder, and perfume arriving from Paris to engage in trade. The women swooned over them. They called them handsome, beautiful, and magnificent. Gerald had never liked those men, he¡¯d always thought of them as weak. This man¡¯s face put those Frenchmen to shame. He made them look like dirt. Gerald had no qualms thinking this man could take any woman, despite her virtue, into his bed. The giant¡¯s jaw was broad, his cheekbones as high as any English aristocrat¡¯s, and his eye was the piercing gray of a stormy sea. Gerald did a double-take at the man¡¯s face. One gray eye was scanning the men and women assembled before him, while the other socket was empty and the space around it charred black. Gerald quickly averted his gaze as the giant¡¯s attention swept over his section of the formation. Once Gerald was sure the giant¡¯s attention had passed he looked again. Despite the burned out eye socket the man¡¯s face was flawless. On top of his head was a small patch of raven black hair. It was not long, as was the current style. It looked like it was kept intentionally short. Gerald would have spent more time wondering why a Lord was so out of touch with modern trends, but then his eyes caught what rose up behind the giant¡¯s back. Rising above the smooth armor of the giant¡¯s shoulders were tarnished, white wings. Just as Gerald laid eyes on them the giant spread them out to their full length and smiled at them. The whole mass of men and women recoiled, not because the tarnished part of the giant¡¯s wings was clearly dried, rust-colored blood, but because of the man¡¯s smile. Rows of sharp, jagged teeth grinned out at Gerald and the people around him. It was eerily similar to the teeth of a shark Gerald had seen hanging at the port of Boston. ¡°Behold, Prince Seere, Master of Thieves, The Great Dissenter. Kneel before your master!¡± The man who¡¯d led them to meet this monster yelled as he prostrated himself on the ground. Gerald quickly followed their leader¡¯s example, and soon the rest of the formation did as well. Prince Seere didn¡¯t speak he just gazed out at them with his predatory smile. ¡°On your feet!¡± Their leader yelled. Gerald hurried to obey. The giant was now seated on a throne of gold, and he was still taller than everyone in the room. ¡°Approach and enter our Lord¡¯s service.¡± Gerald did not envy the first man to approach the giant. The man was the biggest of the first line, half a head taller than Gerald, and he was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Slowly, and awkwardly, the man got on his knees before the Lord¡¯s feet and gave one giant toe a quick kiss. The tall man¡¯s lips had barely left the Lord¡¯s feet when the giant waved his hand in dismissal. The tall man stumbled getting to his feet. The Lord waved his hand again and the tall man went flying across the room. He hit the wall with a hard THUMP and did not get up. Gerald gasped. Nothing had touched the man. He¡¯d been picked up and thrown by the Lord¡¯s gesture. It was a silly thought to have while standing in Hell, but old habits die hard, and the Preacher¡¯s Sunday sermons still echoed in his mind. The Lord didn¡¯t even glance in the broken man¡¯s direction as an armored guard effortlessly scooped him up and carried him away. ¡°Next!¡± Screamed their leader, pointing toward the Lord¡¯s feet with urgency in his tone and eyes. ¡°Or starve.¡± Men and women scrambled up to kiss the feet of Prince Seere. It seemed like hours passed as hundreds debased themselves before him. Occasionally, the Lord would stop a person and look them over for a moment before waving them away. Finally, it was Gerald¡¯s turn. He hurried up the stairs, careful not to trip. Still, he practically fell down to both knees and kissed the giant¡¯s big toe. Gerald had not heard of electricity yet, so he had no accurate way of describing the feeling the surged through every nerve in his body. If he had known, he would have been able to accurately describe electrocution. He remained kneeling, breathing heavily, and waiting for the wave of dismissal. The Lord¡¯s one good eye seemed to cut through Gerald¡¯s body and into his soul, or whatever else was left inside of him. A few seconds of coiled tension passed before the Lord waved him away. With a sigh of relief Gerald scrambled to his feet and ran to reform with the other recruits. He got back into line and found himself face to face with their leader. The man had to look up to meet Gerald¡¯s eyes, but that didn¡¯t make the man¡¯s sword-point any less frightening as he jabbed it into Gerald¡¯s sternum. ¡°Don¡¯t think you¡¯ll get any special treatment because our Lord likes you.¡± Gerald didn¡¯t have any idea what the leader was talking about. So he wisely kept his mouth shut. He didn¡¯t feel like being impaled today. ¡°I¡¯ll be watching you closely, meat.¡± The leader sneered before walking off to make sure the rest of the formation showed proper respect to Prince Seere. Gerald gulped when the last of the formation had knelt before their new Lord and master. *** ¡°Sir.¡± A familiar voice snapped Gerald out of his memory. ¡°Yes.¡± Gerald flexed his jaw and worked the rest of the kinks out of his body. Now was not a good time to be stiff. ¡°The General requires your presence in the command tent.¡± Most people would give this information with a slight bow, but Gerald¡¯s aide had been with him a long time. As long as they were in private they could drop the formalities. And the rock outcropping that concealed his sleeping place was about a private as you could get out here. ¡°Tell him I¡¯m on my way.¡± Gerald leaned his weapon up against the rocks and adjusted his armor. The thick, black Infernal Iron would have crushed a normal man, but Gerald wore it with ease. In fact, he hardly ever took the breastplate off. Doing so was an invitation for anyone to stick a dagger into his heart. He thought back to his first encounter with a member of Prince Seere¡¯s Royal Guard and couldn¡¯t help but smirk. The woman had been so intimidating in her full armor he had nearly wet himself. Now, the armor was something he lovingly embraced. Without it, and the Infernal power it stored and channeling into him, he wouldn¡¯t have been able to achieve his current station. ¡°Have them prepare a SITREP on enemy movements before my departure,¡± he called after his aide. The acronym was relatively new to Gerald¡¯s vocabulary, but he found it appropriate. War was a constantly evolving organism, just as complicated as any woman. New meat brought new ideas into the legions. While some of those ideas were idiotic, some were invaluable and led to new tactics and doctrines that allowed Seere¡¯s legions to conquer and maintain power. In Hell, power was everything, which was the entire reason Gerald found himself sleeping on the side of a mountain watching the enemy¡¯s forces draw near. Make sure to pick up a copy of my bookThe Harbinger Tales in eBook or paperback. Then please rate and write a short review, and help get the word out there. Also, make sure to vote for Two Worlds on topwebfiction here. I think i¡¯m in the top 15 for the first time ever :) Instruction Gerald stepped around the protective rock and emerged into the middle of an assembly area. Around him dozens of other soldiers occupied their time with assigned tasks or pre-battle rituals. A select few wore meager versions of Gerald¡¯s breastplate. Others wore smaller bits of protection: gauntlets, chainmail made of dull metal, or just a simple wooden shield. Each man was armed and protected with what they¡¯d earned in battle; which meant the thousand men on the mountainside, a full regiment, were a unit that hadn¡¯t seen much action. Gerald smiled and approached the sheer cliff at the edge of the mountain. He eye-balled the drop to the ground at a thousand feet. Not that it mattered if anyone fell from the mountaintop. Every single soldier in this regiment had wings. This was a regiment of what the younger soldiers called the ¡°Airborne¡±. Gerald didn¡¯t love the term but it hit the unit description right on the nose. ¡°Sir Gerald.¡± Several soldiers stopped what they were doing, stood, and bowed as he passed. Gerald waved them back to their tasks. He knew the value of the preparations, both physical and psychological, that the soldiers were engaged in. He didn¡¯t want to disturb them. But such a disturbance was virtually guaranteed. It wasn¡¯t every day that regular soldiers saw an Infernal Knight walking among them. Gerald stretched out his own charcoal gray wings to their full width which dissuaded anyone else from approaching. He had better things to do than speak with these soldiers. The general was waiting for him. The soldiers around him took the hint. They returned to preparing for battle. Most were armed with crude spears or swords. Gerald spotted a small group gathered together who had pikes, battle axes, and broadswords. They were the veterans. Only time in battle could explain the armament. Gerald watched them a moment longer before continuing to the very edge. There a winged man in a breastplate of Infernal Iron and armed with two short swords that formed an X on his back was gazing out over the desolate plains below them. ¡°Colonel,¡± Gerald greeted the regiment¡¯s commander. ¡°I¡¯m on my way to see the General. Any final reports you want me to pass along.¡± The Colonel, although technically outranking Gerald, bowed at the Infernal Knight¡¯s approach. It took something special to be a knight. In fact, there were exactly one hundred within the twenty-six, ten-thousand-man legions of Prince Seere. Gerald was no mathematician but one hundred out of two hundred and sixty thousand made him much more valuable than a single regimental commander. ¡°Sir Gerald,¡± the Colonel straightened from his bow. ¡°I believe we have revised enemy strength estimates you can pass along.¡± He gave the man lying on the ground next to him a kick in the gut. The low ranking soldier, whose wings were a dusty brown to match the mountainside, didn¡¯t even grunt. He kept his focus on the sights of the long rifle he had nestled into his right shoulder. On the ground next to him were sketches of the battlefield. The paper contained everything from sectors of fire to range markers. The concepts were new to Gerald, but he understood their purpose and their tactical value to Prince Seere¡¯s forces. ¡°Sir Gerald.¡± The soldier didn¡¯t look up, but he addressed Gerald with respect. ¡°I¡¯ve revised the estimation of the enemy¡¯s strength, with the input of my fellow snipers, to eight full legions of ground troops. And approximately half a legion of air support.¡± Gerald took his eyes off the soldier, who identified as a scout sniper, and looked at the plains below. He drew a sliver of power from within himself and sharpened his vision. In the distance, less than an hour¡¯s march from the mountain pass, was the black, undulating mass of the enemy army. He was good enough at math to know that was almost a third of his Lord¡¯s total forces. To the untrained eye that could cause fear or even panic, but Gerald was a veteran. He took it all in with cold calculating eyes and the certainty of victory. He would not fail. ¡°Thank you, Colonel. Prepare your men. I¡¯m sure they will be needed soon.