Chapter Eleven - The Things They Wore

Chapter 11 – Inconvenient Incarceration
The illumination round faded and slowly fell back to earth like a falling star.

Kaeo glanced up to the parting clouds. The constellations shone bright, particularly Sagittarius, which looked down at him. The centaur was locked in eternal conflict, arm drawing back an arrow that would never fly. The Mercenaries were split up picking over their OP. Six stood watch; three examined their forward position, two picked through Bravo's humvee while Franco and Rikka watched their prisoners. Kaeo just prayed they wouldn't notice Alpha's Humvee hidden nearby.

“'ey Boss,” one of the Mercenaries called out as he returned from inspecting their forward observation position. He held up the team's

Vector 21 “Can I 'ave this?”

Rikka blinked, “is that a Vectronix?”

“Yeah, nice piece a' kit, roight?  Just found it over there.” He responded, gesturing back to their position.

“Well, I don't see why not,” she responded with a shrug. The mercenary fistpumped into the air and stuffed it in his pouch.

“AW, C'MON!” Max and Logger called out in unison.

The mercenaries were hard at work going through all their gear. They didn't pay much attention to anything sensitive like their radios but were supremely interested in their firearms and other accessories. One of the mercenaries was examining Kaeo’s M4A1. The distinctive chipped and worn dark brown, green, and black paint made it easy to distinguish. The mercenary unloaded the weapon, drew a bead with it and, after apparently not being very impressed, dropped it back down into the dirt. Kaeo cringed in response.
The twelve mercenaries themselves spoke rarely and when they did, looked like walking advertisements for Europe’s largest firearms manufacturers. Heckler and Koch, FN Herstal, Steyer, Beretta, and Glock were all well represented among the fighters. The H&K the 416 was the staple choice of long arms with FN's Mk16 close behind in popularity, with the last couple being a few AUGs and couple FN Mk 48 machine guns.

The giant, Franco, had perhaps the most peculiar armament. He had a French FAMAS slung over his back and a Glock 17 with an aftermarket select fire mod holstered on his vest. The vest struck him as odd. He had excellent knowledge of weapons and equipment garnering reputation as a “gear-queer” back in his old unit, and even he hadn't seen anything quite like it before. Their fatigues also had a curious look to them. Kaeo had never seen that particular pattern of camouflage before and they were all too well fitted to be mass produced.

Rikka glanced at the ground and squatted down to get a closer look, revealing the MP7 strapped to the back of her vest. She had picked up on the well-disguised tracks of Alpha's vehicle. Kaeo's heart skipped a beat.

“Tell me, what kind of Humvee makes two sets of tracks?” She asked as she stood up and faced Kaeo.

“Where's the rest of your team, hotshot?”

He knew there was only one answer he was allowed to give.

“Corporal, Kaeo Tokura, 541-72-4341, September Twentieth 1994.”

“Wrong answer, mate.” The one with the British accent announced and punched Kaeo right in the gut. He let out a single grunt and bent over slightly.

Rikka smacked the British one across the back of the head.

“What the bloody hell was that for!?” He exclaimed.

“Bobby, you dumbass! You think that jumped up little crippled shit is gonna pay for damaged goods?!” She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she looked up towards Max. “I don't suppose you know anything either?”

“Lance Corporal, Maximilian Uriarte, 532-34-4275, June Twenty-Seventh 1990.”

“Let's get moving. We've got a lot of ground to cover.” She pulled her poncho and NVGs back on then made a series of quick hand signals and they moved quietly into the woods.

Franco gave Kaeo a shove and they began their march. More illumination rounds meant more beams of light piercing through the thick foliage, making it incredibly hard for Kaeo to see. The light destroyed his visual purple while not providing enough to actually see anything. Franco, or at least he thought it was since he was the largest amongst them, placed his hand on Kaeo's shoulder and walked him down the trail path.

His time as a paceman was coming in rather handy, as he had an excellent idea how far they were traveling. They moved slowly and quietly. But as time went on, the light of the falling stars gradually fell behind the backdrop of the hill.

Staff Sergeant Oleg Dygalo scanned the horizon. Something seemed off, 2-1 Bravo had been silent for a little too long.

“2-1 Bravo, 2-1 Actual give me a sitrep.”

Silence.

“2-1 Bravo key your mic if you can't respond.”

Silence.

“Raptor this is Raptor 2-1 Actual, 2-1 Bravo's gone silent, not answering their comms. Request permission to investigate”.

