Hounds of the Hunt (a short story) ~ *Now 100% Complete*

Ley Line walkers, Juicers, Coalition Troops, Samas, Tolkeen, & The Federation Of Magic. Come together here to discuss all things Rifts®.

Moderators: Immortals, Supreme Beings, Old Ones

User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Hounds of the Hunt (a short story) ~ *Now 100% Complete*

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Edit: Nov. 21, 2K'7 ~ This story has been a labor of love for some time now, getting it just right. But now, after nearly three months of steady work and posting (and longer outlining the plot and sequence of events) the tale is finally complete. Whether there will be more adventures of our heroes later on, I really can't say at this time. But this I can promise; if I did my job right Hounds should be a roller-coaster ride you won't soon forget... hopefully favorably. And without further adieu, I present to you...

Hounds of the Hunt ~ Part One "The Order"

=================================================

High Lord Nahvin cocked his head slightly to the right as he read the sign above the store’s front doors. “Wild Will’s Dead Boy Outlet. What a peculiar name. Are you sure this is the best place?”, he asked his most trusted assistant and protector.

“Yes, High Lord.”, Rakkah replied, instinctively lowering his gaze out of respect for his master. “I have been told that the game here is quite… amusing. They actually believe themselves to be superior to all others, yet they have little power and their flesh is weak.”

Nahvin smiled a bit at the notion of a people superior to his own, but suppressed a chuckle. Such displays of emotion in public were beneath him. “Very well then, we’ll see what kind of mettle these creatures are made from.” Before moving he allowed his servant time to open the door for him.

The store was less vast and spacious than the outside had suggested. Along the walls were cells filled with Humans of all kinds, what appeared to be Wolfen like creatures, as well a few mutant humanoid bears and feline creatures and a small number Psi-Stalkers. Some of the captives beat on a magic transparency they couldn’t see, which also, blessedly to Nahvin’s ears blocked the roar of their rage and profanities. Among the most spirited and vehement were the Wolfen like creatures, who all seemed to snarl, bark and bare their viscous teeth directly at him. The middle of the store’s floor were rows of shelves containing weapons, equipment and armor of the prisoners’ design, most likely looted off their persons when taken captive. Crude by Splugorth standards, but effective nonetheless.

“Lord Nahvin. We were told you’d be droppin’ by.”, a young dragon said as he came jogging out of the back room. The dragon had assumed a more humanoid shape, probably to more easily navigate the store, but elected to keep his natural head and tail, though scaled down as to be in proportion with his body. Nahvin looked him over and judged him to be about 400 years old, half his own age. “I’m sorry Wild Will couldn’t be here himself but he’s out on a business trip.”

“Yes.”, the High Lord mused while scanning the store with his vision. “The slaves won’t import themselves, will they.”

Rakkah stepped forward as Nahvin left to wander the store. As the dragon moved to follow he found himself stopped by one of the four arms of High Lord’s protector. “We’ve come here to find something new to hunt.”

“Well you’ve come to the right place.”, the dragon salesman said with a smile as he caught onto the fact that High Lord would prefer not to speak to a little nothing like himself. “Though these Dead Boys are human, they put up quite a fight.”

“And why’s that?” Rakkah wondered as he looked at a Human in the background pounding on the transparency and giving the former high lord a series of obscene gestures. “They’re just puny humans.”

“True. But hate can drive a critter to do just about anything, and nobody hates like these humans do.”, the salesman went on, doing his best to make the sale. “That’s what makes them such good sport, because sometimes, they can surprise ya.”

“And what about these Wolfen creatures?”, Nahvin asked as he stared into the eyes of a powerful looking Rottwieler that would obviously never back down, even when stripped of her weapons, protective armor and all the things that would almost give her a fighting chance against even one of the supernatural creatures on the free side of her cage.

“Well, sir…”, the dragon gleefully started as he quickly made his way to his better’s side. “That is actually a Psi-hound, or Dog Boy as the humans call them. They’re genetically engineered creatures made to hunt and kill creatures of magic like you and me.” Noticing the High Lord’s sudden look of annoyance, being lumped into the same category as an underling such as himself, the dragon shook off a brief shiver of fear and continued his sales pitch. “By themselves they aren’t all that tough. But in a pack, they’re absolutely lethal.”

“Who gave them to the humans?”, asked Nahvin. “The Naruni? The Gene-Splicers? Those Consortium fools?”

“Actually, they made them themselves.”, the dragon answered, knowing full well the High Lord would not believe him.

Instead of making an outburst, Nahvin simply shook his head ever so slightly. “It was probably the Atlantians. It would have been easy for them to aid from within their society and not be noticed.”

“Quite possible.”, the salesman falsely agreed fully believing that if he dared to correct the High Lord his bodyguard would surely kill him on the spot, even if the lord’s theory was mistaken. “So how many can I put you done for?”

“A full pack will do. Equip them with…”, Rakkah started to answer on his master’s behalf.

“None of these will do.”, Nahvin said, interrupting his servant. “These creatures are broken. They have known defeat and the indignity of being collected for slave stock. Look at this ***** here.” The mutant Rottwieler before him, still not blinking or showing the slightest bit of fear began to show her teeth in a snarl and emitting a low growl, inaudible to all those beyond her cell. “The only thing she wants is revenge for the shame she has undergone. She would not be completely focused on the hunt. She and all the others here would be far too easy.”

“Uhhh… w-well… we could import some fresh ones.”, the dragon stammered, never before hearing such words about his store’s fine wares. “Something could be arranged for you, sir.”

“Good. They are not to be like these shameful creatures. And they are to be among the best you can find. Are we clear on this?”

“Yes, High Lord. We’ll do our best for you.”, the dragon answered in his most respectful and subservient voice.

With his wishes fully understood Nahvin turned to leave. He was certain he would get what he wanted, like always.

“The High Lord will be here in Splynn for the next 24 days.”, Rakkah said, instantly getting the dragon clerk’s undivided attention, “His itinerary allows him time for the hunt on the last three days. If this is not arranged in three weeks, we will be hunting you. Do you understand?”

“Implicitly, sir.”, the dragon replied. “We guarantee and stand by everything we do here at the Dead Boy Outlet.”

With those words said the four-armed monstrosity glared into the dragon’s eyes in silence for a few seconds. “What is your name, dragon?’

“Pe’tazerix.”, the dragon replied with a gulp.

“Good.”, Rakkah smiled showing a row of teeth more befitting that of a small shark.

“Just remember, should you fail my master there is no where you can flee.”

* * * * *

Pe’tazerix paced back and forth in the back room, waiting for his boss to show. Lacking the connections and money to make the High Lord’s wishes become a reality, it looked like it might be his ass being hunted down in the vast Preserves of Atlantis.

“What the hell is going on down here!”, Wild Will yelled as he stormed in the back door. He was still dressed in his usual trademark business attire; an all white three-piece suit, a gaudy turquoise bolo tie, black cowboy boots, and a white Stetson. “And it better be good because this just cost me 50 new Dead Boys.”

“We got a special order from High Lord Nahvin.”, the dragon flatly said, his tail still nervously twitching.

“As in the one in the news paper?”, Will asked as the name struck an instant cord of recognition.

“Yep.”

“As in the one from Kerintisa?”

“Yep.”

“As in Lord Yikahhza’s top negotiator?”

“One in the same.”, the dragon answered.

“Oh god, Petey. We might be in trouble.” Will whispered, quickly finding a chair for his suddenly heavy mass and taking off his white cowboy hat, revealing his head of white hair. Special orders from the High Lords paid big, but any disappointment on their part often carried harsh consequences. Will could see why is employee was such a nervous wreck. “OK. Tell me what he wants, and leave no detail out.”

* * * * *

Bandana sat with his fellow Dog Boys in the cold cell watching the last light of the day fade from the floor beyond the transparency that stood between him and the arms he needed to blast his way out of there and on to freedom. But try as he did all day, and every day for the past thirty-eight months before that, the invisible wall never budged so much as a millimeter. During his time in captivity he’d see nearly a hundred of his fellow Coalition soldiers come and go, both Human and Dog. All of them bought and sold for their fighting spirit, their strength, their strong wills, and sent off to fates unknown and surely unpleasant. But him, Bandana, had always looked unexceptional and either too frail to make a good slave, too broken to make an enjoyable hunt, and too scrawny to make a good snack. And in a way, he’s grown to see those traits in him as a blessing, the blessing that keeps him on display and alive.

“Did you see that walking horror show earlier, Ban?”, Pandora asked Bandana as she leaned up against the wall by his corner. “Sassy sure showed him.”

Bandana glanced up at the mutant German Shepherd and admired the buxom view from below. But she was Special Forces and he wasn’t. Pandora was out of his league in more ways then he could count so there was no use in trying to so much as flirt with the fellow mutant dog. Then he thought about Sassy. Though the mutant Rottwieler showed more spine than he ever did, all she did was make herself stand out all the more. “Too much spirit will get you killed in this place.”

Hearing the defeat in his voice, Pandora reached down and softly pet him on the head. “Don’t give up hope just yet, little guy.”

Bandana subtly rolled his eyes. “Hope…” He lost that over a year ago after the last of his pack was sold to some hell-demon for the main course for a barbecue. The screams still echoed in small Boxer’s ears as he remembered how the monster ‘sampled’ their meat right there in the store.

“Ban-dana!”, Wild Will barked. “Front and center!”

After the jolt of surprise, like a slug, Bandana rose to his two paw padded feet and left his warmish corner. Though he didn’t really want to obey his jailer, the thought of being punished for something so unimportant seemed like a waste of his thinning pain tolerance. As he neared the intercom by the transparency, Bandana gave his captor an apathetic glare as he just stood there with nothing to cover his short coat of brown and white hair save a grimy red bandana loosely worn around his neck and the barest of scraps of tattered clothing provided by his jailer.

“Bandana, you’re the slowest moving stock it’s been my displeasure to attempt to sell.” Wild Will started, giving the diminutive mutant Boxer a disapproving stare, his arms crossed. “That’s why I’m going to give you a chance to go home.”

Will’s words roused the attention of Bandana’s other cell mates who upon hearing that all raised a head or an ear to listen better. Pandora, left her spot on the wall and stood directly behind the small Boxer for support. “He speaks lies. Don’t trust him.”, she said to her fellow imprisoned compatriot. The mutant German Shepherd put her hands on his shoulders to lend her smaller brother in arms her strength, reassuring him that he was not alone.

“All you have to do is help me find and capture a dog pack to replace you and you’re free.” Will continued. “The catch is, they can’t be a pack of pups fresh out of the test tube. And they got to be as rough and tough as any pack as you can find.”

“No way…”, Bandana flatly said.

“That’s right.” Pandora said right behind his words. “We Dog Boys don’t stab each other in the back. You’ve been dealing with too many of these monsters if you think anyone of us would commit such treachery.” The pride and honor of her nation and race resonated in her voice and could be seen beaming through her eyes. A sight not uncommon in the Dead Boy Outlet.

“…that’s all I have to do?”, Bandana blurted out as he glowed with delight.

Pandora’s gaze slowly lowered to the top of the Boxer’s head as his words sunk in. Her shock left her speechless and weak.

“Let me out of here and I’ll get you the best pack the Coalition ever put together!”, Bandana continued with the taste of freedom on his lips, oblivious to the welling wrath of the others all around him. “Hell, I even have a good one already I mind.”

Words failed Pandora as her hands slowly recoiled from the Boxer’s shoulders. Fortunately for her another stood up to say what she couldn’t. “You punk-ass traitor!” Immediately after another barked out the cell’s collective sentiment. ”You’re dead!” Which one of the soon-to-be-slaves said that was unsure, but the thought was shared by all. In unison all twelve of Bandana’s cellmates sprung up and began to charge him with unbridled rage in their eyes and blood in their intent. Wild Will tried to reach though the magic transparency to retrieve his dog, but the mob got to him first. Bandana was pulled well out of Wild Will’s reach and the brutal beating began in earnest.

“Petey!” Will yelled to someone beyond Bandana’s vision. Before another blow could crack another one of his ribs, the dragon leaped through the cell’s invisible barrier and into the fray. An instant later, Bandana found himself covered in a weightless suit of invisible magic armor through which none of his fellow members of the Coalition could penetrate. However they could still pile on and weigh him down. The dragon began to toss the lynch mob of Humans and Dog Boys alike to the sides as though they were nothing as he unburied the traitor dog. During the entire episode Bandana kept his eyes shut like the coward he always was.

“You can open your eyes now.” Wild Will said in a patronizing voice.

As Bandana did so, he discovered himself on the other side of the transparency with his former compatriots silently banging and clawing the invisible wall, all looking at him with the hate they used to reserve for their captors and the customers who viewed them on a daily basis. Pandora was in the front slamming her fist against the magic wall with on hand and holding his red bandana in the other, obviously tore off in the onslaught. Though glad to be on his way home, Bandana felt a tinge of remorse for his betrayal, but it didn’t feel any were near as bad as his many cuts, bruises, and broken bones.

“That could have gone better”, the dragon said to Will. “Next time we have to do this, I say we get the stooge out BEFORE you tell him the proposition.”

“Shut up and get busy with the healing spells.”, Will barked, looking at the mess the others made of the small mutant Boxer. “We have a ton of things organized and set up, and we have what? Four weeks to do it?.”

“Three.”, Pe’tazerix grimily corrected him.

“Puh!” Will scoffed. “Bet I can do it in one.”
Last edited by Dead Boy on Wed Nov 21, 2007 4:37 am, edited 18 times in total.
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

duck-foot wrote:its an enjoyable read.
how many chapters are you doing?


I'm not sure. As far as my fingers and imagination will go, I guess. But I will eventually bring it to a climax and conclusion. That, I can promise. I'm going to try to get at least one chapter up a week, if not two chapters.
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

I agree with Duck-foot! It was a very good read! I'm looking forward to more! Thank you for sharing this with us!
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Hounds of the Hunt ~ Part Two "Welcome to Alpha 24"

“I see your bone and raise ya two more.”, Bishop said as he slid three doggie biscuits to the growing pile of treats in the middle of the table. The Greyhound was careful not to let any betraying expressions come across on his narrow and sleek head and face. Judging by the look in his fellow Psi-hounds’ eyes, he was confident that he held the winning hand.

Razor looked at the hand he was dealt, then to the mutant Greyhound, and quickly calculated the odds of him winning with what he had. “Too rich for me. I’m out.”, he said throwing his cards to the table.

Blue let loose a single chuckle at the sharp Beagle’s lack of nerve. “Three to me, hu?” Glancing at his hand of three sixes, and then at the Greyhound’s cold untelling eyes, he knew in his gut he had the speedy dog licked. “Here’s your three bones, and I’ll raise you my Choco-Bombs. Call.”, he cockily said as the lights glistened off the half dozen gold earrings in his right pointed ear. The way the hulking Doberman figured things, this was a game of guts and guile, and without those there could be no glory.

“I’m in too.”, said Jersey as he pushed three more bones and a bag of nacho flavored corn chips into the pot with a bionic hand. The German Shepherd didn’t even bothering to look at the other dogs, thus denying them the chance to look in his eyes to try to see what he’s thinking.

With nothing more than a grin, Bishop shoved three more milk bones into the pot as per their agreed upon junk-food exchange rate, and then laid his cards down. “Ten to Ace straight… Broadway, baby. What do you have?”

“Damn it! You cheatin’ son of a d-bee!”, Blue barked slamming his mechanical fist on the table, his temper instantly flaring. “I’ll give you Broadway up side your head!” With rage consuming him the Doberman stood to his feet sending his chair sliding back to the wall. A stray thought of death entered his mind and two blades sprung from the steel fist of his mechanical arm, humming with rending energy. But instead of harming his fellow Dog Boys the hulking Doberman slashed the table, splitting it in two and spilling the pot of treats, cards and drinks through the fissure and down to the white tiled floor below. Blue fought the urge to lunge at the smug Greyhound and take his head clean off. But after a second to gather a small morsel of cool, the Kill Hound repressed his instinct to seek blood and began to storm out of the room. “That was my last pack of Choco-Bombs!” With a slam of the door behind him the deathly killer was gone.

After a few seconds of silence, Bishop was the first to speak. “So what did you have, Jersey?”

“Pair of threes. They’re all yours.”, he replied as though nothing had happened.

“Ya got to love the big guy.”, Razor said, staring at his spilled drink on the floor as all the playing cards junk-food and doggie biscuits began to absorb the various liquids. “Ah, Bish. You might want to try to save those before they’re ruined.”

Sooooo… who’s up for Trial of Blood?”, Jersey said as he got up, tossing his cards down with the rest of the mess. “Just picked it up today.”

“That the new Blackstorm flick?”, Bishop asked with a more than enthusiastic expression across his narrow gray face. “I’ll get the popcorn.”

* * * * *

“Sir, you wanted to see me?”, said Captain Rachel West, stooping down so her bald, pale head could clear the door frame entering her superior’s office.

