Marked by the Lord of War

***

The world is in tumult. The world is at war. The year is 2317, but who is counting? War has been going on for three hundred years. It is a global war and also a local one. Everybody is at war with everybody. Local communities and other small parties are engaged in a struggle for survival. Resources are scarce, human population dwindle. Great accomplishments of humankind -- like electricity, computers and medical advances -- became myth.

Curious how rapidly humans are reversed to their formal state of barbarism. After the first fifty years of war, when the reserves of food, ammunition and other goods were exhausted, humankind has plunged into a new dark age. Drove away by war and most notably, by famine, people have left the big cities, the metropolis of modernity, and have founded small rural communities. All great cities were abandoned. All industry and economy was lost. It turned out that the average citizen of the year 2000 did not have the skills necessary to rebuild civilization from scratch. They were too specialized, each with its small portion of the whole, and were unable to come together and unite for the greater good. After a while, the knowledge was just... lost.

If historians would study this war, they would have trouble pointing out the causes that had led to it. How does a war begin? With usually two parties who can't agree on a thing. Only, after globalization, two parties are never quite only two. Others are interested in their quarrel, so that foreign intervention has become a rule. The Great War has started as local outbreaks of hatred and fury and then it has spread all over the world. It was a clash of civilizations and also a clash of religions and various other groups: Muslims against Christians, poor against rich, Caucasian against Asian, Young against Old... It soon became everybody against everybody.

State-nations are history; empires, long gone; civilization? All but a memory... What is left are handfuls of people struggling to survive. Chaos has replaced law and order.

No day of peace in three hundred years... not one day!

The Great War.

But what does war mean? Anarchy, blood, carnage... the ABC of fear. A whole dictionary of horrors. Forget Hell. Hell is but a figment of human imagination. War is real. War is here. No one is a civilian. We lie to ourselves thinking that we are not involved. We are. This is total war. Everybody is touched. Everyone has to suffer. All of us stand to lose. Losing one's innocence, losing one's family, losing one's life... War means losing.

To be honest, there are some creatures that prosper during war: rats, fleas and bartenders.

***

We are at the Red Onion, a bomb of an establishment. Such a place no choir boy would dare to enter. In fact, there are not so many choir boys left on Earth. It's a bar close to the front line, open twenty four seven. Here everyone gets served, as long as one has gold. There are other commodities accepted as well. Some pay in weapons or ammunition, some in medical supplies, some in other rare goods. Some pay in services. But gold is preferred.

The war stops at the entrance of the Red Onion. Inside it's another kind of war, a war of nerves and of tough stomachs. A hubbub of voices, shouts and broken glasses welcomes you at the entrance. The air is thick and filled with smoke and heavy smells of blood, urine, spirits and vomit. A fatal combination for the faint-hearted. The customers look fierce and the staff looks even fiercer.

Owner and bartender is Claude, a mountain of a man, with a black patch over his left eye and a black mood. He has two associates, Seanna and Ravel, and several other helpers doing various chores. He also has his very own mercenary gang that protects the place, so that the Red Onion is almost a fortress on its own. Business is good, flourishing. Claude provides for his customers and doesn't ask questions. He cares not about right and wrong, valor, heroism or victory. He's in for the money. He used to be a military man until one day that he got tired and wanted out. By then, his years of service and battles made him become a hard-nosed tough son of a bitch that doesn't flinch at the sight of blood.

And there's a lot of blood at the Red Onion. Places like these attract people like shit attracts flies. And where there are people, there's trouble. Folks come and go: soldiers of fortune and regular soldiers, thugs, convicts, whores, deserters, mercenaries, gamblers... a conglomerate of people of all nationalities and colors and agendas. "Better not look into their eyes, better not be alone and better mind your own business." That's what your mother would say if she knew where you are. Better that she doesn't know.

***

Inside the joint, Tanita sits in a dim lighted corner of the bar. She stares into an empty glass. Ravel, who tends the bar tonight, approaches and refills her glass with the strongest whiskey. She takes it and gorges it down like it was water. Ravel fills it again without a word. A golden coin shifts owners and Ravel leaves to make his round to the tables.

