The day began like any other. The sun slowly but surely peaking over the horizon, ready to usher in yet another long, hot, and harsh Mojave afternoon. But that was for later. For now, in the early hours of dawn, a certain comfortable chill still blanketed the arid landscape and all that dwelt there made sure to savor it before it was truly vanquished by the morning star.
In these hours, a (relatively) small radscorpion found a small hill overlooking the sleepy town of Boulder Colorado. The hill was perfect. Not too hot, not too irradiated, and its rocky outcroppings gave perfect camouflage and shade to the fledgling insectoid. In this moment, it was more than content to rest in the shade and simply watch the comings and goings of the small frontier town below.
Though idyllic as it was, the radioactive arachnid couldn't help but feel in the back of its mutated brain that something about this scene was off. The settlement below may have been small, but there were usually at least a couple humans moseying around by now. In fact, there hadn't been any human activity to speak of since yesterday.
Had it the capacity to be confused, there's no doubt the little radscorpion would have been left scratching its carapace. But it didn't, so it sat.
Sat and watched as the world in front of it went to hell.
First came the humans in green and beige. They rushed into the settlement with a swiftness and panic that the radscorpion couldn't really understand. What were they running from? It could see no predators in the area. Even less understandable was that most of the humans ignored the perfectly good hiding places that their homes and buildings provided and continued running right into the desert, with only a couple in their rank seeing the obvious and choosing to hunker down within the town itself.
Then came the pursuers.
A rolling tide of red and purple washed over the town, the deep rumbling of their lockstep marching mixed and mingled with their warcrys as the scouts led the main army to their cornered prey. Gunfire ensued, as did the sounds of mines and grenades as the small band of green clad humans held off the red tide as the army swept in for a swift kill.
This commotion had grown so loud and unignorable that it was beginning to agitate the arachnid. Annoyed that its new favorite hiding spot had been ruined so soon by those strange obnoxious humans, the radscorpion soon turned its tail toward the town and set out to look for greener pastures and cooler sands. Sadly, before it could truly depart; a chill unlike even the most fridged desert midnight jolted down the invertebrate's exoskeleton, the overwhelming chill of imminent death.
Before it could even think about reacting, however, an earthshattering explosion blasted its way through the town. Laying waste to nearly every building in the area as well as vaporizing every living creature nearby with a heavenly shockwave that left only a small mushroom cloud laying in its wake.
The explosion could be seen for miles and heard farther still, with some even as far as Primm saying that they remember hearing "Thunder with no clouds in sight.". And yet as the shockwave finally reached the other side of the river, and the personal guard of the Malpais Legate were sent to their knees clutching their ears, the Legate himself stood shocked. Binoculars nearly slipping from his hands as his eyes stayed trained on the mushroom cloud looming on the horizon.
The first battle of Hoover Dam was over, and Joshua Graham had failed.
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The next few hours were a blur for Joshua, a silent solemn trudge back to The Fort. When they finally arrived, there was an overwhelming sense of sorrow and hopelessness hanging over the heads of nearly everyone present. The Legion had suffered defeats in the past, but they had always made sure that however much they hurt, the enemy was hurt twice as worse. They could lose a battle, but in the end The Legion always won the war. Now? There was no war. Worse, now there was scarcely even a Legion.
This last campaign against the NCR had been the toughest war in all of Graham's thirty years as the Malpais Legate, and he had gambled nearly all the legion had. From its most hardened veterans forged over nearly twenty years of constant conquest, to its greenest recruit barely at the age to grow facial hair. He had wagered them all on this climactic battle, this sweeping Hail Mary, this that was to be their own personal crossing of the Rubicon! And in his hubris, he had walked them all right into the gates of hell itself.
It was no wonder The Fort wept that night.
As he and his personal retinue walked through the winding alleys and dugout trenches of The Fort's outer defenses and into the inner heart of the camp, Joshua noticed something.
