Mercenaries’ Tale – 3.02 The Storm
“The hell did they go?” Doug asked as he clambered out of the crater he and Harper had been squatting in. The others began to gather around him, Annie helping a half blind Thad who was furiously blinking his vision back. Parkinson slid down the ropes that led down the cliff whereas Blaise opted to take Gratin’s offer of carrying her down, the two descending directly next to Doug. Tupper jogged over from the pipe looking quite proud of himself for successfully preventing the squat man from blowing the pipes.
“It was a mix of magic and science! That’s how they were blowing the pipes! The symbols he was drawing must’ve made his explosives more powerful somehow!” the scarred man babbled.
“That’s very nice Tupper but now we gotta work out where they went,” Annie patiently explained to him.
“Not many places they could have gone,” said Blaise as she turned towards the monitor station. The others followed suit.
“I can sense them in the building,” agreed Gratin.
“They’re cornered then. There’s only the one exit,” this came from Harper, the scouse beginning to march towards the building in question. The others began to follow, the trio of mercenaries hanging towards the back of the larger group.
Blaise was still picking thorns off of herself, throwing whatever she found away.
“That was a pain in the arse. Your end go alright?” she asked Doug, looking up at her friend with genuine concern on her face. Doug grunted, obviously still feeling sore, and quickened his pace as he followed the others.
“Lets just get this over with,” he muttered.
The interior of the Monitor Station was pitch black, the power completely knocked out. Plain corridors stretched out in front of them, various offices and computer rooms branching off of them.
The group came to a halt as they approached a crossroads, three paths branching out before them. Gratin summoned three flaming orbs each the size of a tennis ball and directed each one down one of the paths before them. There weren’t any signs of life down the darkened halls but there was evidence that something had passed through each of them; droplets of blood splattered on the floor, a bloody palm print on a wall and scuff marks created by an overly large boot print. Thad knelt down and examined some of the blood.
“Looks like we’re going to have to split up. If Annie and I go down the left corridor, Harper can watch Tupper and Parkinson’s back as they go down the middle and-” he was cut short as Doug shoved past him and wordlessly started striding down the left hand corridor.
“Or I suppose Annie and I could go right…” The gentleman muttered, clearly annoyed.
“He has a lot on his mind right now. Gratin will be in touch if we run into any problems,” said Blaise nervously, watching as the tense figure that was Doug became engulfed in the darkness.
“You be careful now sugah. Last thing ah wanna see is you becoming collateral, ya hear?” Annie clasped Blaise’s shoulder for emphasis, giving it a squeeze. Doug’s current demeanour was clearly unsettling her. Blaise felt it herself, her stomach in knots.
“We will. Meet you back here in a bit,” Blaise forced a smile and led the mage into the dark, the two needing to hurry to catch up to Doug, who was steaming ahead with little regard as to if the others were with him or not.
The silence that followed the trio as they made their way down their corridor was not the sort Gratin was used to. Normally the one following their group was the content kind that settled among old friends happy simply to be in each other’s company, the need to fill the void absent. This silence had an edge. It was like a beast stalking them, pacing aggressively back and forth, waiting for the smallest slight so it could pounce on whatever drew its attention. Gratin knew the cause must have been the little private chat his companions had engaged in before the terrorists had arrived. Doug’s mental state clearly hadn’t improved after the fight. Gratin could practically see the irritation pouring off of him in waves. The ex-soldier made no moves to slow down as his companions caught up with him and fell into step behind him. His fists were clenched at his sides and his face wore a mask of grim determination, the opposite of what Gratin was used to seeing when the prospect of a good fight was on the cards.
Blaise’s demeanour was less intense but just as worrying. She wasn’t walking as confidently as usual, the mistress withdrawn. If the smelting pot of emotions battling in Doug’s head could be said to be boiling over, then the ones the mage could sense radiating off of Blaise could freeze the air around her. Unease, fear, sadness: all were present and were slowly pressing in on the gunslinger like a glacier as she tried to keep up with Doug’s angry strides.
