《Unshackled》


 Prologue: The First Step Back

    The leader of the free world sat wearily on the hard, faux leather couch that made its home in government and military offices everywhere. This particular one made its home deep beneath Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado like some bland, stupid animal in its den. The President had been rushed to the bunker to preside over the American troop movements occurring across the world in relative safety. He didn''t need to. He couldn''t conceive of a winning strategy any better than the finest minds leading his military. He assumed it must be symbolic. The President was still alive and still in charge. The media kept showing him glaring stoically into this screen or at that map. He couldn''t even recognize himself in those photos. Where had all of the lines on his face come from? Since when did he have gray in his hair? What happened to the brash and confident fighter pilot who handled his F-35 Lightning like it was an extension of his mortal coil? It was depressing. He was as much as a symbol of military might as a scarecrow propped up in front of a wildfire. There were no birds to scare here, and the fire could care less.


    The members of his cabinet that had been with him were still waiting in the other room. Somehow an appearance at an election rally for an influential governor turned into the end of the world. If he was honest with himself, he was relieved. He didn''t think he wore politics too well. His face was drawn, and the appearance of a five-o-clock shadow was making itself known. He was dressed in a white button up with the top button unbuttoned and his cerulean blue tie discards. It was a startling contrast to the dark coat and slacks that cost more than most people made in a year. He hated those clothes. Growing up he had never worn something so reeking of affluence. In his youth, he scorned people who would wear their gilded vanity for all to see. It was bitterly ironic that now he found himself the most powerful man in the world. Until today that is.


    The Beretta M9 symbolized that loosely dangled in his left hand was a symbol if his desperate position. Throughout his political career, he told his constituents that he spoke truth to power. What he didn''t tell them was that the only truth this world possessed was power. This weapon was power. The power to end a life or save it and if he were lucky -at the end of this- he would look his enemy straight in their twisted demonic eyes, and he would show them the ultimate Truth. The only truth worth knowing.


    Even now, lightly held in his palm, the Beretta was loaded but on safe. His finger was held straight and off the trigger even after all these years after his military service. Some things never changed with time. The heft of an M9 and the way it felt could never be entirely erased even a decade later. He sighed and raised his hand to grasp the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. The pressure behind his eyes was building. It throbbed in the consciousness. It was distracting in its intensity. He ran his hand through his raven-hued hair and reached for the remote controller sitting next to him like an old friend. For at least the twentieth time he turned on the television in front of him. Setting down the Beretta, he fished for his stash of cigarettes in his coat pocket. He picked up the habit in law school, and it was one that his wife Isabel had always scolded him for. He placed a cigarette in his lips and lazily lit it. He let the lighter clatter to the ground as he took an experimental puff. The relief was palpable. Even the headache began to fade away. The cherry glow illuminated the darkness in a way that contrasted the harsh glare of the television. He picked up his Beretta again before taking the tv off mute.


    The voice of the reporter flooded the room. Her voice was invasive and made a sick feeling spread in his gut. It wasn''t her fault he thought as he philosophically puffed on his cigarette. Everyone shoots the messenger. Bad news always has a price and people instinctively shy from the source of the cost.


    "It has been seventy-two hours since the Appearance occurred at the United Nations headquarters in New York City. Since then, beings of unknown origin have appeared and all but eliminated most of the world''s militaries. They do not fight conventionally and can teleport in and among military formations at will. They seem to know exactly where and how to target critical infrastructure, command centers, and military and civil leaders. The result has been widespread chaos. America''s military has held on the longest mostly because of advanced technology and sheer numbers. The Marine Corps and the Army have been advised to break up into fire teams, set up ambush points, and wait for the appearance of the enemy. This technique has mitigated losses but has not made any measurable difference in enemy effectiveness."


    The woman''s co-host took the opportunity to comment. The man''s eyes were wide with thinly veiled fear. He looked like a rabid animal just before it snapped the chain and went loose. If he didn''t lose it right now, he would soon. The President could see all the signs of combat-induced hysteria. What a world, he reflected. How odd to see a reporter with some of the same symptoms I only saw on young men and women as they went toe to toe with the worst evils of the world. The realization was not a happy one.


    "So Meredith, has the government or the military put out an official comment on what it is we''re facing?"


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.    "No, Donny. Aside from the official correspondence delivered at the beginning of this crisis, there has been no further word. Local authorities are encouraging residents to stay in their homes until the military can defeat the invaders."