Every single person they had passed, no matter what they were doing or what their emotional state prior to seeing him, had been staring at him. In fact, none of them had stopped staring at him until he was finally gone from their field of vison. And even then, there was a small yet growing crowd that was beginning to follow in their wake.
And the looks in their eyes…
Some of them were filled with anger, a red-hot rage so fierce it looked to be eating them alive from the inside out. But they were the minority. They, Joshua could understand.
The rest? The rest were looking at him like they were watching a ghost attend his own funeral. That strange, unsettling mix of pity and disbelief. He tried ignoring them as he trudged towards Caesar's tent, but in the very bottom of Joshua's stomach a pit began to form for reasons he couldn't, no… maybe it was more accurate to say he didn't really want to comprehend.
As they finally approached the tent, he turned and saw that nearly half of all the survivors left in the fort, be they soldiers, traders, even the slaves had joined the crowd. He tried to ignore them, but even as he turned to address his personal guard, he never felt their eyes leave the back of his head for a moment.
"Wait here." Was all that was said, as his ever-silent escorts responded only with a small nod. Once inside, Joshua heard a grand number of voices all barking and shouting over each other. Some familiar, some not, some he would've preferred never to hear again. All went silent as he walked in.
Caeser's tent was crammed near to bursting with just about every high ranking official The Legion had left standing, all crowded around their all-powerful emperor. What had been a veritable madhouse of shouting, pleading and meaningless quarreling was gone in an instance. Leaving nothing in its place but a silent crowd that slowly parted as Graham stepped forward.
As he approached the throne, Graham took note of the two figures flanking its sides. Lucious stood to its left, his brow heavy and his eyes even more tired than they usually were; with circles under them so dark you'd almost mistake them for a bruise earned in battle. Lanius bordered its right, his arms crossed, and his features hidden under the grim visage of his iron battle mask. With his imposing armor, near complete stillness, and standing height of almost seven feet, one would sooner think he was a statue of Mars himself rather than a mere mortal.
Both Wings of Caeser looked less than pleased to see him, though in Lanius' case he couldn't ever recall seeing the man pleased at anything so he couldn't be sure, but for all their stares of disappointment and barely controlled fury, he couldn't bear to look away.
He couldn't bear to look towards the man in the throne. Every instinct he'd harnessed, every skill he'd honed, every fiber of his being was screaming at him that if he looked, he wouldn't like what he saw.
He tore his eyes away as he knelt at the foot of the throne and gave his report to Caeser, a once routine activity that now felt nearly as pivotal as the battle itself.
"Mighty Caesar, I regret to report that the battle for The Dam is lost, as are most of our veteran forces as well as all our newest recruits as far as our remaining scouts could tell. The enemy has also suffered heavy losses, though we were unable to deal significant casualties to their Rangers. So far only four are confirmed to have been slain."
Before he could continue his report, however, a new voice cut through the tent's silence. One Joshua felt equal parts annoyance and dread at hearing.
"Yes, Yes, we've known most of this since well before you're arrival Legate. Unlike you, my Frumentarii were able to not only fulfill their assignments, but nearly all were able to make their escape without so much as a scratch."
Vulpes Inculta's cold, deep, sharp voice sounded from in front of Graham as the Legion's foremost intelligence officer almost slithered from the deeper recesses of the large tent.
"Though I must admit, you provided an adequate distraction. Bravo."
Vulpes' eyes were hidden behind those dark tinted goggles Graham swore must've been glued to the fox-man's head, as much like his canine hood he was seldom seen without them, but behind them Joshua just knew Vulpes was relishing his failure. The smugness that was practically dripping from the man's every syllable serving only to add salt to his freshest wound.
Shooting the Frumentarii a glare that had made countless tribal chieftains crack like stone, The Malpais Legate shot back.
"I did not come here solely to summarize, Vulpes. My closing remarks are all pertaining to The Legion's future actions in the wake of this defeat, as well as how we can use the information we've gathered in the next battle for The Dam. You would've already known this had I not been interrupted."
