Author Topic: The Freedom War  (Read 112 times)

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Re: The Freedom War
« Reply #15 on: July 21, 2018, 05:41:05 pm »
Henry grabbed the knife out of Atvulf’s hand, flipping it so that he held the flat of the blade. He offered the handle to a nervous Tsubaki, who graciously, if cautiously, accepted the sharp, dangerous weapon, testing out its weight with a few imprecise flicks.

Atvulf threw his hands, abandoning the argument. ”Fine, yeh’ frackin’ dumber than a sac of mule sh*t, lettin’ a f*ckin’ girly fake bein’ a man. Gonna git us killed, but won’ git me killed! Yeh problem, not mine.”

The attack party spread out along the earthen rise, each carefully moving behind their respective targets with Atvulf careful to position himself as far away from a anxious Tsubaki as he could. Xander nervously rolled his flashlight club in his hands, sticky sweat beginning to stain his various bodily pits and unintentionally lubricate his weapon. His breathing, heavy and labored, began to speed up rapidly until he became mindful of it, ending the increase with several long, deep breaths. He looked up, barely peering up above the earthen rise at his quarry, his prey or his killer.

The metallic chrome of the murderous monster shone brightly in the afternoon sun, a glint of superheated light reflected directly back into Xanders eyes, blinding him. He turned away, blinking the salty tears of pain from his eyes, endeavoring to wipe the sweat from his brow. A motion to the left of him.

Xander turned his head leftward. Henry, tightly wound, singled to the rest off them, a quick striking motion with his free hand. It was time.

Xander followed suit with his friends, slowly creeping forward, mindful of each step upon the loose, muddy forest ground. Up, over the rise, senses tightened as loose dirt was shook loose by their scaling. Had they heard their approach? No, the metal monsters continued their murderous assault upon the base defenders unabated, oblivious to the slowly ensnaring trap.

One step forward. Look up. Another step forward. Look up again. No change. One final snap, a twig **** beneath Xander’s boot. He froze, sweat now pouring profusely all over his body form a thick, sticky coat, an unending river of salty seepage, his eyes twitching, blinking unendingly.

No change.

Still good.

Xander, breathed in, a deep, silent inhale of crisp, forest smells, mixing, churning with the noxious fumes of the base airfield, with burning ash and lost hopes. Xander shouted, a mighty, ferocious, blood-curdling roar as the war drums of adrenaline rushed into his mind, his soul, invoking his inner warrior as he raised and brought down his flashlight club with his full strength upon the monstrosities back.

*CLANG!*

The club bounced off near-harmlessly, leaving little but a deep dent into the Metalhead’s armor plating. Ineffective. The beast turned violently back towards Xander, clearly aware of the threat it now faced. For a brief moment, the beast paused, analyzing the situation with impossible speed and accuracy.

A metal spike shot out from a hidden sheath in its right appendage, razor sharp, a weapon which could slice through Xander’s grimy skin with ease. Xander looked wildly between it and the Metalhead, who would move first.

Xander feinted right, then leaned in madly flailing his makeshift club in a desperate attempt to fell his foe, up and down, missing the beast as it avoided his strikes with mechanical precision.

The Metalhead raised its weaponized appendage skyward, a strike imminent. No time to dodge, Xander instinctively, desperately raised his left arm to shield himself from the coming blow.

”ARGH!” Xander roared in pain as the metal weapon sliced first through Xander’s pilfered jacket, next through skin and sinew, finally stopped by his forearm’s bone. Fresh, hot waves of pain seared through his arm, excruciating, disabling pain. Xander jerked back his arm, removing it from the blade of his deadly foe.

As he removed the blade, blood spewed forth from his arm, un-dammed by the weapon’s removal, staining his jacket and the ground beneath, a fresh pool of crimson fluids flooding the underlying ground. His arm went numb suddenly, all sensation gone. Useless, but no longer a hindrance.

Xander shouted once more, a roaring battle cry as he screamed for himself, for his life, for his will to live. He would live. He wanted to live.

He dived downward as the beast swiped through the air above which he had recently occupied, whipping, cutting the wind itself and a few of his loose hairs along with it. Wielding his club in his one functional hand, Xander hooked the rim of the flashlights head behind one of the Metalheads legs and yanked. Hard.

Unbalanced, the Metalhead toppled, unable to regain its footing upon the blood-stained ground, raising a small cloud of dirt into the atmosphere, choking Xander’s lungs.

Its head. It was open.

Screaming, roaring, Xander drew back his good arm and slammed it upon the Metalheads head. A crack upon its armored faceplate erupted like dendritic web. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

Once more Xander drew back his arm and smashed it downward with his full weight and might upon the beast. Again. Once more. Again. Again. Again. Soon Xander lost track, lost sense of reality, lost in the bloodlust as the organic pulp he crushed with each successive blow into an even less recognizable mess continued to paint black droplets of viscus fluid upon his face, dripping downward, streaking, with each mighty strike.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop!

Xander halted his brutal assault upon the featureless corpse. It was dead. He could stop. He exhaled sharply, exhuming stale breath from his lungs and reabsorbing fresh air. He had stopped breathing, held his breath unintentionally. Now he panted heavily, attempting, unsuccessfully, to restore his resting homeostasis. He had won.

Xander stumbled backwards, raising his good arm to wipe the alien fluids from his eyes, clearing his vison as he panted continuously. How were the others? Xander looked around wildly, watching his allies grabble their targets to varying degrees of success.

”Help!” A desperate, forced cry.

Xander turned sharply to the sound. Mikey lay, back in the mud, upon the ground with a Metalhead perched above him, one armored boot placed firmly upon his chest, crushing and pinning him. Xander watched as the monster raised its bladed appendage to strike at the downed man.

A flash of movement out of the corner of Xander’s eye.

Xander turned instinctively, watching in horror as Tsubaki and her quarry toppled in a jumbled mass, the Metalhead atop her. Her knife had been ripped from her hands and lay imbedded into the creature’s side, painful, but clearly doing little to slow the beast’s assault. He observed in horror as the Metalhead drew back its blade, aiming for Tsubaki’s throat as she thrashed in a desperate attempt to evade.

Two in need of help, but only Xander remained available to support.

Choice 9 (Strength: Strong)

A: Help Mikey.

B: Help Tsubaki.