    The man swallowed heavily."Are they invaders?"


    Meredith sighed. It was evident even through the screen that journalism school didn''t prepare her for something like this. A grim determination came upon her face. It rose from the depths of her eyes and spread across her face. It was slow and gentle like the slow rotation of the moon. It was dark and mysterious in its intensity.


    "No... Donny. They''re not. Invaders want something. They want your land, your property, or your resources. These...things don''t want any of that. The teleport in, materialize walls of flame, ropes of lightning, or orbs of water and kill anything close by with brutal efficiency. Those aren''t even the worst ones. The blackest fiends raise the slain bodies and have them dance around in macabre fashion. They use those same walking corpses to slay more humans. These monsters aren''t invaders, they kill us with the same emotion you would expect from a cat playing with a mouse. It isn''t human."


    She looked straight into the camera."If you''re listening to this, don''t hide. Grab a weapon. Fight back."


    The President couldn''t turn off the television once again and leaned back against the couch and studied the pistol in his hand. In its way, it was beautiful. The color of gunmetal always soothed him. It was shadowed ambiguity. Somewhere between white and black; dark and light. It was the perfect warrior. For a brief moment, he considered putting the gun against his temple and dying on his terms. His warrior spirit wouldn''t allow him. That wasn''t the truth. It was a pleasant lie. No one died on their terms. He could die fat, happy, and in the arms of an alluring woman and he would still wish for more time. People didn''t get to choose the way they went, they just went kicking and screaming the same they entered this world.


    A crack of displaced air abruptly brought him from his musings. Standing in front of him was a creature similar to the one that appeared in the main chamber of the United Nations. That one had asked the assembly for the leader of that planet. Of course, that didn''t exist then, and it didn''t now.


    The creature was taller than the President''s own six feet and five inches. The man noted absently that it was humanoid and bipedal. He idly wondered if all aliens were fashioned like humans or if some quadruped beasts were out slaughtering as well. Although humanoid, it didn''t have the same dimensions. It was tall in a way that looked awkward. The creature looked like a frog in mid jump or a lizard that had been stretched to comic proportions. Its limbs were thin and weak looking. Excess flesh sloughed from it in mid melt. Its skin was a pebbled gray that was reminiscent of reptilian or amphibian origin. Exposed, webbed hands and feet that boasted long black claws alluded to an aqueous origin. Mottled spots covered the backs of limbs that he could see outside of a black one-piece jumpsuit. The fabric shimmered and seemed to transition from opaque to slightly transparent at will. The President clinically the alien in the way that a fighter sizes up the opponent. His mind turned to potential weaknesses, and he studied the monster with lethal intensity before tilting his head to look up into its face. The jaw was wide and strong with a crooked fence of razor sharp teeth set in a lipless mouth. There was no nose to be seen. Small holes flush with the flesh of the not-nose could be seen widening and contracting with each breath. There was no hair to speak of anywhere on the creatures body. Instead, on the top of its head, the alien had dark bone ridges that protruded from the flesh. The ridges were not unlike that of a dinosaur and lent the creature a streamlined, angular effect. Finally, the man met the creatures eyes.


    The fiend''s eyes were like pools of glossy shadow. They looked into his own from a great depth, and the secrets of the universe could be found within its dank recesses. A lurching sensation overtook conscious though in his mind. No longer did the creature look hideous, it was beautiful. A melodious voice played a concerto within his thoughts.


    I have come to negotiate. We have decided that your species is worth harvesting in limited quantities.


    The President didn''t grasp the implied threat within the words of the creature. He was enraptured by the creatures majesty and splendor. He found it difficult to concentrate. Never had he seen such royal eyes. The creature''s bearing was kingly and his stature titanic. It was no longer the awkward posture of a water-creature on earth but that of an angel mid-flight. Its naked teeth were not frightening. They were artistically splashed with bright arterial blood. Blood that he would give to it if it but asked that of him.


    At this moment, he knew the Truth. He felt the Truth rising through his body and banishing the arcane sickness clouding his mind. He rose smoothly, brought up the Beretta and fired three rounds into the creatures face. Explosions of silver blood burst from the ruined mess of the creatures face. It collapsed to the ground and remained there. A mercurial pool spread from its wretched visage adumbrating the killing to come. The President was not afraid for he knew the Truth and the Truth is never beautiful.