¡± A cruel, savage grin split the officer¡¯s face as Gerald turned and walked away. Gerald gave the gathered airborne regiment another glance, but this time he looked past the physical plane. He looked at the infernal power each of them held and what they were doing with it. Most betrayed their battle-naivety by pouring their allotted power into their weapons or defenses. Pumping power into your blade, shield, or body was a necessity for foot soldiers, but it was a death-wish for the Airborne. Gerald looked down at himself and watched as the pulse of his considerably greater reservoir of power was pumped into his wings. Wings gave a soldier tactical mobility and the high ground, but they were weak, fragile things if not properly reinforced. Since Gerald received his orders to report to the front he¡¯d been pumping power into his wings. By the time he joined the battle they¡¯d be stronger than armor and able to cut and stab better than most swords. Gerald looked over his shoulder with his extra-sensory vision and gazed into the shimmering veil that was blanketed across the mountainside. His Lord might not be physically present, but he¡¯d lent his power to the battle. The veil warped the world around them and concealed their presence while being undetectable to the enemy. The regiment would have the element of surprise when it sprang to sink its teeth into the enemy. With a smile similar to the Colonel¡¯s, Gerald looked away, returned his vision too normal, and walked off the opposite side of the mountain. He savored the sensation of falling, of the wind whipping around him and through his short-cropped blond hair. At the last moment he unfurled his wings to catch the updraft. If any of the novices had tried that move their wings would have snapped and they would have plunged to their death. But not Gerald. He easily pulled out of the fall and effortlessly soared over his own army¡¯s encampment toward a large camouflaged tent in the rear.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. He pulled up near the entrance and allowed himself to drop the last few feet to the ground. He landed with enough force to shake the earth. In the service of his Lord, Gerald had grown larger, broader, and stronger than humanly possible. With the addition of his full suit of armor, the Infernal Knight looked particularly terrifying to any who opposed him. That was a gift he savored. The guards at the tent flap were properly intimidated. They both gulped and stumbled out of his way. Gerald used his wing to push back the tent flap. It was the smart way to go in because he¡¯d rather take a surprise attack to the wing than his unarmored head. Despite his status, one was never safe in Hell. ¡°Sir Gerald.¡± An annoyed voice called out from a mass of armored bodies surrounding a large horizontal map at the center of the room. Most of the commanders parted before him, like the guards at the entrance, but once he passed through them Gerald came face to face with one of the only people who scared him. The General was bigger and broader than he had been on the first day Gerald met him, but still a foot shorter than the Infernal Knight. Gerald would never forget his first day in Hell or the Now-General¡¯s unkind words to him. But even more important, he would always remember how his first day of training ended. *** After they¡¯d knelt before their new Lord and Master they marched back through the beautifully carved door and along the entire length of the golden hall. Gerald had eyes for nothing but the man¡¯s head in front of him. He didn¡¯t dare step out of line after the smaller man¡¯s threat. A threat he felt the man would have no problem following through with. He thought as the steady thumping cadence of hundreds of feet echoed through the hall. He¡¯d felt it the moment his lips touched the giant¡¯s feet. Gerald felt more grounded now; heavier and with more substance. Halfway down the hall the column of recruits was met by two other men. They barked loud, angry orders and the large formation split into three smaller ones. Unfortunately, Gerald¡¯s section still marched under the watchful eye of the small man. On the far side of the hall stood another set of doors. These doors were unadorned utilitarian looking contraptions. Two large blocks of metal lay across the door, each supported by three giant wheels. It took twenty of the largest men Gerald had ever seen, not including their Lord, to turn the cranks that moved those slabs of metal. Unlike the rest of the golden hall these doors were midnight black. The three formations continued their march out of the hall and into the dull light beyond it. Gerald took his first step onto the packed earth and felt all the warmth sucked from his bones. He immediately began to shiver at the sudden emptiness. He looked longingly over his shoulder at the discernable glow of the great hall. ¡°Eyes front, meat!¡± The small man snapped at them. Gerald wasn¡¯t the only recruit missing the hall¡¯s heat. They continued their march through a city of rough huts made of wood and straw. There weren¡¯t many brick and mortar buildings, and they were concentrated solely around the hall itself; which dwarfed everything else in sight. Gerald looked up into a perpetually gray sky and felt his breath catch in fearful wonder. A tapestry of moving shadows danced across the gray. It was like Gerald was looking through a thin sheet of paper at something above him, but it was so far and so high he¡¯d never be able to reach it. And he wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to. If the sky was bad, the sea the city sat next to was worse. The water was dark and thick with foam that hissed unnaturally as it crashed against the frozen shore. A never ending cloud of steam rose from where the sea met the land, casting a barrier of fog that restricted visibility. It felt like they were on the edge of the world. Only a few steps away from oblivion. ¡°Abandon all hope ye who enter here.¡± The small man brought them to a halt in an open circular space in the middle of the city. He smiled and Gerald felt more aching cold seep into his chest. ¡°My name is Captain Gaius Icilius. I am your new commander.¡± Everyone was too busy shivering to question why this man was their leader. ¡°You have all been chosen for service in our Lord¡¯s legions. This is a great honor and a privilege. Better the legion than the forges, the farms, or the brothels.¡± His sneer lingered on a few of the women in the company. ¡°I will teach you all how to fight. I will teach you how to bring honor to yourself and your unit. I will teach you how to control your power. And I will teach you how to stay alive.¡± His eyes swept over them cold and dispassionate. ¡°I only ask for your loyalty.¡± Gerald couldn¡¯t stop his face from contorting in anger. Gerald was loyal to no man he didn¡¯t trust, much less know, and definitely not to a man who seemed to lead through intimidation. The Captain¡¯s eyes focused on Gerald, picking him out easily from the crowd. ¡°You, step forward.¡± He gestured for Gerald to come into the open space between the rest of the recruits and him. ¡°That¡¯s an order.¡± He added when Gerald hesitated. Grudgingly, Gerald stepped into the open area. Everyone¡¯s eyes were on him, judging him. ¡°Here.¡± The Captain tossed a wooden spear with a crudely attached blade of metal tied to the tip with cord. ¡°Training begins now.¡± The Captain grabbed a spear of his own and advanced on Gerald. ¡°Parry, parry, thrust, thrust!¡± The Captain roared, driving his spear forward. Gerald knew the technique and batted the spear aside and then thrust his own forward. The Captain executed the same parrying. They danced back and forth for a few rounds before the smaller man held up his hand. ¡°It is simple. React and counter. Understand?¡± Heads nodded around them. ¡°I said do you understand?!¡± The Captain bellowed. ¡°Yes, Captain!¡± ¡°Good.¡± He smiled and turned his unkind eyes on Gerald. ¡°Now we fight for real.¡± Gerald thought, moving his spear to deflect the Captain¡¯s thrust. He blocked like he had every other time, but the spear didn¡¯t budge. Instead it shot forward, brushing aside Gerald¡¯s defense, and buried itself deep into his gut. Gerald screamed in agony as he toppled over, the spear still imbedded in his stomach. ¡°We fight to win!¡± The Captain yelled as he removed the spear from Gerald by placing his foot on his heaving chest and pulling. ¡°Wh. . .?¡± Gerald tried to question why the man was killing him, but a lungful of blood fountained out of his mouth and cut off his breathing. He looked down at his wound and wanted to scream. Not only was his blood soaking the ground around him, but his body seemed to be turning to ash. It started to flake away, starting at his wound, and working its way quickly outward. ¡°Train like your life depends on it and I promise to bring you the honor and respect of the legions. Fail,¡± the Captain looked down at Gerald with disgust, ¡°and you will suffer.¡± With a swift and powerful thrust the Captain drove the spear into Gerald¡¯s heart. That was the second time Gerald died. Be the first to leave a review or rate I''m on TDY from Hell! Make sure to pick up The Harbinger Tales, now available in all formats! Get the eBook immediately, get the paperback and get the satisfaction of having a book in your hands, or get it free on Kindle Unlimited! Vote for my original military sci-fi web serial, Two Worlds, on topwebfiction here. I¡¯m on TDY from Hell probably won¡¯t be up on there for awhile. Enjoy! Preparation Gerald shook his head and pushed the memory of his second death to the back of his mind. This briefing was neither the time nor the place to reminisce. Plus, things had gotten better after that. ¡°General Icilius.¡± Gerald gave a small bow to the man commanding Prince Seere¡¯s forces on this battlefield. But he never took his eyes off his surroundings. ¡°I have the latest reports from the scout snipers.¡± The General¡¯s face twisted into a scowl. He was not the biggest fan of the legion¡¯s newly adopted tactics. Gerald had no idea how long Gaius Icilius had been fighting for their Lord, but it was long enough that he was set in his ways. But old dogs could always learn new tricks, and they learned them when they were ordered to by a Lord of Hell. ¡°What do the snipers have to say?¡± The old dog had learned those new tricks but still didn¡¯t like them. ¡°Enemy strength has been revised to eight full ground legions and half a legion of air support,¡± Gerald relayed calmly. The General¡¯s scowl deepened. ¡°Thank you, Sir Gerald, please stay. We need to alter our battle plan.¡± Gerald nodded and stood off to the side, close enough that he could see the map stretched across the table, but far enough on the periphery that the other commanders could easily lose sight of him. The map was not any type of map he had seen when he was alive. It was made of tightly stretched vellum, but was etched in intricate detail. At the will of the viewer the map could expand and contract to any section of their Lord¡¯s domain, or any ground his legions were occupying. Right now it was showing the mountain pass that was their battlefield and the area around it stretching for miles. On the far side of the map a mass of black, misty figures was slowly marching forward. The mist congealed and took the shape of the approaching army. It showed vaguely man-shaped creatures. All had been mutilated at some point. Parts of their body had been removed and replaced. Gerald saw many with bird-like heads and beaks. Some had wings but were flightless and nearly all of them had talons or other cutting extremities. These soldiers didn¡¯t need weapons. They were weapons. The same was true for the half-legion of air support, except they had working wings. It was typical to see this type of mutilation and madness from the legions of Beelzebub. The Lord of All that Flies¡¯ larger kingdom bordered Prince Seere¡¯s on one side. Unlike Gerald¡¯s relatively merciful ruler, Beelzebub took pleasure in the suffering of his damned souls, and his Infernal legions didn¡¯t receive any special treatment. Gerald glared at the map. The approaching army, although eighty-five thousand strong, was nothing more than an angry mob being prodded along by a few only half-crazed commanders. ¡°We can expect simple, brute tactics from the enemy. That has not changed.