Going Feet First Ch. 03

In the following seconds, the Knights and Sun-Kissed began to clash again. The cloaked warriors using the momentary distraction to slay four Knights before the rest caught on.

"You're dead, Demon!" the Captain cursed as he fought Galen for his M14.

The armored Knight pressed his full weight down on the rifle, forcing it into the private's neck. Every ounce of Galen's strength went into to trying to push the weapon back, adrenaline coursing through his veins as the mossy body began to crush his throat.

Then the light bulb went on over Galen's head, his rifle's squeals making him grit his teeth as he remembered the moss.

"Weapon, bite this bastard!" he gasped in elvish, his words making the rifle let out and angered growl.

"AHHHHRRAAHH!!!! FUUUUUUCCCKKKK!!!" the Captain roared as pure agony pierced his palms.

Huge chunks of his steel gauntlets had been ripped off, the three layers of skin completely gone as well to reveal the raw flesh beneath. Bits of his hands still clung to the mossy body of Galen's weapon, though the green hairs slowly began to devour them piece-by-piece. Seemingly from nowhere, Petra's clawed hands wrapped around the Captain's head, sinking into his face and tearing open the skin.

"Never harm my Master."

She kept his head pressed against her belly as jerked her whole body to the side, twisting his neck a full hundred-twenty degrees with a loud snap.

Casting the corpse aside, Petra offered a hand to Galen. He accepted it, coming back to his feet and bringing his rifle to his shoulder. The temptation was there for the Private to switch to full auto, as the horsemen did not fail to notice him drawing them into his sights, but he didn't want to injure the women who were responsible for the distraction that set him free. Semi-auto would have to do.

The first three men who attempted to charge Galen were blown off their feet by rounds punching clean through their breast plates. In the chaos and confusion, the sudden death of their comrades, the cavalry Knights swiftly fell into disarray.

During the engagement with the Sun-Kissed, one Knight had scored a lucky strike on one of the cloaked warriors, clipping her in the mail just above the hip where her breastplate did not cover, and just deep enough to draw blood. The Sun-Kissed hit her knees, holding in her verbal response as she looked up to the man about to bring his blade down upon her. Before the death blow could be delivered though, Galen's rifle went off, the Knight's throat exploding before the eyes of the Sun-Kissed warrior.

She raised a hand to block the arterial spray from getting into her eyes, looking over at Galen as he lowered his weapon, and gave her a quick nod before blowing away another Knight who attempted to rush him.

For the next half minute, a quick succession of gun shots echoed out over the forest, bullets narrowly missing the Sun-Kissed as the Knights were swiftly cut down.

When the last shell hit the ground, the last life ended upon a blade, and the peace finally returned to the woods, only then did the swords of the Sun-Kissed return to their sheaths. The mysterious warriors scoffed at the Knights lying dead at their feet, stepping over the bodies as they moved to tend to their wounds.

...

The life was fading from Harin's eyes as he lay on the ground in a pool of his own blood. The thunder had stopped, but his ears were still ringing. So proud he had been for his strength and courage, yet now he slips from the bonds of life at the hands of a man half his size. No, not a man. A demon.

A demon that stood over him now, one named Galen, with soft, watery blue eyes glaring so angrily at him as he knelt down at his side. Firm hands grasped Harin's collar, a stern, angered voice asking him, "What is the name of your lord? Who is the one buying my Celia?"

A moment passed as Harin debated giving the demon an answer. One moment out of the few he had left before his soul would be standing before Yariid for judgement. Intelligence wasn't Harin's strongest attribute, but he knew that holding back an answer now would only delay the inevitable, and likely would get more people killed. With dry lips the giant slowly gasped the name, "Fretheim."

"Thank you, Harin..." Galen said as a white glow began to engulf the giant's vision.

Icy warmth flourished in his body, a soft chant playing in his ears. Feeling returned to his fingers, the pain fading from every inch of his being. When he had the strength to tilt his head forward, he saw the wounds on his body had disappeared, replaced by pale scars underneath the holes in his armor.