    Another pop of displaced air was heard, and the President turned to fire once more. The air felt like molasses, and he could feel the hair on his body rise to attention. Before he had fully faced his immediate peril, lightning burst into being and struck him in the chest like the hammer of an ancient god. He was thrown into the far side of the room, and he slammed into the wall before sliding to the ground. A streak of lifeblood marked his passing, painting the wall in crimson tones. He was dead before gravity finished its relentless pull. His expensive clothes burned dimly. The flames crouched as cornered beasts as if afraid of catching the attention of creatures whose power rivaled that of deities. If it took God seven days to create the Earth and all its creatures, it took only three days for it to be dismantled into its basest components.

 Chapter 1: Before the Fall

    Precipitous moments in history often have humble beginnings. War, in particular, is rarely the product of a single defining instance. Instead, these periods are caused by a pitter-patter of snapshots in time. They add up like layers of soil. They tell a story if one can delve deep enough to study their chronology. Life is rarely so inquisitive. Instead, it is normal to see the topsoil and think: this is the truth of things. There is no need to dig because this is apparent fact lay bare for all to see. It wasn''t a human failing. Every race had the same blind spots. It was telling that despite a belief in the True Spark, they couldn''t see below surface-level.


    Perhaps that is what happened with Ket. Ket had a dark and old hate for the Sel''Kyn. Perhaps it was the whip coiled in Vin''Tar''s clawed hands. The whip that brought with it pain and blood and death. If it where just the whip, maybe Ket wouldn''t hate as he did. If the pleasure in Vin''Tar''s eyes were replaced by mechanical efficiency, perhaps Ket wouldn''t feel the raging inferno of hatred. But Ket was no fool. They made it personal with their whips, their sermons, and their dogma.


    What the aquatic overlords didn''t realize was that all their efforts to create the perfect human warriors merely telegraphed the weakness within themselves. If this were Earth, they would be the prey animal baring their throats. On an instinctual level, the fish had to understand their actual place. This was the true reason for their whips and their magics and their fear.


    Ket could smell their fear. It was a greasy, oily fish-stink in the air. He grinned savagely. He bared his teeth in a predator-rictus that was answered in kind by Sulit across from him. They were sparring without weapons or armor. The thud of flesh striking flesh was a primal beat that called the blood, bone, and muscle to dance its deadly tune. Each strike was designed to incapacitate; to kill. Strike to the inside of the elbow. Grab the wrist. Chop to the throat. Gouge to the eyes. Kick to the kneecap. Punch to the solar plexus. Each drumbeat was blocked easily by Sulit. The intensity slicked their bodies with a patina of moisture. It slid down their naked chests, through the rough-spun trousers, and down to their bare feet. Flickering mage fire lit Sulit''s bronze skin acting the counterpoint to Ket''s paleness and casting it in dancing shadow. The tenebrosity of their movements formed living companions.


    Behind each combatant, a fish-man waited with loosely held whips. Any perceived flaw in form or figure earned them a lash. If the lashing disrupted the continuity of their contest, they wouldreceive more beatings yet. The two humans had long progressed past the Sel''Kyn''s ability to spot a flaw, but they carried on in these gains in a futile effort to assert their dominance. Vin''Tar, the most sadistic of their captors, did it for the pleasure of the thing. He took almost sexual pleasure in the parting of flesh and the streaming of life-blood. The excremental creature was positioned behind Ket, and every few seconds a new mark would appear upon his back.


    Despite the best efforts of their turnkeys, the bite of the whip was nothing to the pain caused by the magical experiments visited upon their flesh. Not one human was afraid to fight in the Pit. It was the arcane labs that turned their bowels to water and their mouths to desert sand. There the mage prodded with their unnatural gifts and plumbed their bodies with arcane energies. The last session had felt as if each bone in his body had been melted and then reformed individually. Their powers kept him aware and conscious as their ancient rituals, and hellish magics wracked his self and threatened to scatter his sanity.


    Soon the practice was over, and they were made to bow prostrate with their foreheads touching the ground. Ket studied their forms with the eyes of a predator. He could see the tension in their forms and the subtle tightening of fists around their whips. Due to their amphibious nature, they did not sweat as humans do but the rush of blood to their pale gray faces and the stink in the air belied the lie of confidence. They were very much aware that without their wards, the humans were a force they weren''t sure they could defeat.


    Well, thrall your forms are getting sloppier. We might have to beat some discipline into your bones. You heal fast enough. Shall we play the finger game?