For the smallest of seconds Graham saw a sneer replace the Frumantarii's usual emotionless façade but he hadn't the chance to enjoy it.
For the first time since The Malpais Legate had departed for The Dam, promising victory and conquest, Caesar spoke.
"Next battle?"
The voice was softer than Caesar's usual commanding tone, barely above a whisper. But it was enough for Joshua's view to snap to the throne, and for the first time since his defeat Graham's eyes met Caesars.
In these orbs, Joshua found no malice at his failure nor relief at his return. Instead, all that lay within was a cold, muted mix of disappointment and disinterest. Like a child looking at a toy he'd just smashed flat against the pavement.
It was nearly the exact opposite reaction Joshua had been dreading to see, and yet somehow it filled him with more dread than anything else that'd raced through his fear addled mind. It was a look Joshua had seen Caesar make many times, and it was nearly always directed at people Joshua would be assigned to erase once their usefulness to the Legion was at its end.
Before Graham could fully unpack that implication however, Caesar's voice rang out again. Louder this time, but with no more emotion than the first.
"Next battle? I don't think you understand, there isn't going to be a next battle. I mean, for shits sake there's hardly still even a Legion! You've fucked us, Graham, and I don't think you really know how hard you've done it."
Joshua's mouth hung open in disbelief, before he tried to gather his wits and muster out a response.
"Yes, today's battle has proven disastrous, but if we consolidate our forces in Arizona and launch a new campaign against the smaller tribes to the east, then we may yet regain our former strength. Perhaps even surpass it."
For a long moment Caesar looked pensive at the thought, before giving a small nod in agreement.
"Hmm, yes, I suppose that would be a wise course of action. The Moonsingers have been getting too close to Phoenix as it is lately; they shall make an excellent first target."
Feeling the barest hint of relief and normalcy, Joshua let out a breath he'd been holding since Caesar had first spoken.
"Very well, I shall prepare the raiding parties fo-"
"I don't think you'll have any part in this, Legate."
Joshua was shocked to hear a voice come from behind Lanius' mask. The giant's voice was harsh, rumbling , and carried a metallic ring that made it seem as if the mask itself had spoken, instead of the man behind it.
After shaking off the shock, Joshua went to question what else he would've been doing while the Legion marches east for conquest, but Vulpes' quick tongue beat him to it.
"You still don't get it do you…"
His brow furrowed. Joshua was reaching his limit on Vulpes' insolence and shot a glare at the man.
"Get what Vulpes? Enlighten me. What exactly am I missing that you find so crucial!?"
"Graham."
Once again, the Legate's head pivoted, and now it was Lucius who held his attention. His eyes still held a fatigue like no other, but there was a hint of bitterness behind both them and his voice as he continued.
"You more than anyone should know the price of failure."
A deep pit formed in his stomach as the words left the Praetorian's mouth, and in his haste, he looked towards Caesar in hopes of dispelling these foolish notions; but in doing so found only despair.
"Lucius is correct. In all the Legion's thirty years of being, I have never tolerated anything less than complete and utter victory."
The dictator's stare hardened on Joshua before he finished his statement and sealed the Legate's fate.
"One silver lining to this utter disaster: this shall be an excellent example to show those left that no matter what rank you may have, or how long you've served, there is no room for defeat. The only results that shall be tolerated are either victory, or death."
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At this point Joshua was in near shock, going almost completely catatonic. He did not hear Caesar's order for the Praetorian's to seize his arms, nor feel their hands on his shoulders as they did so. He didn't see Vulpes' smug smirk as he was practically dragged from the tent, nor Lucious' small glance of pity.
The only thought racing through his mind, over and over and over again, was a prayer. The first in a long time.
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Joshua wasn't quite sure how long the Praetorian's dragged him along in that zombified state. All he knew was that at some point, his utter bafflement and disbelief had slowly given way to rage and indignation. Caesar may have founded the Legion, but it was Graham who had forged it.