¡± The General addressed his own gathered commanders. ¡°They will advance in force and try to crush and overwhelm us.¡± Gaius gazed harshly at the commanders, his eyes literally smoldering with Infernal power. ¡°We will hold.¡± The only other option was a slow and painful death. That was Gaius Icilius¡¯ punishment for those who fled. ¡°I want two shallow trenches dug immediately, each five feet deep and across the front of our entire lines.¡± He drew his finger across the positions on the map. Red lines appeared where he touched vellum. ¡°Place the first here.¡± He indicated a location about a thousand yards from the front of his lines. ¡°And a second here.¡± The second line was maybe two hundred yards from the mass of red mist that indicated his own forces. Unlike the black wave of screaming avian creatures approaching, the red mist showed orderly men waiting in organized formations. Digging defenses that quickly would have been impossible for a mortal human army, but an Infernal legion would have no problem accomplishing the task. ¡°I want three companies of skirmishers in the front trench. Once the enemy gets into range they will open fire. When the enemy begins to draw closer they will bound back to the second trench under cover fire one company at a time. If any remain they will retreat behind our front lines after their positions are overwhelmed.¡± The old dog didn¡¯t like the new tricks but he sure knew how to use them. ¡°Our three legions of infantry will form up here.¡± The General pointed to the narrowest section of space between the two mountains. It was the only entrance to Prince Seere¡¯s lands in the area, and was the obvious target of the enemy. Thirty thousand men plugging a gap a quarter of a mile wide was still going to be challenging, but Gerald knew the General had it covered. ¡°We have two regiments of infantry in reserve. They will reinforce the line if it begins to weaken or breaks. But I say again,¡± the General¡¯s smoldering glare burned into the other men, ¡°we will hold.¡± ¡°Sir, we¡­¡± Another commander started to speak up.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡°Artillery,¡± the General spoke over the foolish commander, ¡°will reinforce our flanks if need be, but I want it to concentrate its fire across the space one hundred yards from our front line.¡± Gaius indicated the positions on the map. ¡°I want Infernal Iron to rain on these creatures. I want the iron rain to build me a wall of their dead. With that wall built the enemy will struggle to advance over their own losses. When that happens we will push forward. The enemy will be caught between its own dead and our blades. And we will slaughter them.¡± Gaius might not be a fan of the newfound tactics, but he loved modern artillery. Gerald nodded at the plan. Gaius knew more about tactics then he did. It was Gerald¡¯s job to jump into that mob of mutilated demons and enact his own one-man slaughter. That was the purpose of an Infernal Knight: to kill, conquer, and unleash his intimidating presence on the battlefield. Those were all things that Gerald had become a master at. ¡°Our own airborne regiment will reduce the enemy¡¯s air support.¡± The General continued. ¡°Those snipers can make themselves useful and remove the threat to my infantry. Sir Gerald.¡± Gaius looked up from the map. ¡°You will stay with the airborne and move when the time is right.¡± ¡°Yes, General.¡± Gerald bowed his head slightly. That was Gerald¡¯s real purpose here. When the time was right it was the Infernal Knight¡¯s job to shift the course of the battle, either by killing other knights or destroying the enemies leadership structure. Gerald would need to find the half-mad commanders of the rampaging horde and end them. ¡°Questions?¡± The question was not a question. Gaius¡¯ plans were never questioned. ¡°Good. Return to your troops and prepare for battle.¡± The commanders bowed respectfully to their leader and left one by one. Only Gerald remained. When it was just the two of them Gaius¡¯ expression relaxed to something approaching hardened granite, which Gerald took as affection. ¡°It¡¯s a good plan, Sir.¡± ¡°It is, but our own scouts royally fucked us.¡± The General¡¯s eyes burned with anger as he studied the map. ¡°Eighty-five thousand against our thirty-five thousand.¡± ¡°It will be a great victory.¡± Gerald replied confidently. ¡°That will depend on you.¡± Gaius turned toward the knight. ¡°Once you have the commanders¡¯ heads their mob will break, and our artillery will pound them all the way back over the horizon. But all of this is simply a stalling tactic until you can strike. So strike quickly, Gerald. Or your favor falls with mine.¡± It was an implied threat. Gerald knew that. He had hitched his wagon to Gaius Icilius since his first day in Hell, even if he didn¡¯t know it at the time. Gaius¡¯ success was Gerald¡¯s success and vice versa. If they failed here they would both fall from their Lord¡¯s favor. And that was unacceptable. ¡°I will kill them, Gaius. Just hold the line.¡± Gerald¡¯s face hardened with resolve. He gave one final bow and exited the tent. He unfurled his wings and with three mighty beats he was soaring through the air toward the backside of the mountain. He looked down as he passed the legions of Prince Seere and noticed how small they were compared to the horde in the distance. An even smaller force was frantically digging the trenches while the three companies of skirmishers moved into position and set up their weapons. Gerald smiled as he rejoined the regiment on the mountainside. Gerald had no intention of dying today, but no one ever did. *** Gerald coughed, his lungs spasmed, and fluid flowed from his mouth. His chest heaved again and again as an endless amount of gook seemed to empty out of him. Gerald¡¯s mind thought in a panic. The last thing he remembered was the cold, wet mud on his back and Captain Icilius standing over him. ¡°This must be your first time.¡± A voice cut through the memory and brought him back to the present. Gerald looked around and almost vomited again. He was standing chest deep in green-yellow sludge. The sludge stewed and churned grotesquely. Giant bubbles formed as far as the eye could see. They grew taller and larger before silently bursting. They might have been silent but the smell was deadly. Gerald gagged again as a nearby burst wafted in his direction. ¡°Where am I?¡± Gerald slogged out of the gunk struggling against it. It almost felt like the liquid pulled against him, trying to drag him back into its foul depths. ¡°The Resurrection Pool.¡± The voice stated calmly. ¡°Resurrection?¡± Gerald pulled his feet from the pool and onto hard ground. Unlike where he had died, the Resurrection Pool was warm. Even if it smelled foul, Gerald wanted a few more moments to savor it. If he¡¯d learned nothing else it was that Hell never stayed bearable for long. ¡°Did you think dying in Hell gets you out of your eternal debt?¡± The voice cackled in laughter. Gerald followed the sound to a dark hole in the wall. Next to the hole, and a steady trickle of people exiting through it, was a tiny man sitting on top of a pile of stones. Gerald approached him slowly. ¡°Watch the scroll!¡± The man screeched as Gerald drew near and almost stepped on parchment that was camouflaged by the dimly lit Pool. Gerald quickly jumped away. ¡°How, Sir?¡± ¡°You will always resurrect here, Gerald Fuller, recently appointed skirmisher under Captain Gaius Icilius. There is no end to your servitude to our great Lord.¡± ¡°And you?¡± Gerald asked, feeling anger build in his chest. He didn¡¯t like being lectured by a guy who sat in this warm place for eternity. ¡°What do you do?¡± ¡°I am the Record Keeper.¡± The tiny man replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. ¡°So do not distract me. Be gone.¡± With a wave of his hand Gerald felt his body accelerate even though his feet didn¡¯t move. In the blink of an eye he was standing at the end of the tunnel with dull sunlight only a few feet away. He looked back and saw nothing but the blackness of the hole. The Record Keeper had vanished. Gerald suppressed the involuntary shiver as he started to walk toward the light. The experience made one thing abundantly clear. He didn¡¯t want to die again. He resolved to do just that as he stepped into the dull light, the cold sank back into his bones, and his eyes focused on the city of soldiers spread out before him. He asked himself as he took his step into the frigid air wearing nothing but tattered gray garments. Make sure to support independent authors! Pick up The Harbinger Tales on eBook, paperback, or read it for free on Kindle Unlimited. Please rate and write a short review when you finish. I¡¯d love to hear what you thought, and it helps get the book out there. Vote for Two Worlds on topwebfiction here. Skirmishers With a few flaps of his powerful wings Gerald was back on the mountainside among the airborne soldiers. But things had changed. The winged men and women were no longer sitting around fiddling with weapons or engaging in their pre-battle rituals. Everyone was on their feet now. Wings were being shaken out, armor was on, weapons were at the ready, and they were organized in their individual companies. Ten blocks of one hundred soldiers dotted the mountain like angry pimples ready to burst on the approaching enemy horde. Even in formation they parted for Gerald. As an Infernal Knight he had an imposing form that parted people as easily as his blade parted flesh. He walked unimpeded to the front where the Colonel was standing with his swords drawn. ¡°Colonel,¡± Gerald walked up beside him. ¡°Our mission is the enemy air support.¡± The enemy was close enough now that everyone could make out individuals in the black mass moving toward them. It was easy to see the nearly five-thousand screaming, winged predators flying over the legions of ground troops. ¡°That¡¯s insane.¡± The Colonel growled. ¡°We¡¯ll be outnumbered five to one.¡± Gerald understood that the leader was worried about his regiment, his life, and his reputation; not necessarily in that order. Gerald also knew it wasn¡¯t the Colonel¡¯s place to question his orders. The Colonel realized his mistake too late. Gerald slowly rotated his head in the smaller man¡¯s direction. The world around Gerald vibrated with agitation. Darkness gathered around him, making him seem taller and broader than he actually was. Spikes grew from his armor and dripped a black poison that would painfully torture its victims until they suffocated on their own tongues and their hearts swelled and burst within their chests. The Colonel took a step back, failing to hide the fear on his face. ¡°My apologies, Sir Gerald. We will attack and destroy the enemy. Their strength is irrelevant. Prince Seere always prevails.