“Solid Raptor 2-1 this is Raptor, standby”.
Frustrating silence, McGregor's RTO was running the net while he was on with Sledgehammer coordinating the illumination.

“Raptor 2-1 this is Raptor. Hold position. We still need eyes over there. How copy my last?”

“Solid copy, holding position.” He shook his head; this was getting better and better by the minute. He leaned over and tapped the prone McGraw on the shoulder.

“Dave, get Johnson and Stevens and go check on Tokura. He probably just had a radio malfunction or something,” Dygalo said sounding as if he was almost trying to convince himself. “I'll stay here with Redmann to make command happy.”

“Roger that, Staff Sergeant.” McGraw grunted out quietly as he raised himself into a crouch. He keyed his mic on the fireteam's net.

“J-pop, Stevens, get over here.”

The bushes rustled slightly as Johnson and Stevens moved out of their positions. Stevens was a powerfully built Newark, New Jersey native. Soldier by trade, amateur bodybuilder by choice. While none of the Marines were strangers to the iron or “small” by any means, Stevens had spent many an hour building towards his ultimate Olympic goal. Although he wasn’t as articulate as McGraw, or insightful as Max, or as devout as Logger, he was a man who was constantly keen to share his own life experiences and musings on the nature things. Generally, he did so in a way that betrayed his lower than average intelligence and almost unhealthy reverence of the Guido lifestyle.

Although, the weight of the situation prevented any idle chatter.

“We're getting close.” McGraw said as they approached the hill's crest. He stopped and turned to the two Lance Corporals flashing out a series of quick hand signals.

Johnson and Stevens nodded seriously in unison and dropped prone to crawl the final stretch down the hill. McGraw edged agonizingly slowly up to Bravo's position. As he got closer, something seemed off. He could see Kaeo's M4 just sitting out by itself near their little fighting hole. He moved closer and snapped open the tarp. It was empty; there was no one in there. Where the hell were they? He stood up and looked around. Max's spotting scope was lying on the ground next to his tipped over mini-tripod. Max never would've forgotten that and his weapon was laying right there in the fighting hole. Marines just don't “forget” their weapons.

McGraw stood up. “Guys, they're not here.” Johnson and Stevens followed suit.

Johnson walked over to Bravo's Humvee, surprised to find their armor lying next to it and helmets stacked neatly on the hood.

“Hey Dave, I got footprints.” Stevens called out.

Stevens knelt down next to the trail. He had been referred to as “Rain Man” when it came to trails and there was no doubt he was one of the best trackers in the battalion, but McGraw was pretty sure Stevens was closer to Encino Man.

“Looks like four sets of Marine issue boots and at least ten others. There's a couple smaller trails running off to the side. Looks like a small foot patrol moving fast. And this one,” indicating one fairly light partial footprint, placing his own foot next to it for comparison, “this one has some small-ass feet, but I can't find any more of theirs. Must've hidden their trail somehow, real professional like.”

Johnson slung his weapon back whilst carrying Max's helmet, rubbing the cloth cover gently with his thumb.

“Dave, what the fuck happened here?” He asked.

“I don't know exactly but, I think they were captured.” McGraw stated while keying his mic.

“2-1 Actual, this is Alpha. Bravo is MIA, suspected captured how copy over?”

“Fuck.” Dygalo growled as he keyed his own mic to respond.

“Solid Alpha, hold position and standby while I get Raptor on the hook.”

Dirty's face was painted with genuine concern as he spoke. “Staff Sergeant, what's going on?”

“Bravo got captured.” Dygalo said while quietly flipping through channels on his radio. “Raptor, this is Raptor 2-1 Actual be advised 2-1 Bravo is Mike India Alpha, suspected captured, over.”

“Uhh... Raptor 2-1 can you say again that last part. Was it Mike or Kilo? Over.”

“Mike India Alpha.” Dygalo repeated through clenched teeth. “Request permission to go after them, over”.

“Raptor copies all, standby.” Another bout of borderline infuriating silence.

“Raptor 2-1, this is Raptor Actual. Gather up your men and stay on station. I'm sending it up the net to Capone, hold for now. How copy? Over.”

“Solid copy Raptor. 2-1 Actual, out.”
McGregor kicked at the ground helplessly before switching channels on his red branded Humvee’s radio.

