WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE - [2 OF 4] - (Revised on 6/18/24)
A gentle breeze blew along the sandy beach, cooling her sweaty bare legs. I'm home. She laid her head back, closing her weary eyes and drifted off. Strange dreams of mysterious, far-off places filled with horrifying creatures and dangers galore filled her mind. She shifted uncomfortably and the icy beer bottle in one barely closed hand slipped unnoticed from Dahl's grasp. It sank into the sand straight up. Cold suds geysered from its open mouth.
"Hey," a distant voice beckoned from somewhere just beyond sight. "Hey."
Dahl's empty hand vibrated with a white knuckled fury. A scarcely controlled energy built in her chest. She fidgeted in her sleep. Things chased her through the dark. She sat up straight, eyes wide, and called out, "Carlos."
The thick layer of stark, white suntan lotion covering Dahl's nose tickled down her cheeks. One boy saw it and laughed. Dahl grabbed the beach towel hanging from the chair arm and wiped it away red faced. A random idea occurred to her. What about the UV?
She stared down at a perfect imprint of nose against a blood red towel and a chill race up her spine. The stray beer bottle caught her attention, and she picked it up, happily realizing it wasn't empty and drank deep. It was ice cold.
Gentle waves licked Dahl's feet, threatening to swallow her up. She kicked sand at them. Tide's coming in, she thought, holding her ground. In the near distance, a flock of screeching gulls hung, suspended on invisible strings, using the rising thermals to search for muscles in the churning surf. A clear blue sky filled her view and the scent of the seaweed and grilling barbeque sauce wafted through the air. She sighed and thought, I'm home.
Mary Kelly, a short, pretty girl Dahl knew from high school, ran up, plopped down hard beside her, splashing up a wave of gritty water that covered her legs. Dahl frowned and pushed her feet into the oncoming waves. The scratchy sand lifted and floated away in the swirling current.
Mary leaned in, placed a cupped hand over Dahl's mouth, and grabbed the beer bottle in her hand. Dahl flinched, trying to raise the bottle to strike Mary as her eyelids narrowed and a stream of garbled expletives struggled to break through Mary's Kelly's giant fingers. Mary leaned even closer, placed her lips on Dahl's earlobe and breathed the words, "Dahl, wake up. They're here. Wake the fuck up."
Dahl's eyelids burst apart. Eve knelt over her with one giant black hand cupping her mouth, spider-leg fingers preventing her from crying out. The other black claw held the knife gripped in Dahl's struggling hand. When Eve was certain Dahl was aware, she released the blade and placed her forefinger over her own lips in a shushing gesture. "Quiet," she warned, drawing her hand away from Dahl's mouth. Eve lifted Dahl into a sitting position, touched her own ear and mouthed the word listen. Eve pointed towards the jungle on the other side of an enormous downed tree cloaking the boulder they slept on.
At first, Dahl heard nothing, but then the faint sound of someone speaking drifted over the tree. There was a man nearby. She struggled to make out what was being said, but the thick vegetation beyond the fallen tree made it difficult to hear or pinpoint where the voice was coming from. Dahl didn't know how far away the speaker was, but determined he was too close.
Eve gestured from her own eyes to Dahl's and then towards the voice. She motioned for Dahl to follow and keep low. Dahl followed her to a nearby tree trunk, and they peeked over. A line of trampled vegetation ran along the side of the log. From the looks of the trampled trail, Dahl guessed a small contingent of men had passed by, less than fifteen feet from them. The fallen timber had done an admirable job of cloaking their presence because everything else of M6-117 had proven to be dangerous. Why should these people prove to be any different?
The two women didn't have to go far before receiving their first shock. When they slid over the outer edge of the fallen tree and landed in the recently knocked down path, they noticed many sets of footprints. And considering how close these people had passed by them, it was just lucky that neither she nor Eve had been making a noise in their sleep.
Dahl and Eve followed the path until coming to a point in the trail where the path had closed back over. Apparently, the jungle was messing with these people, too.
The voice was clearer now. Eve reached through the bushes between her and the voice, hand stopping just short of coming out the other side. When the edge of her palm emerged into the clearing, Eve spread her fingers wide and closed her eyes. A thin red slit expanded outward from the center point of her palm and a set of vertical eyelids took shape. A sharp tearing pain seized her palm as the eyelids opened wide, revealing a bloody, eyeless socket. In the void, an 8 pupils eye formed and rolled lazily. It homed in on its target.
A complement of armored soldiers held a group of bound prisoners at gunpoint in the center of a large clearing.
Dahl tapped Eve on the shoulder and shot her a puzzled look. Eve turned, eyes still closed and withdrew her hand from the bush. She held it out for inspection, and the oversized eye stopped an inch from Dahl's nose. It blinked twice and Dahl jumped back, toppling onto her backside with a barely contained squeak of surprise.
Fortunately, at the same moment, one prisoner made an impromptu escape attempt. He leapt up, took two loud, crashing steps away from his equally huge captor before a heavy buttstock struck the back of his neck. The man sprawled forwards as a blinding sea of stars filled his shrinking vision. The armored guard who struck him fell to his knees, grabbing the back of his own head and vomited. When the guard drew his hand away, blood filled his palm.
Barely aware of the commotion on the other side of the thick shrub, Eve jammed her hand back inside the bush. Dahl struggled to right herself, making no noise. Eve's reddening expression became apologetic as she mouthed the word, sorry.
After the initial shock wore off, Dahl grabbed Eve's other hand, inspected her palm closely for signs of a second eye, and mouthed the words. That was exceptional. Eve shrugged, nodded and gestured for Dahl to turn towards the clearing. Eve pressed her torso into the bush and Dahl did the same, both stopping just short of toppling out the other side.
A slender, blond-haired man wearing a meticulously kept ceremonial priest robe stood at the center of a ring of five large prisoners kneeling in submission. He looked indifferent to the guards' pain. "I warned you," he said. "Anything that happens to one happens to the other." He pointed at the guard, grimacing at a handful of blood. "As an example, I give you, Sergeant Dipshit." He walked up to the giant who towered over him, gestured to his bloody hand, and said, "In the future, I suggest you muster the remaining two brain cells rattling around in that empty melon you call a head and pay attention when I speak."