“Yes. I wanted you to meet the latest addition to your team.”, said the Colonel from his desk, typing and talking at the same time, not once taking his eyes off his computer screen or fingers off the key board. He did so not entirely because he was too busy, which he was, but more so due to the fact that he never did like the look of Psi-Stalkers such as Rachel. Their hairless heads and brows, and pasty pale skins, he had no problems with. He also found it easy to look past her pink eyes and slightly hawkish nose that had obviously been broken a few times. But their barbaric practice of facial decorations in paints and tattoos made him uneasy. Rachel was no exception. She had two horizontal bars and a triangle tattooed on her face; the insignia of her rank, just behind her left cheekbone. It was her way of showing the pride she had in achieving the rank and her loyalty to the Coalition States. The tattoo wasn’t big or gaudy, but there nonetheless. There were other times he’d seen her after missions where she was still in her “war paint”. Being the desk jockey he was, he found the whole practice a bit unnerving and savage-like. But over the years the Colonel discovered that if he didn’t look directly at her and her kind, he could almost carry on a conversation with one of the Human mutants and not have his skin crawling afterwards.

“Glad to hear it, sir. We’ve been short a dog head for months now.” She said as she scanned the office looking for the aforementioned replacement dog. “Where is he?”

“Right behind you, Captain.”, the Colonel answered, again not diverting his attention from his work. “His name is Corporal Tyrus. He’s one of those new experimental models those monkeys in R&D came up with.”

Turning around on the heals of her boots, Rachel found herself nose to nose with nothing but air and doorway she came through, but at least she could now sense his psychic signature. Better late than never she figured. Slowly she dipped her chin lower and lower till she saw the top of the little Dog Boy’s cap as he stood at attention holding a crisp salute. Casually, and in a slight state of shock she returned his salute, but his proximity and the brim of his hat blocked his view so the mite of a mutt held his salute like a statue staring dead forward at her thighs.

“What the hell is he?”, Rachel asked as she crouched down to look at the diminutive Dog Boy’s face. Again she returned the salute to the dog. In response the small soldier assumed a textbook military “at ease” stance.

“He’s part of a new bread for the program, a Miniature Pinscher. They’re genetically engineered and trained to serve as tunnel rats and fill the role of recon on the squad and platoon levels. But none of that crap matters because he’s one of your ‘Monster Mashers’ now, whether you need a tunnel rat or not.” The Colonel explained during a pause from his typing. “Now get out. I’ve to a ton of paper work to do and three hours to finish it in.”

“And why did you assign him to me?”, Rachel asked as she stood up resuming her full freakish height. “My boys have to handle some tough critters out there. We needed a hard charger… not a Chihuahua.”

“I’d advise you to reserve judgment of the Corporal till you’ve given him a chance. He’s stronger than he looks… and it was my understanding that Lone Star never let their mutant Chihuahuas go into full production. Too twitchy and nervous for their own good. Now get out.”

“Yes sir.” Rachel gave the Colonel a casual salute and turned to leave all in the same motion. “Come on Tike, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the pack.”

Though she wasn’t happy with it, Rachel really couldn’t complain. Of all the commanding officers she had over the years this one was the best so far. He recognized that her pack was among the best monster hunters in Chi-Town and treated them with the respect they’ve earned. He’d even gone the extra mile and given her boys access to weapons, equipment and munitions they wouldn’t normally have to improve their chances of getting home. So in all likelihood the Colonel was just doing more of the same in assigning the Miniature Pinscher to her pack.

“It’s Tyrus, ma’am.”, the toy dog corrected her, but only after they were in the hallway and the door to the Colonel’s office was fully closed. His voice was much deeper than she expected from a dog so small. What threw her more was the scratchy quality it had too. Reminded her of an actor she saw in a black market movie down in Lone Star; Clint Eastwood in Unforgiven.

“So, Tike, you have any experience.”, Rachel asked as they proceeded down the hall to the elevator, noticing that the Miniature Pinscher had to take three quick steps for every stride her long legs made.

“I spent a year in Lone Star killin’ Pecos Bandits and six months in the Old Chicago ruins hunting down demons and spell casters.” Tyrus stated with a hint of pride in his voice. “I can tear in and spit out balls with the best of ‘em if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh yea. The boys are going to love you.”, Rachel said with a repressed smirk.

* * * * *


As Rachel opened the door to her dog pack’s dormitory the usual noises of profanities, rail gunfire and explosions filled her ears. From the sounds of it they were already watching their traditional post poker game movie. Upon her entry she noticed the broken table and rightfully assumed someone got mad about a losing hand, again. It was nothing new. Something like it happened every Wednesday night. The only difference was they usually waited for her to join in.

“Any broken bones?”, she asked examining the bisected table.

“Only a few milk bones.”, Jersey answered from the couch in front of the high-definition TV with Bishop, Razor, and Boone Dog to his sides.

The movie they were watching was some mellow drama war movie staring their favorite actor, Shep Blackstorm. A handsome, rugged looking mutant German Shepherd who’d made a string of movies over the past 10 years, including such titles as Avenging Heroes, Storm of Dogs, and Burning Lazlo. And since Blackstorm was an actual highly decorated Dog Boy soldier who’s seen 20 years of active service before his movie career, he carried the credentials and credibility to make everything he did look and felt absolutely realistic to his adoring fans. All 1.4 million howling Dog Boys, and a good number of Humans and Psi-Stalkers who refer to his works as a ‘guilty pleasure’.

“Who broke the table? Blue?”, Rachel speculated.

“Yep.”, they all answered more or less in unison.

“Where is he?”, she asked.

“He stepped out to blow off some steam ‘bout an hour ago.”, Jersey said, diverting as little of his attention from his movie as necessary to answer the Captain’s question, and not a ounce more.

“Hmm, he’s actually getting more mellow.”, she muttered to herself. After a quick head count she noticed she was still one dog short. “Where’s our little rock star?

“He went to the infirmary, Captain.”, Boone Dog, the pack’s resident Bloodhound tracker said, his eyes glued to the image of Blackstorm on the wide-screen. “Head cold was pounding Rock’s sinuses something fierce. Said he’d be back for the mission tomorrow morning though.”

Looking at the TV the Psi-Stalker Captain saw Blackstorm grab an alien villain by its jacket lapels and proceeded to bite its throat out with green blood spraying everywhere. “OK. Put the movie on pause guys.”, Rachel said in her usual motherly and authoritative tone. “I want to introduce the newest member to our team, Tike.”

The diminutive soldier walked around the tall bald Captain and stood at ease in the middle of the room. “Tyrus. The name is Tyrus.”, he said in his peculiarly low scratchy and fearless voice.

As ordered, the movie was paused and all the eyes of the dog pack fell on the canine dwarf. Tyrus stood looking as tough as a dog his size could, but not as intentionally as some might think. One by one the mutant dogs started to smirk and make a few snorted giggles.

“Sweet Prosek on a pogo stick…”, Jersey gawked with a shocked smirk on his black and tan snout, looking over the back of the couch to the tiny mutant Min Pin. “That toy come with a squeaker?”

With that the room erupted in laughter interrupted only by the occasional gasp for air, every one of them thinking it was a joke of some kind. Even Captain West had a hard time keeping a straight face, try as she did to look serious. But through it all Tyrus stood there like a statue, like the unbreakable stone his heart was made of.

“Guess I’m not the runt of the pack any more.”, said Razor, who was the only one not laughing in the smaller dog’s face since mutant Beagles like himself were notoriously never taller than four feet. Even so, he was still amused at the sight.

“How big are ya, soldier? Three foot nothin’?”, Bishop wondered aloud as he regained some control over his laughter, but not ashamed in the slightest about getting some amusement at his new team mate’s expense.

“I’m two foot ten and 55 pounds of pure hate concentrate, so just show me to my bunk and shut yer holes.”, the diminutive dog snarled in his gruff, scratchy voice.

As Tyrus spoke the door opened behind him and Rachel, and in came Blue, just back from his therapeutic walk. Upon catching the small dog’s scent and seeing him down below, the kill hound’s lips curled into a slight smile. “Oh…my…God.”, Blue exasperated, filling the entire doorframe with his brutish build. Tyrus turned to see who was talking and removed his cap allowing Blue, the beastly kill hound Doberman Pinscher, to get a better look at the Miniature Pinscher recon rat. “It’s a miniature… me.” After thinking about it for a second Blue decided on the best course of action and began to approach his shrunken doppelganger. “Not enough room in the world for even one of me … Time to die, little guy.”

The small dog quickly examined the big Doberman trying to figure out if he was joking or serious. Blue’ hulking mass completely blocked the exit, making for an imposing sight from his bare pawed toes going better than six feet up to the tip of his pointed ears. Of which Tyrus noticed the large kill hound’s left ear was floppy opposed to his right, which pointed straight up. Along the outer edge of the kill hound’s straight ear were six small circular earrings cast in 14 karat gold along with one cheep black plastic one. Tyrus speculated they were Blue’s way of counting his kills. Then he noticed the big dog’s bionic arm and the slits in the back of its mechanical hand. ‘Vibro blades!’, Tyrus thought to himself. Regardless, the Min Pin didn’t so much as flinch as his eyes narrowed. “Bring it on, big guy.”, he sneered as the small dog quickly pulled a large vibro-knife form his back and wielded it like a two-handed sword.

Seeing this spinning out of control fast, almost reflexively West reached out with her mind, telekinetically grasping the blade and yanked it from the small Dog Boy’s hands. The blade flew through the air till its grip met her palm. “Rule one in this pack, Tike. We don’t pull weapons on each other.” Then the Captain turned her attention and a disciplinary finger towards Blue. “And you!”

“I was joking!”, Blue exasperated with a broad smile and holding up his hands in mock-surrender. “Thumper, tell her I was joking.”

Rachel scanned the room for the monstrous Rottwieler, the team’s other resident kill hound. Hearing his name she saw him getting up off his bunk in one of the adjoining rooms.

“It was just a joke, Captain.”, Thumper echoed his partner as he exited the doorless room. Being more simple minded, the large dog usually followed Blue’s lead, even if did he had a softer heart. A second later his massive head turned and dipped as he looked down at Tyrus with a child like glee in his eyes. “Ooh! You got a friend for Mr. Pickles!”

Tyrus was a hard dog to impress, but next to Thumper, Blue was the runt of the litter. Unconsciously the mutant Min Pin’s jaw dropped ever so slightly in awe as the colossal Rottwieler stooped down to exit through the two-meter doorframe. Reflexively his hand went back to his knife again only to remember it was taken away. And then as his eyes drifted down to the dog’s mid section he saw his massive arms, crossed and cradling something small, furry… and purring? “Is that a cat?”

Thumper just eagerly nodded his head, barely able to contain his abundance of joy.

“That would be the aforementioned ‘Mister Pickles’.”, Razor informed his new pack mate as he settled back into the couch, ready to resume the movie.

“Go play, Mr. Pickles!”, Thumper said as he bent over and gently dropped the all white housecat to the floor. Immediately the cat ran over to investigate the small dog and began to rub its whiskers on Tyrus’ mid section, purring all the more as it claimed its new property. In response the Min Pin soldier raised his hands not sure what to make of it. He’d only heard of cats. Never had he ever seen one in person, much more touch one. Tyrus wasn’t sure whether he should snap its neck, shoot it with his hidden back-up gun, or try to be nice to the friendly fluff ball.

Bishop caught the glint of killer instinct in the Min Pin’s eyes and body language, and instantly fell in love. “This is too adorable.”, Bishop said out as he dropped back into the couch and began to snicker again.

“Well, the cat seems to like him.”, Jersey began as his hand reached for the TV’s remote control. “Guess we have to keep him now.”

Tyrus tuned to look at the five Dog Boys as they went back to their business, finding them all either snickering or at least finding amusement at his expense as the movie resumed its play. With a hesitant and unsure hand he began to pat Mr. Pickles on the head, much to Thumper’s delight.

“Welcome to Alpha two four, soldier.”, Rachel said, bending over to pat him on the head in turn and then affectionately mussing up his ears.
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Blight
Champion
Posts: 1648
Joined: Wed Apr 06, 2005 6:10 pm
Location: Clarksville, Tn.
Contact:

Unread post by Blight »

I am so loving this man! Nice job.
Image
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Hounds of the Hunt ~ Part Three "Wounds"

“Hold him still.”, Wild Will told his minion as he held a syringe to Bandana’s bare neck. Through the transparent cylinder of the syringe, a clear fluid with sparkling specks could be seen. “He’s squirming!”

“Give me a break and just stick ‘im. He’s stronger than he looks.”, the great horned dragon snorted back.

“This was not part of the deal!”, Bandana hollered. With the dragon pinning down his limbs from the behind the chair the two planted him in, and the other guy sitting on his lap trying to inject him with God knows what, Bandana wasn’t having a good morning. Suddenly a sharp pain shot up and down the Boxer’s neck, which was quickly followed by the sensation of an entire vein going cold. Not numb, but the kind of cold that made the pain all the worse.

“There!”, Will triumphantly declared as the dragon let go. “Now I know you won’t try to screw me.”

“What the hell did you pump in me!”, Bandana snarled grabbing his neck half expecting flames to start shooting out of it.

“I’m glad you asked.”, said the dealer of slaves as he reached over to gab his white cowboy hat. “I just injected you with a hundred thousand nano-bots that are designed to seek out and bond with the iron particles in your blood. If Petey pushes this button…” Will paused as he retrieved from his shirt pocket a small disk-like blackish green medallion that lacked any visible surface features other than an interesting looking texturing that resembled fine scales. Will held the coin sized medallion by its fine link jet-black chain necklace so the dog could get a good look and then placed it over the dragon’s head and let it drop down Pe’tazerix’s neck. ”…each of those little bots will expose their iron dancing partners to a particle of anti-matter.”

“And then…”, Pe’tazerix delayed his next words as if expecting a drum roll. ”…BOOM! You and everything in a ten meter radius will be blown into itty bitty bits no larger than an eyeball.”

“And speaking of eyeballs, I expect yours will shoot out a good mile or two.”, Will added with a mischievous smile. “So, want to find out if you can still see through them long distance, or are you going to be a good little doggie?”

In response Bandana simply whimpered and buried his snout and face in his hands.

“Yea. Sucks, don’t it?”, said Pe’tazerix with an evil grin across his scaly horned snout.

Wild Will kneeled down and put his hand on the Boxer’s shoulder as Bandana began to sniffle and weep. “Awww. Don’t cry little guy.”, he said in his best faux-consoling voice. “All you have to do is play ball and I’ll let you live, free of this little piece of hell here.”

Pe’tazerix glanced at his watch and grunted. “It’s just about time.” Grabbing the mutant dog by the scruff of his neck he yanked Bandana up out of the chair and to his feet. “Let’s get going. We have a rift to catch in an hour.”

“Hear that little buddy?”, Will said. “You’re a moonlight stroll away form going home. Just do your job and you’re home free.”

Bandana wiped his running nose clean with his hand and wiped his fingers on Petey’s gut just beneath the necklace of doom, then gave Will a solemn defeated nod. He considered making a grab for the medallion, but not being certain exactly where the detonating button was on its textured surface, he didn’t feel like risking it.

Pe’tazerix looked down at the snot drying on his belly and gave an angry snort. “I don’t have to take this. I’m using thing right now.”, he announced as his clawed hand let go of the dog and gravitated towards the necklace.

“No!”, Will yelled in wide eyed terror, quickly reaching out to grab the dragon’s arm. “You’ll blow us all up!”

“Says you.”, the dragon declared. “Squishies like you and the mutt here might bite it, but I’ll be find and dandy by morning.”

Bandana’s legs betrayed him. He wanted to run away but he was so scared his limbs couldn’t even hold up his weight. As Will tried to talk the dragon down, Bandana stayed collapsed on the hard wood floor, unable to move beyond a shiver. In his soldier days he’d seen other dragons come out of apocalyptic explosions that should have sent them straight to hell. Petey wasn’t bluffing.

“Kiss your bushy tail goodbye, mutt!”, Pe’tazerix yelled, his eyes twitching in fury and the scaly green talisman clenched in his fist.

“Damn it, Petey. You push that button…and you’re fired.”, Wild Will threatened his employee with a stern pointing finger.

Pe’tazerix stopped and froze in thought, stared his boss defiantly in the eye, but eventually acquiesced and let go of the medallion. “Ok.”, he said, his tone filled with defeat. “But just feel lucky my rent’s due in a week.”

With that Pe’tazerix scooped Bandana off the floor and carried him out the back door of the outlet store, ushering him into the trunk of a waiting vehicle like the cargo he was.

After Pe’tazerix and the dog were gone, Will went over to a cabinet and pulled down a bottle of well-aged whiskey and a stout glass. After pulling the chair from the center of the room to a table against a far wall, Will proceeded to pour himself a much needed stiff drink. But as the lip of the glass neared his dry mouth, Will cracked a smile and chuckled softly to himself. “That Petey… he cracks me up. I got to give him a raise.” There after Will raised the glass and sent the dragon a toast from afar in the name of keeping a sense of humor during stressful times.