“Capone, this is Raptor Actual. Be advised we have four Marines Mike India Alpha, suspected captured. Request that a UAV be retasked to assist with the search, over.”

“Raptor, this is Capone Actual. Solid copy on all, priority one is now the recovery of those Marines. Sending your request up to Division. For now, make do with what you've got on hand standby.”

Lieutenant Colonel John Gladstone nudged his Executive Officer, Major Tyler Coburn, on the side.

“Get me Berger right now.”

“Right away, sir.” Coburn responded while changing channels on his own radio. “Here.” Handing the hand set over to Gladstone.

“Scarface, this is Capone Actual, we have four Marines Mike India Alpha in the middle of a raid, suspected captured. Request that an aerial reconnaissance element be tasked to Raptor to assist in the search.”

“Capone, Scarface Actual copies all; your men'll get that element ASAP, Scarface Actual, out.”

Gladstone lowered the handset and turned to Coburn.

“He fucking hung up on me.”

Kaeo had been walking through the dark for a long while, counting more than six clicks of ground covered, almost an hour now. Each step took him farther away from rescue and more deeply entrenched in his own shame. He had personally failed every member of his team. Guilt layered on top of guilt, their figures danced at the edge of his vision.

He had honestly thought about breaking off and running into the wilderness in the hope that they'd shoot him. Better to trim off the dead weight so that others may live. He wasn't quite ready to go just yet. He was too fascinated by the female mercenary, Rikka. The way she walked and moved through the landscape had a trademark smoothness and grace. Every placement of her feet seemed precisely calculated. He found it entrancing to watch.

He had always been trained to keep resisting, but at the same time he had no desire to burden his comrades unnecessarily. Maybe it was just part of his nature, something engrained in those Japanese genes. He was just preprogramed for self-destruction. For now he'd watch and see what was around the next corner. Then, maybe, when they stopped for the night or cut his bonds he'd hang himself with his boot laces.

What the hell was he thinking? Giving up this fucking easily? No. He wasn't done yet. Suicide was for cowards. He had to keep fighting, keep resisting no matter what. He owed it to his family.

He glanced around to the other marines.

 To his friends.

He rubbed the ring and watched Rikka's form weave through the trees and out into a narrow clearing. It was a road, long and narrow. Seven vehicles were pulled off to the side, four tan land rovers and three white supply trucks with the letters “UN” marked boldly in black. Soldiers with blue helmets milled around the trucks, idly smoking cigarettes to pass the time. The faint glow of the burning end must've been visible for miles with night vision. What appeared to be their leader approached and talked briefly in what Kaeo thought was French with Franco.

The small French lieutenant had a nervous look about him. His hands shook slightly as he dragged his cigarette down to the nub in a series of quick huffs. His eyes flicked around like laser beams before settling on the restrained forms of the four Marines.

Rikka gestured to them. “Split them up. I don't want them talking to each other and getting any ideas while we're moving.”

The French Lieutenant offered his pack of cigarettes first to Franco who rejected the offer and then to Rikka who graciously accepted one.

“Mademoiselle.” He said, extending his lighter. She leaned over with the cigarette in her mouth giving it a few puffs to get it going. She then leaned back took a long drag savoring it for several seconds.

“Merci.” she exhaled in response. “Let's get going”. The mercenaries broke up the four Marines between their vehicles. Kaeo was sent to the lead land rover, Garza the one behind it, Max was in the back of the third land rover and Logger being placed in the rear one.

As Kaeo approached the sand colored vehicle, the logo painted on the door caught his eye. A stylized and simplified Ouroboros encircled a globe. Underneath were the words “Jormungandr Defense” arrayed in stylish text and in smaller font below that the names of six cities were arrayed: Helsinki, Johannesburg, Paris, New York, Shanghai, and Tokyo.

Rikka took one more drag, finishing off the cigarette and then dropped it on the ground, stamping and twisting it out with her foot.
“Now, behave. I don't think I need to inform you of the consequences. I'm sure you'd like to get back home to your wife alive.” She instructed.

He was very tired of people making that assumption.

“I'm not married, engaged, or involved in a romantic relationship of any kind.” he blurted out and then instantly regretted it.

“No one to miss you but dear old mom and dad then, eh?” She said mockingly. He clenched his jaw and looked away. He could tell she slightly enjoyed playing with him, but that wasn't why we looked away. He couldn't stand looking at her eyes.

He shifted his attention to the British one in an attempt to keep his mind off things. Bobby clenched and relaxed his hand repeatedly while staring Kaeo down.