¡± The world stilled, the darkness vanished, and the spikes retracted back into Gerald¡¯s armor. ¡°Fear is the tool of the weak, Colonel. I advise that you don¡¯t allow your fear to get the best of you.¡± The threat was there. The Colonel would need to fight like a madman if he wanted to retain Gerald¡¯s favor, which was the General¡¯s favor, and ultimately Prince Seere¡¯s favor. The Colonel nodded, and they both turned their attention back to the coming battle. Gerald kept an eye on the Colonel in case the man decided to stab him in the back. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time someone tried it. General Icilius¡¯ infantry legions were organized across the pass. The lines were thinner than Gerald liked; ten deep at the center and six at the flanks. he reminded himself. But at first glance he didn¡¯t like what he was seeing. Gerald¡¯s eyes traced the formation and moved toward the enemy. A few stragglers of the three companies of skirmishers were running for the newly dug trench, but the two defensive lines in front of the main army looked finished. Those three hundred skirmishers, all of which would certainly die, were made up of modern soldiers. They were armed with modern weapons and trained with modern tactics. Hopefully, they¡¯d be able to take down ten times their number before they were overrun. He chided himself for such a childish thought. The first rank of Beelzebub¡¯s legions crested the last hill leading up to the mountain pass. There was only a slight incline and a mile between them and Gaius¡¯ waiting infantry. From his concealed position on the mountainside Gerald could hear their hungry cries and roars of rage. The enemy surged forward like a tidal wave, but the pass was smaller than the hills they¡¯d been crossing to get here. They were forced to bottleneck as the terrain shifted. Gerald saw the advantage. ¡°Sniper.¡± He crossed to the scout sniper he¡¯d spoken with before reporting to the General. ¡°Do you have coordinates?¡± The sniper already understood what Gerald was getting at. The younger soldier had already seen that the mouth of the pass was a potential choke -point and had detailed the artillery coordinates in his terrain sketches. Gerald made a mental note to get the forward-thinking soldiers name after the battle. ¡°Runner!¡± Gerald called. There was a flutter of wings and a young boy appeared wearing a unarmored tunic. ¡°Take these to the artillery commander. I want a barrage of fire on those coordinates. Tell him it¡¯s an order under my authority.¡± The back of the paper burned while not actually consuming the paper. Gerald pulled his hand away to reveal a dark seal. ¡°After you have seen the commander report to the General¡¯s staff and explain the small change in the battle plan.¡± Technically, Gerald shouldn¡¯t be giving orders like he was. He was outside the regular chain of command. But he knew Gaius, he knew what was at stake, and he knew the General wanted his top commanders to show initiative ©¤ as long as it fell within his overall intent. Lastly, he was an Infernal Knight. People did what he ordered, especially lowly artillery regimental commanders. The boy bowed deeply, nearly scraping his nose in the dirt, and flew off toward the rear. The enemy legions were still surging forward, funneling through the gap toward the waiting skirmishers. Even if the artillery hit now there would still be thousands of beasts charging Gaius¡¯ lines. But a few thousand was better than tens of thousands. Gerald¡¯s change was a longer-ranged version of Gaius¡¯ own plan. Creating a wall of corpses would slow down the enemy. If they could dam the mouth of the pass then the enemy couldn¡¯t flood the area with troops, they¡¯d only be able to trickle in. With smaller, more manageable opposition Gaius¡¯ strategy would be even more effective. They would lose less men and the victory would be even greater. Gerald felt his blood heat as the impending violence drew closer. He twirled his spear in anticipation. The longer-than-normal blade of Infernal Iron cut through the mountain rock effortlessly. With his power, Gerald had honed the blade¡¯s edge to a molecular level. It would cut nearly all things with little resistance. Whistles filled the air signifying the runner¡¯s message was received. One moment Beelzebub¡¯s mutilated creations were rampaging through the pass, and the next they were engulfed in flames. Those who weren¡¯t swallowed by the inferno of fire were cut down by the shrapnel. Cries of pain joined the calls for blood, but the enemy still pushed forward. Thousands came into range of the skirmishers while thousands more died as the artillery barrage continued.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Cracks started to fill the air as the three hundred skirmishers opened fire. Sharp singular cracks echoed off the pass¡¯ walls from an infernal variation of what the younger soldiers called an M4. Louder steady booms of what they called a ¡°Ma-Deuce¡± nearly drowned out the more numerous M4s. Now Beelzebub¡¯s minions in the pass started to die. Whole companies were mowed down by the skirmishers. Creatures with avian features wailed, died, or continued to screech as they bled out. Unlike Gaius¡¯ own legions, Beelzebub¡¯s forces would not immediately turn to ash and return to his kingdom. It could be hours or days before the corpses of the dead would vanish and return to the rival lord¡¯s realm. Seere¡¯s legions had the power of hellish resurrection on their side. Managing your resurrected was a crucial tactic in the eternal wars of Hell. Despite the artillery barrage an entire legion had filtered into the pass. Even with overwhelming firepower three hundred was no match for ten thousand. The weight of fire slackened as the first of the three companies jumped out of the trench and ran for the second line of defense. Gerald saw the tactical error immediately. The first company would only reach the second trench seconds before the enemy reached the first. The second company would be caught in the open between the re-entrenched first company and the rampaging enemy legion, and the third company would still be in the first trench being slaughtered. Gerald felt a twinge of sympathy for the skirmishers but quickly banished the thought. He had been a skirmisher once. He knew a skirmishers job. It was their job to harass the enemy or die trying. *** The jungle was hotter than hell, which Gerald found ironic at first. The unit veterans told him to dress in light layers. He didn¡¯t believe them. He was wearing a hardy leather vest over a heavy tunic. He¡¯d still been shivering when they left the city and marched for what seemed like three days and nights to the borders or Prince Seere¡¯s lands. Now, in the lands of his Lord¡¯s enemy, Gerald was regretting his decision. He moved forward slowly, spear out in front of him, while watching where he stepped. Apparently, he wasn¡¯t watchful enough. His foot came down on a dry branch and there was a loud SNAP. The sound seemed to echo through the tropical nightmare the skirmishers had been living for the last few days. Although, it was hard to tell in this palce. The land was in a state of eternal twilight. There was no sun to mark the passage of time. Gerald was part of a five man team, now down to three. Their mission was to harass the boarder of their Lord¡¯s greatest enemy. His name was Cain. There couldn¡¯t have been two more different kingdoms. Cain¡¯s land was humid, tropical, and untamed where Seere¡¯s land was cold at the heart, temperate at best, and organized. The endless fields of wheat the skirmishers had crossed to reach the border were pleasant enough. But aside from the slight rise in temperature, Gerald didn¡¯t find the vast emptiness any better than the city. And the people working those fields didn¡¯t seem to be enjoying themselves. Gerald would gladly go back there now. The three skirmishers froze as the snap echoed through the jungle. Gerald held his breath. A man armed with a sword, whose name Gerald still hadn¡¯t learned, glared at him. A woman with a bow kept frantically looking behind them. They¡¯d had another spearman and swordsman at the beginning of their mission. The swordsman had drowned crossing the river the marked the border between the two kingdoms, and the other spearman had been killed by the defenders. Gerald strained his hearing while holding his breath. His pounding heart and rushing blood drowned out anything he might have noticed. They stayed silent for a long time. They¡¯d fallen for this trick before. It was how they lost the other spearman. The lone swordsman was the team leader. He would figure out when things were safe to go. It was just Gerald¡¯s job to look, listen, and feel for danger. He didn¡¯t sense a thing. Slowly, the swordsman rose form his kneeling position. He turned in a circle for one last look before motioned for Gerald in and the archer to keep moving. Gerald exhaled a sigh of relief and took one step. A javelin shot from the overgrowth straight toward his chest. Quick reflexes saved his life. He threw himself to the side and onto the wet soil. The soil moved beneath him. Living things crawled just beneath the surface. Worms poked their heads above the fertile dirt, tiny mouths with razor sharp teeth grinning and snapping at him. Gerald jumped to his feet and turned to run. The swordsman had his back to the tree his eyes desperately searching for the unseen enemy. The archer was more permanently attached to the same tree. The javelin had pinned her to the tree. She was already dead. A surprised look mixed with a hint of pain frozen on her face. The enemy liked to use liberal doses of poison. A shriek came from directly above him. Gerald threw himself back onto the dirt, braving the disgusting worms as they tried to slither into his mouth, nose, and ears. He rolled, slapping the disgusting creatures off his face, and got to his feet with the spear at the ready. The swordsman was dancing around using the tree and impaled archer as cover. Hounding him like an animal was one an enemy soldier. She wore a green loincloth than blended into the foliage around them. The rest of her was bare and nothing but muscle and bones. She looked like a decomposed corpse. She cried with rage and frustration as she swung a serrated club at the swordsman¡¯s head. She missed and the swordsman planted a boot in her gut, kicking her back. She rolled with the blow and came up facing Gerald with two short daggers of bones in either hand. Gerald was horrified but couldn¡¯t look away. One side of her face was nothing but bone while the other still had scraps of flesh still hanging from it. Despite that, normal brown eyes with huge, dilated pupils stared at him. Her body wasn¡¯t in much better shape. One of her breast was completely gone. Underneath was a little skin, but beneath that the white of her ribs showed through. The skin of her other breast was scrapped off, her nipple was gone, and all that was left was a lump of red muscle. No blood flowed from any of the openings. ¡°Kill the bitch!