Tanita is a regular of Claude's and is known by the staff and most of the other clients. She is a soldier of fortune. Her battle-axe is on the bar and her dagger is at her waist-belt, under her garments, easy to reach. She is though. Tougher than any other female and tougher than most men at the Red Onion. Being deadly with the battle-axe and deadly still with her bare hands, she has no allegiance and a bad reputation. No hard feelings. She fights for whoever pays more.

Her start of mercenary life had been inside of Claude's band, but she left the gang two years ago to fend for herself. She has just turned twenty-four and ten years since she joined the mercenary's gang. She is slim and muscular, not too tall, but well shaped. Her chestnut hair is usually kept braided in a wide tail. She is attractive, with her caramel soft skin and almond shaped eyes, but she usually keeps men aside with her belligerent attitude.

Not-so-near Tanita there's a group of men that eye her with lust. They dare not act. She never backs down from a fist fight or any dirty fight. She prefers blades though. This particular group of men was present last week when some fool tried his seducing abilities on her. It turned out he had no abilities after all. He ended in the gutter, outside the bar, with his throat sliced. It was ugly. Such things often happen at Claude's place. None is the wiser.

Tanita is in today to meet with Sticks, one of the Sons of the Jackal recruiters. The Sons reached toward her two days ago through an intermediate. They only hinted at the mission and what they needed Tanita for, so she was curious. Usually she didn't work for the Sons -- not because some moral dilemma, but simply because they had a renown of not paying their debts.

A man comes teetering toward Tanita and sits on the nearest stool. The stool is almost too fragile to bear the load and squeaks dreadfully. Despite his name, Sticks has nothing in common with slenderness. He is a huge man, as wide as he is tall and with an unhealthy red, spotted complexion. He always looks as if he is going to burst to pieces, with his bulging eyes, inflate cheeks and immense stomach.

Without a word, Sticks pulls a black velvet pouch from his vest and throws it in front of Tanita. He leans over and whispers something in her ear. Tanita slightly bends away, part in shock, part trying to avoid the smell that lurks over Sticks. She now understands the nickname he acquired -- Stinky Sticks. Her nostrils afire, Tanita is but persuaded to leave and never look back, but the velvet pouch drags at her attention. She reaches for the pouch and balances it in her hand, assessing the weight. Son of a bitch, she thinks, they pay grand.

"When?" she asks.

"At your earliest convenience," Sticks answers with a wide grin. A grin on a face such as his resembles a piece cut from a watermelon. "But not later that the end of next month." After saying that, Sticks manages to get down of the squeaky stool and leaves the Red Onion.

Having completed her business with the Sons, Tanita decides to stay a little longer and enjoy some more booze. She moves to a table and orders something to eat, too. Who knows, maybe something interesting was going to happen. Something always happens at the Red Onion.

***

Today, in a very rare burst of humanism, Claude had allowed part of the Red Onion to be used as a temporary infirmary. There was a short but bloody encounter between the Brigands and the Sons of the Jackal, not far away in the fields. Captain Glendale of the Brigands has arranged with Claude for access to his stables. The bar itself was not to be disturbed -- business must carry on as usually. The Brigands had taken their wounded to the back courtyard and inside the stables. The place looks like a slaughter house, with blood and guts sloshing on the wooden floor. The Brigands have suffered heavy losses. Their doctors and orderlies can barely handle the situation.

Seanna is at the scene to collect Claude's fee -- humanism or not, the Brigands must pay for their accommodations. Screams, curses and moribund gurgling is what she hears. Death, pain and horror is what she sees. Only... she is not impressed. After so many years of bloody war, it takes something more to impress Seanna. She, exactly as her mentor, Claude, is an ex-mercenary. She had witnessed a number of unspeakable horrors. She had paid her toll of blood.

Seanna is waiting for Glendale to make his appearance while body after body is carried in to live or out to die in a total rush of boiling noises and spurting blood. As she waits there, she notices a Brigand lying on the floor, unattended. He is covered in blood and half naked, seems to be in and out of consciousness. She approaches him, drawn by both curiosity and excitement. He is young, in his early twenties, and very handsome. He has a deep wound on his side, one that will surely be his end. Too bad, thinks Seanna. Her eyes roll up and down his body. She notices the young man's cock, half covered by clothes. Seanna licks her lips nervously. She reaches toward and uncovers him entirely. In its' flaccid state, the Brigand's dick is still an impressive nine inch long.