He hit hard that was for sure, but Kaeo had just recently taken on one of the best hand to hand fighters in the company, maybe the whole battalion and won. He didn't feel cocky per se, just more sure of his own abilities. He could take him if he had his hands free and, most importantly: time. Time was running out.

Franco gave him a shove into the back seat and belted him in before he walked to the opposite side and mounted up on the vehicle himself. Rikka took the front passenger seat while Bobby drove. The interior was spacious and comfortable as any civilian vehicle but Kaeo knew they were far from stock. The center console had been torn out to accommodate modern HF radios, the windows were thick bullet resistant glass and the body almost definitely armored. However, it didn't ride any lower or handle too differently from what he could see from the back seat as they got on their way, so they must've modified the suspension and engine possibly replacing both altogether.

They rode in total darkness, Bobby driving by way of his night vision. Kaeo glanced up at the night sky through his window, he couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched.

“Twisting, Specter 6-1 checking in with you. Flight one MQ-9 holding east ten miles at Angels 22. Ordinance to follow: four by GBU-12s, one laser Hellfire. Zero plus Tree-Five time on station. Little light on fuel from out last sortie but ready for your work.”

“Twisting copies. Are you familiar with our position at the train yard?”

“Specter 6-1, that's affirmative.”

“We are located just south of the connecting yard with multiple vehicles marked by IR strobes. Raptor's vehicle is marked by a reflective panel on the hood.”

“Specter 6-1 has visual of your position. Multiple strobes at that location. I see your reflective panel too.”

“Roger. I'd like you to push north and scan the area roughly one five kilometers northwest of the yard with your pod. Stand Angels one eight and above.”

“Specter copies... We've captured six unidentified vehicles moving South East.  Uh... standby Twisting”

“Twisting copies. Can you get an ID on them?

“Twisting, Specter 6-1 looks like a UN relief convoy. They turned on their strobes when we hit them with our glint.”

“Solid copy, Specter push west and keep looking.”

McGregor straightened up from leaning over his Forward Air Controller.

“Cheer up, dude. We're gonna find them.” The young sailor said lowering his hand set for a brief moment.

“Kick the hornet nest, better be ready to kill all the fucking hornets.” McGregor deadpanned in response while walking back to his Humvee and picking up the handset of his own radio.

“Raptor 1, this is Raptor Actual standby for tasking, over.”

“Raptor 1 Actual standing by for tasking, over.”

“Raptor 1, finish mopping up then link up with Raptor 2-1 at grid Mike X-ray One-Tree-One-Four-Nine-One and await further instructions, how copy my last? Over.”

“Solid copy, Raptor. Link up with 2-1 at grid Mike X-ray One-Tree-One-Four-Nine-One and await further instructions, over.”

“Good hunting, Raptor 1. Raptor Actual, out”.

Stevens sat cross-legged next to Johnson on hood of the Humvee, watching the soft flashes of light from exploding artillery shells far off in the distance as they waited for McGraw to return from his “mission”. Johnson still clutched Max's helmet and gently rubbed a frayed section of the helmet's camouflage cover where a round had grazed it while they both sang softly.

“Come on Wall Street, don't be slow. Why man, this is war au-go-go. There's plenty good money to be made; by supplying the Army with the tools of its trade. But just hope and pray that if they drop the bomb, They drop it on the Viet Cong.”

“And it's one, two, three what are we fightin' for? Don't ask me I don't give a dam. Next stop is Vietnam. And, it's five, six, seven open up the pearly gates. Ain't no time to wonder why WHOOPIE we're all gonna die.“

“C'mon Generals let's move fast your big chance has come at last. Gotta go out and get those reds, the only good commie is a one who's dead. You know that peace can only be won when we blow 'em all to kingdom come.”

“And It's one, two, three what are we fightin' for?” their singing trailed off as McGraw returned.

“Good dump, Corporal?” Stevens asked.

“Excellent, shit my brains out. Not too hard, not too runny.” McGraw responded.

“Sucks when it's runny and you have to wipe fifty times”.

“That's not what I'm talking about, Manimal. If it's too hard or too soft, something's wrong. You might have a problem that affects combat readiness.”

“It should also be a bit acid, Stevens. Burn your asshole a little bit when it comes out.” Johnson interjected.

“Maybe your little bitch asshole, J-pop, from all the cock that's been stuffed up it.” McGraw replied back.