"This guy's a dick." Dahl said in a barely audible whisper that Eve more saw by reading Dahl's lips, then hearing her voice.
The tiny hairs on the back of Eve's neck stood on end, and she flashed Dahl a foreboding look. She brought a forefinger to her lips in a shushing gesture, nodded and mouthed, Purifier.
The Purifier moved back to the center of the clearing, looked down at a large bald man with grotesque scars furrowing his face, and called the only man with his back to Eve and Dahl. Neither woman could make out the man's face, but Dahl suspected it was ugly. They're all ugly. She could see their ugliness in the way they carried themselves. Like hulking cave dwellers. No. Not cave dwellers. Like feral animals.
The Purifier looked down at the kneeling man. "Do tell Commander Krone, exactly what did you expect to accomplish by coming down here? Did you believe your misguided meddling or traitorous misdeeds could prevent me from reaching the obelisk or prevent me from bringing him back?"
"Purifier," the man on his knees spat the name as if it tasted foul on his tongue. "How many deaths are you responsible for? A million? A hundred million? Maybe billions?"
"More." he answered with a polite smile. "Oh, so very many more." Purifier drew out a long thin dagger from the inside of his thick robe and held it out for inspection. "Knives are such crude weapons. Wouldn't you agree? I much prefer killing with my mind. Much less messy. More... intimate." Purifier looked at the armored men in his company and added, "Such weapons are fine commoners. But not for a man of the cloth."
"Man of the cloth," Krone said, and laughed sarcastically. "And what cloth might that be? A funeral shroud. You destroy everything you touch, monster."
Purifier shook his head. "Judge me not, boot licker. For I, like my father before me, am the man he created to be."
"You're no man."
"Correct. I am a hero." Purifier replied. "And had you maintained a modicum of patience, you could have experienced the coming glory for yourself." He turned to the guard standing over Krone, and added, "But, as it stands, you may have fallen from the Lord Marshal's favor."
"I am the Lord Marshal's favorite." The guard replied.
The Purifier turned to him, looked with an air of doubt and said, "Time will tell, old friend. Just pray we do not linger here for long, or your fate may veer onto a similar path.."
"I've lived under the tyranny of your so-called Lord Marshal's ill-fated favor for far too long," the kneeling man cut in. "I follow no more."
"As always, the choice is yours," the Purifier said, regarding him through cold slits. "But if you cannot see the truth for yourself, I can drag you to it." Purifier pressed the edge of the dagger against Krone's throat and said, "Sadly, your new found resolve may require a return to the old ways." He paused, raised the dagger high in the air.
Krone raised his chin, exposing his throat, daring him to strike, and glared.
"As you wish." Purifier paused and added, "Any last words?"
Krone thought for a moment and then said, "Fuck you and your fallen father. I pray you both die screaming. "
Purifier locked him in a dark glare, leaned in close, slid the dagger back inside his robe and said, "Such bravery in the face of certain death. I would have never imagined it from a gutless coward like you." He turned to the man with his back to Eve and Dahl, staring at him as daring him to disagree and said, "Fortunately, it appears your benefactor still requires your services. In the future…If you have a future… I suggest you do not press your luck again." Purifier turned back to commander Krone, and added, "I suppose it falls upon me to undo your mistakes." He turned to the standing guard and added, "Again."
Krone's unseen captor kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling on his ass. "And what makes you think I want a traitorous prick like you rattling around in my head?" the guard replied, rubbing his chest. "You're a fucking disgrace to us both. How do I explain this shit to the Lord Marshal when I get back to the armada? He's going to think if you're a traitor, I am as well."
"Technically… you are," Purifier said with a grin. "As you well know. When the timelines merge; as they have here, two become one. His choices will more than likely become yours."
"Son of a bitch," the hulk guard said, towering over Krone. He stood there snarling, weapon raised above his head. "I ought to-"
"Do none of you cretins listen?" Purifier asked, cutting in before the weapon came down on Krone's skull. "If not for the Lord Marshal's implicit instructions, I would let you bash your own brains out and be done with your stupidity once and for all."
"Fuck you, little man."
"Someday you will no longer be in favor."
"But that day is not today."
Dahl's sore ankle gave way. Pain shot up her calf and she toppled out of the bushes, landing face down in the dirt. No one in the clearing heard the commotion or saw her impromptu entrance. She looked up, holding off the urge to choke on the dirt in her mouth, and looked around, partly in shock, and partly in angry disbelief. It would do no good for her to jump up and run. He would undoubtedly shoot her in the back a split second after the first twig snapped underfoot.
Eve studied the group, their positions relative to one another and thought, even with surprise on my side, I can't cross the gap and take down more than one or two out before the rest open up on us. And Dahl has no chance of defending herself with a knife.
Eve motioned for Dahl to lie low. She wanted her to hold position. It was because she recognized gravity rifles and remembered what it felt like to be shot by one of those infernal weapons. It was like being struck by a runaway freight train. One minute you're walking along without a care in the world, and the next, bang, boom, you're a shattered bag of bones and burst organs, wondering what the fuck just happened.
It was the memory of that searing pain, combined with the sudden realization of who was standing at the center of the group, that unleashed Eve's repressed memories. Memories of a blinding, sterile light over an icy stainless steel lab table.
The men who abducted Eve dragged her kicking and screaming, strapped her to the table, gagged her mouth and pulled a thin black shroud over her head. And then, the man at the center of the group came in with a team of worker bees and dissected her like a specimen stuck on a pin.
All the long dormant images came crashing down on Eve's head, and everything, jungle, sky, men, even Dahl spun around her. Eve's breath caught. She fought a desperate battle to stuff the sights and sounds back in her head. But then, the lid of Pandora's box exploded wide and the dark thing inside Eve crawled out and looked around.
"Necromongers," it hissed, long forked tongue licking the scent off the air. The word reverberated outward and Dahl heard it as did someone on the other side of the bushes.
