Steven Montano: Black Scars

I don’t want to die here, Cross thought. Somewhere else. Not in the Reach.

The mist thinned. Dark shapes took form in the distance, a mass of bobbing shadows.

Cross didn’t need to see the white spider. It was a guide, somehow, the world’s way of telling him where to go, only he’d seen it less and less those past months. He knew it was there, somewhere, out on a tree or crossing the path. They were supposed to be there, finding that crash.

Follow and you will find.

“ Dillon and I are on a mission,” he said. “We’re looking for something.”

“ Pray tell.”

“ The Woman in the Ice,” he said.

Cross noted Lucan’s reaction: he stiffened like a board, and his eyes fluttered open for a moment, as if waking from a dream, and then closed again.

Black flinched at mention of the Woman.

“ You’re heard of her,” Cross said.

“ Maybe,” Black said with a nod.

Thunder approached the tree line. The Gorgoloth would break into the clearing in a few moments. Cross’ spirit coiled up so hard she weighed down his limbs. He breathed in deep, pulled her into his lungs, and held her there.

“ I know you’re not supposed to be here,” he said. “You have a skeleton crew and only a handful of prisoners. Whatever you’re doing here, it’s not as a Revenger.” He had to raise his voice to be heard. “If we live through this…you and I have things to talk about.”

The sound of the approaching force grew louder by the second. Inky silhouettes bled into view through the dying fog. A second later, and the Gorgoloth were there.

A raucous battle howl rose at the edge of the trees, so powerful that the forest shook. Ebon-skinned nightmares charged out of the fog. They had stark white manes and ravenous blades, black flesh and white armor. They were harlequin marauders.

The Gorgoloth had oversized mouths that bore simian teeth. Clawed hands held weapons made from obsidian and shaved stone. Their armor was made of snow serpent scales, white bear skins and blood wolf hides. There were over a hundred of them, easily. Each stood almost seven feet tall, and they had knotted dark muscles and lupine feet.

The Gorgoloth horde charged forth, heedless of any danger.

A hundred Gorgoloth, Cross mused, is not all that many. At least it wasn’t when compared to the droves they usually traveled in, but that didn’t matter. Against rifles and two mages, they might as well have been a thousand. The Gorgoloth found ways to prevail through their overwhelming numbers, their fearlessness, and their sheer brutality.

The air grew thin as Black sent her spirit forward into the mob. A rain of hot razors fell onto the clearing. They seared through ebon flesh and burned the dead trees to the sound of howls and the stomach-churning stench of burnt skin.

The charge faltered perhaps for a moment. They roared ahead, undeterred.

A cyclone of dark fire leapt from Cross’ hands. It was small enough at first that he hurled it like a projectile, and as it flew through the air it exploded into a violent pyrotechnic twister the size of a truck. The black funnel was a whirlwind of ebon flames and blades that slashed through every Gorgoloth in its path. Blood and scorched flesh sprayed like steaming clumps of mud.

Automatic gunfire erupted from inside of the ship’s wreckage. The first line of Gorgoloth were struck down by bullets and tumbled to the ground. White blood splattered like greasy milk. Cross sensed Black’s spirit pull back as she fired into the Gorgoloth with her Winchester; the rattle and rapport of the rifle was much louder than Cross expected, and Black fired with expert precision, pumping the lever so quickly after each shot that her arm became a blur.

Gorgoloth fell in piles, tripped on one another, and crushed into the bodies of their brothers as they charged forward. Flesh and blood exploded. The air was a roar of battle cries and guttural yells.

The Gorgoloth cleared half the distance from the tree line, and they showed little sign of slowing. More shadows threatened from the surrounding fog.

Cross brought his spirit back. She billowed into the form of an edged shadow and sliced her way through barbaric ranks like a murder of ravenous crows. Ribbons of black flesh splashed onto earth made wet with blood. She returned as a cloud of vapor that soared into his lungs and burned them. She was exhausted, and Cross felt like he’d been running for hours.

Still the Gorgoloth came.

Cross fired his HK into the onrushing mob. They were closing fast. Sharp and heavy throwing stones as large as baseballs soared at the humans, only to crack and scatter in the air as Black’s spirit barely formed a shield around them in time.

He sensed the fatigue in both of their spirits. They needed time to recover. Just precious moments would help. He hoped that by releasing them one and then the other the spirits would each have chance enough to rest, but it wasn’t enough.

The Gorgoloth pulled to within thirty yards. Cross saw fury in their blank eyes and fanged visages. Dillon and Vos fired furiously into the small horde. Cross watched with horror as the ebon brutes reached the hull of the ship and swung stone axes and dark blades and broke into the vessel. Wood splintered and collapsed, and the two gunmen backed deeper into the wreckage and disappeared from sight.

“ Cover me!” Black shouted.

“ What?!”

Cross didn’t have time to argue. Black ducked away and moved behind the prisoners. She started undoing Lucan’s bonds.

What, is she going to offer the poor guy up as a snack?

He had only heartbeats before Gorgoloth were upon them. A rushing waves of bodies and weapons. The air thundered and the ground rattled, and Cross’ heart dropped to his feet. He didn’t feel himself move, but suddenly he was right there in front of them. His HK flashed four shots, and two Gorgoloth fell as the chamber clicked empty. His spirit turned into a fan of liquid fire that shot out in a gushing stream. Gorgoloth collapsed with their faces and hands melting. Cross crouched down and ripped the shotgun from the holster on his back.

He felt how weak his spirit was. She wouldn’t be able to keep it up.

He fired a blast from the shotgun. The force threw him back since he was off balance, but the shot tore off a Gorgoloth’s arm and sent the brute sideways.

Still they came, a wall of black warriors. They trampled their own dead. They had no fear.

Cross did. His body was cold with it. There was no way out, and no way to deal with so many.

He felt a presence behind him. It was massive and powerful, a looming force of immense and primal magic. The monstrous spirit erupted out of nowhere.

Arcane power pushed at Cross from behind and nearly froze him in place. Its touch was so chilled he felt his movements slowed. Pinpricks of shadow pierced his skin and crept into his muscles. Everything darkened. The sky turned midnight, and the mist became as thick as iron.

Cross fired his shotgun again. The blast seemed distant. A Gorgoloth’s face tore away in slow motion. Time froze. They trudged through air like dark ice.

He looked at the prisoners.

Lucan floated a full foot above the ground. Black stood behind him. Her hands were wreathed in arcane power, and all of her attention was focused on the floating prisoner. The energy she held paled compared to Lucan’s.

Everything paled compared to Lucan.

He was a catastrophe of light, a storm of cold electricity that twisted and danced across the surface of the hard ground like drops of arctic rain. His eyes and his heart glowed hot white. The air sucked toward him, as if he were some sort of void, an inescapable hole. Space bubbled. Cross felt something inside of him weaken, and his energy drained away like water from a punctured sack.