Galen was climbing to his feet and slinging his weapon over his shoulder, a white glow dimming in his hand. "I'm sparin' your life, but only because you aren't one of Pretayus's men. You try anythin', I have no problems with blowin' this thick skull of yours off your shoulders. You ain't gonna tell no one 'bout what happened today. No one is gonna know of this battle, of me, my weapons, or my companion. Not one word to anyone. Are we understood?"

The Knight nodded weakly before relaxing his head on the ground. Before slipping from a consciousness mind, he wondered, What just happened?

...

Ignoring the death and corpses around him, and the emptiness inside him, Galen wandered among the puddles of red staining the sand of the riverbank. All of his thoughts were swirling around his head as a migraine continued to addle his mind. But what really troubled him the most was the hollow feeling inside his chest.

There was a crippling fear in him when he fought the Ra'zorlichs, a protective drive when he took on the troll, a release of anger when he slaughtered Pretayus's camp, and every time a touch of remorse dogged him when he ended a life, no matter whose life it was. But now, all he could feel was... cold. Empty.

There was no joy, no fear, no regret. Galen wore a neutral expression as he fought off the pain in the back of his head and welcomed the cool flush of calm replacing the emotions he anticipated. As he stood over the body of the slaver lying dead with a tunnel carved through his cranium by a .45 ACP, the Private couldn't help but give a short, silent giggle.

The second that twisted laugh left him, though, he froze; holding back on his tongue as panic flared up in his chest. Checking over his shoulder, he was relieved to find Petra at the treeline, away from him to gather something in the bush. She would not have heard him, and the Sun-Kissed were too busy sipping red liquids from small vials to care.

What the hell is wrong with me? he thought as he stared at the dead slaver. Why don't I feel anything?

These questions echoed in his mind several times over as he knelt down and began rifling through the pockets of the corpse. After a brief struggle with the clingy fabric of the pants, Galen retrieved the silver locket and a spare pistol magazine that had been pulled off of him earlier.

After taking a moment to wipe the dirt off the locket, the Private slipped it back into his own pocket and loaded the magazine into his pistol. As he pulled the slide to cock it and chamber a round, he flicked on the safety and turned toward the footsteps approaching him from behind.

"I have these," Petra announced, holding something out to him.

Fighting off his migraine, it took Galen a second to realize she was returning to him his combat webbing.

"Thanks," he stated coldly.

Without much change to his expression, he mechanically grabbed hold of his gear and pulled the straps over his shoulders. The webbing was loose now that he'd been stripped of his jacket, but he quickly tightened the straps up around his torso, ensuring each pouch was snug and secure against him. Next was the money belt, followed by his pack.

Having his gear on without wearing his uniform, the Private felt uncomfortable. He almost felt naked in his T-shirt, his stomach churning as he adjusted to the heavy weight upon his back. The first step he took sent a black wash of vertigo over his vision, causing him to stumble forth in a light-headed state before Petra caught him.

"Are you alright?" she asked, helping him sit down.

Rubbing the back of his head under his helmet, hand becoming smeared with blood, Galen answered, "My noggin' hurts... fuckers hit me hard... but I'll be fine... I'll use that healing magic."

"Are you demon, or human?" a female voice inquired.

Galen was slower to react than Petra, but the pair both turned to find the six remaining Sun-Kissed standing in ranks behind their leader. Blood spattering her yellow armor, the leader of the cloaked warriors stepped forth. Underneath the hood of her cloak, just above her black shemagh, a pair of rich, purple eyes curiously stared down at the Private. He could feel her gaze going over his body, examining him as a rancher would inspect his stock.

"Whaa?" Galen asked.

"Are you a demon or a human?" she repeated, a hand on her blade.

"Depends on what mood I'm in..." he miffed.

The Sun-Kissed leader locked eyes with Galen a moment, as though to wonder if he was joking or not. At the same time, Galen found himself curious as to just what species was under all those clothes. Definitely not human, as she had been referred to as a "knife-ear" by the late cavalry captain and the skin around her eyes was a pitch-black color, much like obsidian.

Though her master did not notice, Petra was on edge at the presence of these women. Her claws were ready to come out, her legs locked and ready to pounce at any moment.

"Very well, Demon," the woman said, pulling down her shemagh. "I am Dreek, leader of Siks Squad and third commandant of the Sun-Kissed. You are welcome for the distraction needed to allow your servant to free you, and we thank you for your assistance in the slaying of these pathetic humans."

