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***
Hark! The seal hath broketh once more!
Doubtless again hath the Blighted Ones failed to harken unto the admonitions of their forebears!
And thus I am loosed!
I, Malakorth, returneth!
***
Staff Sergeant Luis Perez fights the urge to swat the mosquito from his cheek, the little fucker’s been hounding him for the last two hours, but he doesn’t dare take his hands from the M4.
Dug into a hillside in the Kyber Pass cooking under the midday sun with his 12 Marines, he’s never seen anything like what he’s seeing right now, down in that valley, and until he knows just exactly what the fuck they are dealing with, his eye is staying glued to his scope, and his finger is staying right next to the trigger.
The disembodied voice of Corporal Jacob Meyer hisses through the radio,
“Sarge, are you fucking seeing this?!”
Oh he’s seeing it all right. They all are.
A vaguely humanoid shape, smack dab in the middle of the road. “Vaguely” because it has a tail and 7-or-so-fucking-arms, and “humanoid” because it’s currently floating about 6 feet off the ground and humans don’t fucking do that.
“Motherfucker’s gotta be at least 15 feet tall!”
“Meyer!” Perez barks. “Cut the chatter! Keep eyes on target.”
“Copy that, Sarge, wouldn’t look away even if you ordered me to.”
Perez shakes his head in silent agreement. Whatever this thing was, he didn’t want to take his eyes off it either, lest it smite him in the back.
Perez wasn’t a religious man, but ever since his squad had reached the top of the ridge and actually put eyes on target, it had become increasingly hard not to mark himself with the sign of the cross.
He wonders how Solinski’s squad is doing on the other side of the pass.
A devout catholic, Sergeant Solinski had been known to frequently count the beads on his rosary and even kiss the little crucifix. He always kept a small pocket Bible with him too, despite gentle ridicule from Perez and the rest of the men.
But right now Perez wouldn’t have minded having that man by his side, he’d’ve kissed the little cross too if he could.
The radio clicks to life once again, Solinski’s voice.
“Viper-6, this is Cobra-3, we are in position, over.”
“Roger that, Cobra-3, we have eyes on target. Mosquito is inbound. Eta 90 seconds. Standby, over.”
Perez sighs—equal parts building anxiety and premature relief—their UH-76 Mosquito drone would be in range soon. Back at base some techs had thrown the frankenthing together: duct taped a megaphone to the little quad-rotor, given it to Perez and said, “go talk to the thing.”
Perez thought they ought’ve just strapped a claymore or 3 to it, but apparently Top Brass had worried about accidentally sending the wrong message and kicking off a fight with an adversary of unknown capability.
“Your team will try and establish communication with the thing.” Major Allard had told him three hours prior.
“You are not to engage unless fired upon first, understood?”
He had understood, all right. He was there to talk, to extend the fucking olive branch.
“Diplomacy” they’d said.
So why the fuck were they sending Marines?
He worried it might be because Top Brass was expecting a fight.
Before his and Solinski’s teams had shipped out on the Chinooks, he’d overheard one of the contractors on base—Stevens his name was—saying something about additional “anomalies” detected at the various other archaeological sites throughout the region.
He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now, up on that hill, actually looking down at the damn thing—its giant sword backlit by what could only be described as black fire; adorned by far-too-large and far-too-many eyes—he wonders what chance any of them would stand with mere ACOGs and five-five-six.
He’s not keen to find out, especially if there turn out to be more of them out there.
Maybe one of the chapters in Solinski’s little book says something about what to do in a situation like this.
His thoughts are interrupted by Private Carlos Gomez’ excited jabber.
“Sergeant, I’m in range with the drone! I’m looking right at him! I’m setting her dow—Jesus Christ this fucker’s big—I’m setting her down now.”
“Good work, Gomez, go ahead and bring the speaker online and patch me thr—“
“Oh shit, hold up, Sarge! Something’s happening!”
Through their optics the marines watch as the hovering entity lowers to the ground, approaches the still-descending drone, and swats it from the air with its blade.
Suddenly, and in unison, the men flinch. From seemingly everywhere and nowhere, a voice calls out to each and every one of them. Its tone is both grotesque and beautiful. They all hear it, they hear it as clearly as they see the sun in the sky:
{{{ Ye doth seeketh to strike me down!? Ha! Thinketh again, fools! }}}
***
Thinketh they me afeared of their spears and arrows?! So sluggard they wend, couldst I stay a thousandfold with but a single blow!