“Don’t run off too far. We should really stick together-” She tentatively began.
“Don’t you start. I haven’t forgotten our little chat yet,” growled Doug. Gratin felt the spark of anger within the frosty shell of Blaise’s psyche. She frowned deeply at the back of Doug’s head.
“What do you want me to say, Doug? Sorry for being scared that you might top yourself? Sorry for being concerned for your well-being? Sorry I have a past that I’m not at liberty to disclose right now?”
Doug came to an abrupt halt and rounded on her. The anger inside him found a focal point and began to flare.
“Do you really want to do this again? Here and Now? I’m not having you fucking patronizing me, saying everything you’re doing’s for my own good!”
“I’m not patronizing you-”
“It fucking feels like it!”
“This isn’t easy for me either, you know! I’ll be happy to come clean with you and explain when this is all over but not here! Not now!”
“I’m tired of you always lying to me! I’m starting to think I don’t know you at all!”
“You’re one to talk! I can’t explain myself right now but there’s nothing stopping you! Just once you could stop being such a stubborn ass and let me help you!”
“I never asked for your damn help!” The anger was now burning so intensely, Gratin’s head was beginning to feel as if it were on fire, the mage flinching. Part of him was amazed that Blaise was still standing her ground, although her eyes were beginning to well.
“And I never asked to care about you, but here we are!”
“Fuck off! You don’t care about me! Ice queen’s like you don’t care about anyone! Why the hell should you care about me?!” Blaise was momentarily stunned. The emotions inside her own head began to churn, a maelstrom beating at the edges of her mind as anger, depression and a sense of inevitability battled for dominance. The only outward sign of the emotional struggle being the hot tears threatening to break free of their ducts.
“I… I shouldn’t have to justify myself to you!” She exclaimed. Doug laughed bitterly.
“That’s because there’s nothing to care about! Stop wasting our time!” inside his head, everything was beginning to turn red and the sound of distant screams began to echo through his skull.
Blaise took a step forward, her features hardening.
“If you truly believe that then why are you still here? Why pretend our friendship even mattered to you? Why go through the motions of trying to socialise with Gratin and I if there’s nothing here worth caring about?” she seethed, staring him down. Doug stared back, unblinking. The screams were getting louder as they reverberated through his brain. It was getting difficult to hold onto the moment…
“Because they wouldn’t want me to be alone!”
“Who’s they?!” asked the bewildered Blaise, confusion adding to the storm within. Gratin felt it too, not just due to empathy. Although there was something else sitting on the edge of his senses. Something focused. Something watching. Something close by.
The Mage cast his eyes over the entry ways to the various darkened offices and computer rooms connecting to their narrow corridor, a small fireball blinking into existence within his palm.
“My friends-”
“Fuck off Archie, this has nothing to do with you!”
“Don’t snap at him! You need to calm down!”
“Stop telling me what I need!” There was laughter now too, mingling with the screams. It was deep and left Doug feeling sick to the bone. The red was slowly subsiding, revealing the ancient ruins of Jehoth IV under the cold, alien night sky.
“Fine! Shall I stop talking to you altogether? Do you want me to just disappear? Would that make you happy, McCracken? Because everything else I could possibly do is clearly wasted on you!”
“Maybe you should!”
“Then you can get on with what you came here for!”
“Good!” There was blood soaking into the ancient stones. Three fresh corpses lay before him.
“Send Salmanic my regards!”
“…Salmanic?” Doug stared at her with unfocused eyes. In his head, he was looking beyond the corpses, at some crates at the opposite end of the room. There was a familiar logo emblazoned on them.
“I’m sure you’re going to love being their new lapdog!” she practically spat the words, hatred oozing from her voice. Doug was still staring at the imaginary logo: a blue diamond with entwining ‘S’s etched within it.
“I FUCKING HATE SALMANIC INC!”
Movement to his right. The glint of light reflecting off a blade. Blaise could just about make out the silhouette of the largest Dark Worlder. Doug saw an eight foot tall, fully armoured war lord covered in blood. His mates’ blood. Kraken.