It was Graham who had led the charge in every campaign. It was Graham who had made sixty-eight tribes bend the knee and kiss Caesar's ring. And when their offers of surrender and assimilation were refused and spat upon by some pissant tribal chieftain, it was Graham who put them and everything they loved to the sword!
Caesar was who they obeyed, but it was the Malpais Legate they feared.
Snapping out of his delirium, Graham reawakened just in time to see the boundless splendor of the Grand Canyon sprawled out before him, with him and his escorts rapidly approaching its edge. More than sick of being dragged at this point, Joshua shook off the Praetorians with his patented swift brutality. First crushing the knee of the right one under his heel, before quickly turning to the left one and headbutting him. His nose letting out a sickening crunch as it collided with the Legate's forehead.
A swift knee to the gut later and both elite soldiers were sprawled onto the steep cliff's edge, one clutching their now misshapen leg while the other desperately tried to retain their lunch. Joshua didn't get the chance to admire his handywork however, as commotion from behind him alerted the Legate to the presence of a large crowd at his back. Turning, he saw what must've been every soldier The Fort had left, from the few recruits that had been left behind as a garrison, to Caesar himself surrounded by the rest of his personal retinue. And every single one of them had their weapons trained square on him.
From guns, to spears, to even just the humble machete, each and every soldier had their weapons raised toward him. The abject fear in their eyes shook Graham from his rage. It was not unexpected as Joshua's ruthless reputation as the Malpais Legate preceded him, but the legate had always tried to temper his ferocity with lessons. For each decimation, he had tempered it with wisdom, and instruction to the remaining troops. It was part of what he thought had earned him The Legion's respect as well as it's fear.
But when he went looking for even a shred of that respect that he had so carefully cultivated over nearly three decades, he found none. Only the terror remained.
Caesar himself was the one to finally break the silence:
"Legate Graham, for your failure to capture The Dam from the profligates, and the near complete destruction of The Legion's main forces, I sentence you to death via incineration."
Despite himself, Graham had the oddest urge to bark out a laugh at the maddening situation playing out before him. Joshua's feet felt unsteady as what felt like his entire world began to crumble out from under him. He opened his mouth to speak, to plead, to scream, to do something! But could let out only silence.
His focus only shifted back to our mortal coil as Lanius approached, something held dangling by his right hand. Before Joshua could even move, or even think, the hulking giant thrust what Graham now saw was a bucket toward him. Spewing it's tar like contents all down the Legate's torso.
The Malpais Legate shot the masked man a glare, and was about to admonish him, when the unmistakable smell of pitch reached his nose. Looking down, he discovered the source all over his shoulders and chest.
'Oh God.'
As Lanius stomped away, Vulpes was the next to approach. Though he was far swifter than the previous brute, and so caught the Legate off guard, as more pitch was tossed.
Unfortunately for Graham not only was Vulpes swifter, he was also evidently a better shot than Lanius; as Joshua soon found pitch raining down on his head, smothering his face while the rest of the foul viscous liquid ran down his back.
He'd barely smeared it from his lips and wiped it from his eyes before Lucius was upon him, with yet more of the foul substance at hand. Mercifully he was able to bring his arms up towards his head to block the bucket's load, but it was an insignificant victory as even blocked, the pitch still covered his arms and dripped heavily down onto his legs.
With that, the guards of Caesar returned to his side, their duties fulfilled.
Well… All but one anyway.
With a nod from Caesar, two torches were brought forth by one of Vulpes' Frumantarii; one of each was given to both Lanius and Lucius. As the Wings of Caesar marched forward, a twinge of regret eked its way onto Lucius' face, a stark contrast to Lanius' ever stony visage. However, Graham saw neither of them. Since the torches were brought forward, his eyes hadn't left Caesar's.
As the flames edged closer, and the Legate's time grew short, Joshua finally found his voice. Barely managing something above a whisper. Something that was heard by him and Caesar alone.
