Death in the Jungle

Blackhawk leaned the rifle against her shoulder, and over her leg, extending from her body and onto the side of the ditch she was hiding in.

At the other end of the rifle, behind green leaves dripping with synthetic water, a few red skinned soldiers moved through the under forest. They were massively built, larger than any purely organic human, with tiny horns, and white fur like manes around their massive ape-like heads.

Blackhawk followed one of them with her rifle, removing a hand to pull the strap away from the heavy pistol on her hip. Not that the pistol or rifle was visible under the thermo-optical camouflage that covered her from top to toe. A dribble of water ran down her visor, reflecting in the thermo-optical reflective lens, and for a short moment revealing the red mask hiding underneath. The red mask of a hexa.

Unfortunately for the morat soldiers none of them were paying attention.

Though Blackhawk couldn’t understand their language, it was clear that two of the morats were in a heated argument of some sort. If luck was with her they would kill each other and she would only have to take out the last soldier with a well placed shot.

The morats broke through the wall of green, nearing the far end of the ditch. One of them gave the others the finger, a clearly human gesture, and they in turn responded with loud yelling.

Blackhawk shifted her position, drawing her leg down and back, putting distance between her rifle and the morats. While her sniper rifle would punch clear through any one of them, she recognized that they carried plasma rifles so common in the combined army. A single shot and her camouflage would be destroyed, and likely her life with it. At this distance the plasma rifles would also be far more effective, higher burst rate, little fall off, no noticeable spread. The sniper rifle on the other hand would be unwieldy, while her lesser pistol lacked the firepower to punch down a morat trooper in a single shot.

When she’d moved a bit away she settled down again, steadying the rifle. Before she could return her eye to the scope she noticed that the morats had stopped bickering, and the one who’d done the rude human gesture had jumped into the ditch. His nostrils moved, not as much smelling as flaring up in anger.

From his wrist came a strange sound, a strange tongue the human comm device in the hexa’s visor couldn’t translate. It sounded rough, like the grinding of an old machine, mixed with the disdain of an old factory worker, his lungs filled with dusts from years of labour.

The morats looked at each other, all silenced by the strange sound, until the one in the ditch answered the call. While speaking he pointed to the ground, and Blackhawk knew that her prior position had been discovered. She would have cursed herself, if not years of discipline had kicked in, leading her focus back to the rifle, and it’s target.

Cold logic told her, that if they could follow her tracks in the wet mud, they would arrive at her position momentarily. Even worse, if they grew restless, they might fire a salvo in her general direction and a lucky hit would be the end of her.

She gave the ditch-morat time to end the call, but not a second longer. His wrist seemed to blink twice, a signal telling her to act. With unmatch professionalism she pulled the trigger twice, angling the second shot slightly to the side.

In a split second the morat soldier looked up and at her, though she was still hidden, and he threw himself to the side.

The first bullet punched into his arm and detonated, breaking armour and bone.

The other hit him square in the jaw, splashing his morat blood, as it ripped open his skull.

Blackhawk leapt back, as the other morats jumped forward. A plasma rifle went off, and a stream of plasma tore through the tree next to Blackhawk. She grit her teeth at the missed opportunity to return fire, since he had miscalculated her position, but another plasma shot roasted the branches that had provided her cover a moment ago.

She turned and ducked, going under a tree and over to the next. It was smaller, and wouldn’t provide much cover, but she didn’t need it. Her camouflage was still active making her all but invisible to the naked eye.

They would likely assume her to hide behind a bigger tree, actually seeking cover, and when next they fired a salvo she was proven correct. The big tree she had just passed was burned through, three shots disappearing into the forest behind her. She lowered the rifle again, and fired a single bullet. As the morats were occupied with shooting, neither noticed the shot coming, and it tore into the belly of the one furthest away. With a muffled thump it detonated behind his armor, bulging it and spilling blood out from under the heavy breastplate. He went to his knees, roaring and firing wildly into the forest.

More plasma streaked past Blackhawk, and unexpectedly part of the shot melted away from the rest, searing its way to her shoulder and burning through camouflage and armour.

She clenched her teeth against the pain, and a voice in her ear told her that a stimulant had been applied to the affected area.

