Gods of War

Armin watched him through his spotter scope. The man left chaos in his wake. Nothing but death survived his passing. He was as much a force of nature as a volcanic eruption and he was a god amongst men—the men of Red Company, who fell before him. Armin watched in awe mixed with disgust at the horror he faced.

“Target, Section One Alpha, five mil,” Armin said.

“Contact,” his partner replied.

Armin and Josef laid in the mud beneath thick brush, waiting for their one chance to avenge their slaughtered comrades. Three long years of war led to this moment, though it felt much longer. How many friends died to the man before them? How many enemy soldiers were killed by their nation’s Corsairs?

Neon blue vines of light whipped around the Corsair, destroying the few operational armored vehicles that remained in Red Company. Flashes of purple light enveloped him as bullets clashed against his barrier. The ground around him liquefied into molten rock, vaporizing the water in the soil—the mist giving form to his barrier, refracting the light of his magic and the soft amber glow of the fires surrounding him. The sight sent shivers down Armin’s spine. Of the Corsairs they faced, the man before them was the deadliest.

“They truly are gods among men,” Armin said. The Corsair paused and Josef exhaled. A cylinder of solid red light etched with glyphs enveloped the barrel of Josef’s rifle. The light grew to a flash and shattered as the weapon fired. The bullet found its target. “But those gods are still men.”

From The Apple Tree

The glow of flames darkened the half-orc’s ashen skin. His sword readied, he circled with his opponent, a human—the Protector of the Vale. Around them stood his comrades, clashing swords against shields and cheering for the duel before them.

“So you choose the orcs then?” The man asked. His voice cracked with sorrow as he forced the words from his throat.

The half-orc raised his weapon. “I’ve been given no choice. Human or orc. You can’t choose when others choose for you.”

The man cried out in anguish as he charged the orc. Their swords struck metal as they parried and blocked each blow. Their audience roared. The Protector of the Vale had grown old and his combat prowess waned through middle-age. Each strike he parried sent him reeling. The crowd grew louder—insatiable—emaciated from years of peace.

The man stumbled and the orc took advantage. He struck again, and again, with his full strength and weight pressing against his sword in a blind fury. The man buckled beneath him and the orc’s sword cut deep into the man’s chest.

“You could have prevented this, Protector! This didn’t have to happen. But you couldn’t protect her. You said you loved her, yet you let her die! The Vale murdered her.” The orc raised his sword as tears streamed down his face before thrusting it through the man’s chest. “I’m sorry, father.”

The cheers crescendoed.

Boy’s Best Friend

“Come on,” the boy sighed.

Sparks launched from his flint and buried themselves into the deep snow. Each strike took with it a little more of the boy’s hope. There were only a few hours of True Night left. The sun will finally be here, he reassured himself. Five days with no sun nor moon was his limit, but he could push past it to prove to himself—to his tribe—through this rite, he was worthy of the prophecy.

Another strike. More sparks. They fizzled out on the damp wood and he cursed himself once again. The boy leaned against the rock wall in defeat. It was cold. Colder than he ever remembered, yet despite the numbness in his limbs, he was warm. He curled into a ball and stared into deep void before him.

The snow crunched under the paws of his pursuer. Four days of fleeing from the beast but the boy was not afraid. Maybe his final throes of life were exhausted. Or it was delirium finally embracing him. It was all the same in the end.

The beast was close now and the boy could feel its breath on his face. It paused, studying him in the dark night with senses the boy couldn’t comprehend. The tension released from his body as it lay down against him. The boy buried his head in its fur and he felt the dull pain of warmth return. And the conditions for prophecy were met.

Conclusion of Eternity

Dark clouds blotted out the morning sun. Just beyond the city marched the Cursed King’s army, demons of the night that threatened the survival of humanity. Kalir stood from his mountain-top throne and watched their approach.

“This is the final day, my lord.” A small man in ornate robes took his place beside Kalir. “It is time to say goodbye to your people. Our time with you has brought us fortune man has never known, but all things good must eventually end. It is the law of this world.” Kalir stood silently as he looked over the city—his city, his people. People of this world he as grown to love over his thousand year reign of man.

“I have lived as long as everything that is. One thousand years is no different to me than mere seconds for you, yet I regard my time here as something to cherish.” Kalir turned to the man and bowed. “It is time to take my leave but it is not time for humanity to end.”