* * * * *

“High Lord Nahvin?” Wild Will’s voice sounded through the speaker as a video image of his face mouthed the words above it.

“No. He’s quite busy with… matters of state.”, said Rakkah as he cracked the knuckles of all four of his hands at once. “But if you have good news regarding his hunt, I’d be pleased to relay it.”

For a second Will paused as he stared at the image of Rakkah and especially the artificial third eye in middle of his brow and demonic face. In all his time in Atlantis the visage of the High Lords, and the High Lords who allowed themselves to be augmented through the disturbing art of bio-wizardry to become Conservators had always given him the hee-bee-jee-bees. Creatures such as Rakkah, reconstructed strictly for the purpose of hunting and killing were an abomination in his eyes. Even so, he’d never say a word of it to anyone, even his employee Petey, fearing that if his opinion, should it become publicly known, would ruin his business. “Maters of state. At this time of night?

“What do you want?”, Rakkah snarled, obviously taking offense at Will’s possible accusation.

“You can tell the High Lord that his hunt will be ready on schedule and that everything will be as he ordered.”, Will said as professionally as he could, but unconsciously showing Rakkah the fear he harbored for him.

“Excellent.”, Rakkah replied with an evil grin as he punched a button terminating the connection.

Seeing the picture go black, Will sat down with a bit of the trembles and thought to himself, “If this doesn’t work we’re dead as fried Zembahk.” With a shaky hand he took another sip from his third glass of whiskey to calm his nerves.

* * * * *

Hours before the first rays of sunlight could shine outside, Tyrus sat up in his bed. Unable to sleep he sat there in the dark stewing in his anticipation and anxiety over the up coming mission in just a few hours. It was far from his first time in combat, nor was he afraid in the slightest of what may come. Those of his new breed were engineered to know no fear. But he was concerned about making a good impression for his new commander and his fellow teammates, especially since first impressions weren’t his strong suit. As he’d learned in the past, if he didn’t get their respect as fast as he could in the field, they’d treat him like the little toy dog he resembled.

“What is your problem?”, Jersey asked in a groggy irritated voice, his head remaining on the pillow. “This is the last chance either of us are going to get any real sleep for a week.”

“Damn.”, the Miniature Pinscher softly cursed to himself in his scratchy voice. He was grateful that he got to share a dormitory with the squad’s top dog and even more grateful that the German Shepherd let him take the bottom bunk. The last thing he wanted to do was annoy his superior. “Sorry, Sergeant Major. I’ll go for a walk or something.”

The older dog rose from his bed, slowly climbed down from the top bunk and casually sat down next to the smaller mutant soldier. “First off, we like to keep things a bit more casual around here, Tike.”, he explained. “So go ahead and call me Jersey.”

“It’s Tyrus. Not Tike.”, the mutant Min Pin corrected the Shepherd.

“Fine.”, Jersey said. “Secondly, you don’t have to worry about tomorrow. We’ve been killin’ demons and monsters for a long time so you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Tyrus was both touched and amused by the consoling sentiment. “Don’t worry about me. I don’t freeze up. Me and my kind never do.”

Jersey remained silent well after Tike finished his answer. He still couldn’t get past the smaller dog’s low scratchy voice. It was almost Eastwood-esqe and really weird coming out of a little guy like that. After a moment of pause, he just had to ask. “OK. What the hell’s the deal with your voice? There’s no way that’s for real.”

Tyrus then did exactly what he said he’d never do and froze up. He’d been busted. “Well… I kind of got my throat ripped out down in Lone Star.”, he began to uncomfortably explain. “Pecos Bandits. Obviously I killed them or I wouldn’t be here today. When I got back to base the med guys gave me a new one… a bio-system. After that it was just a simple matter of getting one of them to adjust it to something less annoying. I just saw an old bootleg movie a week before that called Pale Rider, so I opted for the sound of its lead actor.”

“Uh hu.”, Jersey nodded. “So what was it like before? Squeaky like a mouse or just some high pitched yap?”

“So, what’s the story with the hand?”, Tyrus said in an obtuse attempt to change the subject.

“This?”, Jersey asked as he raised his right arm with the bionic hand secured at the wrist. “Got this in Missouri. We were fighting with some gun slinger type from the New West. I think he tried to get cute and shoot my gun from my hand. Instead he blew off my hand. Should I live long enough to retire they promised to replace it with a good bio-system hand. But this will do till then. And besides, it makes a convenient place for a watch and compass.” The Miniature Pinscher reexamined the hand and spotted the digital clock the gyro-compass in the back of the mechanical prosthetic.

“Ain’t we a pair.”, Tyrus mused. “So what’s the big guy’s story with the bionic arm?”

“Blue? I think he lost it during one of the last battles at Tolkeen.”, Jersey tried to recall. “I’m not sure though. Of all the things he brags about, that isn’t one of them.”

“I’ll have to ask him some time.”, Tyrus thought aloud.

“Don’t. He might have a flash back and go berserk. You never know what will set off a Kill Hound like him.” As the Shepherd spoke he glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Two fifteen. If we get to sleep now we’ll still get in a few hours.”

“I’ll try.”, Tyrus replied with a tired smile.

“Good. Nite, Tike.”
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

I just got caught up with your story! Great so far! I'm looking forward to seeing the next chapter!
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Hounds of the Hunt ~ Part Four "The Baited Hook"

“That is our new ride, boys.”, Rachel announced to her squad as they walked through one of the massive hanger bays of the Chi-Town fortress. “She may not be the prettiest belle at the ball, but she’s get us there and back in one piece.”

“Sweet!” Thumper barked as his eyes danced up and down the gleaming black steel hull of the rolling death machine in front of him. The sight of every weapon’s barrel and missile tube made him all the more excited with each step he took towards the aging but still fit APC which had no doubt been the instrument of the deaths of countless demons, monsters and d-bees. “I never though we’d ever get our own Mark Five. With that bad boy we won’t even have to get our paws dirty.”

“Uh, Thumper.”, Jersey said as he gently placed an armor clad hand on the giant Rottwieler’s arm. He couldn’t quite reach the seven-foot dog’s shoulder so he settled for an arm instead. “Not that one … That one.” The vehicle Jersey pointed to, just beyond the Mark V APC with the silky smooth skin, was an old style ‘Grinning Skull’ CTX-20 main battle tank with more dents and dings than the surface of the moon. The entire right side of the tank was covered in a patchwork of odd shaped plates making it look like the heavily scarred veteran warrior it was. And if that weren’t enough to evaporate any faith they might have placed in the battered behemoth, it was also missing its main turret.

Bishop took a couple extra steps to get next to West and spoke to her in a slight whisper. “Skipper, aren’t tanks supposed to have, like, turrets and big guns?”

Rachel knew the Greyhound was being sarcastic. He always was a jerk that way, but it never really bothered her because despite that and few other personality flaws, Bishop was one of her best and favorite dogs, and fast as the wind could blow too. “Chief mechanic down here told me the turret got blown off by a half dozen missiles. Took out the starboard missile launcher too.”

Just then Rock sneezed so hard the others would have sworn it shook a few of his teeth loose. As a result he nearly dropped his bags and the acoustic guitar on his back nearly popped off its strap.

“What’d the doc say, Rock.”, Jersey asked the ill Wolfhound, handing him a hastily dug up handkerchief .

“Just a 24 hour bug.”, Rock said as best he could considering his sinuses were filled to capacity. As soon as he wiped his snout clean he began to rummage through a compartment on his leather utility belt. “And as soon as I find my cold meds I’ll be better than all of you combined… as usual.” Though the Wolfhound’s bouts of narcissism were annoying, the rest of the pack had grown to used to it and usually ignored Rock’ ego.

The squad reached the tank’s rear and began to load their gear in its meager troop bay. Normally it would have been tight quarters, but without the turret and the munitions that normally hoard most of the interior space, it was actually quite roomy inside. The mechanics did a great job patching it up and putting in a few salvaged benches and amenities to make for a more comfortable ride over the long trip, especially since the benches had a four-inch trough between the back and seat, giving the mutant dogs a convenient place to put their protruding tails. The tank had no toilet, but there was a refrigerator bolted to the floor, its door held closed by a bungie-cord looped over a thick welded-on bolt. Not perfect, but it would do.

Doing a quick headcount, Rachel noticed she was missing a dog. “Hey, where’s Tike?”

“I told him to bring the non-lethals case.”, Bishop announced as he found his seat. “He shouldn’t be too far behind.”

Rachel turned an irritated eye to the mutant Greyhound. “That thing weights four times more than he does! Why didn’t you give it to Thumper or Blue?”

Bishop thought about it for a second but decided to be honest. “Because… that wouldn’t be as funny, ma’am.”

As the dog gave his answer Rachel realized what one of the noises in the distant background was; a muffled scraping noise that sounded ever other second. She shot Bishop a nasty look and snapped her fingers at Thumper to get his attention. With the hulking Rottwieler tailing behind the Psi-Stalker Captain quickly jogged back to where they came. It didn’t take her long to find Tyrus. Using one of the large trunk’s equatorial straps as a handle, he was dragging it six inches at a time with a minor grunt on each pull. All things considered the small dog was making good progress having moved it over a hundred yards… with only two hundred more to go.

“This thing really should have wheels.”, Tyrus huffed as West and Thumper approached.

While the Captain went to take care of the team’s newest member and the others entered the scab-encrusted tank, Jersey took the opportunity to look over the vehicle’s exterior. The Shepherd was relieved to see that the repair crew took the time to weld a patch over the whole where the turret used to be so the tank could be environmentally sealed. Added to the turret-patch was a hatch salvaged from some other vehicle so they’d have more than one exit, which was a thoughtful touch he thought. In addition to that the forward lasers mini-turrets and port side missile launcher were still intact and allegedly functional, so the neutered tank wasn’t entirely without teeth. And though the patchwork armor on the right side didn’t look like all that much, it was about as solid as it could be. “Good enough.”, he approvingly muttered to himself.

Just before entering the tank himself, Jersey noticed a smell in the air. It was that of an odd mix of demons and d-bees. The odor was faint, but there just the same. Taking a quick look around he spied another Dog Boy staring at him from across a row of APCs away. The smell was coming from him. Relieved to see it was just another dog, a short coated brown and white Boxer with a bright red bandana around its neck, Jersey figured the poor mutt probably just got out of a heap of trouble in the field, and not too long ago judging by that smell. When the other dog noticed that Jersey spotted him, the spying Boxer flinched, and then nervously gave a wave of his hand in reply. Had Jersey more time he might have investigated the dog’s odd behavior and smell, but the schedule didn’t give him that luxury, so he simply waved back and jumped in his ride.

Minutes later the battered Grinning Skull was underway and making it’s way through the Burbs that surrounded the infamous Chi-Town fortress. There after, squad Alpha 24-DP, attached to the 3rd C.S. field army’s, 1st division’s, 4th battalion’s Alpha company was on their way to hunt down a Neuron Beast reported to be terrorizing some farmers in the western part of the state. Not the easiest job, but far from the toughest the so-called ‘Monster Mashers’ have been called on to do.

* * * * *

Being back among his fellow soldiers made Bandana feel safe and secure. It had been so long since he was out of the clutches of slavers like Wild Will he was genuinely afraid he wouldn’t fit in any more. Even his old body armor was out of style now, though luckily no one he bumped into had given it a second thought. Even the credits on his old money card were still good, allowing him to buy a brand new bandana for himself from a street vendor in the ‘burbs. The most flack he got was when he initially checked in at one of the gates of Chi-Town. He was listed as a rogue since he was missing for the last 15 months, but they bought his story about being taken prisoner, sold as slave stock and only recently was able to escape. The story was intended to be close to the truth so any empathic or telepathic scans would indicate that he was being honest, more or less.

Upon seeing the battered tank leave the bay Bandana immediately followed on foot. He had no delusions about keeping up with the tracked vehicle. That was never his plan. After getting far enough out side he ran to where he stashed a hoverbike that he stole from some d-bee miles away. Keeping up there after was simple, staying a few hundred feet behind the tank at all times. It was easy to keep from being observed by the dog pack in the clutter of the Burbs and moderate traffic of pedestrians and cheap vehicles. As far as he could see, shy of opening the back door they didn’t even have any means of looking behind them in that thing. They wouldn’t know what hit them till it was too late.

The moment they cleared the outermost hovels and crude tents of the Burbs, Bandana retrieved a radio from his waist. “Acey to Ducey. Proceeding northwest, still on the road. Let me know when you’re set.”

“Right-o, puppy love.”, Petey’s voice replied over the speaker., “Keep on ‘em. We’ll let you know.”

* * * * *

“I don’t care what you guys say.”, Thumper said as he loaded round after round into his huge mini-missile firing rifle. “The kill scenes in Blackstorm’s movies ain’t fake.”

“They have to be.” Razor said, speaking over the sounds of the tank tracks on the ground outside and the random plinking of Rock’s guitar as he tuned it. “For starters, they don’t let us bite the throats out of d-bees like he did in Hounds of the Hunt… and Dogs of War… and Burning Lazlo too now that I think about it.”, the mutant Beagle went on as he loaded another ballistic grenade into his Fire Breather assault rifle, it laying casually across the lap of his crossed legs. “Just take my word for it. You chow on someone’s throat and you’re going to be in serious trouble.”

“Speak for yourself.” Blue spoke up in support of his fellow kill hound, in the process of affixing a modular particle beam to the back of his bionic arm. “While you guys were learning how to salute like the good little solders you are, we were refining the fine art of throat chomppin’. If you’re too much of a wuss to get your teeth a little bloody, that’s your problem.”

“Listen up, junior.”, Bishop growled, dipping the nose of his sleek head as his ears folded back, always tiered of hearing Blue’ big mouth and alpha dog attitude. “The rest of us have had ten plus years in the field hip deep in demon guts before you and Thumper were even a gleam in Dr. Bradford’s eye. So if one of us says throat chomppin’ is frowned upon, just take our word for it. Ergo, the chomp scenes are faked.”

“You old timers think you know soooo much.”, Blue sneered while slightly shaking his head. “I’ve see more action than you in half that time. What makes you think you know more than me?”

Bishop made a single snicker, reached over to Blue’ right ear and flicked one of his gold earrings with a finger. “Real dogs don’t have to count coupe to prove their worth.”

“Hey!”, Blue barked as he swatted the Greyhound’s hand away and pushed him back into his seat. “Touch the ear again and you you’ll be my next notch!”

“Shut up and behave back there!”, Rachel shouted from the front of the tank. “You guys make me mess up my makeup one more time and everyone gets a beatin’!”

“Yes ma’am.”, they all subserviently said, some with scowls on their faces. Silenced for the moment, the pack went back to preparing their weapons for the fight ahead.

“They always clash like that?”, Tyrus asked, sitting at one of the three gunner’s stations, specifically the one controlling the non-existent turret.

“Only when they talk about Blackstorm movies… well, usually”, Jersey said as he drove the tank down the dirt road and through the countryside.

“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”, Tyrus snorted with a smug tone.

“Oh? And why’s that that, puppy chow?”, Blue said, always eager to defend his hero’s body of work.

“Because every one of those flicks are made by a computer.”, Tyrus informed his ignorant pack mates. “Everything we see is a computer generated image. It’s all fake.”

“You don’t know crap!”, Bishop barked. “CGI computers cost too much. Shep’s company ain’t rich enough to afford things like that. It’s just cheaper for them to round up a few d-bees from a work camp or two and let Blackstorm rip ‘em to shreds. Edit in some scenes of dialog and plot, and boom… instant movie.”

“You just contrada… contardy….contra…”, Thumper started but found himself stuttering as he hit a big word.

“Contradict.”, Blue finished for his slightly retarded kill hound partner, his hand now reaching into his weapons case on the floor for another. “And he’s right. You just contradicted your self, Bish. How could they fake the scenes if they’re just letting Shep just rip into them?”

“Maybe that’s where the G.C.I. special effects come in.”, Rock speculated as he stopped tuning his guitar when his nose started to run again. As the Wolfhound began to rummage through the pouches of his utility belt for his cold medication, Thumper handed him a handkerchief. “Thanks.”

“Perhaps.”, Bishop muttered loud enough for the others to hear as he reconsidered his answer.

“I don’t know why I let you guys watch those glorified splatter flicks.”, Rachel said, applying her war paint with an assortment of brushes and a steel pocket mirror. Across her pink eyes was a wide black band spanning from ear to ear with two wavy black stripes dropping from each eye down to her jowl line, carefully applied so the left didn’t overlap or obstruct her captain’s rank tattoo. When the dogs in the back started up she was just starting to paint on a column of red teardrops between the two vertical lines over her right cheek. “Every time that mutt comes out with a new film you yahoos nit-pick over some obscure detail that doesn’t really matter. And of course that leads to another argument which leads to another fight. So help me, if you guys get into one more fight over those flicks I’m taking away your TV!”

