• Hell.

    Thousands upon thousands of dead, dying, and wounded littering the ground. Blood and debris pot marking the otherwise beautiful landscape.

    It was beautiful.

    The carnage of battle has scarred the area with violent explosions and shockwaves of powerful magick as they war against each other. Man against man, beast against machine. A thick layer of dust has kicked up, limiting visibility. The wind, too, has picked up which has caused the canyon to be blocked off by an almost impenetrable layer of stinging sand.

    Amidst the chaos of the fight a single figure stands out. He surveys the frenzy with his own sense of purpose, unaffected by the carnage that ensues all around him. To his left a man is riddled with potholes as a battalion of soldiers fire white hot lead through his soft body. The soldiers in turn quickly realize they are being turned to stone by the now dead man's ally. From the feet up they frantically claw at their hardening flesh, desperate to break free. As the last man's scream escapes his stony lungs, the mage strikes the ground, causing a shockwave that reduces the men to mere rubble.

    This place is hell.

    The man continues to scan the massacre down below. He watches as tanks blast into battlements, and mages ignite the whole area on fire. Streaks of pure energy steam across the field, lacerating everything they come in contact with. Men are rended left and right. This pointless madness seems as if it will never end.

    And then he sees it. The blood red sky makes it hard to focus on the ruby glow emanating from the rising smoke of battle.

    It’s him!

    The man briefly spots the one from his visions, but he's rapidly moving away from the battle. The man on the rock looks around to see if there is a better way around the battle, but the walls of the canyon surrounding the battle are steep, and it would take too much time to scale them. He must go though it. He must go through the bloodshed, the death, and the destruction. It is likely he will not make it through the canyon unscathed, but he has no choice. Bracing his shaky legs and choking his heart back down his throat he leaps off the rock and hurtles into the fray.

    Going down, the man passes a group of heavy infantry kneeling behind a rock. Out of the corner of his eye he notices them taking aim in his direction. He darts in and out of the wrecks of several downed mechs as his assailants open fire, riddling everything in the vicinity with hot lead. Keeping crouched, he scrambles behind a walker whose driving unit seems to have been melted into the rest of the chassis, rendering the entire piece of hardware immobile. Stopping to catch his breath, he peers over towards the men and notices one of them exchanging his gun for something else, but the stinging sand makes visibility difficult. He can only make out the shape of the item. The man straps the long tubular device over his shoulder.

    A missile launcher!

    Damn! The man rolls to his feet and makes it about ten steps before the entire area behind him is rocked with a violent explosion. Shards of shrapnel whiz by him as the concussion blast from the explosion throws the man fifty feet into the crimson sky. Flying through the air like a rag doll, he twists and bends his body so that when he lands on the ground once again, he only has to do a tuck and roll in order to keep his momentum going, sprinting away from the men with their eyes on his blood.

    Continuing deeper into the massacre the man spots a trio of mages working their deadly magicks in the most grotesque form imaginable. One mage is reciting some enchantment and making peculiar signs with his hands. In effect a force shield rises up and surrounds the three of them, deflecting all incoming fire from their would-be assassins. Another mage has gathered a small mountain of large boulders and uses them to smash their opponents. In amazement the man watches the boulders crash into a huge mech, smashing the cockpit and snapping the legs beneath it. The rocks continue to pulverize the mage’s victim until nothing but a heap of scraps remain. Other rocks controlled by the mage are used to grind other, less protected soldiers into a mess of bones and blood. The third and most terrifying mage has conjured a small maelstrom in which he uses to send blasts of electrical energy to whatever target he chooses.

    Gotta be careful with those three. The man opts to keep his distance from the mages and instead chooses to go around to the right, using the carnage they are creating as a cover for him to sneak by. Unfortunately, that puts him in the middle of the rest of the assailing army, bent on the three mages’ destruction.

    Weaving in and out, darting this way and that, surviving several near death encounters, the man painstakingly makes his way through the roaring battle. All while keeping an eye on the glint of red trailing ahead in the distance. He’s gaining on him. Although it doesn’t matter now as the shimmering beacon disappears completely from view. Now at this point the man has a choice to make. Since the individual with the stone seems to have completely vanished, the man has failed in his opportunity to complete his task. This means he can go home.

    Back to the rolling greens hills of home...

    All the death he’s encountered will be behind him. An alluring thought for sure. This also means he has to do a one eighty and backtrack through the labyrinth of carnage he has just traversed.

    Not quite as appealing.

