Jon Messenger - Burden of Sisyphus

Ahead, a semicircular receptionist’s table rested against the far wall. The pair moved forward, their footsteps muted and silent on the carpeted floor. A thin layer of dust coated the darkly lacquered surface. Peering over the top, Roberts noted a splash of blood against a display screen, but there was no sign of the receptionist or anyone else.

A bank of elevators sat in an alcove left of the receptionist’s desk, but the lack of power left the elevators frozen and impotent. Though the light was out above the elevator, a sign above a nearby doorway read Stairs.

“Looks like we’re walking,” Roberts whispered, his soft voice carrying in the vaulted foyer.

He opened the door, while Gythrun slipped inside, his large wings folded tightly against his armored back. Their flashlights barely lit the pitch-black stairwell, casting light only four or five floors up the silo-like internal staircase.

They moved cautiously. One went to the next landing while the other remained below, his weapon trained on the stairs. After moving up two flights, they stopped before a door marked with a large 3.

Breathing deeply, they opened the door and cast their lights down a narrow hallway. A second hall ran to the left, leading deeper into the building’s core. Gythrun glanced at it, but Roberts shook his head. The room they wanted was ahead and to the right, its windows facing the main street.

The hall had two doors set against the right side before it ended in a large door that probably held a meeting room or large office.

They entered the hall, glad once again their footfalls were muffled on carpet. Still, Roberts’ adrenalin coursed through his veins. He tried to calm himself, as they reached the first door, but it was no use. His heart pounded in his chest like a hammer trying to crack his protective armor.

Gythrun nodded, letting him know he was ready. Roberts’ hand closed on the door handle. Unlocked, it turned easily. With a shove, he slid it open.

Both held their weapons ready to fire, but they looked into an empty office. The still-intact window looked down on the street, allowing fading sunlight to filter through installed blinds. Moving to the second room, they found it similarly furnished and had another intact window.

Turning to the end of the hall, they moved quietly to the large door. Roberts reached down, feeling comforted, as his hand closed over the knife sheathed at his side. Under his helmet, sweat matted his silver hair and ran trails over his tattoos. He heard Gythrun’s labored breathing and felt his nervousness.

He turned the handle and let the door slide open. Their flashlights focused shafts of light into a large meeting room. Three sets of windows dominated the far wall, the middle one broken, allowing a cool breeze to blow into the building. Dim sunlight, cascading into the room in ambient waves from the setting sun, fell a few feet inside, but the light diffused farther into deeper parts of the large room until, by the far wall, the room was dark and filled with shadows.

Against the far wall, a large conference table had been carelessly pushed against the wall, breaking one of the far legs and leaving the table slanted slightly away from the main doorway.

Roberts entered and walked toward the broken window, checking for any sign the falling glass was anything but an accident. Though he found nothing, he peered out the window onto the shadowy street below.

The Avalon moved toward the back wall, drawn by a second door that appeared, as his flashlight passed over the darkened area. He glanced over his shoulder, as Roberts finished his examination of the broken window. Catching the Wyndgaart’s eye, Gythrun gestured toward the back door.

Turning back, the Avalon’s flashlight passed over a dark stain in the carpet. Examining it closer, he followed the bloody smear from the center of the conference room to the back door, where it disappeared. Reaching out, he opened the door.

His flashlight followed the trail of blood to a half-eaten body discarded in a deep storage closet. Half the skull and both legs had been torn away. Congealed blood coated the ground around the corpse, and flecks of shredded muscle and sinew lay strewn around the front of the closet. The remaining eye in the bloated body stared at him, as if angered by the intrusion of light into its black sanctum. Gythrun flinched at the smell of rotted meat, the body having already swelled and split, releasing its gases.

Movement behind the corpse startled him. He brought his light to bear, illuminating the closet a little deeper. His light fell upon a single, bloodstained, clawed arm that scratched eagerly at the carpet. Flipping the flashlight beam higher, light reflected off an open maw of razor-sharp teeth.

Gythrun tried to step back, as the creature emitted a guttural, savage growl. A clawed hand flashed out, catching the Avalon at the base of the abdomen, eviscerating the unsuspecting soldier. The force of the blow lifted him off his feet and dropped him unceremoniously atop the canted conference table in a spray of blood and organs.

Roberts, only halfway across the room, stood stupefied, as arterial blood splashed against the near wall. The creature forced its way from the storage closet. It’s enormous size and broad shoulders made it stoop low in its attempt to get free.

The Wyndgaart raised his rifle and fired three times. The rounds slammed into the creature’s gray hide, as it angrily broke free of the doorway, shattering the wooden frame. It didn’t seem to notice the gunshot wounds, as it howled in rage and eyed the soldier across the room.

Turning away, Roberts sprinted toward the window. His bullets ineffective, he knew there was a better chance of survival from a thirty-foot drop to the street than to remain in the conference room. Though he was fast, the beast moved with surprising speed, closing the distance quickly, running on both back feet and knuckles.

Roberts was nearly at the window when the creature caught him, its mouth open wide in a display of foot-long, protruding teeth. It closed its mouth over Roberts’ shoulder with dagger-like teeth, crushing bones and penetrating his heart. Momentum sent his legs flying out before him, while his upper body was held by the monster’s mandibles.

Life faded from the Wyndgaart’s eyes, and he hung limply, suspended in midair. When the beast released the body, it collapsed a few feet from the open window and safety. Reaching out with a clawed hand, it grabbed Roberts’ leg and dragged him away from the window.

Early morning light glistened off the lake on the outskirts of Arcendor. Striking the water’s surface, the sunlight refracted, glinting thousands of sparkles across the glassy plane. Keryn yawned from exhaustion. The water gently lapping against the shore soothed her.

Sleep eluded her for most of the night. Her mind was a whirling mass of thoughts, as she worried about the aerial joust she watched the previous night. The knot in her stomach worsened, leaving her weak and nauseated.

Trying to ignore her queasiness, she stared at the same thing she examined a dozen times since arriving at the lake-the giant, shining, metal pylon dominating the shoreline. Another one stood a few miles away down the shoreline, while a second pair stood like silent guardians on the far shore. Together, they created the four corners of a square around the lake stretching nearly three miles on a side. Concerning their use, she could only wonder.

Despite the black, form-fitting suit she wore, she still shivered against the arctic breeze blowing down from the distant, snow-capped peaks. The other cadets in her class, all similarly dressed, huddled near each other in a meager attempt to warm themselves. The only ones unfazed by the chill were the instructors, who wore heavy coats to block the wind.