As Rachel went on, Boone Dog’s eyes widened as his psychic sixth sense began to sound an alarm in his mind. “Something bad’s comin’ up.” With that said the Blood Hound tightened his seat belt and turned on the systems of the gunnery station before him. He noticed Rock at the adjacent station putting down his guitar to do the same.

“I feel it too.”, said Blue as the vague premonition hit him as well. With that said the big Doberman took the second bionic weapon in his hand and plugged into a socket just behind the top of his mechanical shoulder. Once in, the small shoulder turret began to silently track its ion blaster on whatever Blue looked at.

“Turn that thing off, Blue.”, Rachel ordered, seeing the small but deadly shoulder blaster sweep its aim past her head. “I makes me nervous.”

As ordered, the big Doberman reached to the micro-turret and clicked its selector switch, turning it from ‘sight tracking’, through ‘laser tracking’, to ‘safe’. In response a small green light lit up on the blaster’s side and the weapon dipped down into its resting ‘safe’ position.

“We got something up ahead.”, Jersey said as he stained his eyes to make it out.

As Rachel began to grab for a pair of binoculars Tyrus stood up in his defunct gunner’s seat, leaned over behind Jersey and looked out the mid-sized forward slotted window. “Looks like a Boxer Dog Boy in some older DPM Riot armor on a hover bike. A Northern Gun Speedster I think.”

Rachel and Jersey turned their heads to glance at the little Pinscher in slight awe.

“20/5 eyesight.”, Tyrus explained. “Good for recon.”

Jersey got a better look at the Boxer as they drew closer and recognized him from the bay earlier. “Hu, deja vu.”

“Slow this thing down, Jersey. The mutt might need our help real soon.”, Rachel commanded as she put her mind back on the matter at hand.

As the declawed tank rolled to a halt in front of the Boxer, Bishop opened the door and popped out, but didn’t leave the tank’s side. The Greyhound held his CP-40 pulse rifle shouldered and ready just in case. His sixth sense was still alerting him to the imminent danger out there, but exactly from whom, where and when his power didn’t say.

“Need any help there?”, Bishop inquired.

The Boxer didn’t say a word. He only stared at the tall Greyhound with almost sad eyes. Before Bishop could say another word, the Boxer revealed a hand-grenade he had concealed in hand and pulled its pin. Instinctually Bishop leapt back behind the tank and in the rear entry as he heard the grenade bounce off the Grinning Skull’s good armored side. A second or two later the blast of an explosion filled the dogs’ ears and forced the rear door to slam shut.

After quickly shaking most of the ringing out of her ears, Rachel spotted the Boxer laying down a trail of dust down the dirt road on his hoverbike. Even before she started to utter a word, Jersey already had the tank’s engine roaring in hot pursuit.

“Rock, Boone, open up on his ass!” Rachel shouted, knowing full well the only way to stop the Boxer was to either kill him or knock out his bike. Of the two options she preferred taking the dog captive, but that would be easier said than done. “Bishop! Grab one of the taser rifles, get up top, and see if you can get a shot.” As Bishop began to comply, opening the non-lethals case, Rachel realized there was only the slightest of chances Bishop would be able to hit a moving target on top of the bumpy ride. Overtaking the bike wasn’t an option. There was no way that the tank was going to catch up, it being a good 25% slower than the smaller, more nimble hoverbike. And that was assuming that their tank’s engine was in tiptop shape, which it probably wasn’t. As much as the Psi-Stalker didn’t like it, the only realistic option on the table was to kill the Boxer.
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

Good chapter! Please keep it coming!
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Hounds of the Hunt ~ Part Five "The Invisible Trap"

Bandana weaved and bobbed as he pushed his Speedster hoverbike to its limits. With laser blasts erupting from the tank, hailing sun-hot death all around him, he dared not drive in a straight line. He knew his fellow Dog Boys wouldn’t be happy with his betrayal, but for some odd reason it never occurred to him that they’d actually shoot at him. With every few seconds that passed, either the armor of the bike would thin or the armor on his back would thin. He prayed to the humans’ one true God that if one of the layers of armor was destined to be pierced that it be the bike’s first. But before having to see if his prayer was heard, he received the signal he was waiting for.

“Take a left at the tree with no bark.”, the telepathic message sounded in Bandana’s mind.

Bandana saw the bare tree instantly and was there a few seconds later. As he leaned into the turn at breakneck speeds part of the bike’s armored frame cracked a little under the stress. But regardless of the abuse the bike had endured, its reliability stayed true. If the circumstances were different, he’d consider publicly endorsing the Northern Gun company for making such a fine machine with a re-accounting of his tale. Of course if the truth of his adventure ever got out, there wouldn’t be a Dog Boy in the land that wouldn’t rip him apart faster than he could blink.

* * * * *

“He ducked into the woods!”, Rock barked, no longer able to see his target clearly.

“Jersey, follow him in.”, Rachel calmly said. “Keep shooting, boys, even if you’re shooting blind.”

In brief fit of frustration Boone Dog pounded the controls of his gunnery station making his big floppy ears and droopy upper lip violently sway. “The fire control on this thing is crap! I can’t hit jack!”

“This could be a trap of some kind.”, Jersey said as he complied with his orders, driving the black and battered tank into the sparse woods.

“Good point.”, Rachel admitted. “Anyone see any sensors on this thing?”

“I think they’re at my station.” Tyrus said, looking at his dead control panel which operated the missing turret.

Rachel closed her pink eyes and groaned in disgust. “Everyone, keep your eyes pealed.”

“How?”, Razor asked. “This thing doesn’t have a lot of windows ya know.”

Rachel began to rub her temple as a headache started to come on. “Bishop!”, she hollered.

“Already on it.”, the Greyhound said as he began reach for top hatch’s handle with taser rifle now loaded and in hand. But as Bishop tried to turn the handle to open the hatch, it wouldn’t budge. Grabbing it with two hands he strained to turn it to no avail. “Uh, Skipper… we have a problem.”

* * * * *

“I’m in position.”, Bandana said into his radio as he sat on his parked and motionless bike, awaiting his next set of instructions..

“I know.”, Pe’tazerix replied, letting his hot breath hit the back of Bandana’s neck.

Startled, Bandana spun around ready to rumble with nothing more than his bare hands if need be. “Damn d-bee scum bag! I’m scared enough as is here without your crap on top of it all!”

“You should have sensed me coming, Psi-hound.”, Pe’tazerix observed. “Why didn’t you?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in a friggin’ Ley Line here.”, Bandana said without showing a hint of fear for the dragon. He was more afraid of his pursuers than Petey. “Fogs up the reception of our tracking powers.”

“Actually, we’re at a nexus point. If we weren’t, this wouldn’t work..”, Pe’tazerix replied with a hint of concern on his face. “Will the dogs notice this…foggy reception as you put it?”

“Na. They’re in that tank. We can’t sense through all that environmental shielding and heavy armor.”, Bandana said feeling a hint of pain for revealing that minor secret to an enemy of the CS.

“They’re almost here.”, a voice said over Pe’tazerix’s radio.

Pe’tazerix uttered some arcane words and then vanished before Bandana’s eyes. “Get ready. It’s time.”, the dragon telepathically said to the traitor dog as well as all the others.

With that Bandana grasped the controls of his bike, warmed up its engine and stood ready.

* * * * *

Under Jersey’s skillful hands the Grinning Skull main battle tank silently rolled into a clearing filled with nothing but tall pale grass. Silent that is save for the hollow thumps coming from inside as they continued to open the top hatch. As the tank entered the patch in the woods Jersey slowed it to a crawl.

“I think it’s moving.”, Thumper announced as he pounded on the handle with his fist like a hammer, trying to get it to turn. “Blue, give me a hand here.”

“He should be around here.”, Rachel muttered as she peered out the two slotted windows, focusing on her surroundings and trying to ignore the distraction behind her. “Look sharp, boys.”

“This is an ideal spot for an ambush.”, Tyrus mentioned.

“We know.”, Jersey acknowledged as he took in as much as he could though the limited view. “But letting some jerk-off feral rogue off the hook isn’t in the cards.”

“There he is! Ten o’clock.” Rachel announced.

Not needing any orders, Boone Dog and Rock opened up with a barrage of laser fire as Jersey veered the tank towards their mutual target and pushed the accelerator full forward. In response the rogue Boxer took off with a virtual blur through the center of the clearing.

“Don’t follow him.”, Rachel instructed the dog at the helm. “Skirt around the perimeter so we can make a run for it if this is a trap of some kind.”

Behind in the rear of the tank, both Thumper and Blue gripped the hatch’s handle on the ceiling, pulling as hard as their considerable combined strength could muster. As a reward for their efforts the handle turned a fraction of an inch more. “Almost got it, boss.”, Blue reported through his grunts.

Following the Captain’s orders exactly, the mutant German Shepherd pilot made the armored behemoth stray to the left to avoid the hub of the clearing. But as the tank’s tracks ripped up the tall grass Jersey noticed something odd. The trees in the tree-line they were clinging to suddenly changed to a slightly different variety. “Ma’am, do pine trees bear fruit?”

“What?”, West asked as she examined the trees whizzing by to the side. Jersey wasn’t hallucinating. The pine trees were growing some kind of fruit where pinecones should have been. “STOP! Turn this thing around! Right Now!”

* * * * *

Even as the tank came to an urgent halt, creating two ruts in the earth as its frozen tracks plowed up the dirt, Pe’tazerix could easily see that it was too late for the dogs to do anything. As the scarred tank’s tracks began till the soil as they spun in reverse the rift they inadvertently drove through had already closed in a blink of an eye. If not for the exceptional skill of the shifter Wild Will hired for this job, to open the dimensional rift between that spot in the Illinois forest and where they were now, in the Atlantian Preserves, the dogs might have had a chance for escape. But all they could do was act in vain.

Too easy.”, Pe’tazerix said as he broke the spell that rendered him invisible. As he did so a thin, pale skinned creature clad in loose fitting robes hovered out from behind a tree. “You are an artist in your craft, sir. That was the most well blended rift I’ve ever seen. How’d you get it so big?”

The creature squirmed three of its tentacle like appendages in some alien gesture and said something incomprehensible with some syllables emitted in frequencies beyond the dragon’s range of hearing.

“Yea, whatever dude.”, Pe’tazerix said while rolling his eyes. “Freaky foreigners.”

As the alien shifter continued on, obviously upset about the dragon’s disrespectful words, Pe’tazerix retrieved a radio from the pouch on his waist and tuned in a channel. “Boss, you there?”

“Yea. You’re right on schedule. Anything go wrong?”, Wild Will’s voice replied.

“No problems. Everything went smooth as a pickled eyeball.”, Petey cooed his employer.

“Great! I’ll notify the High Lord at once so we can cash in on this deal.”, Will ecstatically said. “Have Neeeethehe make another rift to Splynn and get back here. Your girl’s wondering where you’ve been for the past two weeks or so.”

“Neeeethehe?”, Pe’tazerix asked, the high pitched syllables hurting his ears. “What is that? Dolphin speak?”

Petey’s witty joke earned him a laugh from Wild Will, but a stinging slap on the shoulder from the alien Shifter.

* * * * *

Most of the dog pack huddled around a small campfire with the star filled sky above while the rest loitered about not too far from the others. Though it was late, none of them felt like sleeping. With no idea as to where they were, cut off from any help of any kind and having limited supplies, they figured they had more important things to worry about than a few hours sleep.

“How did they miss it?”, Razor wondered, more than a little upset about the situation as he warmed his hands by the fire. “How could they drive right into a rift and not even know it?”

“With no cloud cover and bright sun light, even the strongest Ley Lines are hard to see in the middle of the day.”, Bishop explained, sitting opposite Razor, also warming his hands. “You know that.”

“In the forest, yea, I could see that. But once we hit that clearing they should have seen at least a misty quality to the air.”, Boone Dog joined in, supporting his fellow tracker.

Bishop paused, not exactly sure how to rebut that one.

“Obviously that whole clearing was an open rift. That would account for the lack of visual evidence”, Tyrus said as he approached from the darkness just outside the fire’s glow. The small dog advanced without making the slightest sound aside form his scratchy voice, in spite of his full body armor. His curiously gruff voice was muffled by his ‘recon’ styled helm, covering his entire head in its protective shell. Like Rachel’s, his armor was patterned in after the newer Coalition styles making him look more skeletal in appearance, unlike all the others’ more spike covered patterns. “And even if it wasn’t we wouldn’t have seen jack because without optical sensors we were lucky to see the road we were driving on.”

“Tike’s right.”, Jersey said as he and Rachel joined them by the fire. “But assigning fault is the least of our worries.”

“No kidding.”, Bishop sounded off in his usual sarcastic tone. “Who knows what’s out there waiting to try to have us for lunch.”

“Beyond that, moron.”, Rachel said. “Anyone remember what kind of moon was out last night?”

“It was a new moon.”, Thumper said beaming with pride that he knew the answer. “I like the moon.”

“We know you do, Thumper.”, Rachel said patronizing the less than brilliant kill hound Rottwieler. “Good boy.” Happy to see his mistress pleased Thumper began to wag his tail and smiled uncontrollably.

“Then why is that a first quarter?”, Boone Dog asked, the Blood Hound clearly not happy to see what he saw in the sky. “Are we even still on Earth?”

“Yes.”, Jersey flatly said, pointing to the sky just above the treetops to his right. “Over there’s the Big Dipper and North Star.”

“That’s the good news.”, West continued from where she left off. “The bad news is this means that not only were we rifted to another place, but another time. All we know is we’re in the Northern Hemisphere. Beyond that is anyone’s guess.”

“Great. That’s just eff’in’ great.”, Bishop moaned.

“Ma’am?”, Tyrus said, raising his hand while looking at the sky, then his to his wrist watch and back at the stars.

“Speak up, Tike.”, Rachel said, effectively giving the ‘by-the-book’ dog permission to speak he needed.

“I think we’re in the Caribbean area. Possibly Atlantis.”, Tyrus cautiously proclaimed. As he said that the Miniature Pinscher unslung his CP-30 pulse pistol and shouldered its custom made stock add-on. It was a semiconscious display of how uneasy he was with his own assessment. “Based on how low the North Star is and the approximate time… yea…”

“How do you know what the time is?”, Rachel wondered. “If we were shifted to a different time, who knows what time it is.”

“One sec, ma’am.”, Tyrus closed his eyes and focused his thoughts on the earlier events. “We came through the rift at twelve-hundred sixteen hours. Thirty-seven minutes later we came to a stop and exited the vehicle in an attempt to get our bearings. At that time I noticed that the sun was approximately three and half hours out of position… call it thirty-five hundred miles to the east.”

“Total recall.”, Boone Dog muttered to Razor. “Not a bad psi talent to have for a scout like him.”

“That’s assuming we left and arrived at the same time of day, relatively speaking.”, Jersey interjected.

“Makes sense. But we have no way to be sure”, Rachel said, the campfire’s dancing light making her hairless pale head seem to take on an eerie orange glow. “We could be somewhere in Central America and just happened to pop out at that time.”

“Vampire ter…ter… territory?”, Thumper stuttered with a hint of fear in his voice, which was rare for a Kill Hound. With that knowledge out in the air, in response half the team reached down the front of their armor and pulled out the crosses they wore around their necks.

“That would mean if we went north, we’d hit Lone Star.”, Boone Dog optimistically wished aloud.

“For all we know we’re somewhere in Africa.”, Jersey said. “What’s to the north in Africa?”

No one spoke for a moment. They didn’t even know the full extent of their own continent, never mind one thousands of miles away.

“Till we know better we’re going to assume we’re still in the Western Hemisphere.”, Rachel asserted. “That would put us either south of Mexico or somewhere on Atlantis. Know what that means, boys?”

“Yea. Either way we’re in deep $#!+.”, Bishop grimly proclaimed taking Tyrus’ cue and unslinging his rifle from his shoulder as well. “Anyone see where I left my helmet?”
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

Very good Dead Boy! I'm looking forward to seeing the next chapter! Please keep it up! Excellent characters!
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Hounds of the Hunt ~ Part Six "The Preserves"

Rakkah breathed in the cold chilled air the early morning Preserves forest had to offer. Every intake of the brisk crisp air pumped him up even more than the last, readying him for the immanently impending hunt. He had learned to relish every second of his master’s hunts decades ago, especially since they has a tendency not to last very long. But short or prolonged, the violent hands-on bloodlettings never failed to quell his thirst for the kill.

“You can inform your employer that I am satisfied.” High Lord Nahvin said in Pe’tazerix’s general direction. Though at the High Lord expressed only his practiced cold composure outwardly towards the servant dragon, inside Nahvin was beyond delighted bordering on giddy. Just as he was about to dismiss the Pe’tazerix, the High Lord noticed Bandana. “What is that doing here?”