—But lo, nay a spear nor arrow! What manner of fiend art thou?
Nay foul nor locust nor other winged vermin.
Bah! It matters not! Thou hast pledged thy self and sword in allegiance to the Blighted Ones, thusly I withhold nought my wrath from thee.
—But lo?!
Smote here upon the clay, thou speaketh still!
***
“—ello? Hello? Um… we are, I mean, err… I am, uhh—“ Perez clears his throat before continuing.
“—this is Staff Sergeant Luis Perez of the United States Marine Corps. I think, uhh, I think we had a little misunderstanding there.”
He stares at the crumpled drone through his viewfinder. At least the megaphone and radio were still working, he could still speak through his downed proxy at the feet of that… thing.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
He thanks his lucky stars that Command had opted for a remote first-contact attempt.
“Sarge, can you ask what the fuck it just did?!” Corporal Meyers looks around frantically. “We all just heard that motherfucker in our fuckin’ heads!”
“Can it, Corporal!” Perez barks. He is already on edge, last thing he needs is for his men to start panicking. “The fucker’s just talking to us, okay? Calm down and let’s just figure out what the sumbitch wants, all right?”
As Perez turns back to the radio, he wonders if that thing in the valley can hear him from here. Can it mind read in addition to mind talk?
For a moment he debates apologizing, but settles for just watching his language from here on out.
“Uhh… right, umm, we—we come in peace, we just want to speak with you. Uhh, what—what should I, uhh, call you?”
Again the men flinch as the voice booms in their heads.
{{{ Hark, ye, and trembleth with fear!
I, Malakorth, driven unto binds 200 score winters past, returneth!
After such an age, unbound, I cometh to visit terror and suffering upon thine realm!
Boweth ye all and prayeth for a swift demise! }}}
Gomez looks to Perez with raised brow, the Sergeant simply shrugs and continues.
“Uhh, right, copy that, Mr. Malakorth. Could you tell us wh—”
{{{ Darest thou speaketh the name of the mighty Malakorth?! Ye shalt be punished for thine insolence! Such torment shalt thou endure, thou wilt call upon oblivion itself to free thee! }}}
The thundering voice’s unwanted intrusions, though unpleasant, no longer threaten to bring the men to their knees with every utterance. The softening echo of each subsequent syllable leaves merely duller and fainter aches between their temples. Less the voice of a furious deity, more that of a nagging grandparent.
Grenadier, Lance Corporal Beckett Carter, whose eyes haven’t left the valley floor since they’d arrived, pipes up.
“Sarge, can we just light this guy up already? He’s a hostile for sure, we should take him out while we can.”
“Negative, Carter, we do not engage unless fired upon first, copy?”
“Yeah, yeah, Sarge, copy that.”
“What’s the matter, Carter?” Corporal Meyer goads. “You gettin spooked?”
“Ay fuck you man, that thing’s 100% a threat.”
“Oh really, Carter? You some expert now in mystic phenomena? ‘Bout to tell us you’ve dealt with this before?”
“Ayo man for real, fuck you. That nigga down there talkin’ like fuckin’ Shakespeare and beamin’ it straight into our fuckin’ heads and you actin’ like it ain’t a big deal. Even with a half-brain like yours you should recognize we’re dealin’ with some serious shit, man.”
“Alright you two, can it, I’m fucking serious.” Perez glares at both of them. “We’re getting an update from Command, sit tight.”
***
Bold hath these pathetic flesh-bound wretches grown! They dareth taunt the great Malakorth and speaketh his name!
And speaketh they do in such a queer manner! Thine customs stranger still!
Nay phalanx to surround the fearsome Malakorth, nor doth a vanguard marcheth to face him!
Ne’er even a meek herald beseecheth the powerful and terrifying Malakorth for a parlay!
Lo, cowereth these pitiful souls amongst the trees!
That they doth nay the imposing Malakorth entreat, graver a trespass than all heretofore!
Thusly shalt the indomitable Malakorth unleashesth the cruelest and most dire of pestilences against thee!
Watcheth as thine harvests wilteth and perish, and thine bodies becometh seized by malady and fever!
Trembleth as I, Malakorth, revenge myself upon thee!