The shot had removed part of her camouflage, breaking the links of what was visible and what was invisible, leaving her shoulder exposed. The other morat noticed, and fired his gun in her general direction. She dodged for cover, landing hard on the ground, and rolling under a great overturned tree.

The morat continued firing, spraying her hiding spot with molten slag-like plasma trails.

Blackhawk sought to free her rifle, but aiming it in such an enclosed space was impossible. A plasma streak heated the right side of her face, passing so close as to give off warmth to her mask. An inch closer it would likely have melted off her jaw.

She freed her pistol fully from its rest, and rolled over, landing on her visible shoulder, and hoping that the morat would soon run out of shots. His vigorous firing caused exactly that effect, and he roared as the rifle clicked without firing.

It took but a split second for his hand to find a new mag, and it hastily approached the gun.

To Blackhawk, it seemed that time slowed, though she imagine it was just her geist calculating the best available shot, and the painkillers in her blood muddying her senses.

With determination she lifted her small pistol, insignificant against the massive alien warrior. The morats eyes locked on the pistol as it appeared out of nowhere, the camouflage finally dropping completely.

Blackhawk squeezed the trigger, and a shot ran out, flying through a plasma burned gap in the tree, and passing through the morat’s fingers and into his new magazine.

With a violent blue burst it exploded in his hand, blue plasma flames licking up and over his massive frame, burning and melting skin and armour, fusing it into one.

Blackhawk sighed relieved, the danger finally over. The morat continued burning as she stepped from her hiding. Her rifle was still lying under the tree, but she just need to stand up for a movement. Just get an overview of the damage done.

It was then she noticed the black figure, and came to the conclusion that it had been watching her for a while. In its hand, it held a ring from which three hungry blades sprung. Blackhawk pointed her pistol at it, but knew it would hardly help.

An Umbra had come for her.

 

Thanks for the kind replies. They really made my day.

I actually had no idea that morats were not allowed to use plasma weapons, but I get the point. :)
stevenart74 has good points though, so I'll gladly accept them into the 'canon' ;)

I also actually wrote this before I wholly returned to infinity. I played a bit with a mate during N2, but then we kinda just dropped it.
As we returned, I fell completely in love again, and I had to write something. That became Death in the Jungle, originally titled an Infinity of Possibilities - which is now my RP campaign of the same name.

 

An Unlikely Duo

The buzzing of the engines made the walls shiver, and the vibrations planted themselves in the back pieces of Konstantin’s armour. It hadn’t started as an uncomfortable feeling, but the continuous motion had made his back numb, and he so ached to scratch it. His hands nervously clenched and unclenched, a small silver cross dangling from the his gauntlets.

Opposite of him the akal commando was likewise fiddling, occasionally glancing in Konstatin’s direction. His fingers turned and spun a small nameplate with the engraved word Satkiran, and everytime it had made a full turn he mumbled something.

A black friar and an akal commando walks into a bar.

Konstantin snorted.

It was an absurd combination. A counter-infiltration specialist and a drop trooper, carried by hovercraft above the teeming jungle. And for what? To hunt down the cube of one lost operative or another like a common cube jaeger.

“You nervous?”

Konstantin raised an eyebrow, slowly raising his glance.

“No.”

There was a brief moment of silence after their first words had been shared. Then Konstantin smiled and tapped his leg twice, to visualize the smile hidden behind his visor.

“I just wish I could scratch my back before making the drop.”

The akal commando tapped his leg as well, his shoulders bobbing lightly. He pretended to dry tears from the eyeslits of his visor.

“I’ve never dropped from such a low altitude before.”

Konstantin nodded. He wasn’t too schooled in the whole combat jump, but the hovercraft was grazing the top of the trees. And he was completely without a jump pack.

“And I’ve never been deployed outside of the cities before. I hope these ALEPH agents know what they are doing.”

The akal nodded as the door to the cockpit opened. A slender legged Lhost walked, flanked by another more brutish looking one. Konstantin couldn’t help but strike the mark of the cross when he noticed there was no one in the pilot seat.

While the two Lhosts were as day and night, one female and large, the other small and male, they carried themselves the exact same way down to the smallest swinging of the hip.