The slight pulled Bandana’s attention back from his daydream about being back in the C.S., living life to it’s fullest and being haled as a returning hero. As his eyes focused on reality the Psi-hound Boxer gave the dragon’s consumer a once over glance. The creature was a tall, thin thing with jagged teeth where it should have had lips. He found it amazing that the creature spoke the language of Dragonese so eloquently with such a savage looking maw. It was dressed in some ornate body armor with inlaid gold swirls, more appropriate for ceremonial purposes rather than combat. But the oddest thing was its helm. The helmet on its demonic noggin consisted of a giant eyeball in a glass globe in the front, and six small eyes surrounding the brim of the silvery helm. Every eye seemed to be moving independent of each other and not focusing on any one thing for very long. Worse yet, Bandana could ‘feel’ its supernatural and magical presence as readily as he could the demon wearing it.

“Him? He’s nobody. Never mind him”, Pe’tazerix said, considering the traitor Dog Boy to be nothing at that point since he’d already served his purpose. “Well, sir, unless there’s something more, we’ll be going.”

“There is something.”, Nahvin said while eyeballing the mutant Boxer. “I want that creature.”

“Consider him yours.”, Pe’tazerix replied not missing a beat.

“What!”, Bandana barked, standing up straighter to protest the peddling of his person. “We had a deal! Those dogs for my ass! Becoming the new pet of sack face there ain’t…”

Bandana’s words were cut short by Rakkah’s hand slapping the back of his head. The only response the mutant Boxer could muster was an unintelligible grumble as he dropped to the ground like a sack of bricks. “Never defame the High Lord’s name.”, Rakkah snarled as he lorded over the flattened mutt.

“No charge.”, Pe’tazerix continued as if nothing just happened. “Consider him part of our service, sir.”

“Good. He should make a fine tracker. Wolfen usually are”, Nahvin mused as he nudged the near unconscious dog with his foot.

Looking up at his new owner, Bandana quickly formulated a plan to bite someone’s throat out and make a run for it to anywhere else in the confusion. But the moment Pe’tazerix handed Nahvin the small greenish-black medallion, the detonator to the bomb Wild Will turned him into, Bandana whimpered and just stayed on the ground.

“What is this?”, Nahvin asked holding the coin sized medallion in his palm.

“It’s the detonator.”, Pe’tazerix began to explain, but stopped and turned to Rakkah. “You, big guy. Why don’t you put the dog on your boat while I explain this to your master here?”

Rakkah turned a cruel all-black eye to the dragon and began to position himself to put him in his place. But the Conservator was warded off by the look of his master’s disapproving stare. With a subtle gesture of Nahvin’s head, Rakkah backed down and did as he was told.

As Bandana’s vision stopped seeing double he found himself being scooped up by the back of his scorched armor’s collar. He would have protested again but knew it would just earn him another slam. All he could do was dangle and watch Petey and the demon lord quietly talk as they got further and further out of earshot. Suddenly the jagged toothed demon began to laugh in a repressed sort of way. And some how, Bandana knew he was the butt of the joke.

* * * * *

“Thumper, kill that camp fire.”, Rachel said as she poured out what was left of her morning coffee onto the small flames.

“Ok… How?”, asked the obedient but dim Rottwieler.

“Dowse it with water or something.”, she recommended reaching up to pat his armor clad shoulder as Jersey flagged down her attention from behind him. As West left Thumper to do his task, the bald woman went over to see what her second in command wanted. “What is it, Jersey?”

“It just occurred to me, if we’re in Vampire country…”, Jersey started.

“If.”, she interjected. “We still aren’t sure exactly where we are.”

“If… We were planning to take on a Neuron Beast, not blood suckers. The others are going to need some anti-vamp weapons. Me and Rock have some silver bullets for our back-ups, but the rest are screwed if they jump us unprepared.”

“Good thinking. Find a sapling or a branch so you and the others can make some stakes on the road.”

As the Shepherd and Psi-Stalker talked, Blue strolled out of the rear of the tank eating dry dog food from a cup one nugget at a time as if it were popcorn. Upon seeing his kill hound counterpart, Thumper waved Blue over for help. The Rottwieler graciously obliged.

“What’s up, pup?”, Blue asked as he casually walked over to his pal.

“I’m supposed to put out the fire with water, but, uhhh… I don’t see any.”, Thumper explained his perplexing problem. “I thought about taking a wiz on it but…”

“But what?”, Blue asked happy that he could always rely on his slightly retarded friend for some cheep entertainment.

“But that would give them my scent to follow.”

“And who’s ‘them’?”

Thumper had to think about that one for a second. “I’m not sure, but better safe than sorry around here. But I still have to find some water.”

“You could always smother it with dirt.”, Blue suggested as he tossed another protein flavored ration pellet in his mouth.

“Why don’t you ever listen? She said water. Not dirt. Water. You can be so dumb sometimes.”

“Maybe.”, Blue smirked, amazed at how the large dog’s mind worked. “But you could give it a try and see if the boss cares.”

“Man, you never could follow orders. This is why the Captain gave me this job and not you.”

“Not so loud. ‘They’ might be listening.”, Blue joked. As his buddy just got more flustered about his dilemma Blue took another pellet and tossed it up in the air to catch it with his mouth. He leaned his head back and snapped his jaws as the dry morsel fell in, grabbing it with a perfect crunch in his teeth. As his eyes strayed sky ward he noticed something circling above. “Hey, I think I just found your ‘they’, Thumper.”

“Ha ha.”, Thumper replied dryly.

Blue kept an eye on the odd bird above as its circling pattern seemed to be lowering. As he spied on the bird he noticed it was returning his stare. The Doberman could see a glimmer of intelligence in the bird of prey’s eye; about as much as he ever saw in Thumper’s. But he also saw the glare of a hunter in search of its prey, waiting to see a weak point to exploit. In response Blue instinctively reached up the safety switch on his shoulder turret and returned a predator’s gaze. “Hey. Forget the fire, we got trouble.” As he warned his only real friend the flying threat decided to accept the kill hound’s unspoken challenge and swooped down at bullet-like speeds with its clawed feet extending down for the strike. With the mini-turret already tracking in sync with his gaze, all it took was for Blue to finger his thumb bionic thumbnail like the trigger of gun to fire. From the ion blaster erupted a tiny ionized laser which served as the guide for the massive discharge of electricity that followed with a muted thunder crack.

Thumper jumped in surprise, but misinterpreted what was going on. “Would you quit playin’ already! …Ooof!”, the hulking Rottwieler’s words were cut short and the wind knocked from his lungs as the winged raider imbedded the talons of its long feet in the back of his armor. The hawk-like humanoid tried to fly off with his kill but its grip wasn’t firm enough to lift Thumper’s 329-pound heft.

Blue didn’t freeze up for even a split second as he grabbed the hawk by its muscular shoulders and yanked the would-be slayer off his partner’s back. The creature was as heavy as its eight-feet of height suggested, but wasn’t as strong as the genetically engineered Doberman. Overpowered as the winged predator was, the only thing preventing it from using its greater height to its advantage to fling Blue off was the Dog Boy’s practiced skill, enabling him to keep the bird off balance. The dog even tried to bite out the side of the bird’s thick and feathered neck, however the kill hound couldn’t sink his teeth through its supernatural hide. Regardless, the added grip point did help hold the creature off balance.

Thumper sprang up quicker than one would expect of a dog half his size and turned to face his attacker. With a flick of his mammoth fists, concealed blades on the back sides of his forearm vambraces snapped forward out of their housings and began emitting a low hum, telling of their cut-enhancing vibro fields. Seeing the hulking seven-foot Rottwieler instantly armed with the curving claw-like vibro-blades, the hawkish predator squirmed and tried furiously to escape the iron grip of Blue to no avail. With a growl and a roar, Thumper leapt forward and planted his blades straight into the chest and belly of the creature, his thrusts on stopping when his clenched fists hit solid resistance.

Rachel and the others of the pack all stopped what they were doing when the sounds of the screeching humanoid bird pierced their ears. In a matter of seconds they ware all there ready to start shooting, but couldn’t as the two kill hounds didn’t give them a clear shot. What limited capacity Thumper had for thought was instantly lost as his berserker rage consumed his mind. They all knew anything they said would only be vaguely heard at best. He and Blue were effectively in their own world of blood that only they occupied as distant neighbors at best.

Again and again Thumper used the four short vibro-sabres attached to his wrists to stab and slash the predator’s trunk, make ever deepening gashes and rending limb from body, frequently and narrowly avoiding Blue’ restraining arms. Not long after, the screeching came to an end and Thumper’s bloodlust began to subside. Being satisfied with the amount of gore on the ground and lack of movement in the winged creature, Blue figured it was safe to let go. As he did so the would-be predator dropped to the earth dead as the meat in his bowels. Even so Thumper dropped to one knee and continued to disfigure the hawk-like predator’s face and head.

Slowly Thumper regained his ability to speak and think clearly again and put an end to his brutal counterattack. “I … I didn’t sense the danger. Why didn’t I sense the danger?” With blood up to his elbows and spattered on his face and chest, the Rottwieler kill hound looked to his surrounding pack with a hurt innocence in his eyes. “Why didn’t you guys sense anything?”

“You kidding?”, Bishop gawked at the gory spectacle., the Greyhound answered, a bit sickened by the two kill hound’s lack of professionalism. “He didn’t have chance against you two wildcats! Sixth sense only goes off if something life threatening is about to happen.”

“It’s kind of weird that way.”, Jersey agreed with his fellow soldier. “I’ve always wonder about the subjectivity of what constitutes danger for some and not for others.”

“Don’t even go there.”, Bishop replied. “What I can’t figure out is if it’s our brains that subconsciously recognize the impending danger or if we’re just able to perceive the warnings of some otherworldly beings.”

“Whoa!”, Jersey stopped his fellow soldier. “Don’t even think things like that. That theory is dangerously close to sympathizing with the supernatural. They’ll put you down in a heartbeat for that… and so would I.”

As the two more refined dogs continued their chat, Rachel approached Thumper while holstering her long pistol. “Good job there. But make sure you clean up those bloody paws before you get in the tank or you’ll get it all messy.”

Glancing down to his red stained hands and then looking around aimlessly, Thumper could only think of one question. “Ok. How?”

“I don’t know. Find some water or something.”

As West left Thumper just as bewildered as he was before the attack, she shot Jersey a look and he knew exactly what she was thinking. She entered the rear of the veteran tank and her second in command broke off his conversation with Bishop. “Alright, mutts!”, the Shepherd announced. “Break camp and let’s get the hell out of here.”
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

Great addition Dead Boy! Please keep them coming!
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Hounds of the Hunt ~ Part Seven "First Contact"

As the wind rushed past his face, Rakkah took a moment to enjoy the peace and anticipation of the impending kill, being only slightly distracted by the rustling of the sails. He honestly couldn’t say which he enjoyed more, the kill or hunt that leads to the kill. The first was always gratifying and so enjoyable it bordered on a religious experience. But the later, the thrill of the hunt, packed with anticipation, the test of his skills, and the occasional deadly surprise more than surpassed the short moment of the kill itself… collectively that is.

Rakkah looked over to keep an eye on the Psi-hound slave. The odd creature squatted on all fours like a primitive animal as it maintained its balance on the sail ship’s dragon-head prow. The pathetic animal held his nose in the air with his eyes closed as the passing air played with his hair, ears, and the red bandana it wore around its neck. For some mysterious reason the humanoid canine seemed to be enjoying itself if for no other reason than the steady rush of air itself. Such moments of bliss seemed odd in any creature given it was subjected to a host of indignities and made to betray it fellows, even if the dragon did say it almost seemed eager to turn on its own. “Curious creature.”, Rakkah privately thought with a disapproving shake of his demonic head.

A telepathic order form his master made Rakkah snap to attention and get about his duties. Grabbing the Psi-hound by his red bandana and ignoring poking spikes covering the dog’s armor, the Conservator dragged Bandana over to Nahvin allowing the dog’s feet to just touch the deck so it could walk along. Bandana wasn’t happy about being distracted form the simple indulgent pleasure he was enjoying, but went along with it just to get the experience over with that much sooner. It was his lot in life to be regarded as a low life nothing and he’d begun to accept that.

Nahvin stood on a raised platform at the aft of the ship as four piggish Kydian sailors manned and maintained the trim of the ship’s two large square sails and steered the ship in front of the High Lord. As Bandana drew nearer, he noticed that a metallic band covered the Nahvin’s eyes while the seven eyes of his helm were still roaming about looking for… only they knew for sure. When finally there, Rakkah threw the Boxer to his master’s feet.

“What is that?”, Nahvin asked as he removed the metal band from his eyes and dropped it in front of Bandana. “Some kind of attack vehicle?”

While still lying on the deck, Bandana reluctantly placed the band over his eyes. As he did so his senses were almost overwhelmed as the stench of magic washed over him. He had gotten used to the sense of Rakkah and Nahvin, and even the magical reek of Nahvin’s helm, the ship and God knows down below the deck. Lacking an alternative Bandana tried his best to put it out of his mind as the band slid over the bridge of his snout. As the visor neared his face he saw nothing to the strip than it’s dull gray surface. But the moment it met his brow, a bird’s eye image of a battered Grinning Skull main battle tank speeding along the shoreline of a river filled his mind’s eye. Not able to stomach the stench of magic any longer, the Dog Boy scratched the band off his head as if it were a nasty itch.

“Speak, Wolfen.”, Nahvin commanded in a cold voice.

Bandana smirked at the High Lord’s ignorant slip. “That is a defunct piece of crap. The only thing holding it together is rust and crusty old grease.“ Keeping his defiant smile, Bandana got to his feet and looked his supposed master in the eye. “And that’s ‘Dog Boy’, not Wolfen. Dog Boy. Get it straight, sack breath.”

Nahvin didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. All the High Lord had to do was start thumbing the small greenish black medallion around his neck. Bandana’s eyes widened and then shrank with depression. He knew any satisfaction or pleasure he might have gathered from the insult was worthless, and the next slur could cost him his life.

“Remember that.”, the High Lord smiled. “Now, tell me, why were they allowed to keep it?”

“The tank?”, Bandana asked. “My job was bait. How should I know?”

“Shall I make arrangements to have Mister Wild Will refund his fee?”, Rakkah asked his master.

“Have him return 20%.”, Nahvin instructed. “After all, I failed to include a list of things they shouldn’t have.” The demon lord saw that as a fair middle ground compromise. Being a negotiator by trade he had good instincts about what was fair and what others would agree to, especially when it came to matters of money and wealth.

“At once, my liege.”, Rakkah said and then left to do exactly that.

“Captain.”, Nahvin said to one of the Kydian sailors after absorbing all the entertainment he could from the dog’s misery. “Home in on that observation eye.”

As the Kydian obeyed the order, Nahvin picked up the metallic band so he could resume spying on his prey through the flying mystic spy that followed their every move.

* * * * *

“Where are we going?”, Thumper asked as he popped his head in the crew compartment of the Coalition tank.

“Northeast.”, Jersey replied bluntly. From his position in the pilot’s seat he pointed to a simple but effective compass on the control panel to prove it.

“I decided we should take up a heading of 0-4-5 so we can make some progress north and make our way the gulf coast at the same time.”, Rachel explained to the not too bright dog.

“Assuming we’re in Central America.”, Jersey added so the dog didn’t get his hopes up too high in case they were wrong.

“Remember, Thumper…”, Rachel told the ponderously large Rottwieler, “… water is our friend in Vampire country.”

“Oh.”, Thumper said indifferently. “Well anyway, me and the other guys were wondering if we could stop and stretch our legs and stuff.”

“We have been on the road for six hours.”, Jersey reminded to his superior. “I could use a stretch too.”

With an approving nod of Rachel’s head, the tank’s brakes made a high pitched squeal and the battle scarred Grinning Skull slowed to a stop by the tree line of the river’s shore. One by one the individual members of the dog pack exited from the rear door, all stiff and in need of a turn behind a tree.

“Good idea there, Thumper.”, Rachel said as she set foot on the sandy beach. The act of moving reminded her that her bladder could only hold so much too. “Ooh. Boys, stand guard while I take care of business.”

As Rachel disappeared behind a thick bush, working the release snaps for her armor’s cog piece, the others did similar while Tyrus and Bishop stood guard, eagerly awaiting their turns.

“I think I’m going to pop over here.”, Tyrus said while dancing in place.

Bishop chuckled at the tiny Doberman, “Guess a little guy like you can’t hold a lot. You shouldn’t have… drank… so… Hey, what’s that?”

Tyrus looked in the sky where the Greyhound pointed using his superior vision and saw what appeared to be a giant eyeball in an equally giant jar with an ornate looking brass lid and base. It just floated there about a kilometer away, staring at them blankly. “The Captain should have a look at this.”

Tyrus shuffled to the bush where their leader was and made a loud throaty noise.

“What is it?”, Rachel’s voice sounded from behind the thick foliage of the plant.

“Something in the sky, ma’am.” Tyrus said. “Looks like a pickled eyeball.”

The muffled sound of Rachel’s cog piece clacking shut sounded and soon after West came out into the open as Tyrus took the opportunity to disappear behind the bush himself. Rachel ran over to the tank and retrieved a pair of binoculars from the back.