***
“Sounds like he’s threatening us again. Think he called us cowards, too” Gomez says scratching his crotch.
“Hold up, did homeboy just threaten to unleash the plague on us?”
“A swarm of locusts too, I think.” Meyer adds.
“Guess he hasen’t heard of vaccines or pesticides.”
“Makes sense, I guess. Said he was, what, locked up for, like, 200 years?”
“No, no, 200 score. A score is twenty years. So two hundred of ‘em, that’s—“ Meyer counts on his fingers with a look of utmost concentration.
“—that’s, like, 4 thousand years.”
“Wait, wait, wait—“ Private Arnauldo Baptista has joined in.
“so homie’s been locked up for the last 4,000 years?!”
“That’s what he said.”
“So wait, then what the fuck are we so worried about? The fuck is Carter so scared for? If some fuckin’ cavemen were able to handle this thing, then we shouldn’t have any problems.”
“They were a little more advanced then just cavemen 4,000 years ago, Baptista, but good point. How worried should we really be about this clown if some mountain peasants managed to trap his ass in a tomb or cave or whatever back in the day?”
Dumbasses!” Carter interjects. “They had spells and shit back then! Like the magic they used to build the pyramids, those ‘peasants’ prolly used that same typashit to beat this motherfuc—“
“Well boys, we’re in luck.” Perez cuts in.
“Turns out we don’t need to worry about cavemen or spells or pyramids or any of that shit anymore. Just got of comms with Command, they’ve ordered us to fall back.”
“What’s going on, Sarge? What about Solinski’s team on the other side of the val—“
{{{ Ha! Thinketh ye thine Divine Light canst wound me?! It doeseth nought to harm me! }}}
“What’s the fucker saying now?” Gomez yawns.
{{{ Thinketh ye that I, unrivaled Malakorth, wouldest trembleth before thine lucent rays?!
Many other a champion and sellsword hast so thunketh in times past, but they were deceived.
Thine holy weapons, by whicheth ye now illumine mine form, art but whispers to me, they doth me no hurt.
They hath wrought nay a gash upon the unassailable Malakorth and shalst avail thee nought against he! }}}
“What in the fuck is this guy going on about?” Meyer groans.
“Not a damn clue.” Gomez answers. “Ask Baptista, he speaks Latin.”
“Portuguese motherfucker, and besides, that wasn’t Latin, homeboy’s just saying our weapons aren’t hurting it, some shit like that.”
“What fucking weapons, Tiis?? We ain’t shootin’ nothing at’em!” Gomez turns to Perez. “Right, Sarge?”
But Perez is already on it:
“Cobra-3, this is Viper-6, you sent any ordnance down range? Tango is claiming that we… uhh, that you are shooting at it, over.”
“Negative, Viper-6, no shots fired, over.”
Perez pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Copy that, Cobra-3, Viper-6 out.”
He hails Command on comms:
“Base, this is Viper-6 actual, tango is saying we’re shooting at it, over— —
— —negative, Base, no shots fired, over— —
— —negative, Cobra-3 confirmed no shots from them either, over— —
— —unknown, Base, tango’s saying something about ‘divine light’ being… wait a sec… standby, Base.”
Perez snaps to Baptista. “What did it say we were shooting it with?”
“It didn’t say we were shooting it, Sarge.”
“Thought you said it said our weapons weren’t hurting it?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t saying that we were shooting at it. It said something about light.”
“Light?”
“Affirmative, Sarge, light. Something ‘bout us illuminating it but that it doesn’t hur—“
“Tiis, could it have been talking about a laser?”
The Private shrugs and looks amongst his fellow Marines. “Uhh, I—I guess so, Sarge, what’s it matter?”
Perez doesn’t answer. Instead he jumps back on the radio. The men exchange puzzled looks as the Sergeant hails their counterparts across the valley.
“Cobra-3, this is Viper-6, come in, over”
“Copy, Viper-6, send it, over.”
“Please confirm, are you painting tango with IR? Over.”
“Affirmative, Viper-6, motherfucker’s lit up like a Christmas tree, over.”
And just like that, all the pieces click into place.
The men turn to Perez in unison: “Ohhhhhhhhhh.”
“That’s right.” Perez says with a smile on his face. “Time to fall the fuck back, boys.”