“Eh, being gay isn't as bad as being from Jersey.” Johnson shrugged.

“Hey man,” Stevens responded, slightly agitated “the Jersey shore is more than just Guidos and fingerbangin' an Aztec. These are people's homes.”

Dygalo materialized from the darkness, Dirty in tow. “Lance Corporal, I would advise you shut the hell up.” Stevens slapped his mouth close with record speed.

“Gather up our shit. We're linking up with Raptor 1 and fanning out to search.”

Rikka turned something on at the top of the truck, pulling her arm back through the window to look over her shoulder at Kaeo. The shroud of her night vision thankfully protected him from her penetrating blue gaze.

“Your friends are looking for you.” She taunted with a smile. He buttoned his lip and settled in for what he predicted was going to be a long, long drive. Getting comfortable was nearly impossible with his hands fastened behind his back. The ties on the flex cuffs had been done tight enough to partially cut off circulation to his hands. His wrists were already bruised and by the time they were stopped by the Mozambican army, they had begun to turn a deep purple.

They'd been driving in the dark for about an hour, and just as they had finished moving through some small shithole town, the “military” had blocked off the road with a few technicals. The new conscripts brought in the wake of the insurgency were just a bunch of thungs with AKs and off-color camouflage. Kaeo had worked with them before. The old guard of professionals weren't too bad, but these new ones were worse than the Afghani National Police, an outfit primarily known for their child rapists and hash users.

One of the soldiers waved at the convoy to stop.

“Fuck.” Rikka cursed, flipping up her night vision as the vehicle came to a stop. She picked up the vehicle’s radio handset.

“Make all weapons condition one and maintain a hard posture. We might have to shoot our way out of this one.”

Franco pulled the charging handle on his FAMAS about a third of the way back just to check for brass in the chamber. He let it fly forward and gave the handle a few light taps to make sure the bolt was seated and then he stepped out after Rikka. Bobby was apparently a little surer as he simply flipped the selector switch on the 416 tucked between his legs from safe to full auto. Kaeo shifted nervously, he didn't like the idea of getting in a gunfight without a weapon or use of his hands. Worse yet, he was stuck in the car and the child locks were on.

He glanced in the vehicle's review mirror. Mercenaries were stepping out of their vehicles all down the convoy. The French lieutenant looked more nervous than ever.

Rikka and Franco conversed the leader of the little Army detachment, with Franco acting as a translator. The conversation quickly grew more heated and peaked when the soldier cocked his arm and back handed her. She trembled with rage for a brief moment before launching her fist into his face knocking him off his feet.

Franco whipped up his FAMAS and put a controlled pair into the chest of one of the other soldiers. All along the line the mercs opened up with disciplined fire on the little army detachment, cutting them down in matter of seconds. She angrily kicked the groaning form of the lead soldier several times and then drew her handgun and sent one 45. caliber round through his head. She and Franco made their way back to the land rover.

“So, what was that about?” Bobby asked while putting his own weapon on safe.

“Motherfucker wanted us to pay to pass through the road. Franco, what did my Great-Grand Father say about that?”

“'Bullets are cheaper than bribes', Miss Mannerheim.” He responded with a smile.

“Uhh, boss you got something on your face.” Bobby pointed out. Blood trickled gently from a cut on Rikka's upper lip, the only injury any of them had sustained from the ordeal.

She wiped her hand across it, smearing a little of the blood on her cheek. “It's alright. I'll have Doc look at it when we get back.”

Several more hours of uneventful driving passed after their little engagement. The lights of Nampula seemed like a remote memory now, almost as remote as his chance of rescue. They had simply covered too much ground. Around half way through, the UN vehicles had broken off, presumably to finish their own legitimate mission. After which the mercenaries pressed on alone for another hour or two. It was hard for Kaeo to get an exact idea of how much time had passed but he was sure of one thing: it was a long time, far too long.

They eventually came to rest outside a rundown mountain lodge built during the colonial period of the late 1800's. The brick work was at one time probably quite impressive but time had taken its toll and while still standing, the building was a sad shadow of its former self. Several other vehicles were already parked outside a few similarly clad mercenaries stood guard outside in the misty wet morning.

Just as the first rays of morning sunlight peeked over the mountain, he was shoved out of the land rover by Franco and herded inside the building. The floor creaked, the roof leaked and the main reception hall held the dank scent of mold and slow decay. Two men hunched over a table looked up to greet them. Another working at laptop spun around in his chair.