“Where is it, Bish?”, she asked the Greyhound.

“Right there.”, he answered pointing to a speck in the southern sky.

“Gather the others.”, Rachel commanded as she zeroed in on the odd levitating eye.

A moment later the pack was assembled and behind their leader, except for Tyrus and Bishop who noticed what the Miniature Pinscher was doing and decided to follow suit as quickly as possible.

“What is that?”, Jersey wondered.

“Ever see a Splugie Slaver?”, Rachel rhetorically asked. “That thing is one of their eyes.”

“Let kill it!”, Thumper zealously barked, showing a hint of his bloodlust returning.

“It’s a klick out, just out of weapon’s range.”, Rachel observed, initially dismissing the idea. “Unless we want to use a missile that is.”

“That might draw unwanted attention.”, Jersey noted. “Then again, I bet that thing’s already told them where we are.”

“Them?”, Thumper asked.

“Yep, ‘them’.”, Blue replied more seriously than the last time the mysterious and unidentified ‘Them’ came up.

“You’re right.”, West concluded after giving it some thought. “Thumper, nuke it.”

With that, the Rottwieler Kill Hound eagerly retrieved his huge missile-launching rifle from the tank, a weapon reserved for only the strongest members of platoons, typically highly augmented soldiers. Wasting no time Thumper took a steady aim through the scope and stood ready to let loose a volley of mini-missiles. “How may?”

“Four”, Rock said. “I tangled with a slaver in Lone Star once. Those things are tough.”

With a flick of a selector switch and press of the trigger, a volley of four mini-missiles streaked into the sky. Two ticks of the second hand later and the observing eye of Eylor turned into a fireball, littering the ground below it with burning organic remains and various debris.

“That was entirely too easy.”, Rachel murmured. “Why did it just stay there? Can’t those things move, turn invisible or… something?”

“Yea, they can do both.”, Rock said, looking around for anything else.

As if to answer the question, one by one, Rachel and the dogs’ got a psychic flash of danger. A general premonition warning them that their lives were about to be endangered. As the pack scrambled for the tank the ill omen was coupled with another sensation. A powerful emanation of magic and the presence of supernatural monsters filled the air. Literally every psychic sense the Dog Boys possessed were on fire, telling each of them that something horrible was close and on the way.

Rachel could feel what they sensed. And even if she couldn’t the expressions on her boys’ faces was all she needed to see to know what was up. “Everybody in the tank!”, she shouted, snapping them out of their collective state of awe. “We’re out of here!” It was times like this that Rachel wished for a simpler, safer lifestyle.

As ordered the dogs piled into their rolling bunker, all except Thumper and Blue who stood their ground ready to blindly jump into the fray. West stopped dead in her tracks and doubled back to them. Grabbing Blue’ shoulder she said, “We’ll fight them, but later on our terms.”

Blue thought about it for a second and summoned the strength he needed to bottle his kill hound rage and lust for battle. He turned and slapped Thumper on the shoulder and followed Rachel to the tank. Thumper, being the good dog he was, followed his pack’s alpha.

“Everyone’s in.”, Rachel informed Jersey as she quickly sat behind the co-pilot’s controls. “Go!”

The treads of the tank kicked up a wave of sand that buried the last ten feet of the armored vehicle’s trail. A moment later the scarred and dented Grinning Skull was speeding down the beach as fast as its tracks could go. And a few seconds after that, it disappeared into the forest to its left with a crash through the foliage seeking the cover therein.

“Where to now?”, Jersey asked with a steady voice, his natural and bionic hands firmly at the helm.

Out of instinct Rachel grabbed the map of the state of Chi-Town from a cubby, then forcefully crammed it back. “We’re not there.”, she angrily grumbled. “Make for 3-1-5 for the next half hour and then due north. Maybe we can shake them off our trail.”

“Captain, we’re in a tank.”, Boone Dog started as he heated up the instruments at the gunnery station he sat in. “This thing leaves a path so big and blatant, you’d have to be dead not to see it.”

“True.”, Rachel said as she leaned back in her seat, trying to think of a way out of their predicament. “But this thing hauls ass. Jersey, how fast are we going?”

“50 klicks a hour.”, Jersey replied

“That’s all?”, Blue gawked from behind near the back. “This thing can go three times that!”

Just then a loud thump reverberated through the hull and a tooth-shaking jar nearly knocked everyone out of their seats.

“They caught us! We’re all goin’ a die!”, Rock screamed like a three year old pup, clinging to his seat for dear life. “I’m too good to go out with these losers!”

“Sorry, sorry. My bad.”, Jersey said, thankful he took the time to put his seat belt on. “Clipped a tree back there. That’s what happens when we go even this fast through the forest. Still want to go faster?”

The rest of the pack glared at Rock, some shaking their disapproving heads. Others gave him disgusted and slightly offended evil eye, a little tired of his ‘rock star’ sense of superiority over the rest of them.

Rock returned their looks with an innocent expression. “What?”

Blue remained silent and simmered in his seat, eager for the impending time when he could take charge of his fate with his teeth and fists. Not to mention the weapons concealed in and mounted on his bionic arm. With his vibro-claws he could kill all day, relishing in the carnage and gore. And his favored ranged weapon, a potent particle beam attachment that drew it power form the large power pack he wore on his back, he had taken part in the killing of beings who thought themselves gods next to him and his pack. Glancing at his right mechanical appendage and admiring how the lights glistened of its steely curves, Blue remembered how he lost his arm in the first place; to a monstrous demon in Tolkeen and the glorious battle he took part in there. He knew it was a worthwhile sacrifice when he did it and every time he replayed the incident in his mind. It was either his head or arm that was going into that demon’s tooth filled maw. A flash decision that cost him dearly in the currency of flesh, but one that bought him his life and a crucial personal victory, winning the fight with his remaining arm and a vibro-sabre. Not to mention the honor of the kill earning him his forth gold earring.

After being allowed time to think, Rachel turned to face her boys. “OK, here’s the plan. It doesn’t look like we’re in Central America, so going north isn’t going to get us anywhere. But since we need to keep moving, north is as good a direction as any.” West paused for a moment to allow one of them to speak up in case one of them had any ideas or inputs. Her boys remained silent so she continued. “In a day or so, after we’ve put some distance between us and our pursuers… whatever it is, we’re going to stop this crate and strip it down for what we can get out of it. After that we’re going to hoof it and cover our tracks. Questions? Thoughts?”

“Yea. How do we know we’re not in Central America?”, Bishop asked. “Sploogies have been spotted all over the place. Above and below Vampire territory.”

“He’s got a point.”, Jersey agreed. “They’re everywhere.”

“If that’s the case, great.”, Rachel said. “But either way going north works just fine.” She then paused for a moment and considered the Greyhound’s words. “Just to be sure though well go back to a heading of 0-4-5 in an hour and stick with the tank for a couple of days longer. Anyone else?”

Tyrus raised his hand and waited for West to acknowledge him, not willing to speak until given permission.

“Tike, you don’t have to raise you hand.”, Rachel said appreciating his respect for regulations, but slightly irritated by his tendency to do everything by the book. “Feel free to interject anything helpful.”

“Yes, ma’am.”, Tyrus replied. “Question. So basically the plan is head northwest and pray we hit the ocean? Isn’t that being a bit presumptuous?”

“How so?”

“Well, if we do find a coastline to follow, how would we know we’re not on the east coast of Atlantis?”, the Min Pin postulated. “That would mean we’re going the wrong way.”

“Do you know how to go in two directions at once?”, Rachel inquired in return.

“Uhh… no.”, Tyrus answered.

“Then we have to assume we’re either on Atlantis or the Americas and act accordingly.”, she went on. “So unless you’re holding out on me we’ll just have to pick one.”

Thumper leaned over to whisper in Blue’ ear. “If he can to two ways at once that makes him magic? Does that mean we have to kill him?”

“Absolutely.”, Blue answered his counterpart.

“Anyone else?”, West asked her crew, ignoring the kill hounds’ conversation.

The only thing she got in reply was blank stares looking to her for guidance and leadership. Most of them were scared silent from what they sensed earlier. For the moment all they wanted was for them want to make a run for it and they didn’t really care which way for now.

* * * * *

“We’re gaining on them, High Lord.”, the Kydian captain said as he bowed in before Nahvin. “Shouldn’t be more than 20 minutes”

Nahvin dismissed him with a twitch of his fingers. With the hunt about to begin, he calmed his mind and prepared himself for the challenge that awaited him. But first he had to deal with the vehicle his prey wasn’t supposed to have. Otherwise this would be more akin to a battle than a hunt. And that was not his idea of a relaxing time or something to relieve his stress.

“Rakkah, gather the weapons.”, the High Lord commanded his loyal servant and bodyguard.

Upon hearing the order, the four-armed hunter used a stairwell to get below deck to retrieve his and his master’s treasures. With great respect of its contents, Rakkah slowly opened a chest and allowed himself a moment to admire what he saw. Though weapons such as these weren’t unique in Atlantis and among the other kingdoms of the Splugorth, they weren’t all that common place either. The first thing he withdrew from the chest was an “X” shaped scabbard secured to a harness made from the finest dragon skin leather. His top set of arms found their way through the shoulder straps and another set of straps were buckled across his bare rigid chest, securing the rigging to his person.

Next he retrieved four gleaming black short swords, one for each hand. Rakkah allowed himself a moment to admire their blood red hilts and the unique detailed carving in each. But as well crafted as the hilts were, nothing could compare to their jagged and twisted ebon black blades. Tilting them just right against the light, the faintest image of a demon’s eyes could be seen glaring back at him in each of the polished smooth flats of the blades. All four of his prized Demon Claw Blades, a present from his master. In one fluid motion each blade was sheathed in the “X” shaped scabbard on the hunter’s back.

And lastly, his master’s weaponry. With absolute reverence, Rakkah withdrew a lengthy and odd pistol shaped weapon, carefully cradling it in two hands. Its muzzle and barrel was crafted into the resemblance of the head of a dragon with its jaws open in a roar, and neck stretch out straight. There after the final thing in the chest, a sword forged of pure indestructible silver with a hilt cast in the form of the wings of an angle with a dragon’s head on either side betwixt them. Both the Dragon Rod and Sword of Atlantis were of the rarest sort and among the greatest of all the rune weapons in the multiverse. Rakkah consider himself lucky just for the privilege of handling them.

Though Rakkah would honestly prefer to make the kills with his bare hands, his master felt more confident using weapons such as these. And with good reason. With the lesser weapons Rakkah used, few creatures have ever lasted more than a few seconds against his fury. If he had four Swords of Atlantis instead, the devastation he could inflict would make even the gods shiver.

“Once again we shall bathe in blood.”, Rakkah said aloud to himself, knowing full well that the hunt would soon be on, and over soon after. “Once again we shall rend souls asunder.”
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Snuffy
Dungeon Crawler
Posts: 353
Joined: Tue May 02, 2006 3:28 pm
Location: Prospect, Connecticut
Contact:

Unread post by Snuffy »

:ok:

Keep up the great work!!! Been enjoying the read.
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

Man Dead Boy that is really AWESOME! Please keep it up!
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Hounds of the Hunt ~ Part Eight "Distant Cousins"

“Hey, did you see that?”, Jersey asked over his shoulder while keeping an eye on the path ahead.

He glanced over to West hoping she saw something, but that was unlikely. Her eyelids were firmly shut and a short length of drool hung from the corner of her mouth. For all intents and purposes, she was dead to the world, at least for the moment. She always did have a talent for being able to sleep even under the most stressful conditions.

“See what?”, Tyrus asked back from his obscured vantage in the defunct gunnery station.

As the Grinning Skull rounded another tree Jersey saw it again and promptly slammed on the breaks. The tank lunged forward and its occupants momentarily found themselves airborne as it took them a second longer to come to a stop than it took the tank.

Rachel’s pink eyes bolted open as her chest suddenly strained against her four point seat belt and the drool in the corner of her mouth spattered against the slotted window in front of her. Frantically she peered out the window craning her neck about in an attempt to compensate for its limited field of view. Before her, with eyes wide as a deer’s caught in headlights, and just as still, was a small humanoid child. A child with the face of a Psi-hound.

“What the hell was that for!”, Bishop moaned as he pushed Razor out of his lap.

“Look. It’s one of ours.”, Jersey said in shocked amazement as he stared back into the child’s fearful frozen eyes.

“What is she, a Wolfhound?”, Tyrus asked as he stood up in his seat so he could see.

“More like a d-bee Wolfen.”, Blue said as he leaned into the pilots’ compartment. “Just run it over so we can get goin’.”

“She’s practically your cousin, Blue.”, Rachel said without thinking. That comment earned her the cold irritated gaze of eight mutant canines who were breed and trained to do nothing but hunt and kill creatures like the one the Psi-Stalker compared them to.

“So… just flatten it or what, ma’am?”, Jersey asked, wanting his superior’s thoughts.

“One sec.”, Rachel said as she unfastened her seat’s restraints.

“Fine.”, Blue sighed. “I’ll take care of it since you guys don’t have the guts.”

“No.”, Rachel said almost too quickly. “Sit down, Blue. I want to talk to it.”

Blue rolled his eyes at her sympathy towards the foul pup alien. His disgust was almost too much to tamp down but he grudgingly obeyed.

“Bish, Rock.”, West said to the two dogs as she passed them on her way out the back door. Like the loyal dogs they were they scooped up their weapons followed. Rachel picked them because she knew the two professional soldiers wouldn’t kill the pup out of hand or on general principle. Bishop might, but he wasn’t the type to jump the gun and disobey orders, implied or otherwise. Rock on the other hand always showed a distaste for killing things that he found beneath him. As the two got up off the bench, only Bishop took the precaution of putting on his full helm over his sleek and narrow head.

After the thee hopped out, Rachel approached the Wolfen pup holding up her hands so the child could see that she didn’t hold any weapons, but that did nothing to calm the little one as she began to visibly shake.

“Calm down, little pup.”, Rachel said in the tongue of Dragonese, a language very common among d-bees the world round. “We aren’t going to hurt you.” In an attempt to sooth the child she kneeled down and gently placed her hands on its fury shoulders. “Are you hungry?”

The Wolfen did begin to calm, but she couldn’t let her guard down. Though the nice bald lady with the soft pink eyes seemed OK, despite her intimidating war painted face, the two Dog Boy soldiers didn’t look nearly as nice. The Wolfen-looking one was a comforting sight and was short enough to look like an adolescent pup of her kind himself. But the mean and suspicious look in his eyes let her know he was not there to help. The thick spike-covered armor that wrapped around his body, from his neck to his toes didn’t make him look any nicer either. Even so, she could smell his illness just before he let loose a titanic sneeze, so even if he was the mean type he was in no condition to chase her down if she ran. And the other, tall lean one, she couldn’t see his face at all. It was completely obscured by a menacing dark helmet that had dog like features and three spikes on the head, matching the black armor that covered his entire body.

“Come on.”, Rachel cooed the child in her best maternal tone. “Why don’t you tell me your name.”

The Wolfen’s eyes shimmered as she took a deep breath. “DAAADDDDDDYYYY!!!”, the pup shrieked in a blood curdling scream.

“I don’t think she’s making any head way.”, Bishop said to Rock.

“What was your fist clue?”, Rock sarcastically replied just before blowing his nose with a hastily retrieved hanky with one hand. There after the mutant Wolfhound reached for the cold medication in his utility belt. Just as he put the bottle back in its pouch and swallowed the pill Rock’ left ear twitched as he herd the rustling of some underbrush in the distance. He quickly cocked his head to hear a bit better and he didn’t like what he the sounds told him. “Captain, incoming. Sounds like a bunch of ‘em too.”

In response to the warning West reached for her hip-holster and drew her over sized long pistol, though she kicked herself for leaving her plasma cannon in the tank. Bishop positioned himself so he could use the tank as cover, but he didn’t lower his rifle in the direction of disturbance. The armor clad Greyhound took a mental note that his danger-divining sixth sense hadn’t gone off. Not yet anyways.

Seconds later a party of twelve fully-grown Wolfen males came into full view as they charged to save the pup. Some of them had crudely handmade leather armor, but most were virtually bare-naked with only a loincloth for modesty’s sake. The best weapons they had were spears, clubs and two sets of bows & arrows. If it weren’t for their numbers and size, each a hulking eight feet tall or more, Rachel and the others might have laughed.

“Release the girl…”, the largest of the Wolfen snarled in Dragonese, his knuckles cracking as he squeezed the shaft of his wooden spear. “…or die.”

Bishop always had troubles with his Dragonese, unlike the others, but he knew a threat when he heard one. Sixth sense or no, he leveled his rifle at the brown-coated d-bee canine. But all things considered, he opted to thumb the selector switch to a less lethal setting to conserve the power in his energy clip.

“Back off, big guy.”, West snapped back. “We weren’t going to hurt a hair on her head.” Despite her confidence in knowing her boys could had her back, she felt more comfortable with her particle beam pistol pointed at the Wolfen pack’s alpha.