He sends a quick “copy that, Cobra-3, Viper-6 out” over the comms and then the squad is scurrying down the backside of the ridge from whence they came.
They are halfway down when Meyer speaks up. “Damn, I’ve always wanted to see an air burst in person.”
Baptista rolls his eyes. “Yeah right, that ridge was less than a click from the valley floor, at that range the over-pressure woulda turned us to pulp!”
“Nah, man, not me, I’m built different.”
“Thank fucking god we’re getting away from that fuckin’ abomination.” Carter sighs. “Hope they nuke it.
The relief is palpable in Lance Corporal Carter’s voice, and although Sergeant Perez would never show it, he feels the same way.
“Nah, no nukes today.” He says. “It’d start a whole international fucking incident if they did that, besides, it’d be major overkill anyways. The moab’ll be more than enough.”
“Sure hope so, Sarge.”
“Shit, Carter, we coulda taken the fucker with your M203 if we’d had to.”
“What!?” Meyer doesn’t bother hiding his incredulity. “Bullshit, Sarge, there’s no way.” And after a pause. “Really?”
“That’s what Command’s been saying. 82nd Airborne just took two captive over in Jalalabad, zero casualties. Apparently, for all their talk, they’re actually pretty fragile.”
“So fragile we gotta drop a moab, huh?”
“Look, I don’t know all the details, Meyer, but word from on high is that a couple other a’these ‘anomalies’ have been popping up and trying to flex nuts, so DoD’s decided to make it crystal clear to these clowns who exactly they are messing with. Make an example out of a few of ‘em to put the rest in line. Shock and awe, get it?”
Meyer and the rest of the men say nothing as they continue their scramble downward. It’s not until they reach the embankment at the bottom and hear the props of the Chinook beating against the sky that Meyer’s head pitches back in howling laughter:
“Ha! If that fucker thought a laser designator was us tryna hurt it, just wait til it sees what’s coming! Poor fucker has no idea!”
His unrestrained bleating continues as they load into the back of the chopper. “I guess he is over 4,000 years old, though. I suppose they didn’t have smart bombs back then.”
***
Bah! Ye mortal swine do flee afore me! Dareth thee face nought the fury of mine gaze!
Thus shallest I smite thine stout-hearted brethren, they who stand yet resolute high upon the tor!
Fools thou art, thy valor nought but a fleeting spark, soon consumethed by the dark tempest that is I, Malakorth!
And ye seeketh still to harm me with thy impotent blade?? Ha!
Believeth ye still thine Divine Light, so frail and feeble, cannst deliver thee from boundless, unstoppable Malakorth!?
Thinketh again!
—But lo! Heareth I the Blighted Ones! Speaketh doth they through the aether!
Supplicate ye unto whatever fickle gods deign to answer to such woeful cries?
“—amdunk-Alpha, this is Falcon’s Nest, you are cleared hot, repeat, you are cleared hot. Engage at your discre—“
“—oger that Falcon’s Nest, weapons away in 10 seconds, this is Slamdunk-Alpha out—“
“—od help the poor fuc—“
Ha!
Ye doth conspireth against I, all-hearing Malakorth!? Thinketh ye me deaf to thine words!? Thinketh ye me in dread of thy schemes!?
Ha!
Ne’er quaketh I before such a foe as thee!
—Hark! With what manner of weapon doth ye assail me yet?
Bah! Stones!
Thine frailty doth repulse me! Nay a knight to issue challenge nor paladin against whom to cross blades!
Wo art thine noble heros to rise and meet the blackness, the shadow, I, the darkest Malakorth?!
Throweth thee mere stones from afar?!
—Hark! Nay stones, a stone!
A stone!
Ne’er hath I, all-seeing, all-knowing Malakorth, borne witness to so grievous a slight!
Thinketh ye me afeared of a stone, formidable though it be? Thinkest thou I wouldst recoil before thine colossal pebble?
And doth it move with great swiftness, an unearthly speed, thinks’t thou I wouldst cower before thee?! Wouldst thou that I quake at thine feet?!
Ha!
Ne’er!
Ne’er wouldst I, fearless Malakorth, tremble before such an onslaught!
Ne’er couldst ye Blighted Ones wound inviolable Malakorth!
Ne’er wilt thee slay I, almighty, invincible, infinite Malako——
***
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