The two stopped in unison, the smaller Lhost gesturing to the door cutting them off from the rushing view of the jungle.

“We’ve arrived at our destination. Friar, if you would?”

Konstantin unbuckled and approached the door, throwing it wide open. The wind tugged at his tabard and hood, even as the hovercraft stood still above the green mess that was the Paradiso jungle.

For the briefest of moments he was stunned by the beauty of the wilderness, but his geist turned on the visor, and a moment later it flickered through the channels. Heat vision, precision, biometric, not that the last worked at this range. He felt an automatic response to the activation of the visor, and his eyes darted back and forth to cover every inch of the multi-layered input.

Konstantin cursed, and drew his rifle in a rapid motion. The Lhosts both cocked their heads in surprise, and the akal commando tensed.

A moment later a round of micro-explosives tore through the engine on their side, and a crackling electrical surge told them that other engine was straining to keep up unsupported.

Konstantin wanted to yell for the ALEPH agent to get back in the seat, but a moment later another shot tore through the floor.

In his eagerness to draw the rifle, Konstantin had compromised his hold on the ship, and as it lurched he was thrown from it.

The akal commando acted without hesitation, unbuckling and igniting the jump pack from inside the ship. The ALEPH agents clung onto the insides of the ship as he exploded out of the side, pummeling Konstantin hard against a nearby tree.

With the name of God on his lips and outstretched arms Konstantin impacted with the tree, and in true desperation he grabbed for the foliage. It held for a but a moment, and then he was falling again, breaking sticks and shattering branches. From an onlookers perspective it might have been comical, but trapped inside the steel suit, it was like being caught in an avalanche of green.

With a thump he impacted with the ground, his head ringing, his joints aching.

If he’d ever wished for an automedikit, this would have been it.

Breathing hard and pushing back with arms he slowly got up on all fours.

“I hate snipers. I really-really hate snipers.”

He spat blood inside his helmet, but the familiar pressure of a sponge pressed against his mouth, draining the fluids. Even if it wasn’t an automedikit, it was good PanOceanian armor with the luxuries of self-cleaning.

He spat again and pushed himself up on his knees. With the rifle held loose in one hand and the sword half-ways unsheathed in the other, he finally felt a semblance of normality.

Behind him the hovercraft dived for the ground, on the way being slammed left and right by the ancient trees of Paradiso.

Konstantin leapt for a tree, just in time for the ship to crack into pieces, and a magnetic explosion to tear it asunder.

Konstantin cursed. The walk home would take just short of forever.

 

Way of the Sikh

During freefall did Nardeev find it the easiest to meditate on God. The rush of wind encapsulating and stifling the senses, the freedom of movement, the quiet he’d come to associate with the nearness to death. Not that pondering on death was the same as meditating on God, but with death on his shoulder Nardeev felt at ease.

Maybe that was why he’d launched himself out of the crashing hovercraft. Or maybe it had been to serve his community, by saving the black friar and serving PanOceania.

He wasn’t sure he’d actually saved the black friar, but he sure hoped so, assuming the friar would be as useful in the jungle as their visored Bagh-mari cousins he’d so often served with.

Regardless, the jump pack on his back wheezed uncomfortably, trying to stabilize as he tumbled through the trees. With surprising agility he skidded over the massive branches, pulling back his weight, straining the jump pack just a little more.

Ahead and just below he caught sight of something, and on instinct he rolled, using the backup thrusters to somersault sideways through the air.

A moment late a bullet whizzed past, but Nardeev couldn’t hear it. The jump pack wasn’t meant for tenth-of-a-second maneuvering, and the thruster spat and sizzled, the wetness of the jungle causing it cough smoke dark as coal.

Then it roared, fire like a trail behind him, and he strained to keep the somersault from becoming a parody of a crash aircraft.

He stretched out a leg to bound off a tree, grabbed hold of a handful of vines to swing a distance, and finally landed with the grace of a ballet dancer.

As if frozen he stood still, blinking in awe behind the visor, a hand still clutching the vines.

Then the jump pack sputtered and the voice of his wife told him that the systems had applied cooling liquid, and the chance in percentage of the pack exploding.

He thanked his geist almost instinctively, and relaxed his pose, before remembering the hunch, and ducking for cover.