As the Wolfen pup girl ran to her father’s side and hid behind his tree trunk of a leg, the other Dog Boys quickly filed out of the back of the tank, weapons in hand and all ready to rumble. Though the Wolfen pack had them outnumbered two to one, they obviously knew that the weapons and armor the dog pack had more than made up for their numerical superiority.

“Glad you could join us, boys.”, Rachel said with a smug smile.

“Sixth sense went off.”, Tyrus said as he side stepped into a better firing position, his small specialized weapon poised to kill them two at a time. “Knew something was going down out here.”

“Just you?”, Bishop asked, slightly concerned that his hadn’t gone off.

“Me too.”, said Jersey and Blue on top of each other’s words.

“Funny. Mine didn’t.”, Bishop muttered.

“Shut up, guys.”, West said, interrupting Bishop’s line of thought. With a deep breath that helped her change gears in her mind, she started speaking in Dragonese again “Wolfen, you have your pup, and as you can see she is unharmed.”

“Yes.”, the alpha said looking at the tall Psi-Stalker with leery eyes. “And in exchange, now you want something from me.”

“Yes, I do. But first, can you tell me were we are?”, Rachel asked as she holstered her long pistol as a sign of good faith.

The alpha Wolfen’s harsh composure broke as a smile slowly curled up along the sides of his snout. “You don’t know?”

“No, we’re lost.”, Rachel admitted.

“Human, you’re in the hunting preserves of Atlantis.”, the Wolfen told her with a humorless tone. “This is where the Splugorth and their minions come to prey for sport. You…me…and your pets are the game they stock theses forests with.”

“Ma’am!”, Thumper said as his ears shot up inside his helm.

“Not now, Thumper.”, West snapped. Turing back to the Wolfen, she only had one question on her mind. “Is there a way out of here? How do we get home?”

“Unless you can manipulate the rifts or swim an entire ocean, there is no escape.”, the Wolfen replied sadly as his eyes gravitated towards the earth.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where we could find someone like that, would you?”, Rachel further inquired, already knowing the answer.

“Am I not still here?”

“Skipper!”, Bishop barked as his sixth sense finally kicked in. Fearing that the exchange of alien words were going sour and leading to violence the Greyhound stood poised to start blowing heads off. Taking Bishop’s cue the other Dogs Boys followed suit. By then all of their sixth senses’ had rung in their heads like a deafening bell of foreboding doom. Some covered the trees and foliage with their weapons expecting an ambush as others looked skyward.

Rachel’s warning sixth sense was the last of the group’s to go off. In response to the psychic warning she again pulled her long pistol and glared at the huge wolf. It only took her a second to realize that the pack of alien wolves weren’t about to take the offensive with one of their young so close to harm’s way. It had to be something else, perhaps their pursuers. “Let’s get going, boys.”

As she said that, the Psi-Stalker and every member of dog pack Alpha 24 began sensing the same cocktail of magic and supernatural beings they sensed before. And whatever it was, it was getting close fast.

“Time to go!”, Jersey said as he made a beeline to the tank’s back doors.

The others didn’t waste any time in piling in after him. As they did so, the Wolfen fled into the woods from where they appeared to return to their tribe and warn them of the impending danger that was in the area.

Scant seconds later the treaded tracks of the scarred Grinning Skull battle tank were digging ruts in the soil as it took off like a rocket. As it got underway once again the small two laser turrets on its bow came to life as Boone Dog and Rock took control of them from inside.

“I think it’s too late to run.”, Rock said to Captain West as she began punching buttons of the controls at her station. “I can see it on my scope.”

Rachel stopped what she was doing and looked over her shoulder at the dog. “Well? Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“I’m not sure. Got a lot of trees in the way”, Rock said as he scrutinized the image on his targeting screen. “But whatever it is, it’s big and gaining on us.”

“Boone, what do you got?”, Rachel asked as she returned to her chore.

“I don’t know. This piece of crap’s not working right.”, the tracker answered, obviously not happy with the status of the tank the Coalition deemed ‘good enough’ for their use. “All my monitor gets is snow and shadows now.”

“Alright then.”, Rachel grumbled. “Jersey, look for a clearing of any size. We need to slow these guys down.”

* * * * *

From his vantage on the dragon head shaped prow, Bandana had a bird’s eye view of the fleeing tank below. And he had to admit, for a rusting, battered, reconstituted, piece of decommissioned crap, that thing could really move. If not for that thing the hunt would have been over hours ago and he would be kicking back in Chi-Town by now. The thought of those dogs using that rolling pillbox to drag out this hellish experience for him really pissed the Boxer off. The only thing that helped Bandana keep his cool was an even harsher possibility, that after the hunt is done Nahvin and his crony might find it more convenient to just kill him or put him back into slavery.

Bandana snapped out of his thoughts as he saw the Grinning Skull enter a long but narrow clearing up ahead. At first the significance of it didn’t register in his brain, but did a second later as the tank skidded to a stop and turned on its center axis to face its pursuers. “Holy spanking spider monkeys!”, Bandana exasperated as he hopped to his feet.

“We’re almost on top of them now, my lord.”, the Kydian captain said to Nahvin who was more occupied with admiring his rune weapons than keeping his thoughts on the hunt.

“Excellent.”, Nahvin smiled, stroking the length of his Dragon Rod, admiring his own craftsmanship. Then something caught his attention. The Wolfen runt he acquired from the dragon was running towards him, waving its arms and yelling something in an incoherent language. It sounded like ‘Trade 4’, one of the six recognized languages on Center and the Three Galaxies. A language he never saw the need to pick up, not when translators were so readily available. “What’s it saying?”, he said to any of his minions within earshot.

* * * * *

“Got a lock.”, Rachel said as she punched the last button on her console. “How ‘bout you guys?”

“Good here.”, Rock said as he manually kept the digital cross-hairs on the target in the sky.

“No go here.”, Boone replied as he thumped the controls of his gunnery station with the palm of his hand. His abuse helped a little. The screen went form pure static to static with vague outlines.

“Do the best you can.”, Rachel told him, sympathizing with the Bloodhound’s technical problems.

For the first time Rachel could finally get a sight of what it was that set her and her dogs’ senses ablaze as it came into full view. At first she had a hard time accepting what her eyes were telling her. Over the treetops came a ship that resembled something out of a picture book she once saw. Its styling was that of an ancient Roman battle barge with two decks of oars and two large square sails. It was easily 60 meters long and a menacing yet elegant sight to behold. And though its oars remained still, the ship’s sails caught the wind and propelled it forward flying through the air. Or at least it seemed that way until she realized the wind was coming from the wrong direction for them to be coming straight at her. “Magic.” She surmised, the word leaving an almost nauseous taste in her mouth.

Before she could give the command to fire, a bolt of lightning came crashing down out of the clear blue sky, hitting the armored vehicle on its already scarred patchwork side. The bolt struck with such force that the tank rattled and shook from the impact, much harder that any naturally occurring lightning should have be able to do.

“God, I hate magic.”, West grumbled. “Open up, boys!”
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Blight
Champion
Posts: 1648
Joined: Wed Apr 06, 2005 6:10 pm
Location: Clarksville, Tn.
Contact:

Unread post by Blight »

Loving this. On a side note this would be an awesome addition to the rifter....ESPECIALLY as a comic....That would so sweet i would actually pick up a rifter them...
Image
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

Excellent chapter Dead Boy! Please keep them coming!
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Blight wrote:Loving this. On a side note this would be an awesome addition to the rifter....ESPECIALLY as a comic....That would so sweet i would actually pick up a rifter them...


Yea, that would be sweet. Too bad my freehand art sucks harder than a black hole or I'd give it a try. I need my Adobe software to make anything I do look presentable, and though it the results are pretty good, it's nowhere near comic book worthy. :-(
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Hounds of the Hunt ~ Part Nine "Taste of Blood"

“Turn this thing around!”, Bandana demanded in a language Nahvin couldn’t understand. “They’re going to blow us out of the sky!”

“Pathetic animal.”, the Kydian captain said in Trade Four. “Their primitive lasers can’t harm us. The magic of this ship can easily negate anything they throw at us.”

Then a thunderclap reverberated through the air as the High Lord directed the ship’s magic forces, summoning a lightning bolt down on his prey’s scrappy vehicle.

“Morons! This ain’t nothin’ new to them!”, Bandana yelled at his arrogant captors, his hands clenching at thin air as he deeply desired to choke some sense into them. “They fight magic critters like you all the time.” The cowardly Boxer spoke from experience. Though it’s doubtful they’ve ever fought a flying sailboat manned by soldiers of the Splugorth, the principles of magic were the same everywhere, more or less. And those consistent principles include consistent vulnerabilities and limitations, again more or less.

With a bone cracking sound, the Kydian captain backhanded Bandana across the face for his insolent words, sending him sliding across the deck and crashing into the side railing. “Be quiet! I doubt they’ve ever seen a Atlantian flying ship, much less heard of one.”

Bandana glanced down at the tank between the slats of the railing he leaned against. Its lasers were firing away with no remorse, but when they struck the ship’s hull their fury magically evaporated. Knowing better, the Boxer glanced down and saw that he was just over a tree. He knew that if he was to survive he had to make his escape now. With a hop and a spring Bandana leapt over the railing and free fell to the branches below. The first one he grabbed for snapped under his weight, as did the second and third. But the fourth was strong enough to take the force of his falling mass. So strong in fact it caught him like a loving mother in her arms, and then the very spring that cushioned his fall in the branch sprung back and threw him to another tree. The traitor dog then fell along the other tree’s trunk, each of its finer branches giving way in his vertical path to the ground. When the Boxer finally hit the soil, Bandana just laid there thinking that the worst was over. And then he noticed that the flying ship had slowed down to do battle with the crippled Coalition tank, and was hovering right above him. Though three of his broken ribs disagreed, he bolted up and made a run for it, or hobble as case ended up being as he discovered that his left leg was at the very least fractured, if not out right broken.

Bandana’s liberation did not escape Rakkah’s notice. Had the dog of any further use, he might have cared. But as it stood, the Conservator considered the dog either already dead from the fall or soon to be dead from the various creatures that were stocked in the forests of the Preserves for hunting. Either way the hunter didn’t care in the slightest.

High Lord Nahvin on the other hand failed to spot his new pet’s flight for freedom. He was too occupied with the destruction of the scabby looking tank that was spoiling his hunt. Its presence gave his quarry a tool he did not want them to have, the ability to flee faster than he could pursue on foot. Fortunately he had learned of its existence before he left his ship. With another mental command through a device he forged with his own two hands and magical prowess, Nahvin had the ship to send another crackling bolt of mystically charged lightning down to the tank.

And then Nahvin’s sadistic smile turned into a frown. A volley of ten mini-missiles came rocketing towards his prized ship from the tank below. As their contrails intertwined and warheads sought out his hull, the High Lord frantically tried to raise some other form of defense for his ship, other than the one already in place that rendered it invulnerable to the beam weapons. But before he could erect another defense the missiles slammed into the hull and caused the bow to erupted into an explosion of fire and wooden splinters. Two of his Kydian sailors were washed in the forceful blaze and were reduced to molten flesh and then ash in just scant seconds. Again Nahvin tried to give the mental command to raise a more effective shield, a magical coating of armor to protect his ship from more damage. But when the armor belt failed to appear he remembered that spell was the property of the forward most Eye of Eylor in the bow of the ship. He surmised that had been severely damaged and must have suffered the same fate of the two Kydian sailors. His only chance to save his ship was to flee.

* * * * *

Seeing the ship still in the sky, West fired off the second half of the missile launcher’s payload. With a quick manipulation of the controls she targeted the rear section of the ship held aloft by magical forces. Again mini-missiles streaked upwards from the tank’s port side launcher and crashed into the wooden hull of the battle barge. The resulting fireball monetarily gave the sky a second sun bright enough to make Rachel squint for fear of being blinded. Burning splinters and shards rained down on the forest below threatening to set the land and trees ablaze. Among the falling debris of fire was a humanoid, dead before it hit the ground.

“Sweet!”, Blue shouted in his excitement as he hovered over Rock’ shoulder, enjoying the show on his gunner’s monitor. “We should have done this in the first place.”

Suddenly the burning ship began to plummet from the air as massive licks of fire danced and seduced the sky from its remains. As it crashed through the trees and struck the ground with an earth shuddering thud, shards of inferno exploded in all directions making the trees that weren’t crushed combust like a struck match. Black smoke began to rapidly rise from the destruction and bellowed up a dark tower demarking the place of smoldering death.

“Wow…that’s kind of impressive.”, Jersey said staring at the carnage they caused. “What now?”

“Boone, Razor, man the lasers.”, West started as she got up from her seat. “Everyone else, put on your helmets. We’re going out there and it’s going to get hot.”

“Why do they get the cushy job?”, Rock protested, not wanting to give up his seat.

“Because they don’t have environmental armor. You do.”, Rachel explained as she scooped up her spiked helm. “Now shut your hole and get out there.”

As Thumper got ready he grabbed his massive CTT-M20 missile rifle. It was issued to him because of his unbelievable strength allowing him heft its weighty hundred pound mass with relative ease. With it he had slain some of the most terrifying creatures anyone had ever seen. The only question in his mind was, would he get the chance to use it again today.

“Thumper, take your ‘Forty’ instead.” Rachel said. “One good explosion could bury one of us out there in a few tons of burning wood.”

Reluctantly, Thumper obeyed and exchanged his missile spewing death master for a CP-40. As far as laser rifles went, it was adequate but nothing exceptional. Thumper may have not been the smartest mutt in the pack, but he knew the ‘bigger is better’ principle quite well, especially when it came to his guns.

As the fully armored Dog Boy soldiers filed out of the rear of the tank, arms shouldered and at the ready, not a one of them couldn’t help but to feel a bit awed at the wholesale desolation at their feet. They’ve all seen this kind of thing before, some of them many times before, but every field of char and death was different and held no guarantee that those they desired death upon would oblige. All of them knew this.

No more than ten steps after getting out of the dinged and dented tank, Rachel got a bad feeling. It wasn’t a precognitive flash or anything on a psychic level. It was only a gut instinct that something bad was about to happen. She dismissed the lingering baseless insight for the better part, but just to play it safe she focussed her will and erected a second skin of pure telekinetic force over her body armor for a little added protection. She only wished she could provided her boys with the same.

The moment they exited the tank, the psychic stench of the supernatural filled their senses. Whether that stench came from a creature or just a stray magically empowered weapon or piece of equipment was unknown. The seven of them cautiously walked into the flaming disaster area, each covering the other’s flanks. With a short series of hand gestures West gave the command for them to break into two groups to better cover the area. Jersey, Thumper and Rock departed to the left, but not out of sight staying no more than ten meters apart from the other group.

Hearing a slight disturbance… maybe some of the debris shifting as it burned down, perhaps a survivor trying to free him self… Jersey held up a clenched armor clad fist. Rock and Thumper froze as they scanned the area and awaited the German Shepherd’s next gestured command. After a few seconds, Jersey saw it and changed his fist to a point to the right. Cautiously they approached a burning tower of mass from the ship as the licks of flame at their feet tried in vain to eat through their body armor or even warm anything beyond their ceramic shells.

Jersey covered the suspicious shape he spotted with his plasma cannon, ready to lob a stream of star-hot gasses at it. After getting within a meter of it, he let his guard down a bit. Pushing a button on his armor’s left cuff, the dog broke the verbal silence. “Captain, found a body over here. Looks pretty much cooked.”

“Copy that.”, West replied. “We found one too. What ever was in that ship ain’t alive anymore. Everyone, back to the tank.”

“I’m not as sure about that.”, Jersey said. “I’m sensing something over here. Some demon or monster. Pretty strong too.”

“I feel it too.”, Rock added.

“Then I definitely want everyone back at the tank.”, West’s voice said. “If it’s too strong then we should regroup before fighting it.”

As the other two started to head back, Rock held his ground wanting to take a closer look at the mound of combusted flesh that was once their pursuer. Granted it wasn’t all that much to look at, but it was enough for him to recognize. “Captain, I think I’ve seen guys like this crispy critter here.”, the Wolfhound said over his radio. “I saw some d-bees like him with the Slavers down south once.”

“That’s nice. Now get your butt back to the tank.”, West’s voice sounded over his radio.

“But…”, Rock started.

“But nothing! Quit poking it with a stick and get your tail back here, pronto!”, West bellowed over the radio so loud it hurt all the dogs’ sensitive ears.

“I’ll get him ma’am.”, Jersey’s voice sounded.

As he turned to leave, Rock heard another shifting of the debris behind him, but he gave it no concern. It was just the fire. Jersey must have been wrong. Obviously nothing could have survived the explosions and crash. But as that thought passed through his mind, his sixth sense trumpeted a warning in his head.

“Rock! Behind you!”, Jersey shouted as he raced back, rifle raised and already shooting streams of searing plasma just over Rock’s shoulder.

