Beat The War Drums, Sound The Call, To War We March
The overhead lights flickered. Sparks flew. The whiz of power tools and wrenches turning. Machines beeped, keyboards clicked, motion everywhere. The forge master garage had become a hurricane of activity after the Magnolia had been trucked in.
Spider stood in the center of the garage, directing the stuntlings like the conductor of an orchestra, a painter about to paint his masterpiece. Once the tank had been fully disassembled, Spider ignited his energy, the blueprints for his masterpiece floating in the air.
The stuntlings scampered about, weaving through the life-sized schematics like worker ants memorizing every detail. Their eyes were wild, their mouths permanently framed with smiles as they bore witness to what their forge master had in mind.
Once the little workers had all cleared the schematics, standing in a perfect circle around the forge master, Spider dispersed the floating life-sized blueprints. He studied them all keenly.
“Everyone know their part?”
They all nodded excitedly.
“Excellent. Let us forge Mar’s greatest weapon yet, my friends.”
The little mechanics dispersed. Some went off for parts, others gathered tools, and more went to the forklifts and cranes. The small army of mechanics flowed around Spider like a whirlpool as he walked forward. He focused half of his energy, the blue arms materializing clairvoyantly. He would need to be careful not to touch any wiring or sensitive material with the energy arms. Instead, he used them for heavy lifting, cutting, welding, and anything that a metal manipulation might require.
As time passed, Spider watched his masterpiece come together. He couldn’t be more proud of himself and his little helpers. Oh, how they moved with such intensity and excitement. They were profound experts in their roles, each raised in a mechanical station or position. For hours, they formed the frame, the wiring, the limbs, and the sensors.
Spider climbed up and down the impromptu scaffolding surrounding it as the project came together. He checked every nut, every bolt, every joint, every circuit board. The cockpit display was fully functional once the skeleton was complete, and Spider leaned onto the railing. A small female mechanic brought him a steaming cup of tea.
He grinned and thanked her, sipping it as he walked down the scaffold stairs. A whistle caught his attention. Spider turned to see Hera standing on the side of the garage, her eye wide, a grin on her face. She was slowly clapping. Spider smiled abashedly and walked over, the scurrying mechanics nimbly dodging him as they charged the project for final touches.
“That thing is impressive,” Hera laughed.
“Thank you, she is just a prototype, of course. The real thing is supposed to be much bigger.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh yes, quite large indeed. Bout a building tall, actually. Unfortunately, twenty feet tall will have to do for now.”
“And how long have you guys been working on this?”
“What time was breakfast?”
“Five hours ago.”
“Then there you go.”
Hera laughed, shaking her head.
“Fucking spiders. C’mon, your pet project can wait; the council has decided whether they’ll help us with Zion or not.”
“Splendid!”
Spider and Hera walked up the stairs leading to the elevator that led to ground level.
“I wondered why we couldn’t just land on the landing down here; now I can see why,” Hera laughed, gesturing to the massive mountain of scrap metal and spare parts resting on the landing pad.
“Yes, considering how limited space is down here, we must utilize every inch as efficiently as possible.”
“You guys are building a giant fucking robot thing in a tank garage. Not the architects’ fault.”
“Well, we certainly can’t build her outside, can we? The sand will ruin everything before she’s finished!”
“Uh-huh.”
The two climbed up the steep metal steps, emerging onto the Martian Surface. Hera pulled out a cigarette, lighting it. She then offered Spider one, who calmly shook his head.
“Really? No smoking. Damn, the hell happened to you out there, huh?”
“I simply found myself.”
Hera rolled her eye, blowing smoke out of her nostrils.
“How are the wolves fairing?”
“They’re tough as shit. The council’s been using them to suppress any rogue supporters of the old regime. It ain't frontline peer on peer warfare, but they’re blooded, so I’ll take 'em.”
Spider nodded as Hera hailed a hovercraft from her communication device on her wrist. He looked around, gazing at the old dusty guard hut with two sleepy men inside, the rusted truck beside it, the Zion refugee camp in the distance, and the city behind it.
“Ya know you could have stayed in the city, man.”
“Too noisy, too many prying eyes. We need seclusion.”
“Right. No one can know about your super top-secret project that’s somehow gonna tip the scales.”
“Exactly,” Spider beamed.
Hera sighed.
“Ya know, you were always weird, even for a stuntling. But you seem like an entirely different person now.”
Spider looked at her.
“We are all very different now than when this all started.”
Hera nodded.
“Maybe, but I doubt the others have changed as much as you.”
“Would you like to bet on that?”