    The second choice? Keep going. Maybe, just maybe there’s still hope of catching his adversary, however slim the chance. And, being that most of the battle is now behind him, it would extend his chances for survival by a few minutes at least. It also means the chance of rescuing her.

    The choice has been made.

    Steeling himself, the man forges ahead, against all odds, into the unknown.

    The first thing the man noticed after a short while was the cutting wind subsiding ever so slightly. The next was the sheer rock cliff looming in front of him. Glancing around, he notices that the area has been visited once already. Faint tracks, barely visible, lead ahead towards the cliff. Up ahead he sees a small crag in the wall big enough for one man to barely squeeze through. As the last of the tracks in the sand are erased by the wind, the man squeezes through the entrance and prepares himself for what might lie on the other side.

    Nothing.

    Save a pair of huge wooden doors creaked open ever so slightly; the chamber that the man stumbles in appears to be devoid of life. The sounds of the battle outside resonate through the chamber. The man approaches the doors. He draws his sword. Gently grasping the handle of the door he peers in.

    Light.

    A flicker of some kind of flame illuminates the entryway to the hallway the man gazes down. Slipping through the doors, he pads his way down the hallway. The sounds of the battle quietly subside to mere whispers, replaced by overwhelming silence. As he approaches the bend of the hallway the warm yellowish glow changes to a deep blue. A voice echoes through.

    Making his way around the bend to the right the light grows more intense.

    Then he sees it.

    A massive machine centered in an enormous cavern. Thousands of torches light the entirety of the chamber, blazing hot with blue flames, powered by the essence of magick. On a pedestal in front of the giant machine stands a man with his hands outstretched chanting some incantation. Floating above him is the red gem, glowing just as brightly as before when the man saw it through the battle taking place outside. On either side of the man on the pedestal stand two other individuals. One man, heavily armored, stands with his hands resting on the pommel of a huge two handed sword. His eyes glaring at the man who just trespassed on their domain, the warrior remains motionless. The other person, a female donning light leather armor, stands with an arrow knocked in a bow, half pulled back and ready to fire at a moments notice.

    The man on the pedestal stops his incantation. Turning around, his eyes lock onto the trespasser. For an eternal instant they burn their gaze into the other, looking for weakness; for a chance to find an opening in the defense of the other. Finally, after an agonizing length of time, the man on the pedestal speaks.

    “So, you made it here after all. I must acknowledge your tenacity. Welcome to the beginning of the end, General Cross. Or should I say Jericho, traitor to the Republic?”

    “Neither of those titles means anything to me now.” Jericho replies, taking a step into the chamber. Almost instantly the two bodyguards tense their muscles in preparation for an attack. The larger man slowly raises the point of his sword off the ground.

    “Oh yes, of course they don’t. Look at you. The great General Cross, defeater of Valenport, butcher of Nili, Murderer of Dogwell, Dest—”

    “Enough! I said those titl—”

    “But they do mean something! Let’s face it; you earned each and every one of those titles. What’s one more to you I wonder? Can you possibly say that you don’t deserve the title of Traitor, after what you’ve done? And you should count yourself lucky, that you were in good favor with Viceroy Paras. And even after all that, to defect from the Republic completely! Such treason is dealt with in only one way: death.”

    “I’m a different person than before, Venger. I’ve decided to change my ways. No longer will I fight this pointless war. It’s going nowhere! Can’t you see? Look around you! Look at what you’re doing. That—thing you possess has the power to kill countless innocent people. And for what? Glory? Complete annihilation of an entire civilization is not the answer. There’s got to be another way.”

    “This is the only way! Do you really think that you and I are really that different? We both seek an end to this war. I’m just willing to do what it takes. When have you grown so soft? The great General Cross I know would have been stronger than this. You disgust me, traitor.” Venger, with an enigmatic look on his face brings the brightly glowing gem on display in front of him. “Do you know what this is? It’s called vitacite. This gem holds the key to fusing magick and technology. With this, I will reactivate this weapon and change the tides of this war once and for all.”

    “Venger, listen to me. You don’t even know what will happen once you put that into the machine!”

    “It’s too late Cross. I’ve already powered the vitacite with my own energy. Soon, this will all be over.” Venger, grasping the vitacite from the air, turns around and jams it into a power conduit.

    “No!” Jericho begins to sprint towards the trio in a desperate attempt to reverse the events he knows cannot be undone. Immediately, the female pulls the arrow back and lets loose. Quickly jumping to the side, Jericho rolls behind a stone pillar for protection from her assault. Soon he hears the clanking of metal as the other man barrels towards him. Deftly leaping from behind the pillar, he brandishes his sword and deflects an incoming arrow just as the other man’s sword comes crashing down. Barely able to get out of the way from his fierce attack, Jericho spins around the man, deflects another arrow, and then swings his blade down hard. The man, moving sluggishly in his heavy armor, still manages to get a hand up and grabs onto Jericho’s wrist, stopping him mid swing with almost superhuman strength.