That moment confirmed Galen's suspicions that she was definitely not human. The canines in her smile were a bit longer than any homo-sapien and her skin was indeed a black obsidian color. But what the Private could not figure out is what the women were exactly.

"What kind of creatures are you, Dreek?"

This brought about an air of confusion from the leader, even some of her troops wavered in their stances as they glanced at each other in bewilderment. Glaring at the so-called "demon," Dreek answered, "We are Drow, or Dark Elves as surfacers call us. May I inquire what kind of demon may you be?"

This caused Petra's ears to perk up, her eyes shifting in between Galen and Dreek. The dark cloud hanging over the Private gave the Drow pause, even made her stance take a defensive shift as Galen started for his feet. The vertigo struck him again, his light-headedness nearly making him pass-out. Only with Petra's assistance did the soldier successively clamber to his feet.

Please let being a demon keep her from attacking, Galen thought as his vision cleared.

Casually removing his helmet, Galen lit up to white glow in his hand and rubbed it over his scalp, chanting under his breath while gritting his teeth. Bones in the back of his skull crinkled, a fracture stitching itself back together as the blood vaporised from his skin. At once his headache fled from his mind, the light-headedness swept aside, but the cold hollow inside his chest remained.

Staring Dreek dead in the eye, Galen took hold of the sling over his shoulder as he answered, "I'm an American demon, I look like a human but wield new, advanced magic. I would love to chat with you, but right now, I have more human scum slay in this forest."

The Drow leader grinned as she nodded respectfully at the Private. She pulled her shemagh back over her face and gestured to her troops. "Then we will not keep you. Happy hunting, Demon."

"Galen," the Private corrected. "You may call me Galen."

"Very well. Happy hunting, Galen," Dreek stated. She turned around to face her troops, "On the horses, everyone. Time is wasting."

Immediately the Sun-Kissed broke off from their formation, moving toward the horses the cavalry on which had pursued them and mounted up. Galen didn't object, as there were seven Elves and eleven horses remaining that hadn't fled from the gunshots.

As the Drow rode off downstream, Galen mounted up onto a horse and settled into the saddle. Petra brought him his bag of ammo and satchel of shotgun shells, hanging them off the side of the saddle in front of the stirrups. The Neko was surprised, and the M14 disappointed, when Galen handed her the rifle, ordering, "Gimme th' shotgun."

Ignoring the intense whining from the moss, Petra slung the weapon over her back and handed Galen the Ithaca, watching as he pulled the pump back a bit to check the breach. Finding it empty, he fished his hand into the satchel hanging off the saddle, pulling out a handful of shells and sliding them into the tube. This time the Neko was sure to watch very carefully and memorize every action.

When the last shell was loaded, Galen pulled the pump and looked down to Petra, flicking the safety off. "Mount up. I won't have Celia in their hands another minute."

The assassin gave him an affirmative nod and stepped forward to hop on his horse.

"Whoa, whoa, hey!" he blurted as he spurred the horse to step away from the Neko. "This beast is already loaded down! There's another right there, hop on it!"

"But-" Petra looked over at the three other horses standing idle. Nervously shaking her head, she finished, "But I have never rode a horse before. I've seen them, but I have not a clue how to ride one."

"You serious?!" Galen snapped, a question to which she nodded.

A deep, low growl coursed through his throat, his knuckles stark white and his lips pursed. "Look just... FUCK!"

The Private pulled his pack off his shoulders and unhooked the bag of 7.62mm ammo from his saddle, tossing both over to Petra. "Stay here, watch my gear. I'll be back."

The Private lashed the reins and spurred the horse, breaking out into a full gallop as he raced back toward Pretayus's camp.

While she watched him thunder off, Petra opened her mouth to call out to him, only to pause with her mouth open. There was twang of fear cutting through her stomach, but a steel certainty as well. He would survive, she knew that, but for whom she worried about was Celia. Pretayus was the kind that would rather drag everyone, friend and foe alike, with him into the Nether if it meant he could cause one last ounce of pain toward his nemesis.

If Galen lost Celia, Petra couldn't predict who he would become. If that happened, the Neko could only hope that he might find consolation within herself afterward so he would not lose himself to emotions and dark paths that she had come to know all too well.