    He stepped forward and placed his booted foot on Ket''s hand. With a dextrous twist of his foot, Ket felt his finger pop out of his socket. Despite the pain, he refused to move or whimper. Any sign of weakness would bring more pain from Vin''Tar. Once he got started, he wouldn''t stop until the subject of his pleasure was near death. Seemingly dissatisfied with the non-reaction, he continued.


    Slave I originally came to let you know that you and your team need to report to the labs tonight by the eleventh bell.


    Vin''Tar grinned evilly.


    It''s your final procedure. No one has survived the ritual before, but maybe your group will be the first. I heard that all the ones before you died slowly in agony. Apparently, its a ritual that you feel in your very Spark. Since you lack even that basic trait of life, I imagine it will be painful indeed.


    He waited to receive a response. Seeing none he and his companion reached over and placed their palms on the back of the humans'' bald heads. Here the Sel''Kyn had inscribed wards into the flesh there. It was a seal of sorts that allowed or restricted access to various parts of the compound. The labs lay behind a door that led to the Sel''Kyn''s compartments. To get there, the wards would need to be altered.


    Ket could feel an intense searing in the back of his skull and smell the sizzle of burnt flesh. It was a sickly sweet odor that he had sampled many times in his life. The procedure was quickly over, and the two fish-men departed. Once they left the pit, the two men rose to their feet and looked at each other.


    Sulit, his second in command, opened his mouth to speak and Ket silenced him with a gesture. He used sign language to convey the message he needed.


    Not here, there are eyes and ears in the walls.


    Ket glanced around and studied his surroundings. The Pit used to be intimidating when he was a child. The rock walls rose up around them four times the length of a man. The floors were stone smoothed by the passage of time and puddles of spilled blood. This room was huge and took a twenty-fourth of a bell to run from end to end even at their advanced speeds. The Sel''Kyn often summoned lower races from other worlds to the Pit for the humans to fight. Ket''s team hadn''t lost a match yet, but the challenges always got more severe over time.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Goya (their team zoologist and walking bestiary) informed them after their last fight against a troop of goblins that they had defeated every known lower race. This had large implications for the team''s future. It meant that their next opponents would be magic users.


    Ket made his way to the door that led to their quarters. Sulit followed him quietly. He took the position to the rear and right of Ket. After long years of training together, the position came naturally. In the event of an attack, Ket would draw his sword and advance left while Sulit would draw and move right. While they were both ambidextrous, the formation took advantage of each''s preference.


    The two were always on guard in the Pit. The landscape of the pit could be dramatically altered to impede or assist the Sel''Kyn''s chosen champions. It was a simple application of magic for them to grow ancient trees, fetid and murky swamps, or volcanic wastelands. Their team had fought in every climate imaginable and were no strangers to elemental hardship.


    At the end of the room, opposite the door that led to the jailor quarters, was the entrance to their lodging. It was a stone arch built into the wall out of the same bluish gray stone that made up the rest of the Pit. Runes were etched into the keystone that acted as a form of key. Those without the proper ward were violently repelled. The two men only felt a slight tingling as they entered the tunnel that led the open room they stayed in.


    The passageway resulted in a long rectangular room. Blue mage light perpetually lit the three rows of beds numbering twenty-five each that stretched the length of the chamber. Each bed had a single locked trunk in the front of it. They contained all the same items. Armor, clothing, repair kits, and whatever books or scrolls the Sel''Kyn distributed to assist in the specialization each human was assigned. The youngest cohorts slept in the front of the room. Each cohort consisted of five humans of about the same age and there was always the exact number of groupings. Training began around the age of five. The Sel''Kyn scoured the various worlds for above average humans and then bought them from their owners. Here they would be trained for fifteen years until the approximate age of twenty. The exact ages were difficult to determine because each world tracked years and time slightly differently. Ket''s cohort was the oldest. Every year he watched as entire teams were wiped out. They either died in the Pit or in the labs. It seemed that their time had come. Ket and Sulit marched down the aisle way like returned conquerors. As they passed each human they would stand and raise a knuckle to their brow in a token of respect. Ket had seen more battle and more pain than they had yet to know and his cohort had proven their competence time and time again.