¡± The swordsman ordered just as the feral woman screamed and charged. Instinct took over and Gerald thrust with his spear. The small daggers didn¡¯t have the ability to parry the blow and his spear point drove through her still intact breast. She cried and fell backwards. Gerald jumped to avoid the slashing bone-blade, and brought more weight down onto the spear, pinning her to the ground. Gerald vividly remembered his second death, and he hoped that one of these wild creatures had cut the small man¡¯s head off. The swordsman quickly stepped forward and took the woman¡¯s head off with a clean chop. Despite that, the body still continued to slash for several seconds before going still and then evaporating into ash. ¡°Good job, meat.¡± The swordsman breathed heavily. Gerald nodded, but kept his eyes open. This was his first mission. He wouldn¡¯t be ¡°meat¡± anymore if he lived through it. He thought. The now-dead archer had contemplated out loud taking her own life more than once in this hellish jungle. ¡°Let¡¯s move back to the Styx.¡± The swordsman pointed back toward the river. ¡°I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll counter attack. We¡¯ll hide in the trees and jump on them when they do.¡± Gerald nodded. It seemed like a good enough plan. He grabbed the dead archer¡¯s bow and quiver of arrows. She wasn¡¯t turning to ash like the already departed feral woman. ¡°She¡¯ll be back a few days after we get out of the shitty place.¡± The swordsman took point and started the walk back to the border. He¡¯d never make it. Halfway back they were ambushed and the swordsman took an arrow to the throat. Gerald killed the two skeletal warriors, made it to the river, and successfully waited for the rest of the skirmishing forces to withdraw. He¡¯d been credited with three kills on the campaign, was no longer referred to as meat, and final got himself a proper weapon: a spear with an actual blade. Not a wooden stick with a jagged piece of metal strapped to it. Make sure to support independent authors! Get your copy of The Harbinger Tales in eBook, paperback, or read it for free on Kindle Unlimited. If you like it, make sure to rate it and write a short review when you¡¯re finished. The more reviews it gets, the more people see it. The more they see it, the more they buy it. The more people buy it the more I can concentrate on writing :)If you read it but didn¡¯t write a review, don¡¯t worry. You can always just go back to the amazon website and hit the ¡°write a customer review¡± button and write one :) Vote for Two Worlds on topwebfiction here Let me know what you think of I¡¯m on TDY from Hell too! Be the first to write a review! The Legion Gerald watched with calculated detachment as the swarm of Beelzebub¡¯s legion rampaged toward the thin line of skirmishers. He heard the precision single-shots of the M4s, and the three-to-five round controlled bursts of the Ma-Deuce, give way to rapid fire panic. The sound of the skirmishers frantically spraying the approaching horde echoed across the pass. The first company was almost to the second trench and the second company was starting their retreat. He couldn¡¯t see what happened but they quickly turned around and jumped back into the trench. Gerald would have done the same. The two hundred men in the trench knew they were going to die. They weren¡¯t idiots. It was infinitely better for their reputation if they killed as many of Beelzebub¡¯s spawn as possible instead of being cut down from behind as they ran. When the enemy legion was less than twenty-feet from the trench the skirmishers opened up with everything they had. Every tenth round was a tracer round, a round infused with a spec of brimstone so it burned brightly when fired. It allowed the skirmishers to see what their bullets were hitting. The amount of light that erupted between the two formations showed Gerald just how furiously the skirmishers were fighting. It was brave but short-lived. Less than ten seconds later the light was snuffed out as the horde descended into the trench and hacked, chewed, and ate the skirmishers to death. Even all the way up on the mountainside Gerald heard their dying screams. It wasn¡¯t a death he would want any man to suffer, but it was still a good death. The unit would be praised for their sacrifice, but only if Prince Seere¡¯s forces won the battle. Gerald turned his attention back to the big picture. The artillery barrage was beginning to slacken as the under-strength legion swarmed over the first trench and scrambled toward the second. There was a slight pause, like the universe drawing its breath, before the weapons of the remaining skirmisher company opened fire. The enemy didn¡¯t even stumble as they continued their charge. The second trench was only two hundred yards from the frontline of Seere¡¯s waiting infantry legions. The remaining skirmishers would only buy the waiting soldiers another few seconds of peace. A slow clanging started. It was isolated at first, but then it spread like wildfire. Soon thirty thousand men and women were beating their swords and spears against their shields. Each clang was followed by a feral grunt whose intensity grew as the enemy drew closer. Like the two companies before them, the last of the skirmishers held their ground until they were overrun by the horde. Gerald was not as impressed by their sacrifice as he had been with the other companies. Until¡­ BOOM The ground erupted as the enemy crashed across the second trench. They screamed in agony as fiery explosions consumed them. This battle was making Gerald think more highly of the newest batch of soldiers to arrive in Hell. Just by eye-balling the chaos below him, Gerald estimated the skirmishers had taken down, or injured, half of the rampaging legion. Those were damn good exchange rates, and something Seere¡¯s forces needed if they wanted to survive this battle. The overhead whistle of artillery ceased, and the remaining forces that had been bottlenecked at the mouth of the pass rushed forward. Most of the air support had stayed with the main army. ¡°Snipers, target the biggest motherfuckers you can find.¡± The Colonel¡¯s order was carried throughout the regiment. Only fifty soldiers in the entire airborne regiment were snipers, which wasn¡¯t a lot of firepower when targeting the enemy heavy-hitters. Still, the boost to morale of seeing a single enemy champion shot from the sky would do a lot for the soldiers who were about to fly into the meat grinder. Gerald looked over at the Colonel. Every vein in the regimental commander¡¯s body was visibly throbbing. His body swelled from the power coursing through him. Gerald knew the euphoric feeling, but he had to wait. He couldn¡¯t run off into battle like fresh meat. He needed to find the enemy leaders and remove their heads from their bodies. The remaining half-legion was clustered into a wedge and charging the center of General Icilius¡¯ lines. When they were one hundred meters away the thirty thousand defenders responded with a deafening roar. Shields locked into place forming a wall of metal across the pass. Spears were lowered in the front rank. The second rank kept swords ready to reach over the shields and stab the enemy. Behind them more spears would deal with anyone who tried to jump over the wall. The ranks behind that were just waiting their turn to join the slaughter. ¡°Open!¡± The command was yelled by dozens of powerful voices below. The metal wall opened at pre-arranged positions along the defensive line. The approaching horde saw the openings and charged towards them while bellowing their primal challenge. A single soldier stepped from each opening, hefted a long tube onto their shoulder, and fired.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. A hundred rockets blasted toward the charging legion. They detonated against the front rank less than fifty yards from the men launching them. The rocket attack staggered the charge. Hundreds more of the enemy legion were shredded or consumed in the onslaught. While Beelzebub¡¯s legion rallied, the shield wall closed behind the retreating rocketeers. Then, slowly, the legion marched forward. Sixty-thousand feet stomped as one as they marched into the struggling mass of darkness. The enemy creatures roared in defiance before renewing their charge, but the odds were not in their favor. The sword and steel of Prince Seere¡¯s legions met the tooth and claw of Beelzebub¡¯s with a heart-stopping CRUNCH, closely followed by the sounds of metal cutting flesh. It was a sound Gerald was well acquainted with. *** Gerald didn¡¯t know how long he¡¯d been out here: weeks, months, or maybe even years. Whatever the case, life along the banks of the Styx wasn¡¯t that bad. For one thing, it was warmer out here than in the perpetually cold city. There was also less mud. Mud was something for your feet to get stuck in. Maneuverability was the life-blood of a skirmisher. If you couldn¡¯t move then you were as good as dead. The city was peaceful though. The Styx was not. The days were spent watching the opposite side of the river and trying to gather intelligence on Cain¡¯s forces. The nights were spent on watch, trying to sleep, or fending off the endless raids of Cain¡¯s skeletal warriors. Right now, Gerald wished it was just another raid. The entire Third Legion, ten thousand strong, spread out in a bowed line a few hundred feet from the river bank. They¡¯d all been rudely awakened by their commanders, hustled out of their protective Keep before dawn, and told to kill the enemy. They¡¯d been rushed out so fast Gerald had barely been able to grab his spear. Gerald wanted to beat the man or woman responsible to death. Sometime during the night, a rickety bridge had been constructed and Cain¡¯s forces had crossed into Seere¡¯s lands. Now, it looked like the Third Legion was facing a full enemy legion with more reinforcements crossing the bridge every second. Someone grabbed Gerald roughly by the shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ve used one of these haven¡¯t you?¡± It was Captain Icilius, and he had a musket in his hand. Gerald smiled. ¡°Yes, Sir.¡± He took the weapon he¡¯d originally died with. ¡°Good. Be ready to go at my command.¡± The Captain stalked away ordering more muskets be distributed to his skirmishers. Gerald was no expert, but captains running around and handing muskets to people was never a good sign. He felt a twinge of fear at the thought of dying again, but quickly banished it. If he died, he died on Seere¡¯s lands, which meant he¡¯d be resurrected quickly back in the safety of the city. It was the best motivation he could come up with at the moment. Gerald made sure the musket was loaded and waited for the command. ¡°Open!¡± He recognized the Captain¡¯s voice over the tense breathing of the gathered legion. The legion¡¯s shield wall parted, which Gerald took as his cue to step forward. ¡°Aim!¡± Gerald put the musket into the groove of his right shoulder and aimed down the length of the barrel. He couldn¡¯t put into words how good it felt to not see other people with rifles on the opposite side of the battlefield. Just corpses of bone and muscle with wicked looking blades. Cain¡¯s forces let out a savage cry and charged. ¡°FIRE!¡± Gerald pulled the trigger. The musket bucked and smoke filled the air around him. ¡°Close!¡± Gerald scrambled back, barely making it through the shields before they snapped shut with a clang. He looked back to see dozens of Cain¡¯s soldiers fall and get trampled by the charging mass of their own legion. Third Legion roared their defiance and braced for impact. Cain¡¯s soldiers smashed into the first rank, driving the legionnaires back several yards before they could dig their feet in. Then they started to push back. Shields were thrust out, spears jabbed forward, and swords slashed at anything they could find. Cain¡¯s forces screamed and died as they tried and failed to breach the wall of metal. But something didn¡¯t feel right to Gerald. ¡°The flanks!