Hera chortled.
“Nah, Nah, I don’t think I would.”
She raised the cigarette to her mouth and inhaled deeply, looking at the sky, then her device.
“Fuckers, c’mon! We’re gonna be late. Damnit.”
The sky was clear, and no one was coming.
“How did you get here?” Spider asked.
“Eh, I walked over from the refugee camp. They dropped us off early this morning; figured I could use the exercise since I've just been checking up on people all week.”
The two were silent. Spider fidgeted. He wanted a cigarette so bad, but he knew he shouldn’t. New body, new choices, and all that. He missed drinking and smoking. Hera chuckled, holding out the open pack. He shook his head, his lips twitching.
“Don’t be a fucking quitter!” Hera cackled.
Spider huffed, ripping a cigarette out, putting it to his lips, and lighting it with a blue flame from his thumb.
“HA!”
Spider held up a middle finger as he deeply inhaled, then exhaled. A wave of relief washed over him, his tense body relaxing. He groaned happily, blowing smoke from both nostrils and mouth as he leaned his head back.
“So, there is a little bit of the captain left in there,” Hera jabbed.
Spider rolled his eyes, inhaling deeply again, the cigarette burning rapidly. Together they gazed out over the midday sun-lit countryside. A dozen generations of blood soaked the very orange dust they stood on. Spider felt a solemn sense of respect for the ground before them. He was in that old tank too long ago, charging across the wastes, obliterating enemy fortifications in the siege.
Suddenly, explosions ripped through the refugee camp in the distance. Screams and smoke rose into the air far ahead. Both looked at each other. Spider sprinted towards the garage as Hera pulled out her smg, following.
Spider charged down into the garage, arriving at the bottom floor.
“We’re under attack; seal the garage! Do not open for anyone else except me!”
The stuntlings froze in place. They dropped everything and scampered towards the mini armory in the locker room. The chief stuntling scuttled towards Spider.
“W-w-w-we w-will d-def-f-f-f-fend t-t-this p-place w-w-w-with our-our l-lives s-s-s-s-sir.”
The little boy held out a remote detonator.
“They-they w-w-w-wont t-take u-u-us a-alive.”
Spider gently held both of the little mechanics' shoulders.
“It will not come to that, my friend. If anyone unidentified gets within a kilometer of this place, weld the doors shut. I can get through that; they cannot.”
The little boy nodded grimly.
Spider whirled around and sprinted back up the stairs, Hera en toe.
“Determined little fuckers ain’t they?”
“To be a stuntling is to be born into direct defiance against the world. This is nothing new for us.”
“Gods above.”
They emerged back on the ground level, the steel door behind them slamming shut. Back on the surface, the refugee camp burned, and smoke was now rising from the city itself. As they watched in horror, anti-aircraft fire was dancing above the city, but there was no sign of enemy aerial assault. Yet bright red comets of light seemed to be racing between the buildings.
“What’s our first move,” Hera asked.
“How many wolves did you bring to the camp?”
“A platoon, but gods know how many are left now.”
“We will rally with them. Call the rest of your men and have them come to us with trucks. We need to enter the city on the ground, else risk being mistaken for the Dark Axium.”
“Got it!” Hera snarled.
As Hera radioed her men, Spider jogged over to the guardhouse. Inside, the two young men in scrappy clothing and hand-me-down weapons were cowering behind the wall. Spider banged on the glass loudly, startling them. They both jumped, their bright eyes framed by pale faces. Spider beckoned for them to come out. Both slowly exited the hut.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Congratulations, you are no longer security guards; you are now proud soldiers of Mars. Go get that truck running!” Spider spat.
The two boys stood in place. Both had to be at most eighteen years old.
Spider sighed and leaned in.
“My friends, do you both have families?”
Both silently nodded, clutching their weapons.
“Imagine that was your family out there? Wouldn't you want someone to go help them? You have a chance here to be that person that helps,” Spider smiled gently.
Both slowly nodded, backing away timidly towards the truck.
“Get your fucking asses on that truck or so help me, goddess; I will fucking shoot you myself!” Hera roared.
Both boys yelped and scrambled towards the truck.
Spider sighed, straightening upward as Hera stormed past him, cocking her smg. They came around the hut. As they drew closer to the truck, the guards were already on it. One of the boys started the car up, while the other removed the choc blocks and pulled the tarp off the bed.
“I drive; you do what you do best,” Hera huffed.
Spider nodded, climbing up the side of the truck. One of the guards huddled in the bed with him, and the other sat in the passenger seat as Hera revved the engine. The cargo truck lurched forward, barreling down the road imprinted into the Martian dunes. Spider held his sheathed sword in one hand and gripped the top-mounted light rack.