Somewhere nearby he heard the sound of something crashing through the undergrowth, and soon after it was accompanied by an explosion.

That’ll work for a distraction.

Nardeev grabbed his combi-rifle, vaulted out of cover and threw himself forward.

Come on. Come on. Come out!

He was met with the the sudden flash of a pistol, and he felt it rip into his calf on the right leg.

He grumbled against his miscalculation, realizing the shooter was beside and not in front, before dropping down behind another tree. Even though he’d seen the gunflare, the rest of the shooter was hidden. Invisible.

Nardeev wanted to take the time to address the wound, but he knew that he had none.

A cloaked enemy on the attack would be unstoppable.

He sighed with a thought to his family at home and threw himself in the direction of the shooter. With a flick of his wrist he brought up his trusty blade, and struck a wide arc.

It had nearly passed hundred-and-eighty degrees before impacting with something metallic, and the gun went off again, this time averted by the sword.

Nardeev flashed his blade again, striking for the hand that held the pistol. A rasping sound and a ringing in his steel told him that the blade had been deflected.

He spun and dodged low, carving another wide arc left to right. He’d been so sure of where his opponent was, but the parry had been with a knife, and he instinctively understood that the arc of deflection meant his opponent was left-handed.

And that he’d been expecting to finish off Nardeev with the knife, using the pistol as a distraction.

Before Nardeev’s swing could pick up speed the attacker caught him under the right shoulder. The blade went through under the armor, and Nardeev’s own weight worked against him, jerking the blade out through his back.

Nardeev screamed in surprise and pain, his mind fighting his morals as panic sought to take control.

“Serve your community, and with your service, cleanse your soul.”

The voice came from his geist. It was on of the older Sikhs from his neighborhood.

Nardeev remembered having installed the voiceline to remind himself of his Sikh heritage.

Nardeev groaned and fell back. Even if he wanted to stand, the wound in his leg had caught up to him, and his religious fervour had run out.

His vision blurred, shadows rising to consume the fringes, probably as the result of the gun shot.

He felt a tree as he slumped against it. It was kinda peaceful. A good spot.

Almost good enough.

Nardeev fumbled his own pistol up and fired it into where he would have stood if he was a left-handed-knife-wielding-alien.

With a crunch the bullet punched through something. It was followed by a gurgling sound, a wheezing and a frantic scratching. Then something appeared from something like the unfurling flower birthing a godly figure, except for each petal being a thousand tiny hexagons. If it was a god, it was hideous, strangely insectoid legs, hunchbacked, and with a gruesome face.

Then the thing slumped over, its literal cloak falling to cover it.

(*I’m not well versed in Sikh culture/religion, but I wanted to include that part of Nardeev’s background, so if I get things wrong, it’s because I don’t know better).

 

*This is the second update tonight because I was bored, and I need to do something. So hopefully the triple post can be forgiven. I would also guess it's fine in the fanfic section in general.

*This section was edited, 01/04/2018, to raise the quality, as suggested by DaRedOne.

Death Shroud

Konstantin had hardly hit the ground before the sound of gunfire made him look up. With the multispectral visor the jungle proved no obstacle, and some fifty meters away a shadow was hunting the akal commando.

Konstantin made a gruff smile and pushed himself up, but not before scouting the perimeter for other enemies. When he was sure the one attacking the akal was alone, he pushed himself up and struggled forward. His gear wasn’t made for jungle moment, and it became painfully obvious that he might not arrive in the time.

The akal was a decent fighter, but against a cloaked enemy, his odds were not good. Konstantin supposed that was the reason he was here, visor and all.

He cursed as he saw the akal stumble, blade falling from his hand. A more calm headed soldier might have utilized this moment to fire his rifle, but instead Konstantin pushed forward, yelling obscenities to distract the Shrouded.

For the barest of a moment Konstantin found the alien’s eyes hidden beneath the hooded cloak, its gaze locking with his and speaking grave threats.

Then a gun rang out, and blood petal bloomed on the alien’s chest as the camouflage fell away.

The next moment Konstantin burst from the tangle of vines clinging to his tabard, stomping over to the akal.

“You! Wake up. Come on. You still alive?”