Pushing these thoughts off to the back of her mind, she carried his gear over to the treeline, hiding it all within a bush before climbing and settling into a tree. There she lay down upon a branch with Galen's rifle, stroking the soft moss to comfort it as it groaned. As she did so though, she shut her eyes and delved back into her memory. With everything she had seen today, she could perfectly envision a replay of how her master operated his precious weapons.

...............

Darkness surrounded Celia as she stood in an empty, black space void of life and light save her for body's dim, gold glow. Not a soul was in sight, nor was there a voice to be heard. She was alone and at peace in a world of her own.

With the wave of her hand, a brightly glowing body appeared in front of her. Chills ran down her spine as it dimmed, the object morphing and shifting about until it finally solidified into an identifiable being. The Elf swallowed hard as she stood face-to-face with Pretayus, his unforgiving glare burning into her head. She would have been scared, but she knew that what stood before her was not him, only an image of him. A statue that she had summoned through her own will.

Everything the Elf remembered of the slaver, and more, had been conjured together into an inanimate impression. From the black pants covering his mithril leg plates, to the green jacket he had stolen from Galen now covering up his upper body. Even the pendants hanging around his neck were in full detail within this realm of Celia's.

Curious to her foe's adornments, the Elf approached his likeness, circling around him to carefully examine his features. She inspected the bandage around his right ear, holding her stomach as she began peeling it back. Half of his sound-catcher had been torn away, the skin around the hole messily torn off along with much of the hair around it.

Unable to stand the sickening sight much longer, she replaced the bandages and moved on to the wrappings around the severed stubs that were once a thumb and fingers on his right hand. She wondered a moment on which of his hands was dominant, and if his mutilation would impair him in the future. From the heavy callouses on his right hand below the cauterised stubs, it was a safe bet he was indeed right-handed.

When she was finished going over his body, Celia moved on to his pendants, tugging them out from under his collar to reveal trinkets she didn't even know he had.

In this realm in which she found herself, as taxing as it was on her energy, she was given a temporary release from reality. All of her conscious mind was taken from the world and placed here as her body remained on auto-pilot. Here she could summon anything she had ever seen and look at it under greater detail to discover things that may have been obscured, or even completely hidden from view. Pretayus's pendants being an example.

Four interesting trinkets hung around his neck, but only one was of any interest to Celia right now: a round, disc-like object made of tarnished silver and embedded with black gems. From first sight she knew this was what kept him safe from magic and spared him a god's wrath. As she handled and experimented with the trinket, she found that in the center was a dial, and if spun the right way, it would eject from the disc.

If done in the real world, this would temporarily suspend the trinket's effects until it was whole again. She learned this by watching Pretayus do so to allow Galen a chance to heal himself.

Further inspection on the disc showed scripture written on the sides in Ancient Elven, the mother tongue to the Tree Elf language. Many words were similar, some not so much, but Celia did recognize enough to know that this disc was maybe two or three thousand years old. Perhaps Necela would know who made it, and how to destroy it.

Curiosity abated, Celia waved her hand to dismiss the impression of Pretayus, sighing as she was once again left alone in her dark, empty realm. She had tried summoning an impression of Galen before, but she couldn't find any love in the inanimate statue, as it had none to give. All it could do was give her a familiar chest to hug, and familiar lips to kiss.

With another wave of her hand, Celia summoned a large cauldron before her, the water glassed over with the images of what was happening around her body back in reality. Seeing what the cauldron had to show her gave her no incentive to return to reality.

Her body at this moment sat upon a horse, a Lycan holding the reins and keeping an eye on her as she blankly stared off into space. The pup tents were taken down and wrapped up in the Knights' packs as they readied their steeds for travel. Pretayus stood at the river bank speaking with Val, his face calm and even a bit cheery. When his lips stopped moving, his Elf simply smiled and bowed her head, her black eyes twinkling as she batted her eyelashes at him. And then he moved in for a kiss, her eager lips swiftly met with his.

The long knife in Celia's heart seemed to twist a few degrees more.

"Everything is packed and ready," Therin declared as he secured the last of the slaver's bags of gold to the saddle of a horse.