As the refugee camp drew closer, he could see people fleeing in all directions. It appeared there was a firefight going on inside the refugee center. Or at least, he hoped it was two armed sides shooting at each other. The guard by his side aimed his rifle, waiting for a target to appear.
The truck drew close to the camp, and Hera careened, almost fishtailing to the right. Spider ignited his energy and flung himself from the truck bed, taking advantage of the momentum. Landing twenty feet away, he sprinted into camp at blinding speed, sword ablaze.
Tents burned, bodies littered the ground, women and children screamed as gunfire rang out. Spider zig zagged in between the rows of tents, trying to find the attackers. He emerged into an open circle, a crossroads in the tent city. Here several white hairs lay dead in the dust. A woman with a bloody red stump for a right arm knelt in the dirt crying, and several men in tan cloaks with glowing red eyes stood above her. Their leader saw Spider approach and shot her in the head with his pistol.
He widened his stance and raised the sword with both arms above his head. Before her body has fully hit the ground, Spider’s Nodachi had already cut the phaser in half. The remaining attackers drew their short swords and turned invisible. Spider evened his breathing, molten fury flowing through his veins. He slowed his heartbeat and focused his anger, allowing it to flow into the fire leaping from his body.
With a whoosh of air coming from his right, Spider pivoted, shouting, swinging his back foot like a door, bringing the blade swiping down through the open air. The enemy materialized, cut almost in half. He clutched his now hollow chest cavity, gurgling. Spider kicked him in the chest, sending him back. Two more whooshes of air, opposite directions.
The Forge Master hopped several feet in the air, striking below him. Blood sprayed out from the stump, and an enemy materialized, clutching his now severed left arm. Spider landed, twirled his blade, and stabbed between his chest and right arm, the edge impaling the invisible enemy directly behind him. The enemy behind him collapsed into the dirt, and the now one-armed phaser attempted to flee.
Spider did not wipe the blood from his blade. He raised it above his head and shouted as loudly as his lungs would allow, charging forward. Within the blink of an eye, he had come down upon the fleeing enemy, and the phaser’s body fell one direction, his head the other. Spider did not stop his charge. Instead, he brought the blade to his side and charged headlong deeper into the burning camp.
The deeper he went into camp, the more heinous the carnage became. The savagery infuriated Spider. There seemed to be no goal, no plan, no list. The only mission these men had been sent on was to kill and terrorize as many civilians as possible. Onward he charged, leaping over stacks of burning medical supplies, passing the sewage channel that now held the bodies of dead refugees.
His vision was turning red, and Spider could feel himself lose control. It was maddening to see this. Why? Why would they do this? Why would the Dark Axium hunt down people who had fled Zion like this?
He emerged this time into the courtyard where the food was prepared. In the courtyard's center was a growing mountain of human body parts. Here fifty men in tan coats stood, armed with machetes, swords, and guns. Their leader, a taller man with a mechanical arm and a long thermal sword, saw Spider and smiled, pointing.
“About time you show yourself,” Their leader laughed. “Hope you like our little art project; we made it just for you, Captain Spider.”
The ground was stained with every internal bodily fluid a human or other had. Spider slowly walked forward; his body numb. He had never been this angry before in his life. No, anger was too small a word. He had fallen so deeply into a pit of rage, that he was now experiencing something entirely new.
“Time to finish what we started on Zeta, little boy,” The man grinned with yellow and stained teeth.
Spider’s body exploded with bright blue flame, two massive arms poking out from his rib cage as he levitated in the air. A white, spiked halo danced around his head. The air shook and buzzed as Spider held the Nodachi in one hand and another katana made of red flame.
“I will make you feel tenfold what you have caused here today,” A young boy’s voice thundered.
The phasers backed away fearfully, but their leader laughed. He extended his fingers, long fishing lines of ethereal white light spewing out from each fingertip. Four bat wings grew from him. Two emerging from his shoulder blades, two from his lower back. Grey and black flame lapped from his hunched form.
As the two enhanced beings were about to clash, machine-gun fire ripped through the tents and ranks of the phasers. Spider looked over and saw tan gun trucks on the dunes unloading wolf soldiers. Hera stood on the top of one, a phaser's head in her extended hand. The phasers charged the wolves, and Spider charged the leader.