The akal didn’t answer. Konstantin inspected the wound on his leg, and while it was more than a scratch, it could be bandaged.

Then he noticed the wound in the armpit. The alien’s blade had caught the akal and offset the shoulder. Konstantin guessed that the akal’s own swing had been interrupted, and that his own strength had forced the blade out his back. It could have been worse though. If the blade had gotten further in, it would have torn through the akal’s lung.

Konstantin cursed again. That wound was fatal regardless, and without a medikit …

The software of his visor blinked with several enclosing circles in the periphery off his vision. As he turned to look, he noticed that the alien’s shroud had fallen away, on its bulging back, many robotic fingers unfurled. Most of the fingers were equipped with pincers or syringes, and as Konstantin watched they dug into the alien’s back.

The alien made what could have been categorized as a grunt and disappeared from sight. At least it would have, had Konstantin’s geist not switched across the channels again.

With a panicked motion he drew his sword and lunged out, the blade piercing deep into the alien’s back. It yet again gurgled, twitched, and the camouflage flickered.

He felt a slight, barely noticeable ringing carried by the steel of his blade, and then noticed the tiny robotic fingers trying to remove the sword. A small pair of pliers sought to push it out, but clearly lacked the strength, while a syringe bent itself trying to go through the sword to reach alien flesh.

Konstantin put down his rifle, and stood up, holding a tight grip on the sword. He then pushed it up to almost vertical, before putting both his hands on the guards and driving it down. The alien’s arms spasmed, the fingers clutching at the undergrowth in its death throes. Satisfied that it would not be moving again, he ducked down on one knee, and glanced over the small device.

It was strapped to the alien’s hunchback by leathery yet-plastic straps conjoining it to the armour, and sat upon a small metal plate filled with needle sized holes. As the alien had been ended for good the device folded itself back into a small metallic box, covered in what Konstantin assumed to be alien markings.

Oh Lord, forgive me.

With quick cuts he liberated the device from the leather pieces, but the metal plate was stuck. He unplugged the metallic box, put it aside and gave the metal plate another tug, which resulted in the alien’s surrounding skin tearing. He released the plate, coming to the conclusion that it was meant to aid in the repeated use of the device, keeping the puncture wounds from becoming hard from scars.

He walked back over to the akal, the little metal box in his hand.

“Stay alive for awhile if you want to finish this. Otherwise, I’ll have to cut out your cube… Unless this does something to it.”

Konstantin mumbled more for his own sake than for the unconscious akal. Then he placed the device over the akal’s thigh, holding it down instead of using the straps the alien had used.

It had only just connected when the syringes sprang forward again. Some of them drew back and exchanged fluids with small canisters, while others took blood samples. Even though Konstantin knew it was about to happen, he was taken by surprise. The syringes plunged into skin, making small patterns of holes and delivering what he hoped was what the akal needed.

When the device stopped he pulled it off and put it aside, though the akal still did not move.

“Well come on. If I did that for nothing well… Least you could do is get up.”

Konstantin kicked the alien, before taking his sword and plunging it into the weird bulging part of the alien.

“Are you… nervous?”

Konstantin turned and clapped his thigh twice.

“I’ll be damned.”

The akal appeared as if he had just come awake, but his eyes quickly expanded, the irises contracting, and his breath picking up pace.

“What the... ”,

the akal mumbled. Konstantin helped him up.

“Voodoo-tech I’m afraid.”

The akal staggered.

“Well I’ll be… What you said.”

Konstantin let the akal go, sure that he could stand on his own.

“Hopefully not. Or if you could wait until after the mission I’d be grateful,”

Konstantin handed the akal his blade, and as the akal grabbed it he nodded.

“Now the question is where the target might be.”

As one they both looked at their wrist comms, and in shocked awe looked back at each other.

A blinking symbol on both of the comms were practically on top of the two.

With the gentlest of motions did a person drop between them, until she hit the ground and her legs buckled. They twist in the wrong directions, and her head lolled on her shoulders. She was dressed all in black, a thousand hexagons covering her long coat, all except for the red mask.

Vicious but superficial cuts covered her arms and thighs.

Blood pumped slowly from the wounds.


Above them a shadow loomed.

 

Thanks so much!