The nearest man looked toward the bushes, saw Dahl flat against the ground and thought the voice had come from her. Eve's heart pounded in her ears, her head swam in the murky pools of blood-soaked visions left by her Necromonger captors. Mindless rage fueled by waking nightmares stripped away her humanity and she crouched like a coiled spring.
Necromongers aren't known for their compassion and Eve's captors had certainly not shown her any when she was their guest. Lord Marshal Zhylaw had not only allowed Eve's mutilation, he had ordered it. Eve had never been a Necromonger. No conscription; no conversion. No mutilation. Eve was a mutilated lab experiment wired into a mainframe terminal in the Lord Marshal's basilica class warship. All the while, the Lord Marshal's science officer poked and prodded and studied her every neural response, looking to improve computer response times during battle conditions. And now, that sadistic son of a bitch stood not much over 20 yards away from her.
Her fists balled, talons sank into the flesh of her palms, and droplets of blood fell at her sides only to stream back on to her feet and dissolve into the thick black hide. "Fucking Bastard," she said, voice coming out in a low guttural growl.
Eve didn't care if the Necros shot her. She meant to end them all, at any cost. And if they killed her, at least, this nightmare would finally be over. But she would ensure that demise didn't happen until she was holding the Purifier's severed head in her hands.
She was well aware she could be on him before anyone could stop her. Two giant bounding leaps and he would be hers. A rag doll caught in a rending typhoon of teeth and talon. She wouldn't survive their weapons fire, but neither would he.
The armed man closest to the voice reeled around, faced the prone figure, and raised his weapon to his shoulder, ready to fire. Dahl didn't react. If she moved, he would kill her. He stared at bushes behind the body, trying to see if someone was there.
Dahl's heart skipped a beat as Eve's sudden and untimely transformation built towards its inevitable crescendo. Not now, she thought. Not now. Hold it back. She reached back slowly, expecting Eve to lash out, but took Eve by the hand. To Dahl's considerable relief, Eve made no outward sign of aggression.
Eve fought her darker instincts. No matter how much she wanted the Purifier's head, she wouldn't allow herself to be selfish. Besides, she'd probably get her and Dahl killed. So, she transformed back, glaring at the man. Then she gently squeezed Dahl's hand and mouthed the word thanks. Dahl nodded and swallowed her heart.
The giant statue stared in their direction for what seemed like ten minutes, but it had only been 30 seconds before he turned his gaze back to the man kneeling in front of him. But why? The man had seen her. She was certain of it. But he turned away as if he hadn't.
Dahl let out a tenuous sigh of relief and looked at Eve with an expression that said, we just got lucky. Maybe? Then she noticed something odd about the giant and the kneeling prisoner to his front. If not for the obvious differences in their complexions- one sun bleached and tan; the other pallid and ghostly- they could have been twins. They could be the same man. They are the same man, she thought, turning to Eve with an expression of puzzlement.
A twig snapped behind them, and they knew someone was watching them. Dahl felt a strange sensation course not over her body, but through it and then, just as suddenly as the feeling came, everything around them slowed to a crawl. Then, the world simply stopped as if someone had pressed a pause button on a video.
Dahl turned and saw a tall, slim figure wearing a dark, careworn hooded robe. The robe was ancient and tattered. Its once ornate and colorful embroidery had turned a multitude of varying grays. The figure reminded her of the grim reaper. The eyes inside the deep hood simmered like opalescent pearls caught in the bright light.
Dahl lounged on her cherished beach chair, legs stretched out, ankles soaking in the salty surf. God, she thought. This feels good. She lifted her right foot in the air, calf muscle becoming tight as a group of nearby boys ogled her intently. She made little circles with her toes and smiled at them. An old straw hat and neon pink sunglasses protected her face from the blazing noonday suns.
A gentle breeze blew along the sandy beach, cooling her sweaty bare legs. It felt good to be home again. She laid her head back, closing her weary eyes and drifted off. Strange dreams of mysterious, far off places filled with horrifying creatures and dangers galore filled her mind. She shifted uncomfortably and the icy beer bottle in one barely closed hand slipped unnoticed from Dahl's grasp. It sank into the sand straight up. Cold suds geysered from its open mouth.
"Hey," a distant voice beckoned from somewhere just beyond sight. "Hey."
Dahl's empty hand vibrated with a white knuckled fury. A scarcely controlled energy built in her chest. She fidgeted in her sleep. Things chased her through the dark. She sat up straight, eyes wide and called out, "Carlos."
The thick layer of stark, white suntan lotion covering Dahl's nose tickled down her cheeks. One of the boys saw it and laughed. Dahl grabbed the beach towel hanging from the chair arm and wiped it away red faced. A random idea occurred to her. What about the UV?
She stared down at a perfect imprint of nose against a blood red towel and felt a chill race up her spine. The stray beer bottle caught her attention and she picked it up, happy realizing it wasn't empty and drank deep. It was ice cold.
Gentle waves licked Dahl's feet, threatening to swallow her up. She kicked sand at them. Tide's coming In, she thought, holding her ground. In the near distance, a flock of screeching gulls hung, suspended on invisible strings, using the rising thermals to search for muscles in the churning surf. A clear blue sky filled her view and the scent of the seaweed and grilling barbeque sauce wafted through the air. She sighed and thought, I'm home.
Mary Kelly, a short, pretty girl Dahl knew from high school, ran up, plopped down hard beside her, splashing up a wave of gritty water that covered her legs. Dahl frowned and pushed her feet into the oncoming waves. The scratchy sand lifted up and floated away on the swirling currents.
Mary leaned in, placed a cupped hand over Dahl's mouth and grabbed the beer bottle in her hand. Dahl flinched, trying to raise the bottle to strike Mary as her eyelids narrowed and a stream of garbled expletives struggled to break through Mary's Kelly's giant fingers. Mary leaned even closer, placed her lips on Dahl's earlobe and breathed the words, "Dahl, wake up. They're here. Wake the fuck up."