Kalir walked to the edge of his shrine and raised his hands. The clouds above parted and the sun shone upon him, igniting the shimmering brilliance of his icy-blue skin. A column of blue light burst from the heavens and swallowed the Cursed King’s army. The earth shook at the touch Kalir’s might, its light blinding, its power incomprehensible. The robed man shielded his eyes.

As quickly as it came it was gone. The man looked up and saw the demon army was gone—and so was Kalir.

The Martyr Maker

“Any last words, hero?” the queen asked, though her words were sarcastic as his tongue lay at her feet. “Look at the people you hold so dear. Five thousand of them will watch you hang and five thousand of them will understand that I am.”

The queen gave the signal as she stepped aside and in a moment, the hero slipped beneath the gallows for all to see. The murmurs that spread through the crowd ceased. And then the first rock was thrown. And another followed. Her guards shielded her as a few rocks grew to dozens. As the voices of the crowd grew to a thunderous roar. The queen and her guards retreated.

The palace gates closed and soldiers lined the walls. Smoke filled the sky as government buildings burned as hot as the people’s fury. The citizens’ roars echoed through the halls of her throne room, barely covering the sound of battle just outside her palace. The doors to the room opened and a young man in worn leather armor stepped in.

“Your Majesty, the townsfolk have broken through the palace gate. What would you have us do?” the captain said.

“Fool, I would have you kill them,” she replied, motioning for her guards to go forth and fight. “If they wish to fight, then they choose to die.”

The captain rose and yelled out for his men. From the beyond the doors, soldiers flooded the throne room, their weapons readied. “Your Majesty, if you wish to fight, then you choose to die.”

One Small Sacrifice

“Houston, we’ve made contact.” The radio cracked with silence while Emerson waited for a response. At over nine million miles from Earth, it would take nearly two minutes to respond. But a response wasn’t needed. Emerson pulled the metal cylinder free from his Zero-G pack and began a dance he rehearsed thousands of times on Earth.

Magnets in his boots kept him locked to the ferrous rock while he drilled. Any peace one could feel deep in space was swallowed whole by the void. Billions of light years of nothing surrounded Emerson, yet the vastness of it crushed him in his suit. Earth, merely a blue spec at this distance, returned his call, “Good luck, Emerson.”

The woman’s voice was somber—distant, not in miles but in a despair only those part of this mission could understand. Emerson focused, his transponder would have to suffice for his own response. After hours of drilling, he keyed in the arming code, placed the cylinder deep into the hole, and pushed off the asteroid. Emerson pulled himself into the cramped vessel and removed his helmet. “The bomb is planted.”

As he drifted away, he watched the asteroid fade, swallowed by the abyss that also awaited him. It was the sixth interstellar object aimed directly at Earth. He shifted his gaze to the stars, the same stars he watched on Earth, the ones that led him to become an astronaut. The ones that have drawn him to his death.

Earth replied, “this is one small sacrifice from man, and one giant loss for mankind.”

Holy Flames

Farmers paraded the local healer through the crowd, her arms bound to her body by silver chains and her neck choked by brass shackles. She lurched with each step as if she was commanded by unseen forces—an unnaturalness to her movements. A cleric followed, chanting his prayers. The people spat and prodded with tools and words alike, keeping their distance, until she shrunk down. Men and women parted and soon she faced the pyre that awaited her.

The cleric finished his prayer as farmer boys tied her to the stake and he turned to the people who thronged before him. “Children of God, today we gather for the immolation of not a woman, but a spawn of the devil himself. Do not be deceived by the monster that stands before you. Today you will know that our Lord watches over us, guides us, and bestows upon us a salvation free from these demons.” He spun and faced the woman, his hands raised in a display of reverence. “And if we are wrong, Lord save our souls,” he muttered.

He opened his tome and began his chants once again, this time not of prayers but words of sorcery passed down through the clergy over thousands of years. The people quieted—the world quieted—and the runes he read lifted from his tome, encircling himself and the pyre. White light poured forth and turned to blue flames as the power he invoked flourished. The pyre ignited.

The woman wailed, begging the people to help her, but when none came her cries turned to ghastly howls. Her skin split and orange fluid oozed from the cracks, pooling beneath her. It tried to spread beyond the pyre but the barrier of flames contained it until it was no more.

The cleric called to the farmers, “Gather her family. I’m afraid it’s too late for them.”