I expect the next part to appear sometime this week, assuming I find the time to give it what it deserves.

You saw straight through me, and I was at a conflicted state of mind during writing the latter chapter. I very much wanted to give you guys something, and I needed to distract myself.
I very much see your point, and will consider revisiting before the next chapter comes up, just to straighten out the missteps.

 

The AI’s Ploy

“You are not of the AI.”

The voice was seething with hatred, rough and rusty like that of an old machine. Somehow it silenced the noise of the jungle. An eerie feeling crept up Konstantin’s back, as he and the akal turned to face the shadow. Above them, standing tall and lean on a rocky outlet protruding between two massive trees, stood a swirling mass of smoke. From deep within the cloud a face stripped of skin appeared, and coming forth from the shadow was an arm, likewise red and exposed to the muscle. With a finger ending in a metallic claw it accused the two.

Nardeev braced his blade in a reverse grip, his other hand grabbing for his pistol. Konstantin took a single step forward, grabbing his blade still stuck in the alien corpse.

“We are not,” Konstantin said without taking eyes of the alien. Even his visor couldn’t see through the cloud, though his geist was flitting through the filters. Konstantin tightened the grip on the sword with his right hand, while his left moved back to point at the woman lying between the two operatives.
Nardeev crouched while keeping his eyes on the smokey form, until Konstantin stepped in front. Then he looked down at the woman, and noted again the red mask. Clearly PanO gear. Clearly a hexa. He hadn’t been informed who exactly they were here to reclaim, but she seemed a likely choice.

The rough voice sounded again, but this time without words. Instead it harked, the smoke convulsing as if in pain.

“Smart the AI is, not to sacrifice its own pieces. But foolish, to think anything short of the Myrmidons could succeed today.”

Nardeev turned the woman’s head carefully, but his fears had come true.

“Sir Friar, her cube is gone.”

Konstantin grit his teeth. The akal had spoken just as his geist confirmed that none of the filters worked against whatever this being was. The biometric scan had returned a disturbing picture of a being infused with what he assumed to be nanotech.
His geist calmly told him the possibilities of outrunning the creature, and he couldn’t help but to curse at it. The old monk-like voice of the generic military orders support geist always brought out the worst in Konstantin. He’d never been a good student.

With a swift pull Konstantin tore his blade from the other corpse, bringing it up to parry while pointing his left wrist against the being. As his hand opened and clenched, an invisible stream of nanobots leapt from the built-in pulser, swirling up to connect with the rocky outcrop.

The Umbra was there no more, and a moment later the shadowy form fell upon him, a clawed hand pushing Konstantin’s own double edged sword down against his neck. The blade slid down Konstantin’s chest plate before he brought his other hand up and caught it with the gauntlet.

Yet, removing the threat of the nanopulser allowed the Umbra to strike out with his other hand, and it caught Konstantin in the side. An explosion of pain erupted in his side and his geist informed him of the nanotech breach of his armour.

The pain spread like fire once inside the armour and Konstantin struggled to stay conscious, but when it seemed the worst the armour responded with a miniscule electrical pulse, destroying the nanobots. The annoying monk informed him of it.

Meanwhile Nardeev threw himself forward, seeking to drive his blade into the whirl of shadows. As it grazed something he spun and sought to drive it further in, but the Umbra responded by hurling Konstantin into him.

The considerably heavier Konstantin pummeled over Nardeev, but rolled off, regaining his own footing. His geist shamed him for not having anticipated the move, and Konstantin hurled himself back into the fray.

With the force of the leap he punched the blade forward, but the Umbra avoided it with ease. A follow-up swing made it wholly through the nanocloud, but it impacted with nothing of note.

The Umbra struck back while Konstantin lacked balance, and the blow cracked against his visor, sending him spinning. He took a half turn before impacting with a tree, the visor cracked against his nose and blood flowing freely.
He hardly noticed however, as the visor flickered both from damage and from warnings of a possible nanotech breach.

Nardeev’s fall had caused the wings on his pack to get stuck in the heavy roots, and he struggled to get it off. He wished his geist could have aided, but the jump pack could only be removed manually, as to not allow enemy hackers to pop it off during airdrop.
Finally he was free and leapt back up, just in time to see Konstantin headbutt a tree.