    Time is running short.

    Jericho can see the telltale signs of magick working its way through the machine. Blue sparks of electricity convulse all over it. It’s awakening.

    With the death grip on his hand, Jericho reaches for his boot knife strapped to his left leg and plunges it into the man’s shoulder, wedging it between the plates of the armor. With little more than a grunt, the man tosses Jericho ten feet to the side, causing him to land hard on his shoulder. A sickening pop erupts from the point of impact. His shoulder is dislocated.

    The man pulls the blade from his own shoulder and slowly drags the edge across his tongue, tasting the blood from his wound. Jericho, clenching his teeth and ignoring the searing pain, stumbles back to his feet. Not one second later a whistle in the air pierces his ears. He looks down to see an arrow head protruding from his midsection.

    Gasping for air, Jericho falls to a knee as the pain from both wounds begin to take its toll. The arrow just barely missed puncturing his lung. Spittles of blood escape his mouth after each sharp breath. Hearing the roar let out from the larger aggressor he instinctively whirls around and brings his blade up just as his opponent’s oversized weapon was about to make contact. The impact from the collision shatters Jericho’s blade and the man raises his blade as an executioner would before performing his grisly deed. Seeing his chance, Jericho sweeps his foot through the man’s legs causing him to crash down in a heap of rattling steel. Turning to the woman who already has another arrow aimed at him, Jericho notices something far more terrifying.

    The mech has come to life.

    As the contraption slowly starts to revive plumes of dirt and rust billow from unseen crevices. A visible force field begins to materialize from the far side of the machine. Jericho, horrified at the events taking place, doesn’t notice the arrow from the female glowing an orange color as she infuses the stone socketed into the bow with her own energy. Neither does he notice the bear of a man stand up behind him. However, the next thing he does notice is two powerful arms reaching under his arms and two mammoth hands clasping behind his head, effectively putting him in a headlock.

    “Katriana, shoot’m!” The voice bellows from behind Jerocho’s right ear.

    “No, fool! You’re in the way! You’ll be shot too!” Katriana let some of the tension loose from her string. The man squeezed Jericho harder. He could feel the pressure especially on his left dislocated shoulder.

    “Don’t worry ‘bout me. I’ll be fine! What’s more important is we kill General Cross b’fore the construct is activated!”

    The tension is once again applied to the string. Katriana pulls the arrow to her cheek and takes aim.

    “Marcus you better know what you’re doing!”

    “I said I’ll be fine! We ain’t gonna let this little rat get away this time!” Marcus pulls even harder on Jericho’s head, causing the pressure on the shoulder to be too great for it to handle. With another loud pop, the shoulder is once again put back into place. The pain shoots from his shoulder all the way down his spine. Jericho, feeling chills sweeping down his body struggles to keep his footing as his legs become too weak to support him.

    “Hahahaha! That feel good to ya, maggot? Then how d’ya like this?!” With those words Marcus grips the arrow protruding from Jericho’s back and savagely yanks it back through the opposite way it came in, ripping flesh and organs along with the arrow. The scream that followed sounded like it didn’t come from human lips. In a convulsion of tears and agony, Jericho lets his body go limp. The force field belonging to the construct has nearly completely encircled it, making it completely impervious to damage except through the hole that is shrinking at an alarming rate.

    Marcus, satisfied that his prey is no longer able to fight back picks Jericho up by his hair and holds him out like a trophy. “Katriana, target practice!”

    “Why? He looks dead to me? Just get over here and help master.”

    “We gotta make sure he’s dead. Just shoot him already!”

    Venger, stopping his incantation, turns and growls “If you two don’t stop bickering and finish this I will make sure the both of you never make it out of here! Katriana, if you value your life you will shoot our good General and make sure that arrow has enough charge in it to do the job.”

    “Y..yes sir.” Katriana then forces more magick into her arrow, causing it to glow a brilliant orange. Pulling the string back she takes aim.

    This is it. I’ve failed. Jericho gives himself a little grin. I’ve tried my best. I just didn’t have what it takes. Jericho’s thoughts went to her. He really did love her. And he was sure that she loved him. All the pain in the world didn’t match that which he was feeling right now, knowing that his failure will cause her pain. The thought of her going through torture and death numbs him. It also infuriates him.