Before anyone else could react, Doug let out a feral scream, pivoted to face the crouching figure in the doorway and pounced. He caught the figure around the waist, tackling him, the two men tumbling into the room and out of sight. There were crashing sounds, furniture being broken, the startled cries of the surprised Dark Worlder and more of Doug’s rage-filled screams followed by what sounded like a wall collapsing.
Blaise stood stock still, shocked. Gratin tore his gaze away from where Doug had disappeared, focusing instead on Blaise.
“…Mistress?” he placed a hand tentatively on her shoulder. She began to shake under his touch, the tears beginning to run freely. Gratin removed his hand, startled.
“I should’ve seen the signs…” she muttered, barely audible. The anger had disappeared now. Gratin could still sense the fear and sadness but they were being thawed out by what Gratin could only describe as compassion.
“What signs were those?” he asked, bewildered. Blaise was rubbing her eyes, drying them as best she could.
“He only ever talked about Jehoth IV when he was drunk…”
“…That was the battle where he lost his arm, correct?”
“He lost more than that. I think I get it now. Why he wanted to come out here…why he wanted to take this stupid job… he had the exact same plan as them…”
“As who?”
“We need to find him.”
Blaise strode to the door Doug had vanished through, determined. Gratin didn’t share the sentiment.
“He was quite clear in his feelings towards us…”
“He didn’t mean it. Not really,” Blaise assured the mage. Gratin stared back, silent as ever. Blaise sighed as she realised Gratin clearly was feeling sceptical.
“He has survivors guilt. I’ve seen it before. Experienced it first hand when I was younger. Doug’s got it bad. Normally he’s good at hiding it but since we took this job…” she shook her head, deciding not to go too far in explaining her private moments with Doug, “the point is, he’s not thinking clearly right now. I’m not about to abandon him.”
“He gave you little reason to stay…”
“Gratin, please, I need to fix this. I need your help,” she pleaded, turning determined eyes towards him. He didn’t need an empathic ability to know that she would go to find their lost comrade regardless of whether or not she had his support. He also had no intention of letting the people he cared about run into danger without him either.
He turned to face the doorway, sending some small, marble sized fireballs through it to illuminate the room beyond. The furniture inside was now smashed and broken, the flimsy plaster wall opposite them now sporting a fresh hole.
“I sense that they haven’t strayed too far. It should not take long to find them,” stated Gratin, causing Blaise to smile.
“Thanks, Gratin. I owe you one.”
The flimsy plaster gave way as the two grappling men tumbled through the wall, into the server room. Rolling apart, Doug grasped the first thing he could reach – a computer monitor – and threw it into the face of his enemy, sending him recoiling backwards.
It was hard to stay focused, Doug’s vision alternating between the server room and the ancient ruins on Jehoth IV. The six foot Dark Worlder in the pristine uniform and the large swords strapped to his back instead appeared to be a seven foot tall green gentleman with white dreadlocks wearing silver power armour, his wrist gauntlets equipped with retractable blades.
The Dark Worlder panted heavily, lost as to why this Lusinian was suddenly so hostile towards him. He grunted, punched his open palm and chanted under his breath.
“Kraglag tenag zr fgeratgu!” there was a pulse, his muscles expanding. Doug lunged, swinging his bionic fist. The Dark Worlder – no, Kraken – caught it. The warlord sneered, battered the startled soldier’s attack aside and upper-cutted Doug across the room. Doug bounced on the linoleum floor, rolled, leapt to his feet and charged, too angry to pay pain any mind. He feigned another left hook, darting right at the last minute and slamming his right fist into Kraken’s gut as the warlord attempted to block the blow that never came. Hitting him was like hitting concrete, Kraken laughing the attack off and swiping at the mercenary in an effort to grab him. Doug weaved out of the way, grasping Kraken’s wrist and spinning on his heel, heaving the warlord over head. Kraken was slammed into the ground, the floor cracking from the impact. He was unfazed, sweeping his leg in an attempt to trip the soldier. Doug leapt over it, launching himself into an elbow drop. It landed, the warlord winded as Doug’s full weight slammed into his gut. Doug scrambled to manoeuvrer himself so he could pin the warlord to the floor and wrap his hands around his neck, ramming Kraken’s head into the ground and increasing the pressure on his windpipe.