The Umbra turned against him. The red face was completely emotionless, which only strengthened Nardeev’s impression that he and the friar was hopelessly outmatched.

“What would it require for the AI to send someone better?”

Nardeev clenched his grip on the blade.

“I demand an answer.”

From within the shadows swirled flickering holograms as red rings and hexagons, and a clawed hand scratched instructions.

A moment later, Nardeev’s wife betrayed him.

“Two ALEPH agents were assigned the reclamation of the target. They did not escape the rough landing of the hovercraft, thus they are assumed KIA.”

Nardeev was dumbstruck. His wife’s voice giving up information to the enemy a mental blow unlike any other.

“No. No no no NO!”

Nardeev hammered at his wrist with his blade hand, trying to shut off the device. When next he looked up it was too late, and a claw swiped over his chest and shoulder. It barely touched, but it didn’t need to. The akal gear was not meant for nano warfare, and had no defenses, so he immediately buckled as the pain tore through his frame.

Paralyzed by pain and mere moments from death the Umbra grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and lifted him. With a cruel caress a claw grazed over the nape of his neck, and as it tore through the cloth and skin Nardeev ached to scream.

Then Konstantin brought his blade down, both hands hold it at the very far end. With its full weight it connected with the Umbra’s hand. It would have severed the hand, but in the last moment the Umbra let go, rendering the hand useless, however still attached.

To Nardeev’s horror the Umbra had already taken his cube, and as the sword cut through he watched it fall. Much to his relief the small disk landed on the wounded woman, and he sighed in relief as he slumped in a pile next to her.

Konstantin brought his blade back up, cursing at his own folly. If he’d aimed for a bodyblow he might actually have stood a chance. While it was good to know that the Umbra could be wounded, it wasn’t enough. Even with only one usable hand the Umbra was a formidable foe.

The Umbra stepped back. It seemed as if he tried to make distance to the superior range of Konstantin’s sword, and Konstantin took the bait.

As he swung the Umbra whipped up a blade of his own, or rather a tri-blade connected in a center point. When the two weapons clashed Konstantin’s sword was lead to the side, and then broken.

Konstantin starred in awe as the majority of his blade slid into the ground, no longer attached to the handle. He brought up his nanopulser, but another swipe tore open his arm, and with it the pulser.

He fell back, stumbled on a root landed on his now wounded arm.

He tried to scowl at the Umbra, but the visor was in the way. Instead he made the rudest gesture with his unwounded hand, the other dangling uselessly.

“Whatever it is you scum seek, you’ll never have it! PanOceania will make sure of that.”

The Umbra harked again, the sound like breaths of dust spilling forth combined with the rolling of thunder.

“Your threats are void, and your life is forfeit.”

Konstantin couldn’t help but smile sourly, instinct causing him to slap his thigh with his dangling hand. With the other he pulled out one of his dropbears.

“May God have mercy on my soul.”

A moment later the shock mine exploded sending a fury of shrapnel and bullets after the Umbra. While the mine was directional, Konstantin still had it in his hand, and the recoil was enough to send the empty mineshell hard into his stomach.

He gasped, his eyes closed in pain.

The world seemed to spin, and something tried to get into his mouth.

He beat at his helmet, trying to get whatever alien thing to backoff, until realizing that the armour was trying to drain the blood from his mouth, lest he choke.

When he opened his eyes the Umbra seemed to have disappeared, or been torn to pieces. He wasn’t quite sure, for his visor had finally died on him, reducing it to glorified sunglasses.

He fought his helmet off and drew breath, his eyes seeing the jungle unfiltered for the first time.

He made to crawl over to the woman and the akal, but it took him longer than he would have liked. When he was almost there he placed down another dropbear in the center of what had become a small clearing.

Between the nanobots, the mine explosion and the various sword fights, there wasn’t a lot left. He would probably never have described it as beautiful, though he might have admitted to it, had someone suggested it.

Konstantin looked around for the small alien metal box. The one that had saved the akal before, and readily enough he found it. Pressing it down only with his aching right hand, it did not stir against the akal’s thigh. Konstantin ground his teeth. For such a warrior to die was not just.
He then tried it against the woman, and for a while it did nothing.