Dahl's eyelids burst apart. Eve knelt over her with one giant black hand cupping her mouth, spider-leg fingers preventing her from crying out. The other black claw held the knife gripped in Dahl's struggling hand. When Eve was certain Dahl was aware, she released the blade and placed her forefinger over her own lips in a shushing gesture. "Quiet," she warned, drawing her hand away from Dahl's mouth. Eve lifted Dahl into a sitting position, touched her own ear and mouthed the word listen. Eve pointed towards the jungle on the other side of an enormous downed tree cloaking the boulder they slept on.
At first, Dahl heard nothing, but then, the faint sound of someone speaking drifted over the tree. There was a man nearby. She struggled to make out what was being said, but the thick vegetation beyond the fallen tree made it difficult to hear or pinpoint where the voice was coming from. Dahl didn't know how far away the speaker was, but determined he was too close.
Eve gestured from her own eyes to Dahl's and then towards the voice. She motioned for Dahl to follow and keep low. Dahl followed her to a nearby tree trunk and they peeked over. A line of trampled vegetation ran along the side of the log. From the looks of the trampled trail, Dahl guessed a small contingent of men had passed by, less than fifteen feet from them. The fallen timber had done an admirable job of cloaking their presence because everything else of M6-117 had proven to be dangerous. Why should these people prove to be any different?
The two women didn't have to go far before receiving their first shock. When they slid over the outer edge of the fallen tree and landed in the recently knocked down path, they noticed many sets of footprints. And considering how close these people had passed by them, it was just lucky that neither she or Eve had been making noise in their sleep.
Dahl and Eve followed the path until coming to a point in the trail where the path had closed back over. Apparently, the jungle was messing with these people, too.
The voice was clearer now. Eve reached through the bushes between her and the voice, hand stopping just short of coming out the other side. When the edge of her palm emerged into the clearing, Eve spread her fingers wide and closed her eyes. A thin red slit expanded outward from the center point of her palm and a set of vertical eyelids took shape. A sharp tearing pain seized her palm as the eyelids opened wide, revealing a bloody, eyeless socket. In the void, an 8 pupils eye formed and rolled lazily. It homed in on its target.
A complement of armored soldiers held a group of bound prisoners at gunpoint in the center of a large clearing.
Dahl tapped Eve on the shoulder and shot her a puzzled look. Eve turned, eyes still closed and withdrew her hand from the bush. She held it out for inspection, and the oversized eye stopped an inch from Dahl's nose. It blinked twice and Dahl jumped back, toppling onto her backside with a barely contained squeak of surprise.
Fortunately, at the same moment, one of the prisoners made an impromptu escape attempt. The giant prisoner leapt up, took two loud, crashing steps away from his equally huge captor before a heavy buttstock struck the back of his neck. The man sprawled forwards as a blinding sea of stars filled his shrinking vision. The armored guard who struck him fell to his knees, grabbing the back of his own head and vomited. When the guard drew his hand away, blood filled his palm.
Barely aware of the commotion on the other side of the thick shrub, Eve jammed her hand back inside the bush. Dahl struggled to right herself, without making any noise, Eve's reddening expression became apologetic as she mouthed the word, sorry.
After the initial shock wore off, Dahl grabbed Eve's other hand, inspected her palm closely for signs of a second eye, and mouthed the words. That was awesome. Eve shrugged, nodded and gestured for Dahl to turn towards the clearing. Eve pressed her torso into the bush and Dahl did the same, both stopping just short of toppling out the other side.
A slender, blond-haired man wearing a meticulously kept ceremonial priest robe stood at the center of a ring of five large prisoners kneeling in submission. He looked indifferent to the guards' pain. "I did warn you," he said. "Anything that happens to one, happens to the other." He pointed at the guard, grimacing at a handful of blood. "As an example, I give you, Sergeant Dipshit." He walked up to the giant who towered over him, gestured to his bloody hand, and said, "In the future, I suggest you muster the remaining two brain cells rattling around in that empty melon you call a head and pay attention when I speak."
"This guy's a dick." Dahl said in a barely audible whisper that Eve more saw by reading Dahl's lips, then hearing her voice.
The tiny hairs on the back of Eve's neck stood on end, and she flashed Dahl a foreboding look. She brought a forefinger to her lips in a shushing gesture, nodded and mouthed, Purifier.
The Purifier moved back to the center of the clearing, looked down at a large bald man with grotesque scars furrowing his face and called the only man with his back to Eve and Dahl. Neither woman could make out the man's face, but Dahl suspected it was ugly. They're all ugly. She could see their ugliness in the way they carried themselves. Like hulking cavemen. No. Not cavemen. Like feral animals.
The Purifier looked down at the kneeling man. "Do tell, Commander Krone, exactly what did you expect to accomplish by coming down here? Did you believe your misguided meddling or traitorous misdeeds could prevent me from reaching the obelisk or prevent me from bringing him back?"
"Purifier," the man on his knees spat the name as if it tasted foul on his tongue. "How many deaths are you responsible for? A million? A hundred million? Maybe billions?"
"More." he answered with a polite smile. "Oh so very many more." Purifier drew out a long thin dagger from the inside of his thick robe and held it out for inspection. "Knives are such crude weapons. Wouldn't you agree? I much prefer killing with my mind. Much less messy. More... intimate." Purifier looked at the armored men in his company and added, "Such weapons are fine commoners. But not for a man of the cloth."
"Man of the cloth," Krone said, and laughed sarcastically. "And what cloth might that be? A funeral shroud. You destroy everything you touch, monster."
Purifier shook his head. "Judge me not, boot licker. For I, like my father before me, am the man I was created to be."
"You are no man."
"Correct. I am a hero." Purifier replied. "And had you maintained a modicum of patience, you could have experienced the coming glory for yourself." He turned to the guard standing over Krone, and added, "But, as it stands, you may have fallen from the Lord Marshal's favor."
"I am the Lord Marshal's favorite." The guard replied.
The Purifier turned to him, looked with an air of doubt and said, "Time will tell. Pray we do not linger here for long, or your fate may be sealed, as well."