Getting angry now, Kraken lashed out at the soldier with one of his blades, slashing at his thighs. Doug yelped in pain, his grip slackening enough for Kraken to force himself free, knocking Doug’s human arm aside and shoving the mercenary off. The warlord sheathed his blade and laughed as he straightened up but Doug remained on the attack, flinging himself into another charge.
“I find you amusing, little one! You make interesting sparring partner!” the Dark Worlder proclaimed as he grabbed Doug’s incoming fist. Doug snarled. In his mind, Kraken was mocking him.
“It is such shame that fight must end in death. Maybe in another life, eh sevraq?” the large man continued, raising his arm and lifting Doug in the process. Doug’s legs kicked uselessly as they left the ground behind, the Dark Worlder turning and tossing the merc into the wall with minimum effort. Doug bounced as he hit the floor, scrambling back to his feet. The Dark Worlder approached, drawing the blade from his back.
“You fought honourably, there’s no shame in that,” the Big Man continued.
“Fuck you!” Doug yelled, his vision still clouded with images of the long dead warlord. The merc charged at his foe.
“I do not recognise word-oof!” the Big Man had swung the blade forward, expecting to connect with the rampaging merc only for Doug to dart to the left and bury his bionic fist into the big man’s side. The Big Man doubled over, Doug withdrawing his fist and grabbing a clump of the Big Man’s hair, holding his head still as he repeatedly rammed his clenched fist into the Dark Worlders nose. Once. Twice. Three times. The fourth didn’t connect, the Big Man grabbing it and slamming his other arm’s elbow into Doug’s chest. He then grabbed Doug’s head and dragged him into his knee before slamming the hilt of his weapon into the back of Doug’s head. Doug groaned in pain, the big man shoving him back to the floor.
“That was not polite, sevraq,” the Big Man berated the mercenary. Doug spat out a glob of blood in answer.
“I find the entertainment waning. I think it is time to end this, don’t you?” the Dark Worlder continued, raising his blade with the intent to impale the merc. Doug rolled aside as it arched downwards, barely avoiding having his innards spilt over the concrete floor.
“Tbyyl, there’s still fight in you! Admirable!” the Big Man cooed in appreciation. He lashed out at Doug, attempting to slash him, Doug barely managing to stay out of reach with the razor-sharp tip. He ducked and weaved, seconds away from feeling steel slicing flesh as he avoided the slashing attacks of the Dark Worlder.
It was still Kraken pressing the attack as far as he was concerned. They weren’t in a room filled with computer banks but rather the toppled ruins of an alien civilisation, just the two of them under an alien sky. It came as a surprise when Doug spotted some additional movement out of the corner of his eye. Two figures stood in one of the ancient stone archways, although he only paid attention to one of them; an angelic Valkyrie. Her skin was so pale it glowed against the black backdrop of the night sky. Large, brown feathered wings spread out behind her. Rather than hair, a jet of flame flowed from her scalp, wafting freely in the wind behind her, but it was her face that Doug focused on. She looked worried – no, terrified – as she observed the combat before her. It caused Doug to hesitate.
“Angel?” he whispered before pain erupted in his abdomen. He had hesitated a second too long. Kraken had impaled him with his blade. Doug became aware of only two things; the intense pain running through him, and the sound of his angel screaming his name.
Post by Sam | August 20, 2022 at 12:01 am | The Mercenaries' Tale | No comment
Tags: Allan Parkinson, Angel, Annie Stone, Blaise, Dark Worlders, Doug McCracken, Galmanoc, Gratin, Kraken, magic and mages, Salmanic Incorporated, Salmanic pipeline, Thad the Gentleman, Tupper, Twigarnians