    They stoically ignored the gestures of respect until they reached their bunks. Once there, the others turned and went about their business to give them the illusion of privacy. Ket found his team on their various beds. Goya had his nose in a book. When he noticed Ket and Sulit, he put the book aside and swung up until his feet were on the floor. He was slenderly built but muscular in the way that they all were. He had honey brown skin that glowed with vitality. Dark eyes that didn''t miss even the smallest detail noticed the agitation in their bodies. He remained silent except for a slight cough that caught the attention of the final two members of the cohort. Mudi and Merak were identical twins that couldn''t be more different in demeanor if not in appearance. They had exotically tilted eyes that gave them the appearance of a predator in motion. Their lithe, muscular forms gave every movement a graceful, animalistic quality. Their feminity added to their allure. Every human sported a shaved head but no one could mistake their feline grace for masculinity. They made the rest of the team look slow-footed and awkward in comparison. The whole team sensed the mood immediately.


    What''s the problem Ket?


    He gestured in a way that kept his movements hidden from the rest of the room. While every cohort came up with their language, any of those that had been with them over the years could have picked up some of the languagejust by proximity. Every human knew that the Sel''Kyn could scry into the room and listen surreptitiously without the people knowing. As such, they took these precautions to keep their secrets safe.


    Tonight we will be subjected to the final ritual. We need to plan.


    Goya immediately took up the conversation as Ket knew he would. While Ket was the provisional leader, Goya was the most intelligence one among them and had received the most technical training within their cohort.


    I think we should try our luck tonight then. We''ve prepared for this. Vin''Tar and his ilk aren''t usually allowed into the ritual chambers or the labs. Every time we''ve gone into get our abilities enhanced, they''ve been barred from entering.


    Goya looked over to Merak leaning against the wall for confirmation. She was the resident spy and saboteur.


    Her hands flashed lazily.He''s right. I heard one of Vin''Tar''s men talking about how they weren''t allowed anywhere near the rituals because of their low affinity. I''m not sure who -or what- they summon during the rituals, but we can assume an entity a magnitude higher than their powers. I would bet a shadow elemental at least.


    Sulit butted in as much as one can in sign language.


    I agree. The whole purpose of their experimentation has been to hide us from magical senses to include scrying. That kind of power is difficult to acquire. Over the years, we''ve become as stealthy as inhumanly possible without actually being able to turn invisible. We need to consider the possibility that they''re punching way above their weight and we''ll be the ones to pay for it.


    Ket nodded in thought.


    So we''re agreed then. We can''t allow the mages to perform the ritual. We need to enact our plans before hand.


    Everyone nodded to include Mudi who had remained silent. Ket continued.


    In that case... Sulit put the three eldest cohorts on standby. They''ll need to take out Vin''Tar and his group. We''ll need one prisoner to activate the portal out of here.


    He looked over to Merak.


    Get the next two cohorts to prepare to disable the Wardstone. Once that goes down, we''ll all be able to strike back at the Sel''Kyn without magical reprisal.


    He paused in contemplation.


    Mudi. Organize the healers in each of the cohorts numbering nine through five to set up mobile emergency aid. Casualties will be inevitable until we neutralize the Wardstone.


    He finally turned to Goya. Goya, we need to get rid of the priest. I know you want the task. I''m asking you now; will you be alright?


    I''ll do it Ket. I have to. You know what that bastard did.


    Ket nodded. Understanding the fiendish hate that dwelt in Goya''s heart just as much as it did his.


    Good. Take care of your preparations and be back here before the tenth bell for final instructions.


    Each member of his team nodded once and stood abruptly. After gathering their various requirements, they brushed past him. First Goya passed, and then he clapped a hand on Ket''s shoulder and met his eyes. His steely gaze reminded Ket to tighten up his appearance. A leader couldn''t show fear in a moment like this. Instead, he projected confidence and competence. Goya nodded and continued past.


    Each member of his team repeated the impromptu ritual, and Ket felt as if they were saying farewell in some way. It wasn''t goodbye to him exactly. It was goodbye to the only life they had known in the hopes of a better one. The final one to pass him was Sulit, and Ket turned to take in the bay that passed for lodging.


    A sense of gravity fell upon the room like a burial shroud. Every human stood at the foot of their bed next to their trunks. They watched the oldest cohort walk past them with heads held high and backs straightened. Observing them, Ket could believe that at this moment they were capable of changing their destiny. This moment, like many others before it had a humble beginning. They were but slaves yoked to cruel and sadistic masters, and Ket hoped that it would be enough to ignite the war that they so desperately wanted.