"I've lived under the tyranny of your so-called Lord Marshal's ill-fated favor for far too long." the kneeling man cut in. "I follow no more."
"As always, The choice is yours." the Purifier said, regarding him through cold slits. "But if you cannot see the truth for yourself, you can be dragged to it." Purifier pressed the edge of the dagger against Krone's throat and said, "Sadly, your new found resolve may require a return to the old ways." He paused, raised the dagger high in the air.
Krone raised his chin, exposing his throat, daring him to strike, and glared.
"As you wish." Purifier paused and added, "Any last words?"
Krone thought for a moment and then said, "Fuck you and your fallen father. I pray you both die screaming. "
Purifier locked him in a dark glare, leaned in close, slid the dagger back inside his robe and said, "Such bravery in the face of certain death. I would have never imagined it from a gutless coward like you." He turned to the man with his back to Eve and Dahl, staring at him as daring him to disagree and said, "Fortunately, it appears your benefactor still requires your services. In the future…If you have a future… I suggest you do not press your luck again." Purifier turned back to commander Krone, and added, "I suppose it falls upon me to undo your mistakes." He turned to the standing guard and added, "Again."
Krone's unseen captor kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling on his ass, "And what makes you think I want a traitorous prick like you rattling around in my head?" the guard replied, rubbing his chest. "You're a fucking disgrace to us both. How do I explain this shit to the Lord Marshal when I get back to the armada? He's going to think if you're a traitor, I am as well."
"Technically… you are." Purifier said with a grin. "As you well know. When the timelines merge; as they have here, two become one. His choices will more than likely become yours."
"Son of a bitch." the hulk guard said, towering over Krone. He stood there snarling, weapon raised above his head. "I ought to-"
"Do none of you cretins listen?" Purifier asked, cutting in before the weapon came down on Krone's skull. "If not for the Lord Marshal's implicit instructions, I would let you bash your own brains out and be done with your stupidity, once and for all."
"Fuck you, little man."
"Someday you will no longer be in favor."
"But that day is not today."
Dahl's sore ankle gave way, pain shot up her calf and she toppled out of the bushes, landing face down in the dirt. No one in the clearing heard the commotion or saw her impromptu entrance. She looked up, holding off the urge to choke on the dirt in her mouth and looked around partly in shock, and partly in angry disbelief. It would do no good for her to jump up and run. She would undoubtedly be shot by the back a split second after the first twig snapped under foot.
Eve studied the group, their positions relative to one another and thought, even with surprise on my side, I can't cross the gap and take down more than one or two out before the rest open up on us. And Dahl has no chance of defending herself with a knife.
Eve motioned for Dahl to lay low. She wanted her to hold position. It was because she recognized gravity rifles and remembered what it felt like to be shot by one of those infernal weapons. It was like being struck by a runaway freight train. One minute you're walking along without a care in the world, and the next, smack, bang, boom, you're a shattered bag of bones and burst organs, wondering what the fuck just happened.
It was the memory of that searing pain, combined with the sudden realization of who was standing at the center of the group, that unleashed Eve's repressed memories. Memories of a blinding, sterile light over an icy stainless steel lab table.
The men who abducted Eve, dragged her kicking and screaming, strapped her to the table, gagged her mouth and pulled a thin, black shroud over her head. And then, the man at the center of the group came in with a team of worker bees and dissected her like a specimen stuck on a pin.
All the long dormant images came crashing down on Eve's head, and everything, jungle, sky, men, even Dahl spun around her. Eve's breath caught. She fought a desperate batle to stuff the sights and sounds back in her head. But then, the lid of Pandora's box exploded wide and the dark thing inside Eve crawled out and looked around.
"Necromongers," it hissed, long forked tongue licking the scent off the air. The word reverberated outward and Dahl heard it as did someone on the other side of the bushes.
The nearest man looked toward the bushes, saw Dahl flat against the ground and thought the voice had come from her. Eve's heart pounded in her ears, her head swam in the murky pools of blood soaked visions left by her Necromonger captors. Mindless rage fueled by waking nightmares stripped away her humanity and she crouched like a coiled spring.
Necromongers aren't known for their compassion and Eve's captors had certainly not shown her any when she was their guest. Lord Marshal Zhylaw had not only allowed Eve's mutilation, he had ordered it. Eve had never been a Necromonger. No conversion; no allegiance; no service. Just mutilation. Eve was a mutilated lab experiment wired into a mainframe terminal in the Lord Marshal's basilica class warship. All the while, the Lord Marshal's science officer poked and prodded and studied her every neural response, looking to improve computer response times during battle conditions. And now, that sadistic son of a bitch stood not much over 20 yards away from her.
Her fists balled, talons sank into the flesh of her palms, and droplets of blood fell at her sides only to stream back on to her feet and dissolve into the thick black hide. "Fucking Bastard," she said, voice coming out in a low guttural growl.
Eve didn't care if the Necros did shoot her, she meant to end them all, at any cost. And if they did kill her, at least, this nightmare would finally be over. But she would ensure that demise didn't happen until she was holding the Purifier's severed head in her hands.
She was well aware she could be on him before anyone could stop her. Two giant bounding leaps and he would be hers. A rag doll caught in a rending typhoon of teeth and talon. She wouldn't survive their weapons fire, but neither would he.
The armed man closest to the voice reeled around, faced the prone figure and raised his weapon to his shoulder, ready to fire. Dahl didn't react. If she moved he would kill her. He stared at bushes behind the body, trying see if someone was there.
Dahl's heart skipped a beat as Eve's sudden and untimely transformation built towards its inevitable crescendo. Not now, she thought. Not now. Hold it back. She reached back slowly, expecting Eve to lash out, but took Eve by the hand. To Dahl's considerable relief, Eve made no outward sign of aggression.
Eve fought her darker instincts. No matter how much she wanted the Purifier's head, she wouldn't allow herself to be selfish. Besides, she'd probably get her and Dahl killed. So, she transformed back, glaring at the man. Then she gently squeezed Dahl's hand and mouthed the word thanks. Dahl nodded and swallowed her heart.