Seanna stares, as if transposed into another realm. Her mouth is dry. She feels her cunt getting wetter. She starts to stride her hand along the soldier's dick and watches in fascination as the shaft begins to harden. The Brigand mutters something unintelligible, but is still unconscious. The cock is soon at his majestic height. It doesn't get much longer, but it gains in thickness. The cock's bulging head and outlined veins are a sight. While dragging her right hand up and down the huge dick, Seanna reaches inside her skirt and starts fingering herself hard. She leans over the wounded man. She feels her own hot juices running down her thighs. Her breath grows erratic and her knees start to tremble. Totally forgetting the situation, Seanna is gradually building an orgasm inside of her. She is so self absorbed she barely notices that the young man is staring at her. He escapes a moan that is both from pleasure and from pain. Seanna looks down at the Brigand.

"Valkyrie," he mutters. "You have come for me."

Seanna is so excited by this, by the look on his face, that she forgets all precautions. Uplifting her skirt, she climbs on him like on a horse. She guides his cock inside of her and starts moving up and down. Her pussy is throbbing of pleasure and her nipples are hard. She starts to rub them through the clothing, unable to resist. Seanna closes her eyes and intensifies her moves. With her head extended backwards, panting for breath, she rides that immense cock as it was the last thing to do. A long moan of pleasure escapes her lips as she feels his hot cum exploding inside her cunt. The feeling is almost too much to bear and Seanna crashes on the body of the Brigand, trembling in what was the biggest orgasm she had ever experienced. Pupils wide, still tied up with her orgasm, she opens her teary eyes and observes that the young man is not breathing anymore. A large smile remains imprinted of his face.

***

Outside, in the night, a storm begins to ravage everything in its path. Sparkling lightning illuminates Claude's place, followed by loud thunders and crackling electric noises. A violet thunderbolt shatters the ground while big and small creatures alike try to huddle in their respective dens, avoiding the worst of nature's wrath.

A mythical creature is stirred from his millennia of rest. The God of War awakens and he is hungry. His time has come. He will claim Earth and all its inhabitants.

***

"What is a Valkyrie?" Seanna asks Claude. They, together with Ravel, have dinner in the back chambers of the Red Onion. Seanna's mind still lurches toward the memory of her morning encounter.

"It's a sort of angel that carries the dead warriors to heaven," says Claude, chewing on a piece of steak. "From Mythology, you know."

"Never heard of that," Seanna shrugs.

"In ancient Nordic mythology, there existed some beautiful spirit maidens, helper of the supreme God, called valkyries," Claude begun, gesturing with his fork in the air. "They were supposed to scan the battlefields for the men who had heroically died in battle and take them to Valhalla, a sort of heaven."

"How do you know this stuff?" Ravel asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I always liked stories," Claude says. "When I was a young recruit, in the Brigade, we had an old sergeant that used to tell us all kind of legends and tales. He carried some books in his backpack and he knew how to read them. Then he would tell us what he'd red in there."

"Do you think they're true? The legends, I mean." Seanna inquires.

Claude shrugs. "They say that every myth has some base in reality. At least that's what the old man said. Gibberish, if you ask me. We always made fun of him, on account of those books, saying that we would have preferred that he carried some booze instead..."

"Of course," Seanna laughs.

"But the truth is we were kinda jealous," Claude remarks. "He was the only one amongst us who could read."

"Now I get it," shouts Ravel. "That's why you collect all those wretched book in the cellar. You want to become a scholar, a wise-man in your old age." He raises his beer pint and takes a mouthful. "Here's to you, oh wise one!"

Seanna and Ravel burst into laughter. Claude joins them, raising his own beer. He drinks avidly and then slams the glass on the table.

"Yeah, but just imagine: if you could read all those books, how much advantage you could gain against your ignorant opponent."

***

Later that evening, a young man enters the Red Onion. He drips water from the outside storm onto the floor but doesn't seem to care. He has short cropped hair of sandy brown color and dark eyes. He wears a steel inlaid breastplate, leather loincloth and underneath a plum colored fabric shirt with short sleeves that ends over the knees, black leather armbands with iron pegs and leather sandals with mid-calf uppers. He is a newcomer, and somehow looks out-of-place.