They danced and clashed, drawing blood from the other, fiery chunks flying. The Nodachi severed several energy lines, while others bound and deeply slashed Spider's leg and arm. Spider grabbed the lines and pulled them towards himself. The leader’s eyes widened with fear as Spider reared back his head and smashed his skull into the leader’s as hard as physically/energetically possible. The sound was like a boulder hitting a bulletproof window.
The leader’s blooded and disfigured face reeled back, teeth and an eyeball flying away. Spider roared with all his might and head-butted him again and again. As he pulled the energy lines, flesh strips were torn from his forearm and hand. The terrorist leader fell to his knees, and the energy lines disappeared. Spider combined his red katana and Nodachi into a blinding rod of hate, holding it over his head.
He brought the rod of righteous wrath down unto what remained of the leader. The rod hit the ground, and the blood-stained soil erupted, a several-foot deep and ten-foot-long crack shooting out from Spider. In a bright flash of light, the man’s body was disintegrated.
Spider pulled the sword from the ground and saw the wolf ranks advancing into the camp, hunting down the phasers. Spider held his blood-covered sword edge to his face, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply. He flew twenty feet to the right without opening his eyes, the blade impaling a phaser. With a snap, he did it again, and again, and again.
The wolf company slowly halted, lowering their weapons and taking off their helmets. Hera stood in the front, her eye wide, sweat running down her pale face, as a blue streak zipped up and down the camp, disintegrating Phasers like flies that had flown into an electric trap. Several wolves fell to their knees, hands out, heads bowed in prayer.
Slowly, the cries, shrieks, and gunshots faded. Spider slowly emerged from the smoke, covered in blood and viscera, his fleshless left hand holding his sheath, his right clutching the Nodachi. He stood in front of the burning tents, breathing rapidly. Slowly, he held the sheath up and sheathed the Nodachi.
All the wolves fell to their knees, bowing. Hera mouthed wordlessly, shaking her head. Spider gently knelt and a grabbed hand full of ash with his good hand, pouring them over his head. Hera cautiously approached him as a child would a predator in a trap. She knelt beside him.
“What is the name of the beloved gods was that?”
Spider slowly opened his eyes and looked at her.
“Particle manipulation. You call it magic.”
Hera stammered wordlessly. With a trembling hand, she pointed at the crevice in the ground.
“How many more of those are there?”
Spider stared at her.
“Too many.”
Hera gasped, tears falling from her eye.
“We only have one of you,” She gasped, hyperventilating.
“No, there are many of us. As there are many of them. This war, it is of both gods and men. We must all take to it in our own right.”
They turned their gaze to see all the wolves were hastily pouring ash or dirt unto their heads as they mumbled prayers.
“Those flying comets attacking the city earlier, those where people, weren’t they?” Hera croaked.
“Yes.”
“But we shot most of them down. How does gunpowder beat magic?!”
“Because science and magic are the same.”
Hera spat, holding the back of her head with her hands.
“What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?” She whispered.
“They started this war. We will finish it.”
Hera looked at him.
“Now what?”
“Gather your men, leave a contingent here to sort out the camp. The rest of us must see to the city.”
“It’s bad, it’s really, really bad. We saw most of the damage on the way over here.”
“Then let us go help.”
Hera nodded, not moving. Spider gently grasped her shoulder.
“Steel yourself. You are their general; they look to you for strength.”
Hera looked at him.
“If I’m their general, you’re our god.”
Spider chortled. He painfully stood up, studying his already healing left hand. Hera saw it too, her mouth twitching. The Forge Master held out his good hand and helped her up. The general exhaled forcefully, then stormed towards her men.
“On your fucking feet! First platoon, stay here, everyone else on me! We’re going downtown, people; get the fuck up, let's mooooooove!”
Spider strutted alongside Hera. He got in the passenger seat, and she drove. The wolves clamored upright, racing towards the trucks, and mounting them. The long convoy of gun trucks slowly moved, accelerating down the dusty highway towards the big city. As they drew closer, relief filled Spider. The fortifications and air defense systems from the last war had proved invaluable, as the Dark Axium seemed to have only managed to damage soft targets.
The trucks barreled into town, smashing through parked empty cars, over hasty obstacles the Axium had tried to emplace. Every corner, every window had a Martian fighter cheering. Spider grinned as they neared the council tower.
“Kind of amusing, is it not?”
“What the fuck is?”
“That a gang of gods and enhanced men could not defeat a city that was overwhelmed by an army of slaves.”
“Not slaves,” Hera spat. “Martians.”
They turned a corner, coming into view of the council tower. Spider’s heart dropped. From the top down, most of the tower was burning, about to collapse. Hera engaged the brakes, resting her elbows on the steering wheel, her head in her hands.