The giant statue stared in their direction for what seemed like ten minutes, but it had only been 30 seconds before he turned his gaze back to the man kneeling in front of him. But why? The man had seen her. She was certain of it. But he turned away as if he hadn't.
Dahl let out a tenuous sigh of relief and looked at Eve with an expression that said, we just got lucky. Maybe? Then she noticed something odd about the giant and the kneeling prisoner to his front. If not for the obvious differences in their complexions- one sun bleached and tan; the other pallid and ghostly- they could have been twins. They could be the same man. They are the same man, she thought, turning to Eve with an expression of puzzlement.
A twig snapped behind them and they knew someone, or something was watching them. Dahl felt a strange sensation course not over her body, but through it and then, just as suddenly as the feeling came, everything around them slowed to a crawl. Then, the world simply stopped as if someone had pressed a pause button on a video.
Dahl turned and saw a tall, slim figure wearing a dark, careworn, hooded robe. The robe was ancient and tattered. Its once ornate and colorful embroidery had turned a multitude of varying grays. The figure reminded her of the grim reaper. The eyes inside the deep hood simmered like opalescent pearls caught in bright light.
Dahl lounged on her cherished beach chair, legs stretched out, ankles soaking in the salty surf. God, she thought. This feels good. She lifted her right foot in the air, calf muscle becoming tight as a group of nearby boys ogled her intently. She made little circles with her toes. An old straw hat and faded pink sunglasses protected her face from the blazing noonday suns.
The gentle breeze blowing along the beach cooled her sweaty bare legs. It felt good to be home. She laid her head back, closed her weary eyes and drifted off, dreaming of mysterious, far off places filled with horrifying creatures and dangers galore. An icy beer bottle hung in one barely closed hand. It slipped unnoticed from Dahl's grasp, and sank into the sand straight up. Cold suds geysered from its open mouth.
"Hey," a distant voice beckoned from somewhere just beyond sight.
Dahl's combat knife vibrated in white knuckled fury. She didnt know she held it. None of the boys ogling her noticed the knife or the scarcely controlled energy building in their object of desire.
A heavy layer of stark, white suntan lotion covered Dahl's nose, blotting out the harmful UV rays. It tickled down her cheek. One of the boys laughed and Dahl grabbed the beach towel hanging from the chair arm and wiped her nose. A random idea occurred to her. Aren't UV rays a good thing.
Dahl stared down at a perfect white imprint of nose against the blood red towel and wondered why she cared. She saw the stray beer bottle, picked it up, happy realized it was still full. Dahl drank and sighed. It was ice cold.
Gentle waves licked the white beach, coming closer with every new wave. Dahl kicked sand at the waves. Tide's coming In, she thought, holding her ground. In the near distance, a flock of screeching gulls used the rising thermals to search for muscles in the churning surf. They hung, suspended on invisible strings, waiting for just the right moment to dive. A clear blue sky filled her field of view and the scent of the seaweed and grilling barbeque sauce wafted through the air. She sighed and thought, I'm home.
Mary Kelly, a short, pretty girl Dahl knew from high school, ran up, plopped down hard beside her, splashing up a wave of gritty water that covered her feet. Dahl frowned and pushed her feet into the oncoming waves. Mary placed a cupped hand over Dahl's mouth, and grabbed the hand holding the knife. Dahl flinched and held the knife in a white knuckle grip . Her eyes exploded wide, as a stream of garbled expletives struggled to break free of Mary's grip. Mary leaned closer, placed her lips next to Dahl's earlobe and whispered, "Dahl, wake up. Their here. Wake the fuck up."
Dahl's eyelids burst open. Eve knelt over her with one giant black hand cupping her mouth, spider-leg fingers preventing her from crying out. The other hand held the knife gripped in Dahl's struggling hand. When Eve was certain Dahl was awake, she released the blade and placed her forefinger over her own lips in a shushing gesture. "Quiet," she whispered, drawing her hand away from Dahl's mouth. Eve lifted Dahl into a sitting position, touched her own ear and mouthed the word listen. Eve pointed towards the jungle on the other side of an enormous downed tree cloaking them. At first, Dahl heard nothing, but then, the faint sound of someone speaking drifted in. There was a man nearby. She struggled to make out what was being said, but the thick vegetation beyond the fallen trees made it difficult to hear or pinpoint where the voice was coming from. Dahl didn't know how far away the speaker was, but determined he was too close.
Eve gestured from her own eyes to Dahl's and then towards the voice. She motioned for Dahl to follow and keep low. Dahl followed her to a nearby tree trunk and they peeked over. A line of trampled vegetation ran along the side of the log. From the looks of the trampled trail, Dahl guessed a small contingent of men had passed by less than fifteen feet from them. The fallen timber had done an admirable job of cloaking their presence because everything else of M6-117 had proven to be dangerous. Why should these people prove to be any different?
They didn't have to go far before receiving their first shock. When they slid over the outer edge of the fallen tree and fell into the recently knocked down path, they noticed, not 10, but 20 sets of footprints. Their were 2 squads out there. And considering how close these people had come to them, it was just luck that neither she or Eve had been making noise in their sleep.
Dahl and Eve followed the path for 20 feet before coming to a point in the trail that closed over the path. The voice was clearer now. Eve reached into the bushes between her and the voice, pushed her hand through, stopping just short of coming out the other side. She closed her eyes, spread her fingers wide, edge of her palm emerging into the clearing. A thin red slit spread along the center of her palm and a set of vertical eyelids bulged outward. A sharp pain tore through her palm and the eyelids opened wide, revealing a bloody, empty socket. An 8 pupils eye formed in the void and rolled around, trying to focus. It stopped on the voice.
A compliment of armored soldiers held a group of bound prisoners at gunpoint. They stood in the center of a large clearing.