¡± Someone yelled. Gerald snarled as the legion responded by folding their flanks in, but not before dozens of Cain¡¯s soldiers made it into the rear areas. The same area that his company of skirmishers had retreated to after firing their opening salvo. Thankfully, muscle memory wasn¡¯t lost as Gerald descended into Hell. His weapon was reloaded and ready to go. He aimed and fired point-blank into the face of a charging she-demon. The woman¡¯s head exploded, and threw her naked body back, which slowed down the next few warriors who wanted to rip out Gerald¡¯s guts. Gerald took those few seconds to flip the musket around and swing it at the enemy. The swinging stock of the musket caught two charging half-skeletons in the face. Both went down and twitched painfully. He didn¡¯t have time to think. He dropped the now useless musket and grabbed the short-spear from his back. He ducked under a sword aimed for his head and thrust upward, ramming another naked, breast-less woman through the chest. She snarled and chomped at him like she wanted to eat him alive, but with a twist and pull she died and Gerald had his spear back. By now the legion had reorganized from the surprise flanking maneuver. The Legion collapsed from a single, curved line into a box. It trapped Cain¡¯s warriors inside so the skirmishers and legionnaires could kill them quickly. Half of Gerald¡¯s company died in the process, but they got the job done. The legion was completely surrounded now, but Cain¡¯s forces made the mistake of trying to attack the legion on all sides and assault the Keep. Wooden palisades circled the stone Keep, and their sharp points impaled dozens of enemies who tried to scale them. Archer and musket fire cut down more before they even reached the wooden gate. The Keep took the rickety bridge under cannon-fire once they were able to. Hundreds of warriors died from the exploding cannonballs and were swept away by the Styx. With reinforcements cut off and overextended, Third Legion methodically began to eliminate the enemy. Soon they¡¯d thinned the lines enough to open the square, squeeze Cain¡¯s dying legion, and push it back toward the river. Gerald had to give them credit though. They fought back like cornered animals, which was exactly what they were. Finally, the enemy general was killed, and the last of Cain¡¯s forces either threw themselves into the river of plunged their swords into their own hearts. There weren¡¯t many worse things than being a prisoner of war in Hell. Gerald didn¡¯t think about it until it was over. But he¡¯d lived through his first legion-level action and lived. A third of the legion wasn¡¯t as lucky. Gerald¡¯s reputation grew as a result. The Rush of Battle Beelzebub¡¯s weakened legion died. It was as simple as that. Spears shot forward from the shield wall like supercharge pistons. They drove two, sometimes three ranks deep into the horde of flailing monstrosities. Those few creatures that were able to get through the front line were hacked to pieces by waiting swordsmen. Others tried to leap over the formation into the rear. All of the Lord of All That Flies¡¯ creations had wings. Not all had the power to fly, but it helped them jump really high. Spears in the ranks farther back took care of that problem with the help of gravity. Getting the impaled dead off the weapons was the real challenge after the battle was finished. It was a problem because they had to break the integrity of the formation to get the bodies off. And that was a problem when seventy-five thousand raging creatures were barreling toward them. ¡°Move forward!¡± The voice boomed through the pass. Gerald would have recognized the General¡¯s tone anywhere. Reformed and ready, the legion marched forward two hundred yards to the second trench. Gerald saw what they were doing. Using every terrain advantage was going to be critical to winning this fight. But the situation on the ground was Icilius¡¯ job, Gerald needed to focus on what was going on above it. ¡°Steady.¡± Gerald put his arm up. Sniper¡¯s fingers moved from the trigger-guards to the triggers. They spoke softly among themselves, designating the best targets. The rest of the airborne regiment tensed. Most crouch low and prepared to leap into the air. ¡°Wait until you see the whites of their eyes.¡± Gerald had been present at Bunker Hill when the original command was given. He had no idea how historic the phrase was. New meat was awestruck when he spoke about being in that battle. Even if he wasn¡¯t an Infernal Knight, he would have still been popular with the new meat. They always wanted to know about that, and what it was like meeting George Washington in person. His response was always the same, ¡°larger than life.¡± It was ironic, because he usually ended up killing them during training over the next few days. The enemy air support was going to pass close the mountainside, within a hundred feet. The element of surprise would keep the airborne regiment alive long enough to do some damage. They needed to make it count. ¡°Wait for it.¡± The enemy legions crossed the first trench where the two hundred skirmishers had already evaporated into ash. ¡°Wait for it.¡± The mass of rolling black slowed slightly, and a dozen gargantuan creatures charged from their ranks toward Seere¡¯s infantry. ¡°Shit!¡± Gerald cursed. He reached behind his back and grabbed his specially-designed spear. With a flick of his wrist the molecularly-honed blade extended to its full three-foot length. His weapon of choice had many different functions, but this was the most straightforward and it would get the job done. ¡°FIRE!¡± ¡°CHARGE!¡± Gerald and the Colonel yelled the commands simultaneously, and the airborne regiment sprang into action; but the Colonel and the regiment went one way and Gerald went another. The sudden war-cry of a thousand legionnaires suddenly appearing on their flank stopped the enemy air support cold. The colonel and his men crashed into the enemy like raging beasts. They dug deep into the enemy¡¯s side before Beelzebub¡¯s forces were able to rally. For a short time it was raining body parts down on the enemy Lord¡¯s infantry forces. Gerald smiled at the thought, but needed to focus on his own mission. He beat his wings furiously and dove toward the charging berserkers of the enemy horde. The air cracked loudly around him as he broke the sound barrier and closed on his targets. The dozen gargantuan creatures were as large as rhinos. They had naturally growing plate armor up and down their sides, but Gerald knew from experience their underbellies were soft and vulnerable. Two sets of horns extended several feet from the creature¡¯s head, creating a natural ram, and three sets of insect wings covered its back. The heavy monsters couldn¡¯t fly or even jump with such small, fragile wings. Lastly, the creatures charged forward on six set of human legs. It was a sickening sight as normal legs carrier the patchwork creature forward much faster than you¡¯d think. The creatures were big and strong, but they were stupid. All the enemy general could count on was pointing them in a direction and releasing them. The monsters would kill Beelzebub¡¯s own soldiers as readily as Seere¡¯s, but letting them tearing into the infantry legions first would make a large hole General Icilius would need to commit his reserve to fill. That left the enemy free to pound and break through at another point along the line. It was a simple, straightforward plan and it had the potential to work. Had the snipers been able to see the berserkers in the massive horde they would have called for artillery to destroy them, but now they were too close to friendly lines to take out. It would be up to Gerald and the infantry to deal with them now. Everything happened quickly. The snipers fired, the airborne regiment attacked, and Gerald struck his first target. He barreled in like a winged-missile. At the last minute he flipped over in midair, braced himself, and channeled power into his legs. The impact still shook him to his core. He hit the closest berserker on the left flank, where the infantry line was weaker. The large, seemingly unstoppable creature exploded like a watermelon dropped from a skyscraper. Gerald¡¯s impact shook the earth, causing two more nearby berserkers to stumble and fall. Once down, with no arms to get up, the creatures flailed around like fish out of water. ¡°Open!¡± The command was yelled down the line and dozens of rocketeers emerged. They stood tall and fearless as the remaining berserkers charged them. ¡°FIRE!¡± Coordinated fire cascaded down on the berserkers. Most were hit five or six times. Some were thrown off their feet, some were killed, all were injured, but not all of them were stopped. The rocketeers retreated behind the rapidly closing shield wall to reload as the remaining four berserkers finally reached them. They hit the legions like the battering rams they were designed to be. Armored men were impaled on those long horns as the berserkers crashed through the shield wall. The legionnaires offered little resistance as the creatures smashed through into the rear. Men stabbed at the sides as they passed. Some hacked at their vulnerable legs, while others threw themselves onto the ground to get one good thrust into their unarmored underbellies before they were trampled to death.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Two of the remaining berserkers went down in the middle of the legion, but they still killed scores of men before swords and spears were able to hack them to death. The other two made it through the lines. They were bloody and limping but they were alive and they kept going. It would be up to the reserve to deal with them. The legion had more important things to worry about. They had about thirty seconds to regroup before the front of the charging horde reached them. But that wasn¡¯t Gerald¡¯s problem. Gerald climbed out of the large crater he created and flew to the nearby berserker writhing on its side. His spear found the break in the armor between neck and torso, and a quick stab and twist killed the beast. With both creatures dead he leapt back into the air just before the horde overran his position. Black arrows soared after him, several hit him, but none made it through his armor or hurt his wings. He did feel a trickle of power dissipate with every hit, but he was still strong and ready to fight. He just needed to find his next target. Gerald flew back toward the aerial battle overhead. A quick scan showed him the tide was turning. Quantity had a quality all its own, and the airborne regiment was feeling it. Gerald skewered an emaciated creature from behind with bat wings, an overlarge head, and beady black eyes the size of small plates. As the creature gave its final death-wheeze he whipped it around and threw it into the nearest enemy. Both bodies crumbled and fell down toward the sea of black surging forward. With any luck the falling bodies would kill a few more when they hit the ground. A bloody, winged legionnaire gave him a nod of thanks as he took deep breaths. It was one of the veterans and his spear was slick with black blood. ¡°Form up on me.