    Anger.

    So much anger. Anger at himself. Anger at the Republic for betraying all of its morality. Anger at the Sovereign for their closed mindedness.

    Too much anger.

    It’s too much for him. Unable to contain the building wrath, he lets it well up inside him. He can feel his muscles being empowered by unquestionable fury. Drawn by overwhelming emotion, Jericho makes his move.

    Reaching to his other boot knife with one hand Jericho grasps the handle as tight as humanly possible. With the other hand he grips Marcus’s wrist. Taking the knife he wildly slashes through his hair freeing himself from Marcus. The arrow, aimed at his head, instead barely grazes the top of his scalp as Jericho lets gravity do the dodging for him. The arrow hits home nonetheless. Gurgling noises escape from Marcus as he clutches his throat. Jericho rolls to the floor and uses the momentum to get back onto his feet, however shaky they may be. Looking back he sees the arrow protruding from Marcus’s larynx, his eyes wild as he claws with one hand to try and grasp something to keep him standing. He only finds air. The arrow then explodes, sending bits of flesh and bone out in an arc as Marcus’s head falls to the floor with a thud, followed by the rest of his body.

    “No!” Katriana throws her bow down and sprints past Jericho to her fallen comrade. “You stupid idiot! You stupid stupid…” Her words then become a mix of incoherent sobs and curses and she clutches the remains of Marcus. Jericho, still somehow on his feet, runs as fast as possible to the weapon discarded by Katriana.

    The events did not go unnoticed.

    Venger turns around and sees the carnage. “Jericho! You b*****d, I’ll kill you myself!”

    The force field has closed to about a range of fifteen feet. Just big enough for a man to fit through. By the time Jericho makes it to the bow the hole has closed to ten feet. Venger also has something in his hands.

    A green fireball.

    This can’t be good. Jericho knows that a mage of Venger’s caliber only has to think to hit his target and it will be so. Grabbing an arrow and knocking it, Jericho frantically searches for some weak spot in the machine that is now fully awake. A red glow.

    The gem!

    Taking aim and fighting against the soreness in his left shoulder Jericho lets fly his arrow. The aim is spot on. He’s going to make it!

    Venger grabs the arrow mid flight. “You lose, Cross.” With a grin he sends the green flame screaming towards Jericho. Moments later it will all be over.

    With inhuman speed Jericho grabs and knocks another arrow. The hole is three feet in diameter, but the gem is still exposed. Venger is standing in front of it, surprised at Jericho’s newfound agility. Green fire is hurtling away from it at a seemingly slower rate. Time is distorting.

    Closing his eyes, Jericho focuses on the energy crystal embedded into the bow. The arrow begins to glow a brilliant orange. The green flame turns blue at the overwhelming presence of magick being used in the chamber, the source being Jericho Cross. Letting loose, the arrow sings through the fireball. Jericho, able to move faster than before, easily dodges the flame as it flies past him. Venger puts his hands up to catch the arrow.

    Venger doesn’t catch the arrow.

    Instead, it flies straight through him and through the now six inch wide gap in the force field and into the vitacite, shattering the crystal. Venger, wide-eyed, locks his gaze onto Jericho’s.

    “You can use magick?” Behind Venger the force field dissipates as the construct, without its power source, begins to break apart. The earth shakes as gigantic parts fall and collide with the soft limestone floor below. Electrical pulses shoot out in all directions. Venger, with a grin creeping up on a corner of his mouth, pierces Jericho’s eyes with his. “What have you done?”

    Jericho, unable to stand because of strength of leg and the amount of movement in the ground, allows himself to fall back once more onto the cool surface. Looking over, he watches the ceiling as it crumbles in large chunks and falls to the floor. Bits of debris fly everywhere as the machine continues to disassemble itself. Inside, the power core can be seen pulsating out of control. It’s going to explode.

    And Jericho doesn’t care.

    He closes his eyes and thinks back at all the hardships that led him to this point. All the friends made and lost. All the comrades who sacrificed themselves so that he would have a chance at this. He thinks of Alana.

    Sweet Alana.

    Jericho wonders how she is doing. If the Umber Spirits will keep to their word and let her go or keep her as a slave forever. If they do let her go he hopes she can live a happy, normal life. Not like the life she was forced to endure while with Jericho. No woman should have to suffer the pain of loss as she did. But she was strong, and he loved her for that. Tears creep to the surface and fall from the corners of Jericho’s eyes.

    Tears of joy.

    Finally he can die without any regrets. He did the best he could. The world is getting a little fuzzy now. Best get some sleep.

    Silence.