Dahl tapped Eve on the shoulder and shot her a puzzled look. Eve turned, but her eyes were closed. She withdrew her hand from the bush and held it out to show Dahl. Not realizing how close they were, the oversized eye in her palm stopped an inch from Dahl's nose. It blinked twice and Dahl jumped back, toppling onto her backside with a barely contained squeak of horror.
At that moment, one of the prisoners made an impromptu escape attempt. The giant prisoner took two loud, crashing steps away from his equally huge captor before a heavy buttstock struck the back of his neck and he was flung into a sea of stars. The armored guard who struck him fell to his knees, grabbing the back of his own head as if someone or something had struck him from behind. When the guard drew his hand away and held it out, blood filled his palm.
Barely aware of the commotion on the other side of the thick shrub, Eve jammed her hand back inside the bush. Dahl struggled to right herself, making no noise, Eve's reddening expression became apologetic as she mouthed the words, I'm so sorry.
After initial shock wore off, Dahl grabbed Eve's other hand, inspected her palm closely for signs of another eye, and mouthed the words. That was awesome. Eve shrugged, nodded and gestured for Dahl to turn towards the clearing. Eve pressed her torso into the bush and Dahl did the same. They stopped just short of toppling out the other side.
A slender, blond-haired man wearing a meticulously kept ceremonial priest robe stood at the center of a ring of five large prisoners kneeling in submission. "I did warn you not to harm your doppelganger while you are in proximity to one another." the blonde man said. "You are connected. Anything that happens to one, happens to the other." He pointed at the guard, grimacing at a handful of blood. "As an example, I give you Sergeant Dipshit, here." He walked up to the giant who towered over him, gestured to his bloody hand, and said, "In the future, I suggest you pay better attention. As for you, put your hand down and stop fucking around." The man turned to go and then turned back to the giant and offered another warning. "And just to be clear. I caution you not to come into contact with your counterparts. If you do, I assure you, it will be an unpleasant experience. Understand?" They all sounded off. Even the men on their knees. "Good."
Dahl crouched inside the bramble of dense underbrush peeking through the greenery's outer edge. The leaves threatened to tear at her exposed skin, but she held fast. Eve knelt at her side, peering into a small clearing at a group of what had turned out to be 15 men. Four knelt in a line, hands intertwined behind their necks, while one lay unconscious outside the cicle. The men held weapons unlike any she had ever seen.
"Are they Necros?" Dahl asked in a barely audible whisper that Eve more saw by reading her lips then heard.
The tiny hairs on the back of Eve's neck stood on end, and she flashed Dahl a foreboding look. She brought a forefinger to her lips in a shushing gesture, nodded and mouthed, Purifier.
The Purifier moved back to the center of the clearing., looked down at a large bald man with grotesque scars furrowing his face and called a soldier to him. The only man with his back to Eve and Dahl approached him. Neither could make out the man's face, but Dahl suspected it was ugly. They're all ugly. She could see their ugliness in the way they carried themselves. Like hulking cavemen. No, she decided. Not like cavemen. Like feral monsters. They armed men were the monsters.
The Purifier looked down at the kneeling man. "Do tell, Commander Krone, exactly what did you expect to accomplish by coming down here like this? Did you believe through misguided meddling or traitorous misdeed, you could prevent me from reaching the obelisk or prevent me from bringing him back?"
"Purifier," the man on his knees spat the name as if it tasted foul on his tongue. "How many deaths are you responsible for? A million? A hundred million? Maybe billions?"
"More. So many more." Purifier answered, drawing out a long thin dagger from inside of his thick robe. He held it out for Krone's inspection. "Knives are such crude weapons. Don't you agree, commander? I much prefer killing with my mind. Much less messy. More... personal. Wouldn't you say?" He looked at the armored men in his company and added, "Such tools are fine for the common rabble, I suppose. But not for a man of the cloth."
Krone laughed sarcastically and said, "And what cloth might that be? A funeral shroud. You destroy everything you touch."
Purifier shook his head. "Judge me not, commander. For I, like my father before me, am the man I was created me to be."
"A monster."
"A hero." Purifier replied. "And had you maintained a modicum of patience, you could have experienced the coming glory with us. But, as it stands, you have fallen from favor. Pity. You were the Lord Marshal's favorite."
The soldier the Purifier called to his side said, "I am still the Lord Marshal's favorite."
The Purifier turned to him, looked at him with doubt and said, "Time will tell, Commander."
"I've lived under the tyranny of your so-called Lord Marshal's ill-fated favor for far too long." the kneeling man cut in. "I follow no more."
"As always, the choice is yours. But if you cannot be lead to the truth, you will be dragged to it."Purifier pressed the edge of the dagger against Krone's throat and said, "Sadly, your new found resolve requires a return to the old ways." He paused, raised the dagger high in the air. Krone raised his chin defiantly, daring him to strike, and glared. "As you wish." He paused and added, "Any last words?"
Krone thought for a moment and then said, "Fuck you and the father before you, boot licker."
Purifier smiled, leaned in close and slid the dagger beneath his robe. "Such bravery in the face of certain death. I would have never imagined it coming from you, coward." He turned to the standing man with his back to Eve and Dahl. "Fortunately for the two of you, it would appear your benefactor still needs your services. In the future, I suggest you do better." Purifier turned back to commander Krone, and added, "I suppose it falls to me to undo your mistakes."
Krone spit on his captor's boots and said, "I want no part of him."
Krone's unseen captor kicked him in the guts, sent him sprawling on his ass, and doubled over, clutching his stomach. When he righted himself, he said, "And what makes you think I want a traitorous prick like you rattling around in my head? You're a fucking disgrace to us both. How do I explain this shit to the Lord Marshal when I get back to the armada? He's going to think if you're a traitor, I am as well."
"Technically, you are a traitor, commander." Purifier said with a grin. "As you well know. When the timelines merge; as they have here, two become one."
"Son of a bitch." the hulk said, towering over Krone and raising his rifle above his head.
He was prepared to strike when Purifier warned him off. "Now commander. I believe there have been enough hostilities for the moment. After all, I am certain our rather confused friend here regrets his foolhardy actions and would like nothing more than to be welcomed back into the fold with open arms." Purifier turned in a circle, making eye contact with each of the kneeling men, before adding, "As I am certain you all would. Isn't that right, gentlemen?"