¡± Gerald commanded. He needed to gather a force large enough to form a wedge and drive back into the heart of the enemy air support. Once there he could unleash his power and turn the tide back in their favor. That plan quickly evaporated when he heard the high-pitched whistling. ¡°Incoming!¡± Gerald yelled, diving down and away from the airborne battle. A few soldiers nearby heard him and followed in his wake, but they were only a handful. The rest were blotted out of existence as artillery rounds started to explode in the middle of the battle. The screams of enemies and friendlies filled the air as blood, ash, and body parts started to rain down on the infantry legions that had just started to clash. The sound of battle and death was everywhere now, and after so long in Hell, it was the closest thing to home the Infernal Knight had. Gerald felt the rush fill him, and this time he didn¡¯t hold back. The reservoir of power poured into him. His body grew, his muscle flexed, and he roared his defiance. No one could mistake the challenge. It told Beelzebub¡¯s legions that an Infernal Knight of Seere was on the field of battle. Any who wished to challenge him would be sent back to their master in several tiny boxes. The world tinged red, and without any thought he dove into the mass of the enemy horde. This time he didn¡¯t flip around. This time he went in head first. He crashed into the ground, pouring power into it with his fist. The ground all around him exploded. It threw hundreds of enemy soldiers into the air. The earth rolling underneath them caused thousands more to stumble and fall. The enemy legions trampled hundreds of their own soldiers to death, while more were crushed under the combined weight of their fallen allies. Gerald rose from the crater of bodies and laughed. The cruel sound sent the enemy foot-soldiers instinctively scrambling for cover. But that wouldn¡¯t save them. He lunged forward in a spinning circle. His wings and spear cut through flesh and bone like butter, leaving a path of death and destruction for several hundred feet. He came out of his spin, backhanded and killed a humanoid creature with the head of a mosquito, and roared again. His blood still boiled with the rush of bloodlust, but the red tinge to the world was fading. Killing allowed him to think more clearly now, and that allowed him to remember his mission. He took a deep breath before pressing his attack. He was still in the middle of the enemy legions, so he gripped the end of his spear and swung it in a three-hundred and sixty degree circle to give himself more room. The three foot molecularly-honed blade cut a swath through the encircling enemy until it thunked into something with a loud CLANG. There were very few things in existence that could stop a blade honed by infernal power to such a fine edge. Of those things, there was only one thing from hell that had any place on this battlefield; Infernal Iron. Gerald looked up and had to look up some more at the giant whose armored breastplate had stopped his spear. The thing was easily ten feel tall. It had on a chestplate, gauntlets, and a helmet of dark Infernal Iron. Plumes of multi-colored feathers extended from the back of the helmet and down its back. A blood covered beak extended from inside the helmet and above that, concealed in partial darkness, was one big golden eye. The enemy horde continued to surge forward to attack Seere¡¯s legions, but they split around the two Infernal Knights. Soldiers in Hell might be ready to die for their lords and masters, but they weren¡¯t going to step into the middle of a fight between virtual demigods. They had a semblance of self-preservation. The enemy knight opened its blood-dripping beak to caw its defiance, and that¡¯s when Gerald struck. He channeled a huge amount of power into his legs and mind. The world slowed to a crawl around him and he lunged forward. A few steps and he was right up in the other knight¡¯s face. The enemy knight reacted, channeling its own store of power to counter Gerald¡¯s sudden charge. It stepped back but not quick enough. Gerald¡¯s fist came up and hit the other knight in an uppercut right in his unarmored chin. The enemy¡¯s skin resisted as he focused on making himself stronger than Gerald. For a moment it was a war of wills, but Gerald¡¯s surprise attack gave him a heartbeats advantage over the other knight. With a thought, the armor in Gerald¡¯s gauntlets sprouted into pointed, poison-dripping spikes. The added weight of the Infernal Iron punched through the enemy knights hardening skin and pumped the poor bastard full of black tar. The challenging caw became a screech of pain as the creatures head was rocked back. It stayed on its feet but not for long. Spider web veins of black started to trace through the knight as the poison spread. Gerald almost felt sorry as the enemy champion tried to rip out its own throat to stop the pain of the spreading poison, but it was too late. Gerald felt cheated at such an easy victory. The enemy knight fell to its knees with its hands around its throat, and Gerald saw the light in its golden eye go out as the poison took its toll. The now dead Infernal Knight of Beelzebub collapsed face-first onto the ground. Gerald quickly stepped forward and placed his hand on the back of the dead creature. He didn¡¯t pay any attention to the enemies still streaming all around him. No one would be brave enough to touch him after he¡¯d just killed their own champion. Under his breath Gerald spoke a few words. Words in the gutted, tortured language of the angels. While he chanted he felt the power of the dead knight. The power was rapidly fleeing the useless carcass and returning to Beelzebub¡¯s kingdom, so Gerald had to act fast. A power transfusion was difficult under normal circumstances. It required time, a precise ritual, diagrams, sigils, and sometimes a sacrifice to accomplish correctly. Sitting in the middle of a battlefield was a less than perfect scenario, but he had to make do. Gerald continued to chant the ancient words and the flow of power split in two. The majority of the power still flowed away from him, but a respectable amount was pulled back into him. He felt the exhaustion of the fight vanish, and the sizable amount of power expended in his short rampage return. He even felt a trickle more power flow into him before the tap ran dry. Gerald couldn¡¯t stop another laugh from escaping his lips. He flexed his hands and pulled his spear from the dead knight side. The sound of metal on metal made him cringe, but it couldn¡¯t upset his good mood. Gerald was literally the strongest he¡¯d ever been, and he was going to take it out on the thousands of enemy soldiers streaming around him toward General Icilius¡¯ embattled legions. Gerald almost felt sorry for the poor bastards he was about to slaughter; but ¡°almost¡± was the key word. No one could feel sorry for anybody in Hell. Feelings like that was a weakness that got you killed. True Power Captain Icilius strode back and forth in front of the five men standing at attention. His eyes bore into each and every one of them. Gerald took the gaze for what it was meant to be; an inspection of their worthiness. Gerald was still scared of the Captain; and he should be, but he knew today wasn¡¯t about intimidation. Today was the start of something new. ¡°You five are the most worthy of my company.¡± The captain didn¡¯t have to call out like he was addressing his entire hundred-man unit, but he did anyway. ¡°Don¡¯t take that as a compliment.¡± His eyes dared anyone to think he was actually being nice. ¡°Being the smartest of the stupid still means you are stupid, but you have shown enough skill in battle that I can be confident you won¡¯t get killed immediately.¡± The captain stopped walking back and forth to stand at the center of the formation. ¡°Because of your mild aptitude you are being given a gift by your lord and master.¡± Gerald waited with his eyes locked forward and his chin held high, but nothing happened. He knew better than to look around so he continued to stand there and do nothing. Gerald suppressed a shudder. He hoped he survived this gift. ¡°For the first time in your miserable lives you are going to be given real power.¡± And that¡¯s when it happened. Gerald felt a pressure inside himself. He struggled to breath and remain at the position of attention as something warm and invigorating filled him. It was the first time since he stepped out of Prince Seere¡¯s golden hall than Gerald hadn¡¯t felt cold. In fact, for a brief moment, he felt whole. Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Gerald and the other four soldiers collectively exhaled from the experience. The Captain had been right. It was the best Gerald had ever felt, but like everything in Hell it came with a downside. That feeling was fleeting and it left him wanting more. ¡°You¡¯ve been gifted with a trickle of power. Something so minuscule compared to our Lord¡¯s supreme dominance that there isn¡¯t even a unit of measurement to describe its insignificance.¡± The Captain glowered at them. Gerald daydreamed for a second about what it must be like to have so much power, but quickly banished the thought. Thinking like that was a sure way to get killed. Having your head in the clouds was a good way to lose it. ¡°Now that you have power, I am going to teach you how to use it.¡± Gerald was understandably reluctant to be taught by the ridged man. After all, the first time he¡¯d been taught something new the Captain¡¯s spear had ended up in his gut. ¡°Power can be used in a variety of ways.¡± Two soldiers brought out a thick log and placed it upright next to the Captain. Without looking the Captain unsheathed his sword and took a swing at the log. A loud THUMP echoed through the small clearing as the blade dug partially into the wood. ¡°You can use it to be stronger.¡± Gerald¡¯s eyes widened as the Captain visibly grew large and bulkier. Veins popped and the Captains eyes went wild as he swelled. With a short yell the Captain drew a second sword and slashed at the wood. The wood practically exploded around the point of impact. The blade didn¡¯t go all the way through, but it did send the log flying a few dozen feet backwards and tumbling to the ground. Gerald gulped as the Captain turned and pointed his sword at them. ¡°Strength and durability is valuable. But you can be the strongest infernal in Hell and be worthless if you can¡¯t hit anything.¡± The Captain¡¯s figure blurred and suddenly he was standing by the battered log several dozen feet away. Gerald hadn¡¯t been able to follow the man¡¯s movement. ¡°Speed and strength together are much better than either alone.¡± The Captain effortlessly lifted the trunk, which must had weighed a thousand pounds, and walked it back over to the five soldiers. ¡°But most of us don¡¯t have the luxury of having both in sufficient quantity.¡± Once the Captain dropped the tree his body shrunk back to his normal short and stocky shape. ¡°Power also gives us the ability to influence things and shape them to our will or empower them to function how we want them too.¡± The Captain took his sword and held it out in front of him. For a moment he just stood there staring at it. Gerald thought as the blade¡¯s edge seemed to flicker in and out of existence. The captain gave it a casual flick and it cleanly sliced through the thick log. The ground shook slightly as the chunk of wood crashed to the ground. He went over to the dislodged piece, his muscles bulge again, and he picked it up. He walked back over to the man standing next to Gerald. ¡°Hold out your arms,¡± the officer commanded. The man gulped but did what he was told. ¡°Find that power you felt. It could be in your mind, your gut, your heart, or your cock. Wherever it is, grab it firmly and believe. If you believe you are strong you will be strong. If you believe you are fast you will be fast.