“Hey boss. Back already?” one of them asked.

“Yeah, quick in and out. Americans were crawling all over the place so we couldn't get what we came for out but we at least prevented it from being capture. Managed to snag these guys on the way out as a consolation.” Jerking her head towards the four Marines.

The one who had been working out the laptop spoke up. “Speaking of which, we got a message from the cripple while you were away. He wants to change meeting places and push the date up.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic, where the hell does he want to meet now? Last time I had to drive halfway across this shitfaced country just to play tiddlywinks with his second. Is he even coming out this time?”

“Well, the message made it seem like he was very adamant about meeting you personally.” He responded shifting his glasses slightly.

“We'll talk about it later. I've got to handle these guys”.

Franco gave Kaeo a shove through the main reception area, down a flight of stairs to the basement. The main landing of the basement was divided into two sections; one half had been barred off in a makeshift cell. There were a few cots arrayed in the side and a toilet cramped in the far corner. The rest of the landing had crates of UN relief food and miscellaneous non-military supplies stacked along the walls. Another hallway went back further under the lodge building.

Franco, Rikka, and Bobby herded them inside the cage after cutting off their flexcuffs, giving them a quick pat down and then locked the door.

“Now, we'll be moving you again in a couple days, so don't get too comfortable. We're not gonna torture or mistreat you and neither are the people we're handing you over to. This is a professional outfit and I personally don't get paid enough to commit atrocities. So keep your heads down and cooperate and we'll have you back home in one piece, alright?” Rikka instructed.

Kaeo didn't buy it; he didn't buy it for a second. For now he'd comply. He needed time to rest and formulate a plan. As he learned during his time at the BRC, never miss an opportunity to eat, sleep, or shit and he had less than four hours of sleep in the last Forty-eight. No time like the present.

“You know, this is isn't so bad. At least we're back together, right?” Max suggested.

Kaeo flopped down face first on one of the slightly damp cots and covered himself with the itchy wool blanket.

“Shut up, Max.” he exhaled as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

He was flying, born aloft on great red wings, gliding silently over clouds of smoke that blanketed the landscape. He was on the hunt.

The cloud of smoke parted over a small hamlet and the people within looked up at his majestic scaled form with awe... and terror. They scurried away from him like rats. No matter, they could no more escape death that soars than rope could pass through the eye of a needle.

He swooped down low over the wooden buildings and inhaled, hate boiling deep in his gut. He spewed forth great gouts of orange flame, setting alight everything it touched. Buildings, stalls, horses, people. He loved watching them burn; their screams were distinctly beautiful. He circled around, again setting the rest of the town ablaze. Then, he climbed high and moved towards the outlying farms in search of more playthings.

His large eyes pierced the smoky haze blanketing the landscape. People were scattered across the landscape, fleeing in all directions. He would hunt them all down later. For now, his eyes caught something interesting. While all others fled, one lone rider still pressed on. Their highly polished breastplate shone brightly in the electric sunset.

He circled around high above the clouds looking for more entertaining prey. The warrior could wait. Spotting a single girl moving through as of yet unburnt field, he pulled his wings in close to his body and pulled into a steep dive. He sped towards the running girl. Piercing the clouds at breakneck speed, he spread his wings, snatching the short, black haired girl off the ground in his jaws. His long needle-like teeth sunk and tore into her midsection, shredding and tearing through bone, sinew and guts. Her blue eyes looked deep into his massive left pupil. He saw fear, fear more exquisite and poignant than he had ever seen before.

He bit down harder, marvelling at her expression of agony as his teeth sank and shredded deeper into her. Her eyes faded slightly, yet were still emitting a faint glimmer of life. Emitting slow ragged breaths, she had accepted her own mortality and the glimmer was no more. He had to share this with the rest of the world. He flew towards the lone warrior and with one shake of his mighty head, he tossed the broken frame of the blue-eyed girl in front of his horse and climbed back into the clouds.

The ones with blue eyes, they were special. Destined to die. He glided low over the clouds looking for another martyr. The warrior followed him.