The strange looking man approaches Tanita and stands in front of her table, looking insistently at her. Such an insult could well be mistaken for a threat at the Red Onion. And Tanita is not really a patient person. People close-by held their breaths, ready for action. The ambient noise goes down a level or two. Tanita frowns at the newcomer but he fails to take the warning.

"Get lost," she hisses.

The man continues to stay there, blocking her view. Tanita stands and looks the man in the eyes, in a menacing way. He does not wince. Furiously she reaches for her battle-axe. But he is quick and his hand is already over hers, arresting.

He bends over her and whispers in her ear: "I want to fuck you senseless." His voice is deep and guttural, a voice made for command. He emanates such virility that Tanita is troubled. She has never experienced such a treatment before. Usually she is the one that dictates the game. She is the dominant-aggressive type, the alpha, and obviously she doesn't enjoy this new role. She grunts like a she wolf, baring her teeth: "I said get lost!"

No way he doesn't recognize the threat he is facing. Tanita stares at him fiercely, trembling with fury, but he simply does not care. "I am Ares," he says. "Now come," he pushes her toward the back, where Claude's rental rooms are. Tanita does not protest, but she prepares herself to strike at the earliest convenience. This will not go unpunished. Her battle-axe is left on the table but she has a dagger tucked inside her clothing. The other clients watch her submissive behavior open-mouthed: it's so unlike her. No problem, she will show them Ares' bloody guts later, after she'll cut him open for this insolence.

They reach a narrow, dim lit corridor and Tanita makes her move. She bends quickly and fends away. The dagger is already in her hand and she strikes at Ares. But he is quick, unreachable. She tries again but to no avail. A third attack and somehow Ares manages to held her hand and squeezes until she drops the dagger. He catches her in his arms, looking amused, which infuriates Tanita even more.

She struggles from his arms but cannot escape. His muscles are of steel. His body presses her against the wall now and he tries to kiss her. She bites his lip, drawing blood. The taste of his blood inflames her and her back arches involuntarily. Ares sees that and smiles. He holds her hands over their heads with his right hand and lowers his left hand until he reaches the margin of her skirt. He lifts the skirt and senses around her pussy. She is wet and willing.

***

They are inside a chamber now. Tanita is already half naked. Her skirt and leather panties are somewhere on the floor, behind them. Ares still has his clothes on, but not for long. Tanita's movements are chaotic, betraying her desire. Seeing her, Ares is grinning with arrogance. He knows what he's doing. His hands are on her breasts and on her hips and on her own hands, holding them. His palms are burning hot. He throws her into the bed and hovers over her, touching, kissing, licking, teasing...

His body pins her down and she feels his hardness through the clothing, pressing her. He leaves her for a second only to get his clothes away. Tanita holds her breath as she sees his bare chest, muscles dancing under his skin. He has a savage look in his eyes. She can tell he lusts for her with such power it's almost scary.

Ares leans over Tanita. She looks down and sees his huge erection and instinctively crosses her legs. But he would not be stopped. He forces his manhood between her hot thighs. His penis' head feels its way through her cunt's throbbing lips, swollen by wanting. She cannot help a moan of pleasure. His dick plunges inside of her. Oh, that pain! Twelve inches of muscle and veins and power. She cries out loud, her entire body trembling. His hips are moving slowly, with deep, long strokes. He picks up pace, holding her by the hips, for a better penetrating position.

Tanita lies on her back, with her hands around his shoulders, clawing his back. Her mouth is open but no sound comes out. She tries to regain her breath, surprised by the force of his assault. She lets her body arch up and down to meet his rhythm. He thrusts hard and swift, groaning with pleasure. With his dick still deep inside her, he reaches down and takes her left nipple in his mouth. She can't hold back. The orgasm is strong and leaves her breathless again, crying in pain.

He stops for a moment, teasing her, with his dick halfway in. That's torture, no less! Then he thrusts his manhood inside of her, again and again. Her throat aches and her mouth is dry. Her breath is shallow and quick. He fucks her pussy with brutality and she likes every second of it.