"Edward… Please…"
White hot flames danced across his skin. Every inch of him lit ablaze all at once. Each and every nerve at each and every point across his body was crying out in agony. He felt his clothes begin burning away first, then his skin started to blister and boil. His hair was next, turning to ash at an astonishing rate until there was nothing left. He tried to scream but nothing came out. He tried again, and again and again until it felt like his throat was raw but not even a whisper escaped.
The flames grew hotter and hotter, until they felt as if they were burning his very bones down to their marrow. Hell was real, and it was roaring across his body and penetrating deep into his very soul.
Then came the fall.
At some point in this seemingly never-ending torment, Joshua must've lost his footing. As he soon felt himself hurtling down the steep cliff walls of the Grand Canyon, the wind doing little to snuff the flames still eating away at his flesh.
He didn't know how long he fell, forever would've been his guess. But through the whipping of the wind, and the white-hot delirium seeping through the edges of his vison, he saw his entire life play out before him. Not through flashes of fond memories, key dates, and familiar faces; but in painstaking detail. One day after the other. From his first steps in New Canaan, to his fruitful linguistic and missionary studies, to the meeting of Edward Sallow and Bill Calhoon, to their capture by the Blackfoots and the birth of Caeser.
As the vison lengthened, and the Graham he shadowed became increasingly violent, Joshua began to notice something terrifying. The flames, which until this point had mercifully begun to dull to a painful throb instead of the raging inferno it had started as, gradually became hotter and hotter the crueler the Malpais Legate became. From the complete and utter destruction of the Ridgers, the first of many ethnic cleansings he would oversee through the years. To the mass crucifixion of the Garlanders, to the burning of the Hangdogs' spirt animals; a deed he was particularly regretting upon this newest reflection.
Needless to say, by the time he had been a Legate for ten years, the flames were nearly hotter than before his fall.
By fifteen years, they were almost double the intensity.
The latter half of his career became a painful whirlwind of near constant cruelty. A never-ending death march of war and conquest. Not a day went by without him ending several lives, with each of them adding more fuel to his living pyre.
All building and culminating to that one final crescendo of blood and failure: The Battle for Hoover Dam.
Joshua tried in vain to steel himself for what was coming, but all the steel in the world couldn't have prepared him for what happened next.
For instead of merely viewing it miles away from the safety of the Colorado river, Graham found himself smack dab in the middle of a town he had never set foot in. Was it a vison from the Lord Creator himself? Or simply the last vestige of his dying, roasted brain? Joshua had stopped asking that question long ago.
As quickly as the flames had caught onto his skin, the tons upon tons of explosives that filled the small town went off. And just for a moment, he wondered if this is what those poor souls experienced that fateful day on October of 2077. All at once hundreds upon hundreds of souls cried out in agony, their bodies nearly vanished in a burning flash, leaving behind only blackened bones in the shape of a man. Joshua screamed with them as the flames burned at their hottest, as if all nine layers of hell itself had burrowed beneath his skin. Theirs screams mingling into a deafening, unholy choir. A grim falsetto punctuated by the looming mushroom cloud that blocked out the sun itself.
The last image that flashed through Graham's barely kept together mind before he hit the ground, was the face of his lord and savior Jesus Christ. He had been looking upon Joshua's memories, his deeds, his very soul, just as Joshua had done himself.
And Jesus wept.
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Pain was what roused him from his slumber. He was still burning. Red, charred eyelids opened to clear blue orbs that frantically looked down at the flames still coating their skin, and found nothing. Nevertheless, the pain remained. For a moment Graham wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and let the eternal sleep finally take him, but his surroundings pulled his mind away from that train of thought.
He appeared to be resting on the beach of a small stream, surrounded by more trees and green than he'd ever known. With no hint of desert, or even the very canyon he'd plummeted from in sight. And by God, the trees! They were wider than some buildings Joshua had seen, and stretched almost as high as the clouds themselves.