It was only when he let go of the little automedikit that it finally snapped open. The pliers held onto the woman, as the syringes made another concoction. While it mixed, the pliers and a laser needle worked on the nearby wounds, disinfecting and closing.

Konstantin leaned back. She might be cubeless, but she was going to live. He picked up the cube lying freely on her, but then noticed something. There was a small bulge on the sternum of her otherwise tight clothes.

He hesitated, the monk in his head telling him the various degrees of wrong, until finally admitting that they both knew it wasn’t like that. He guided the bulge up towards her neck, where the tight suit ended and the mask began.

With a not so gentle hand he made to lift up the mask, to release whatever he had found, but the next moment her hand clamped shut over his, and her other hand struggled for his throat. He released his grip, but she did not. Due to the heavy load of his armour strangling him was extraordinary difficult, and her fingers fought to find purchase not covered.

“It’s alright. We - I am here to bring you home.”

She released his neck and clasped her hand over the mysteriously hidden item, before paying attention to the alien automedikit.

When next she looked at him, she cocked her head ever so slightly before nodding in acceptance.

 

Five Days Darkness

Nardeev felt at peace. It was like lying in a still lake, face down, but without the need to breath. The calm of muffled senses, almost like that of the free fall, but without the relentless tugging of the wind.

From above the water came the distant echo of voices, bubbling with numbers and data useless to the dead. Nardeev cared little for the voices, distant as they were.

He was on his way to rebirth, or maybe, he’d finally joined with God. Regardless, he felt thankful.

Then the image of a skinless devil struck him. A blurry image of darkness overtook his mind, and a grating sound scratched against the edges of his sanity.

He shook his head, trying to regain the state of serenity.

The devil struck him with a claw, and pale flames licked at his flesh.

He writhed and wiggled, his body lashing back against the pain.

Something clamped on his thigh and upper arm, and he got the impression of something small and metallic. A box of some sort, filled with syringes covered in fleshy wires.

Nardeev tried to scream, but the water made it into bubbles. A moment later he was blinded, a bright white light forcing his eyes to shut again. Then he coughed and spat, feeling a coolness spread over his naked skin, as water ran from his body.

Was this reincarnation?

He coughed again and tried to bend over, but firm metallic hands held him up and straight. He lifted a hand to shield against the bright light, but his arm responded lazily and made a wet slap against his face.

Something pressed against his chest, and a nimble hand lowered his arm back into the metallic grip.

He fought to talk, to say something, but his tongue lolled.

Then, one of the voices, now right next to his face spoke.

“All scans have returned high reliability results. Although the subject appears to have some trouble with motor skills, that is to be expected. The brainwave scans momentarily suggested that the subject had relapsed back into the cube, but the shock element appears to have awakened all cognitive processes.”

The voice removed itself from Nardeev’s ear, and the small metallic disk disappeared from his chest.

“I believe I have upheld my end of the bargain. Though it surprises me that a resurrection of such a unimportant operative was sanctioned from above.”

Nardeev managed to open a single eye, catching sight of a doctor with a variety of surgical implements at his disposal. Around him were many vats filled with a bluish water, all marked with a circular black and white sign.

Then he noticed the two holograms floating over by the door. Both were clad in their blue colored combat gear, one recognizable by her red mask, the other by his white tabard.

“PanOceania thanks you and the AI for your cooperation. You services and discretion is appreciated.”

As the man in the tabard spoke, his hologram seemed to shimmer, and a hand appeared. The hand slowly lifted, gesturing a ‘welcome’ and then going to a salute.

Nardeev felt his confusion decrease, and he struggled to return the salute.

The hexa responded by leaning her hologram against the wall and looking away.

Konstantin’s hologram shimmered again, the legs coming into view to allow him to pace closer.

“Your name is Nardeev, right?”

He stopped, hesitation apparent before his next step

“Once you’ve become accustomed to your new body, PanOceania needs you again. Or rather, another mission perfectly suited for an akal commando and a black friar.”

Konstantin wiped the eyeslit of his visor with a finger, followed by tapping twice on the brow, a crooked smile hidden beneath.

--- To be continued* ---​

*-ish. I might write a different story I had in mind first, but time will tell.