“The council was on the top floor when the attack transpired, weren’t they?” Spider sighed.
Hera slowly nodded.
As crowds of soldiers and civilians raced past them for cover, movement near the lobby caught their attention. A mixed woman in the complete kit was trying to dive inside while several soldiers tried to stop her.
“Shit, it’s Anna,” Hera spat.
Both jumped out of the truck and sprinted across the debris-covered lawn. They didn’t have long. As they ran, the groaning of the tower's steel structure could be heard, ash and sparks raining down around them.
Spider reached the woman first and grabbed her arm. She shrieked, struggling. Her eyes widened when she recognized him.
“Spider?” She whispered.
“We need to go; this tower is going to collapse!”
“My father is up there!”
Spider grabbed her and started dragging her away.
“Your father is dead!”
“You don’t know that! They could still be alive!” Anna wailed.
Hera caught up to them and helped drag Anna away. She fought, kicking, and screaming. A soldier grabbed her leg, his buddy grabbing the other. They held her like a doll and sprinted as fast as they could. They came near the trucks when an earsplitting roar crushed all other noises. Spider halted, pushed Anna to the ground, pulled everyone in tight, and focused every ounce of energy he had available into a bubble around them.
Day turned into night as Spider desperately fought to keep his people alive. The tower fell, crashing down into the city below. The air was choked with ash and debris; it was impossible to see anything.
The following day, Spider stood on top of the highest point of the rubble, which was the council tower. He looked down and saw Anna and Hera standing with a group of listeners. Soldiers, first responders, and civilians shuffled through the wreckage, trying to find survivors. None could be found.
He slowly made his way down to them.
“My lord, we have an urgent report,” One of the listeners said.
Hera and Anna were deathly quiet.
“What is it?”
The listener hesitantly handed him a holographic pad. Spider knew what he was about to see but activated it anyway. A hologram flickered into view; it was a square screen, surveillance footage inside the council chamber. Spider-pressed play.
There they were: Auntie Mai, Guild Master Ardo, High Priest Hyforian and all the other lords of Mars sitting at the oval table. Only Lady Ramirez was absent, she had returned to Oasis to see to fishing disputes. They seemed happy, chatting about something. Food lay on the table; some of them even seemed drunk. In the far corner, Spider noticed a fuzzy piece of air. Was it a flickering pixel? No, something invisible was moving.
A man in a tan tank top with grey combat pants popped into existence, explosives taped to his chest. He roared, pulled a cord, and the screen became bright orange, then turned static.
“The suicide blast happened thirty minutes before the tower collapsed,” The Listener said grimly, putting the device away.
Spider studied Anna’s pale, hollow face.
“I am so sorry,” Spider bowed his head.
Anna looked at him, her brow furrowing, her teeth gritted.
“I don’t want your sympathy; I want blood.”
“We shall all have that. Listener, are there any other key members of importance on Mars we need to discuss future plans with?”
“The special counsel was formed because most of the counsel of Mars is off-world for the past three years. As it stands, you, lady Ramirez, lady Hera, and Lady Anna are the last surviving members,” The listener nodded.
Hera gasped, looking at Spider.
“Mars is ours?”
Spider slowly nodded.
Hera put her hand to her head.
As Spider looked around, he noticed that every person in a block radius was staring at them. No, not them. Him.
Spider cleared his throat.
“I returned to Mars, along with councilwoman Hera, to muster the strength to fight the Dark Axium. It was not my intention that they come to our soil. We wanted to bring the fight to them. This pain that we all feel, many worlds have felt this as well, for years thanks to these godless creatures.”
Spider slowly began to walk in a wide circle so that everyone could hear him.
“As we speak, the other council members are fighting! They are bleeding and maybe even dying on far-off worlds so that this would never happen! I have failed them. And I have failed you all by this heinous act occurring. We cannot undo what has happened here. But we can move forward as one people. As one world. As Mars.
“When my project is complete, I am marching to the home of the Dark Axium. I intend to burn their threshold, kill them in their halls, and eradicate their entire existence from the annals of the cosmos. So that this may never, ever happen again here, or on any other world again!”
Low murmurs and thumping echoed from the crowd.
“I will march on the Dark Axium. I will burn their fields, crush their homes, and end every last one. Sons and daughters of Mars, brothers, and sisters, who will march with me?”
The crowd erupted with cheers, bloodthirsty war cries, throating singing, and shrieks. The people raised their weapons and fists into the air, their war chants echoing off the sides of the buildings. Spider roared, beating his chest with his clenched fist.
“To War!”