Chapter 16 When Darkness Befalls
North of New London.
High above on a walkway, misted faces stared out, while menacing coils of barbed wire stretched below, descending towards desolate structures. In the farthest reaches, the flickering lights emanating from explosions and relentless gunfire cast an eerie glow upon their mist.
It was a formidable stronghold that lacked a modern touch; steel and stone walls stretched upwards into the air, with iron bars at a single entrance, barricaded by metal sheets. There was no decal on any surface, no electric interfaces or wires running throughout - only moody, oil-burning lanterns that lit up the area. In the centre was a pyramid-shaped building, made from cracked, withered stone with a set of double doors hastily welded shut.
“Shift’s over,” a misted face said to another, approaching them in the courtyard.
“What’s the Horde looking like?”
“A total fuckfest - avoid anywhere South on your way home.”
“I’ll grab a couple of beers and sit on the roof I think—”
Their head exploded, and the sound of bouncing metal followed.
“CODE BLACK! CODE BLACK!” the other Unwanted screamed into their earpiece. Their cry was silenced within a second.
All along the walls that protected the building, the Unwanted were being picked off efficiently. Screams and magic echoed into the night sky but were drowned out by the explosions from beyond the wall.
“Contact Mercy!” the last Unwanted cried out below before the life was sucked out of their body.
“I don’t think you will be contacting him,” a man politely said as the withered body dropped. His accent was British and his demeanour was calm. A black cloak draped behind him with a hood over his head, partially covering half a mask on his face.
A dozen Children of Discordia rushed behind him and dropped to their knees, their heads pressed firmly into the ground.
“Bring it to me,” the man demanded.
Clad in cheap armour but expensive tools, the Children of Discordia rushed towards the welded doors. They didn’t use goggles or even gloves - they didn’t as much falter when hot sparks landed on them.
Within a minute, the seal was broken, and the metal doors were pulled open. With anticipation, the man placed his hands behind his back and squinted his eyes, staring into the darkness below.
Back on the battlefield, Goliath heaved as he dragged his club from a mess of flesh and limbs. Roach was down to his daggers, saving whatever bullets he had left for something strong. Mute’s slashes had become wild; every tear of bloodshed was an accomplishment. The three were exhausted, and the mutations from the monsters became increasingly tougher to deal with.
“There’s too many,” Goliath gasped, dragging his club behind him as he moved toward the black mass.
Roach was tackled to the ground by an unusual, slimy-skinned quadruped that foamed at the mouth. It bit into his neck with its prehistoric teeth, ripping his jugular out in an instant. Goliath sluggishly stepped forward and raised his club, bringing it down on the back of the monster, and snapping it in two.
Seconds later, Roach sat up, quickly scrambling to his feet. He turned around and looked at the bottom of the wall. Almost all the volunteers had died, and only the strongest of Hunters were keeping up. The army’s defensive line was missing shields and their weapons were overheating. Dotted around him were the Unwanted, but even their numbers had been diminished.
“How many left?” Roach asked through the earpiece.
“Two hundred thousand,” Pointy replied, blindfolded, aiming his bow upward and letting loose three transparent arrows. Clutching at the tops of his ears, he added, “The Wendigos are approaching.”
“The fucking what?” Roach questioned, ducking under a giant stone thrown his way.
“Don’t worry, you will not be fighting them,” Pointy quickly stated.
“No wonder this Horde is Severity 7!” Goliath shouted in frustration.
Pointy’s voice began to travel through the channel but was cut off suddenly. “Cluster team SG-1-6-2, abandon all posts against the Horde and immediately head to the Northern Territory,” a monotone voice said through the earpiece. The team knew it to be the Intelligence Department of the Unwanted.
“What?!” Goliath shouted to no one, becoming angrier.
“All Unwanted notified immediately head to Gunthrope Station near the Northern Gate. The Children of Discordia have attacked,” Mercy relayed. “Now!”
Roach, Mute and Goliath all looked at each other in horror. Then they all broke out into a sprint towards the stone gate as it was reeled open.
“Sir, would you like me to join them?” Pointy asked him.
“Yes, I do not need you at the moment… Keep an eye on Roach - make sure he remains composed,” Mercy replied, cracking his neck to the side.
“I will, sir. Good luck with the Wendigo.”
Mercy nodded respectfully and Pointy quickly took his leave, hurrying down the steps to the bright pink limo below.
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Clearing his throat and pressing a finger to his ear, Mercy said, “Elders, your presence is required at the main gate.”
In the courtyard, a shimmering blue light flickered off the half-masked man’s eye. A Child of Discordia was on their knees, holding up a glass cylinder with scarred hands. Inside was a stone small enough to fit in the palm of one's hand. It appeared to be in stasis, floating in the centre of the cylinder, pulsing a brilliant blue, tinged with purple streaks.
“There you are,” the man spoke, his heart skipping a beat. He spun on the spot, pointing at one of his subordinates. “You, kneel.” They dropped - a soul-bound person cannot refuse an order. “Stare into this,” he instructed of the woman.
Kneeling before the cylinder, face aglow with the strange stone's light. Eyes weary, hazel and tired. Lips dry, cracked, and skin marked by sores.
“Keep looking,” the man said, his smirk turning to a smile.
She focused on it, scrutinizing its broken edges and the purple lines within. To the man and the rest of the Children of Discordia, it looked to be just a malfunctioning mana battery, but to the person staring intently at it, it was… More - it began to speak to them in a whisper of gibberish, infecting their ears - their mind. The Mark of the Bound evaporated off their chest.
“Incredible,” the man remarked in awe.