'I remember Edward once told me about a type of tree once found in California that grew to these sizes, could this be where I washed up?'
Edward… The mere thought of that name was enough to call forth agonizing memories, from both before and during his fall. Memories he was quick to completely shunt away.
'Think later, all I need to focus on right now is living. Minute by minute.'
His first attempt at pulling himself up was… painful as he'd barely even hoisted his torso up a couple inches before his right forearm buckled and screamed in agony. The short fall back to the ground had, surprisingly, been equally painful as he sputtered out several raspy coughs as his ribcage impacted the forest floor.
'Fool!' he chastised himself. 'Fell from a canyon, should've expected broken bones.'
After checking over himself as best as he could, Joshua had found two fractured ribs, a cracked forearm, and a dislocated hip. He was doubtless missing some, but so far as he knew those were the most pressing injuries he could find. Aside from the obvious anyway.
And so, with walking seemingly out of the question for now, Joshua began moving the only way he found feasible: slowly inching forward with his elbows and usable knee. It was slow, it was dirty, it was hell on his burns, but it was progress.
He kept at it like this for nearly an hour, (he guessed an hour anyway; the canopy here was so thick that he had to squint to see if sunlight was peeking through it.) when for the first time in what felt like years, fortune took pity on him. Said pity took the form of a fallen branch nearly as thick as his arm, and taller than him by a good inch or so.
No doubt just a twig in this forest of giants, but a potential life saver for Graham.
However, while finding it had been easy, actually managing to prop himself onto his feet with the damned thing had been another hassle entirely. Finally, after nearly a half hour of pained grunts and blistering fingers, Joshua Graham was on his own two feet once more.
Limping through the underbrush, the former Legate couldn't help but marvel at the forest around him. He had never seen a place so full of life, full of energy. He had heard rumors of a place like this in his youth, an oasis virtually untouched by both The Great War and the Wasteland at large. A veritable Zion.
Was someone like him truly deserving of the splendor around them?
Before he could untangle that particular thought from his still pain-addled mind, he caught movement in the corner of his eyes, and heard a wet gurgle come from the woods to his right. Going as still as he could, and praying for the second time that day, Joshua slowly reached for what was left of his back pocket and hoped what he was reaching for still even worked.
With a slight click, the former legate pulled out a small colt commander .45 pistol hand crafted by Joshua himself, a right of passage virtually all New Canaanites took part in before being welcomed to adulthood. It was caked in grime and soot, and the grip looked a tad warped and singed from the heat, but thankfully it appeared to be in working order. A small light shining through the darkness.
Satisfied he could defend himself, Joshua slowly inched closer and closer to the source of the strange noise, until he found himself face to face with a massive man-sized vulture greedily feasting on unknown prey. Even as it stooped down to feed, the giant raptor still came up to nearly his torso, and when his bad leg snapped an oversized twig with a sickening crack, it stood to it's full seven feet of height and stared him dead in the eye.
His knuckles tightened around his pistol, but neither figure dared to make a move; Graham out of fear and the vulture he could only guess. The Lanius sized scavenger let out a shrill caw before unfurling its gargantuan wings and shooting up towards the canopy. Leaving the former legate dumbfounded at what the thing had been feeding on.
There, laying half decomposed, was a large elk like creature that made the largest of deathclaws look like mere toys. It's bone white antlers looking more like the trees he knew than the very forest surrounding him.
After that, Joshua wasn't quite sure what to do next. The bounds of reality were starting to shift and ebb as he continued to walk aimlessly amidst the trees that only continued to vex him. Was he still dreaming? Were those animals simply irradiated and that was why they looked so strange? But if so, then how was this place still so untouched, so unravaged, so full of life? No matter how he looked at it, things weren't adding up.
Shaking his head and shifting his focus, the mantra he'd defaulted to back at the stream ran through his head once more: 'Think later, live now.'
And so he did, pressing forth while doing his best to squash these thoughts down till he could breathe, until he could rest.