Then Dahl noticed something strange. All the standing men nodded as if he were speaking to them. Her ankle cramped, pain shot up her calf and she barely regained her waning balance before toppling out of the bushes and giving them away.
Most of the armed men stood barely 20 yards away and at such close range, it would do neither Dahl nor Eve any good to be discovered. At that distance, it would be nearly impossible to retreat into the jungle without giving their positions away or being cut to ribbons by the barbed and serrated underbrush as the rampages away in God only knows what direction, leaving them as hopelessly lost as they were five minutes or five hours ago.
To make the situation worse, neither of them had weapons. Well, to be fair, that wasn't exactly true in Eve's case. Her recent bio-morphic upgrades meant she was a weapon. As for Dahl, while she possessed a formidable combat knife, she also had a worsening limp. And even though the knife looked like a saw-toothed short sword, its range during an all out gun battle left little to be desired.
Eve studied the group, their positions relative to one another and thought, even with surprise on our side, I can't cross the gap and take down over one or two targets before the rest opened up on us. And Dahl has no chance of taking anyone down with a knife, formidable or not, even if she could limp out there in time to try it.
But that wasn't the only reason Eve didn't want to give away their position. It was because she recognized the weapons they carried. They were gravity rifles. And she remembered what it felt like to be shot by one of those infernal weapons.
Being struck by the blast from one of those felt like stepping in front of a speeding bus. One minute you're walking along without a care in the world and then smack, bang, boom, you're a shattered bag of skeleton twirling topsy-tervy through the air, wondering what the fuck just happened. And let's not forget the disorienting pain of having more than a few of your internal organs turned to jelly.
It was the memory of that searing pain combined with the sudden realization of who was standing at the center of the group that finally unleashed the other older memories. The ones she had blocked out almost completely. Memories of blinding lights in a sterile laboratory, ugly faces above her and being strapped onto a cold metal table as she screamed and kicked. And then there were the memories of sharp instruments dragging and slicing through her skin as those ugly pallid faces began dissecting her alive. All those memories combined to create a blood curdling nightmare overlaid with the soundtrack of her own shrill scream. It pierced her mind like a steam whistle on a runaway locomotive. And when that horrible sound pierced to its deepest depth; something terrible awoke in her. And that living anger wanted revenge.
Slowly the jungle, the sky, the men, even Dahl spun around her as if she were the center point in a demented kaleidoscope. Eve's breath caught. She tried to fight off the memories. She pushed them down. They pushed back. Her vision tunneled and the thing inside took her body. The lid of Pandora's box lifted, albeit not by her. Even so, Eve peeked inside and then tried slamming it closed again. Not likely, a voice in her head said. It's far too late for that. You should have left us in the dark.
"Necromongers," she said, more to herself than Dahl. The word reverberated outward and Dahl heard it and so too did someone else. Someone on the other side of the bushes.
The nearest man looked toward the bushes as if hearing a voice emanating from the other side. Eve's heart pounded, her head swam in a murky pool of angry memories left by her Necromonger captors. She gasped in horror. The old fears had returned to strip her of her humanity, at last.
Necromongers aren't known for their compassion and they had certainly shown Eve none when she was their prisoner. Lord Marshal Zhylaw had not only allowed her mutilation, he had ordered it. Proving Eve had never been a Necromonger. No conversion; no allegiance. Eve was a mutilated lab experiment wired into a mainframe terminal in the Lord Marshal's basilica class warship. All the while, the Lord Marshal's science officer poked and prodded and studied her every neural response, looking to improve computer response times during battle conditions. And now, that sadistic son of a bitch stood not much over 20 yards away from her.
Her fists balled, talons sank into the flesh of her palms, and droplets of blood fell at her sides. "Fucking Bastard," she said, voice coming out in a low guttural growl. Maybe getting shot again wouldn't be that bad, she thought. At least, this nightmare would be over and I could meet her demise with his torn off head in her hands. She knew she could be on him before they could stop her. Two giant bounding leaps and he would be hers. A rag doll caught in a rending typhoon of teeth and talon.
The armed man closest turned around, faced the bushes, raised his weapon to his shoulder and peered squint-eyed into the undergrowth. The two women drew back ever so slightly, giving him nothing to see. Despite that, he stared in their direction.
Dahl's heart skipped a beat as she watched Eve's sudden and untimely transformation build towards its inevitable crescendo. Not now, she thought. Not now. Hold it back. She reached out slowly, expecting Eve to lash out, but forced herself to take Eve by the hand. To Dahl's considerable relief, Eve made no outward sign of aggression.
Eve knew what was at stake and would not give in to her darker instincts and allow the creature to give them away. It was true; she wanted the man's head, and someday she may have it. But not here and not now. That would be selfish and probably get them both killed. So, she transformed back, glaring at the man bitterly. Then she turned to Dahl and mouthed the word thanks. Dahl nodded your welcome and swallowed her heart.
The giant statue stared in their direction for what seemed like ten minutes, but in fact, it had only been half a minute before he turned his gaze back to the man kneeling in front of him.
Dahl let out a hushed sigh of relief and looked at Eve with an expression that said, we just got lucky. Then she noticed something odd about the giant and the kneeling prisoner to his front. If not for the obvious differences in their complexions- one sun bleached and tan; the other pallid and ghostly- they could have been twins. More than twins, she realized. They could be the same man. They are the same man, she thought, turning to Eve with an expression of puzzlement.
A twig snapped behind them and they knew someone, or something watched them. Dahl felt a strange sensation course not over her body, but through it and then, just as suddenly as the feeling came, everything around them slowed to a crawl. Then, the world simply stopped as someone hit a pause button.
Dahl turned and saw a tall, slim figure wearing a dark, careworn hooded robe. The robe was ancient and tattered. Its once ornate and colorful embroidery had turned a multitude of varying grays. The figure reminded her of the grim reaper. The eyes inside the deep hood simmered like pearls.