The unfortunate Child of Discordia tilted her head, her mouth stretching into a pleasant smile. They slowly rose to their feet, turning to face the others, her face stuck in the same, sweet smile. Softly, she sang,
“Rock a bye baby, on the tree top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all.”
Upon the end of her song, her smile vanished, returning neutral, and setting her eyes on someone. She then launched herself at one of the Children of Discordia, tackling them to the ground in a feral manner. Without hesitation, her teeth dug into their eyebrow, tearing out a chunk of flesh. She didn’t stop, gorging on their cheek and swallowing it.
All of a sudden, she stopped, getting off and rushing over to the great walls surrounding them. Gripping a jutting-out stone, she thrusted her head into it, splitting open her skull. Despite blood pouring down her face, she did it once more. She fell to the ground a second later, dead.
The man in the cloak began laughing, holding up the cylinder as if it were priceless. “True madness,” he remarked, glancing at it for a split-second before taking his eyes off it. A cackle came out of him.
“Master,” one said, their voice quivering behind him, “we have found something else.”
“Bring it to me,” the man demanded, sliding the cylinder into his cloak.
With chains clanging and deep grunts, four Children of Discordia brought out a naked woman with every limb bound by chains. She was starved with no fat on her body left, but her muscles hadn’t gone through atrophy. Greasy, long hair covered her face, drifting down to her waist which was blackened through countless unwashed years. Despite her grotesque appearance, a faint, enigmatic language covered her entire body, wrapping around her just like the chains.
“Wherever the stone goes, I go,” the woman raspily said without lifting her head.
“Discard of her,” the man told them without hesitation.
“NO!” the woman screamed hoarsely, her voice sounding as if it hadn’t spoken for a thousand years.
“We are leaving!” the man bellowed, turning on the stop and marching away.
“NOOOOOOOOO!!!” the woman screamed.
At the South Gate, beneath the wall, seven Elders exited out of the tunnel, the large stone door sealing them out. The dwindling number of soldiers and Hunters dispersed from their position. It wasn’t out of respect, but fear; the aura they emitted turned away any peering eyes.
“Remember, try to have fun,” Mercy said to them, dropping his cloak.
The six Elders ran in adjacent directions towards their given Wendigo, while Mercy, simply walked forward. He stepped over bodies, some of which had misted faces, yet he showed no emotion. The ground beneath his feet was muggy, with pools of black and red blood, with bits and pieces of fleshy remains at the bottom.
Mercy wore only a white vest with simple black trousers and sturdy boats. Every inch of exposed skin on his arms and shoulders was scarred; most of them were from cuts, burns and incisions. His hands, however, were thick, with a build-up of cartilage lining each of his knuckles.
The Ill-Favoured Five without their bard had reached the pink vehicle.
“What’s going on?” Goliath asked Pointy as he jumped into the boot.
“Children of Discordia,” Pointy replied, leaning over and starting the engine.
“Shit,” Roach said, looking at Pointy’s blood-soaked armour as he jumped in. “What happened?”
“Mercy wanted me to try the new perception trick I’ve been working on.”
“Whatever it was fucked Mute up,” Goliath said. “High frequency or something?”
“Yes; it would be painful for Mute - my apologies, but once the frequency goes higher she cannot hear it,” Pointy explained, pushing a pair of bloody glasses up his nose.
“Children of Discordia come first,” Roach told him, a hint of urgency in his tone. “Are we not taking Spike?” Roach was already speeding down empty roads.
“I’m sure he’s having fun,” Goliath muttered under his breath. “Pointy, who else is helping?”
“I don’t know, but I imagine all our Assassins in New London - shoot-on-sight orders have been given.”
Roach slammed his palm on the steering wheel, picking up speed as he did so.
“How are you on ammo?” Goliath asked his teammate.
“Twenty-six bullets left.”
“How are the rest of you doing?” Goliath questioned.
“Never better,” Pointy replied, pulling his blood-soaked t-shirt away from his skin.
“Fuck me,” Goliath muttered, “where the fuck did that all come from?”
“As Spike would say, I pissed blood out my nose,” Pointy sighed. “I’m healed though.”
Goliath turned his attention to Mute who was slumped into the back seat, her fingers loosely gripping her blade. She was soaked in sweat, but her bob still sat perfectly on her head. “Rest, alright?” Goliath told her. “Pointy, I need that minor healing.” Goliath unhooked his chest piece, revealing a chunk of his skin missing on his abs.
“Pull the seat out and lean back,” Pointy instructed.
Mercy continued his walk forward with bullets zipping past him. The Horde was now thinning out, but that did not mean the nearing of an end or easier fight. Like a game of chess, the pawns die first, leaving the queens and rooks to fight. Lining the back were the strongest monsters, some in clumps, others alone. They had intelligence and foresight, making them more dangerous than any man or woman or even Unwanted.
Charging at him were four trolls with skin akin to elephants. Their height and waist beat any half-giant, and by the angry look plastered on their ugly faces, they were here for a feast.
However, upon entering Mercy’s domain, their necks snapped, and they dropped dead, sliding to a stop just before him. As he walked by them, their corpses shifted, almost like a creature was trying to escape. Mercy's hands that were behind him contorted, and in a quick, swift motion, the bones from the corpses flew out and circled above him.
“This is Iceman, third Wendigo in sight. Engaging.”
The Horde suddenly parted like rats to flame, moving past him. Ahead of him was a figure.
“This is Pike, sixth Wendigo in sight. Engaging.”
There it was, the Alpha Wendigo, out of hiding, looking for souls to consume.
“This is Mercy, seventh Wendigo in sight. Engaging.”