¡± A fire burned in the Captain¡¯s eye as he said this. Gerald would never forget that look. It was total, unabashed greed. It was the look of someone who wanted something so bad they would do anything, or be anything to get it. It was in that moment that Gerald vowed he would do his best to get in the Captain¡¯s good-graces, because a man who was willing to do anything for something was a man that could be trusted ©¤ up to a point. Gerald thought through the impromptu plan, because deep down he knew he was just as greedy as the Captain. The fleeting satisfaction from the rush of power was something Gerald knew he would always want. If the Captain could help him get it, then the ends justified the means. The man standing next to Gerald¡¯s muscles vibrated, but didn¡¯t bulge. The Captain didn¡¯t care. He dropped the heavy log into the unprepared man¡¯s arms. The man collapsed under the weight with a painful cry. ¡°Practice is the key to success.¡± The Captain walked away ignoring the man¡¯spainful sobs. ¡°Practice this and you can be great. If you are great, our Lord will give you more. As your prestige rises so will your power.¡± Gerald smiled, and started to practice. *** Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Gerald brought his weapon down in an overhead swing. He¡¯d perfected the technique cutting wood for the winters back in Massachusetts when he was alive, and had adapted it to crushing skulls on the battlefields of Hell. In this instance, he was aiming for the ground instead of wood, and his weapon of choice was an ultra-dense warhammer instead of an axe. But the effect was the same. The ground split in front of him. The crack extended about fifty meters and the ground crumbled away. Hundreds of Beelzebub¡¯s monstrosities were pushed into the fissure by the weight of their own army. The attack didn¡¯t last long. Less than a minute passed before the ground sealed itself up. Gerald could see behind him thanks to his power, so he saw to two creatures trying to sneak up on him. One of those got a bladed wingtip through the throat and the other was swatted halfway to the horizon by a backward swing of the warhammer. Gerald jumped into the air and flapped his wings to gain elevation. Once he was high enough he surveyed the battle. The situation was not good. The airborne regiment that had flown into the enemy air support¡¯s flank was all dead. Gerald had found the dual swords of the regimental commander and used them to dispatch a second enemy knight and absorb that creatures remaining power. General Icilius was executing his plan flawlessly, but it wouldn¡¯t be enough. A wall of artillery explosions hammered the enemy horde about a third of the way deep into their formation. The shield-wall was fighting savagely with the front third and slowly advancing, but the amount of bodies they were leaving behind showed the high price the legions were paying. A small, flying blur collided with Gerald knocking him toward the ground. It was scaly, slick and all teeth and claws. It crawled all over Gerald¡¯s massive torso trying to bite or scrape at his flesh. All it did was uselessly scratch against Infernal Iron. Finally, Gerald got his hand around the creature¡¯s neck and squeezed until the things head popped off. He growled, flicking his gauntleted hand to get the slime off. Gerald used more power to heighten his perception of time. The battle slowed to a crawl, as he turned to survey it. Thankfully, he¡¯d taken the time because another one of the critters was flying in slow motion toward him. With a thought Gerald enhanced his vision and saw another three following farther back. He traced the trajectory back to its origin and smiled. Gerald let go of his enhanced perception and dodged left. The flying critter rocketed past him and straight into the fiery explosions of the artillery wall. Gerald ignored the things shriek and shot toward his goal. In the back section of the lines, situated around a number of large soldiers, firing the little creatures at him was the enemy General. Gerald could tell it was him by the blatant ostentatiousness of the outfit. The patchwork creature had an overlarge man¡¯s head on top of what looked like a hippopotamus¡¯ body with stubby ostrich legs. He was wearing a cloak of multi-colored feathers larger and broader than the first knight Gerald slew. There was no mistaking the thing as anything but a General. And the General saw Gerald coming. With a thought, and influx of power, Gerald¡¯s weapon became his trusty molecularly-honed spear again. He crashed into the General¡¯s guard impaling the first creature through the throat. The thing gave a death-squawk as Gerald rolled and came up on one knee. He spun three-hundred and sixty degrees, slicking through unarmored thighs and knees with ease. Half the guards went down unable to move while the other half gushed blood. Gerald ducked under the swing of a sword, pulled a dagger from his belt, and tossed it at the offender. The dagger passed through the swordsmen¡¯s groin and imbedded itself into the ground. The swordsmen wouldn¡¯t be getting up again anytime soon. Gerald used his own spear to thrust, hack, parry, and bludgeon his way toward the enemy general. More of the little creatures tried to overwhelm him, but Gerald unleashed a torrent of flame from his mouth. Whatever the slimy part of the creatures was it was combustible. A dozen of the annoying beings exploded with enough force to kill a few of the nearby guards. Soon there were only a few guards and the general left. The guards charged Gerald together, coordinating their attacks and doing their best to stop him. But Gerald was an Infernal Knight for a reason, and one by one the guards lost their heads or other important body parts. As the last guard fell Gerald turned toward the general and¡­ ¡­the next thing Gerald knew he was regaining consciousness. He shook his head and looked around. He was at the bottom of a large furrow. Dozens of bodies cushioned him, and by the scent and sticky sensation most were leaking flesh-bags whose internal skeletal structure had been reduced to powder. Gerald gave himself another good shake and launched himself into the air and back toward the General. The monstrous leader stood tall with what passed for a sickening grin on his ashen colored face. Gerald hadn¡¯t realized it before but only one of the arms on the creature¡¯s body was a normal human arm. It looked miniscule and unusable on the thing¡¯s bulky torso, but now Gerald saw it as the ruse it was. The General¡¯s other arm was larger, considerably stronger, and ended in a fist the size of a horse-drawn carriage. A single punch from that arm had knocked Gerald out cold. It was only for a few seconds, but Gerald couldn¡¯t let that happen again. The possibility of drowning in the enemy horde was a real possibility. Gerald charged back at the bulbous enemy General and swung at his torso on the side opposite from his powerful arm. The creature danced backward much more nimbly that something its size should ever be capable of, but not fast enough. Gerald¡¯s blade cut deep and blood splattered the ground. It only oozed for a second before it stitched itself closed, and the general¡¯s face twisted into a superior sneer. Then it attacked. Gerald barely got out of the way of the fist. It struck nothing but air, but the power of the blow continued long after the physical appendage ended. Several ranks in front of the General were flattened by the after-force of the strike. Gerald dived under it as the General tried to backhand him and dug a shallow furrow as a result. As the huge hand passed overhead Gerald jabbed it with poisoned spikes from his gauntlet. The General let out a roar of pain and stumbled backward. The black spider web of poison started to crawl across his massive palm, but it didn¡¯t make it far. Gerald jumped into the air to avoid a follow-up hammer-fisted smash. He realized his mistake a moment too late. The pressure wave from the General¡¯s punch washed over Gerald and sent him spinning away head over ass. He extended his wings fully to stop his tumble hundreds of meters from his target, and beat them powerfully into a dive and regain the momentum of the attack. Seere¡¯s legions would be turned to ash within the hour if he failed. Gerald knew exactly what he needed to do. He dodged the waves of pressure, or powered through them, as he closed on the enemy General¡¯s position. He landed with a loud THUD, cracking the ground again, and throwing the massive leader off balance. Those stubby legs weren¡¯t well made for fighting a maneuverable opponent. Then he charged straight at the enemy. The General might be the leader of Beelzebub¡¯s legions, but he still had the same trait as all of the enemy Lord¡¯s creations. They relied as much on animal instincts as they did on rational thought. Gerald was going to use both of them against the thing. Gerald roared a challenge as he crossed the space, building up his energy for a powerful blow. At the last second he flapped one wing to dodge to the side. The General¡¯s fist followed him to deliver its own blow. Or at least that¡¯s what the General thought was happening. What Gerald did instead had taken an unknown amount of time to master. Quicker than a flash, Gerald cloaked himself in layers of light that made him appear invisible, while at the same time creating an illusionary copy of himself. The copy dodged to the side in a feint that drew the attention and the fist of the General. The wave of pressure hit the doppelganger as it lunged for its imaginary strike. The force of the strike blasted the illusionary copy out of existence. Only then did Gerald drop his cloak and thrust his spear forward with enough force to make a mountain shudder. Gerald felt the power within him get cut in half with the force it took to land that blow, but it was worth it. The spear tip, which flickered in and out of existence it was so sharp, penetrated the turned neck of the General. With a surge of effort that drained even more power, Gerald drove the spear upward into the General¡¯s brain. It was a guess that the leader¡¯s brain was there in the first place, but no one decided to have a human head and not put the brain where it was supposed to be. Beelzebub wasn¡¯t that creative. The General¡¯s body shuddered. Gerald let go of his imbedded spear and rained several poisoned blows into the creature¡¯s legs and torso just to make sure. Finally, after a several seconds of twitching and foaming at the mouth, the patchwork General pitched forward onto the ground and died. The effect on the battle was immediate. The control the fallen General had been exerting over the half-mad creatures was gone, making them fully crazy. They attacked anything they could reach. And for most of them that meant each other. Whatever remaining champions Beelzebub had on the battlefield tried to restore some semblance of control, but they didn¡¯t have the skill or the power the General possessed; a good fraction of which flowed into Gerald as he replenished most of his lost strength.