A sudden violent stirring from the underbrush caused Graham's head to snap to his right. Next came a low rumbling that shook the earth he stood upon so heavily, that his first thought was to wonder if this was some sort of earthquake. Those notions were quickly dispelled however, as he realized the rumblings followed a rhythmic pattern, akin to the beating of a heart.
'Or…' Graham thought as what little body hair he had left on the back of his neck shot straight up. '…very heavy footfalls!'
Not heeding any of his still charred body's protests, Graham suddenly dove to the side as gracefully as he could, landing harder than he'd like, but still mercifully out of the way of the giant stampeding beast.
Propping himself up on his good leg, his cooked skin paling as he got an eyeful of the creature: Standing at nearly two stories tall, with golden fur and ivory horns longer than he was, stood the largest most menacing bull Joshua had ever seen.
Despite himself, the older man let out a strained chuckle. In his youth, Joshua had always thought the phrase "God has a sick sense of humor" to be borderline blasphemous. However, the sight before him had the holy man reevaluating that assumption.
Before he could come to a conclusion however, the beast readied to charge him once more.
Doubting he had it in him to dodge like that again; Joshua raised his .45 with practiced precision. Carefully aiming for one of the beast's massive eyes as he doubted the bullet would penetrate the veritable wall of bone that made up its skull. Taking a deep breath, Graham pulled the trigger just as the house sized bovine broke into a frantic sprint, only to hear a devastating clack. The sound of a jam.
Only through a mix of luck and divine providence was Joshua able to avoid being gored, as the beast's mighty footfalls caused the man to lose his footing amidst the rumbling earth below him. Sending him tumbling painfully onto his back, and below the reach of the bull's ivory spears. Frantically racking the slide, Graham fired the remaining five shots all into the beast's underbelly as it stampeded over him, narrowly avoiding it's tire sized hooves as they attempted to pound him into paste.
Thankfully, despite the beast's size bullets actually did seam to at least hurt it as it let out a loud cry of pain before clambering off and away from the very injured man. Graham almost let out a sigh of relief, before a parting shot from the beast's back-left hoof slammed into his shoulder blade and sent the former missionary hurtling a couple dozen feet through the air.
And so, Joshua found himself right back where he started: face down on the forest floor, now sporting a brand-new shattered shoulder.
In that moment all Joshua wanted to do, was close his eyes and rest. To let the long sleep take him and hope beyond hope for forgiveness in the next world.
However, before he could let himself drift off for good, the distant sound of waves found their way into his ear. Graham's world-weary eyes snapped open. Waves meant a coast, and a coast was his best shot at finding other people, if there even were any in this God forsaken forest.
And so, working on nothing but adrenaline, hope, and sheer willpower; he crawled. The only thing pushing him forward, the only thing stopping his broken and battered body from giving out on him for good was the slowly rising volume of waves lapping at a distant shore.
He didn't know how long he spent mindlessly crawling like a moth drawn to flame. Every part of both his mind and soul was solely focused on inching his way forward. Left elbow, right knee. Left elbow, right knee. Over and over, until he felt a blessed coolness run over his fingers. Unfortunately for Graham, however, he wasn't able to enjoy the fruits of his painfilled labor for long. For as Joshua looked upon the coast he'd crawled so far for, something else dominated the view before him.
On the horizon, countless miles away, rose a crimson cliff that made the very canyon he'd fallen from look utterly insignificant by comparison. It stretched beyond his view, going on for God only knows how long in either direction as if it were wrapped around the world itself. Even from here, practically an ocean away, he could just barely spy the top of the seemingly uniform stone structure just shy of breaching the clouds hovering overhead. The great red wall dwarfing them made even these towering trees look utterly insignificant by comparison.
It had left him utterly speechless, his previous excitement completely purged from his mind as if it were never there. One sole thought rattled around his skull before exhaustion and fatigue finally claimed him, and he fell unconscious once more:
Just where in God's name had he landed?