Draconic, yellow eyes scoured the landscape, ignoring the common folk for now. He had plenty of time for them later. Up ahead, a girl waited with a pike at the ready, standing guard over several older, less brave individuals. “How futile”, he thought. Her blonde hair flowed freely in the smoke driven breeze. He turned, coming in low and fast, yet again piercing through the clouds at breakneck speed. She spun around, brandishing her weapon. Too slow. He zoomed in and snapped his jaw down on her neck. He was slightly off his intended mark, as only his outermost teeth had gained purchase, but they achieved the desired effect nonetheless. She gurgled softly as the life flowed out of her, blue eyes quivering desperately. He shook his head, tearing off a great section of her neck and jaw, sealing her fate. She fell to the ground, a bloody, broken heap in front of the pursuing warrior.

He had no time for the fool, for another, more welcoming one had caught his eye. Another group of riders approached, shrouded in thick cloaks, bearing the sigil of Jormungand, the world snake. Two cool, blue eyes peered out from beneath one of the hoods. If his draconic visage was capable of producing a smile, it would've been plastered all over his face at that very instant.

He climbed and circled and swooped down in his trademark manner and closed in upon the rider. He zoomed past, and with a great slash of his talons, severed the running horse’s back legs, causing it to tumble to the ground. The rider leaped off and softened their landing with a quick roll, turning quickly and landing behind the dying horse. The cloaked figure drew their sword, a well-crafted if unadorned affair, and carefully backed away from his great, red scaled form. He watched for a moment, considering his next move. He threw out his great neck and snapped down with his jaws, but the cloaked figure easily leapt out of the way, agilely landing onto their feet. He angrily hissed when he realized his teeth had achieved purchase on nothing. He was getting frustrated, hate churned in his gut ever more intensely, thick smoke billowed from his nostrils. He stalked forward a few steps, biding his time. The figure continued to match his pace, maintaining the distance between them. In one great leap, he leaps forward, forming a huge crater in his wake and lashing out with his head. The cloaked figure leapt again, but their timing was off by scant milliseconds.  Seeing this window of opportunity, he sunk his teeth into their right thigh. The feeling was exquisite, that of sharp teeth perforating bone and muscle. The figure's hood fell down, revealing blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail.

Her blue eyes burned with raging defiance. Her tattooed arms quickly changed grip on her sword and then in a flurry of motion, rammed the steel blade into the soft flesh under his right eye. He roared in pain, jaws wide whilst letting draconic fire spew out. She pushed her leg off of his tooth and fell to ground with a loud thud. He shook his head in an effort to dislodge the blade. In an instant, the warrior,  whom he now notices was clad in bright, shining armor, rode in from the distance and snatched the blue eyed sellsword off the ground at full gallop.  He saw them ride off into the distance as he clawed at his own eye in a futile attempt to remove the offending object from under it. After what seemed to him like an eternity of trying, he hooked his claw around the cross guard and finally yanked the blade free. Torrents of blood poured out, but not enough to debilitate him. He took to the air, driven by an overwhelming desire for vengeance against the sellsword for his grievance and the warrior for denying him said vengeance.

They had covered an impressive amount of ground, but they could no more escape death than the old man receiving his final rites from a priest. He circled high above them, watching silently through his good eye, with the right one rendered useless from the sword wound.

For some reason, the warrior’s horse came to a complete stop. The warrior stepped off and appeared to have a brief exchange of words with the sellsword before she set off again alone.

Now was his chance, he would kill the warrior who was conveniently offering himself up and then run down the sellsword and tear her limbs off one by one as punishment for what she had done to him.

He landed down before the warrior, who had already drawn his sword and waited for his next move. He considered simply burning him to a crisp for a brief moment before deciding that his punishment must be more severe. He loped forward and opened his massive maw, the warrior obliged to his surprise, leaping into his mouth. His teeth sank through the armor, the coppery tang of the warrior’s blood leaked into his mouth and mixing with that of the four previous victims. Satisfied, he tipped his head back and swallowed the warrior whole, getting a sick contentment from all this.  He then proceeded to take to the air in search of the sellsword.

Moments later, a horrible agonizing pain burst in his chest. He landed to gain his bearings. He felt movement, something wriggling, burrowing from the center. The warrior was alive. Cutting a path. Savagely. Ferociously. Hacking at flesh like an animal that hadn’t eaten for days. The pain was indescribable. It lessened for a brief moment, and then felt a paralyzing sharp pain directly on his heart. Blood gushed from the newly formed hole in his chest. The world around him narrowed and then grew dark. He closed his eyes and a white light loomed at the center of his vision. It was no heavenly light but the burning white hot fires of hell.

His eyes flashed open.