Rock spun and raised his rifle to confront whatever it was Jersey was shooting at and what his psychic alarm narrowly warned him of. The moment he faced it, his eyes slowly raised to meet the horror’s three-eyed gaze. Instinctively the Wolfhound pulled his trigger and let loose pulse after pulse of laser fire directly into its chest. With a backhand across the Wolfhound’s armored face the Dog Boy found himself flying back and landing in a pile of flaming pine branches. With his vision obstructed by the flames, charred wood and carbon stains darkening the lenses of his helm, Rock came to the realization that if he didn’t make a run for it now, he was dead meat.

“Fall back! Fall back!”, Jersey barked as he continued his barrage of plasma, each hit making the four armed creature flinch as they burned deep pocks in its natural armored skin and struck with the punch of a dozen bullets. But still the demonic-looking beast continued its approach through the blazing inferno as though it were coming from Hell itself.

Rock didn’t need to be told it was time to flee, but it was nice to know they were thinking alike. The Dog Boy hopped up on his feet and made a break for it as Jersey provided cover fire. As he passed the pack’s second in command he gave the German Shepherd a pat on the back of his shoulder to let him know that it was his turn to fall back. After going another hundred feet, Rock stopped just shy of the tank, turned and opened up with his rifle, firing a series of laser pulses to cover Jersey’s retreat.

“What’s keeping you two?” West asked over the radio, not able to hear the silent weapons’ fire but growing concerned as she sensed a tinge of danger and fearing the worst.

“We need cover fire, now!”, Jersey shouted back over the radio as he sprinted towards the tank and, hopefully, safety.

Seconds later the Grinning Skull’s batteries of lasers opened up firing blindly in Jersey’s direction, but well over his head. The attack wasn’t intended to kill anything, especially since the tank’s gunners couldn’t see the target through the burning debris and smoke. The intent was to slow it down so the fleeing canines could make it back.

As Jersey came into view through the flames, smoke and dust, the silhouette of the beast giving chase could also bee seen not to far behind. The laser fire from the tank and Rock became less random and focused on its center mass. Though most of the shots hit their intended target, the four-armed monstrosity didn’t show any signs of slowing. The beast’s visage became even more terrifying as it reached behind its back with all four arms and retrieved a quartet of viscous, jagged looking swords. Rock was momentarily grateful that none of the other dogs could smell him just then or they would have gagged on his reek of fear.

Jersey shot past Rock seemingly as fast as the lasers shooting past him. But as hurried as he was, Jersey didn’t forget to give Rock a pat on his shoulder so he could fall back in turn. The drill of cover fire and retreat was so well pounded into him, Jersey might not have been aware he even touched his friend. There after the Shepherd stopped just a step away from the tank’s entry so he could resume the role of cover fire support.

Regardless of how well orchestrated their movements were, the effects weren’t going as they expected as the beast didn’t show a sign of slowing despite the vast pain it must have been experiencing. And worse yet the creature was much closer than it should have been. Rock thought about running for it, but the demon was too close and he refused to take it in the back like a wussy d-bee. “Go! I’ll keep him busy!”, he broadcast over the radio for all to hear, not letting up on his weapon’s fire.

Before Rock could change his mind the beast was upon him, looming a good three feet taller than the Dog Boy. As fast as flash Rock saw one of the black jagged blades careening towards his already dented helm, just as fast he raised his rifle to parry the slash. The ebon blade cut half way through the energy weapon, rendering it useless as anything more than a club. Unfortunately the other three blades simultaneously struck home, one chopping into his right side, one cleaving into his left hip and the third piercing his breast plate to the hilt, the tip shooting out his back. The dog’s molecular hardened armor, strong enough to take even the most ravenous of blows, gave way to the magic swords like thin fired clay.

Holding the dog in the torturous pose, the mutant canine limp as the corpse he was about to be, the demon shook the split rifle off its fourth dark blade and began to slowly force its point through the armor protecting the Psi-hound’s neck. The demon’s smile grew ever more as the sword’s tip burrowed in one millimeter at a time. And then with a twist of a wrist, the already damaged helm popped off. With flesh exposed, the beastly hunter licked the blood trickling from the corner of Rock’ mouth with a long, thin tongue. The mutant soldier, suspended in mid air by the instruments of his demise, spat us a vomitous spray of blood on the Conservator’s face to get out a final act of defiance. But the creature didn’t seem to mind. With a flick of its tasting tendril, the monstrosity licked some of the life giving fluid from its own mouth. Rock cringed his head back desperately wanting to hurt the creature just one more time, but found himself unable to reach for another weapon even if he had the strength. As if trying to make the moment even more unbearable and cruel for the dog, Rock found himself being pulled in further as the demon opened its serrated tooth filled mouth as if to take a bite and eat him while he still had life left in him. But the tormented Dog Boy never had to know what it was like to be something’s meal as his head was instantly vaporized by a blast of super-heated plasma from behind. The destructive stream was so powerful Rock’ head proved little resistance and the blast slammed into the creature’s face on the other side.

As the beast writhed in pain, Jersey stepped into the tank and slammed the door shut. “We can go now.”, he said, his voice filled with sadness and controlled rage as steam vented from his plasma rifle.

Under Rachel’s controlling hands, first the tank lurched forward, ramming the monstrous hunter to the ground, and pinned the beast to the ground with its tracks. Then the armored vehicle spun about on its axis, grinding the monster under its tracks, and then proceeded to take off into the woodlands, disappearing from sight but leaving a trail easy enough to follow.
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

That was an AWESOME Chapter! Too bad about Rock, but then heros have to die sometimes!
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

I think it would be a great read in a novel format. Then we could read the whole thing. If not a novel, what about a novella format.
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
G
Adventurer
Posts: 545
Joined: Mon Oct 02, 2000 1:01 am
Contact:

Unread post by G »

Great story!
The Leynet - The place for TW inventions & hosting RIFTS Fiction
Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. - Yoda
All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others - Animal Farm.
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Hounds of the Hunt ~ Part Ten "Taste of Ash"

“Let them go.”, Nahvin said as he walked towards his trusted bodyguard through the burning field and smoke filled air. His ornate armor and prized rune weapons didn’t have so much as a smudge on them. They and the High Lord’s person were safely shrouded behind a magic spawned force field. “They can’t run forever.”

Rakkah slowly stood up, shook the sting out of his eyes and wiped the tank tracks from his chest. He considered disobeying his master, but quickly came to his senses and dismissed the insubordinate notion. “As you wish, High Lord.”, the demonic hunter replied as he bowed his head out of respect.

Nahvin walked through the burning grass, getting a better look at the beheaded Dog Boy still dangling from Rakkah’s blades. “And the pack is thinned by one.”, he sighed. “We need that foul little creature, whatever its name was.”

“I believe it was Bandana.”, Rakkah said as he allowed Rock’ corpse to slide from his Demon Claw blades to cook in the fire at his feet. “But I have no idea which way the rodent went. I’m sure the fire and wreckage erased much of his tracks. I can pick up his trail, but it will take time.”

“No need. He will come to us.”, Nahvin said staring at the wide path the tank left in its wake and noticed that too was catching on fire. His eyes turned to the thing that caused everything to be set ablaze, his crashed and destroyed ship. Once the envy of even Lord Splyncryth, and now nothing more than inflamed wood and crumbling ash. Even the lavish gold appointments were starting to melt into pools of liquid wealth. “She was a magnificent ship, wasn’t she Rakkah?”

“Indeed, my lord.”, Rakkah replied without hesitation.

“In honor of her and this hunt, I shall name the next one the Wolfen Pyre.”, the High Lord mused as he envisioned even a grander ship, and then he set his mind back on the task at hand. “But first let’s go over there, out of this growing inferno so I can cast a spell. This smoke is starting to irritate me.”

* * * * *

Out of breath and dead tiered from limping as fast as he could for twenty minutes straight, Bandana fell to his butt under the shade of a tree. His time in captivity had ruined his years of physical conditioning as a Dog Boy soldier. Even from afar the soot filled air hurt his lungs making him want to rest all the more. The smell of the smoking wreckage over a mile away was difficult to ignore and drew his attention to the growing black plume in the sky. They only served as a reminder to him that he hadn’t run far enough. After five minutes’ rest Bandana planed to be moving again.

As he sat there breathing with his burning lungs, he kept glancing back at the thick haze of the doomed ship rise and saw the wind blowing it in his direction. But against the haze filling sky he noticed something else. It was just a small dot, perhaps a small bird. Whatever it was Bandana paid it no further attention. Out in the Preserves he had bigger things to be afraid of.

Bandana started to think of what his next move should be. He considered trying to join up with one of the Wolfen tribes that was in the area. They seemed to know how to survive the harsh landscape. And they certainly could use his Psi-hound powers as an early warning system. He might be a welcomed addition. The way he figured it, it was definitely worth a try.

Just then out of the blue the bird he spotted a minute earlier landed at his feet. Startled, Bandana jumped back a bit becoming more and more concerned for his life when he realized it wasn’t just a pigeon. He could sense magic oozing off its every feather. But then his fear melted into disgust when it began speaking in Nahvin’s voice.

“Return to me this very moment or I’ll use the medallion.” Nahvin’s voice sounded form the flying rat. “You have thirty minutes. No more and maybe less.”

After delivering its message, the pigeon faded from reality as if it never existed.

“Freaky ass magic.”, Bandana grumbled as he got back up. “I’ve got to get my hands on that thing or my ass is his till he gets bored playing with me.”, he thought to himself.

* * * * *

“Here he comes.”, Rakkah said to his master. Both of the Splugorth minions stood in the middle of the open field where they lost the ship. A magically induced hard rain was in the process of dousing the site, extinguishing the flames and preventing their spread any further. All that remained of the blaze was a few burning trees and cooling embers and coals. Everything was blackened and dead, but the emergency was over before it had a chance to spread any further than it did.

“You’re late.”, Rakkah sneered at the mutant Boxer as he limped the into char stained clearing.

“Yea, I know.” Bandana said back in an almost chipper voice. “I was busting my hump trying to get back here before the dead line when it hit me.” Bandana’s pace slowed even more as he neared the two. “If you didn’t need me for something, you would have either let me go or used that thing to set me off.” As he got closer, he noticed the headless Dog Boy corpse on the ground. But what caught his eye wasn’t its charred and barbecued state, but the weapons still on the dog’s utility belt. The rifle may have been destroyed but the corpse still had a big, but comparably weak slug thrower in the small of the back, eight energy magazines and a neural mace. It wasn’t a lot, but anything would be a drastic improvement over his bare hands. “So, sacks, what’s my job now?”

Rakkah began to take a step forward but was stopped by a restraining hand from Nahvin. In his place, Nahvin approached the traitor Dog Boy. “You’re correct. You will track down your fellow Wolfen for me. Do a good job and I’ll send you home.”

Bandana thought about correcting the High Lord about his Wolfen/Dog Boy hang up again, but elected to take the demon up on his offer. And insulting him would only increase his chances of the demon reneging on any deal after services rendered. “OK, sac… uh, High Lord. I get you to the dogs, you get me home. But I want something else too.”

“Oh?”, Nahvin said, amused with the creature’s false sense of leverage. “And what would that be.?”

“That.”, Bandana said, pointing to Nahvin’s chest.”

“You want my Talisman or Armor.” Nahvin balked. “Out of the question.”

Bandana blinked and reexamined the High Lord’s neckline. Around his neck were not the chains of just one necklace, but two. “I don’t even know what that is. No, I want the detonator so you can’t just blow me up when this is over.”

Nahvin stroked the smaller of the two chains around his neck in though. “Not just yet. You have a job to do and I need some guarantee that you will be loyal.”, Nahvin explained. “But I’m not entirely heartless to your desire to feel safe. You may pilfer what you can from that Wolfen’s corpse.”

“Really?”, Bandana said. That did make him feel a bit better even though the decapitated Dog Boy’s rifle was split in two. But even a slug thrower and neural mace would be better than nothing. As he attached the slightly burned holster to his utility belt he couldn’t help but to notice the pistol’s heft. Once secured he drew the weapon and examined the oversized automatic. At first he was stunned at what he saw. The handgun was plated in gold and polished like a mirror. Far more lavish than anything your typical Dog Boy soldier carried. Handling it he found the weapon heavy and awkward in his small hands. Glancing down, Bandana examined the text written on the side of the wide almost triangular barrel. Though he didn’t read very well, he knew his calibers. “.50 Action Express? Holy crap cakes! That’s a rare one.”, he thought to himself. It was the kind of gun that could knock down any man-sized target and the person holding the gun at the same time from the recoil. Then he made out the engraved writing on the side of the slide. “Rock Star”, in big gaudy letters. Though overall it was some consolation, his discomfort with the big gun’s awkwardness negated any feeling of security it granted him. The neural mace and e-clips would be of more use to him.

Rakkah deliberately cleared his throat getting Bandana’s attention, “Satisfied?”

“For now.”, the Boxer replied. “Now how about some heal spells?”

* * * * *


The dog pack was silent as they rode along inside the tank, the sight of Rock’s acoustic guitar in the corner standing tribute to the fallen soldier. Some were mourning the loss of one of their good friends, others were brooding over the fact that they didn’t stay and fight. For both, the only sounds heard were that of the tracks rolling on the dirt and foliage, the hum of the nuclear powered engine and a static noise from the malfunctioning gunnery station’s monitor. The combination of sounds were actually quite soothing, more or less what they needed just then.

“We should have fought with him.”, Blue grumbled, his warrior’s pride bruised by being forced to run like a scared green pup. “We could have taken that freak out, no prob.”

“Disorganized and without an edge, that monster would have ripped us to shreds.”, Jersey solemnly said. “Other than some damage to his helm, Luke’s armor didn’t have a scratch on it and that thing’s blades punched through it like a vibro-knife through a comic book.”

“Yea? Well my armor’s tougher.”, Blue said, thumping his somewhat thicker breast plate.

“Well mine’s not!”, Bishop retorted. “If Jersey says it had the advantage then we’re doing the right thing.”

“You guys make me sick!”, Blue vehemently spat. “You want to run forever?”

“No. But…”, Boone Dog started, but paused as a thought hit him.

“But what?”, Bishop asked.

“…Well, there’s no telling how far we can make it in this thing.”, the Bloodhound speculated. “Everything else about it may suck but the engine and drive seem to be in tip top shape. And if I’m thinking right, the nuclear power in these tanks are good for… what, fifteen years?”

“Yea, that’s right.”, Tyrus said, agreeing with the Bloodhound. “That is fifteen years with fresh fuel rods. The question is, how much gas does this old thing have?”

Rachel remained silent till then, rubbing out a headache in her temples. “Tell ‘em, Jersey.” She already knew the answer but didn’t want to be the one to break the news to them.

The German Shepherd, curious to know himself, reached over from the copilot’s seat he occupied to the central console and punched a few buttons on one of its many touch screen, keeping his mechanical hand firmly on the controls. To say the least he wasn’t happy with what he saw. “Oh, son-of-a-bitch!”

“Great, more good news.”, Bishop sarcastically bemoaned, burying his eyes in a hand while slightly shaking his head in disgust.

“Eleven days, five hours, forty-seven minutes…”, Jersey unenthusiastically read off the screen. “… with a seventy-two hour margin of error.”

The pack fell silent for more than a few seconds as that sunk in. None of them needed to do much math to figure out how fast they’d burn though that driving nearly nonstop like they were.

“It would have been enough for our original mission.”, Rachel explained as some angry eyes fell on the back of her head. “We were supposed to be back in a week.”

“So we have somewhere between one and to two weeks of roll time left in this thing.”, Boone Dog figured. “Which will get us nowhere since we have no where to go.”

“Sure we do.”, Tyrus said. “Now that we know where we are, more or less, all we have to do is make it to the west coast and traverse the Demon Sea.” The Min Pin’s idea was so ludicrous and frightening no one said a word in response. “This thing is amphibious, right?”

“Theoretically.”, Jersey cautiously replied.

“Surrrrrre.”, Rachel said. “Never mind that even real boats have maybe a one in a thousand chance of making it through those monster infested waters in one piece. And even if we could make it to the west coast, the only way we’d have enough gas to even try to get this tub across the sea is to go straight as an arrow to the west. But if we travel in a straight line I guarantee you that four armed freak back there will just hitch a ride with one of its buddies and prepare a nice little ambush.”

“Then we kill it now.”, Blue said as if the answer were that simple. The Dobie kill hound looked to his fellow dogs for support, but every face stared back at him as if he was the only who didn’t see Rock chopped up like a critter in the express lane of a slaughter house.

Sitting there surrounded by mourning and an ever-deepening air of depression, Thumper’s more simple mind drifted to his most prized comforts of home. “I wish Mr. Pickles was here.”, he glumly said. All around him his pack silently agreed, but the field was no place for a wonder prone cat.

After another moment of disheartened silence, Bishop’s eyes shot open as inspiration struck him like a bolt from the blue “Taste of Ash.”, the Greyhound whispered to himself.

“Say what?”, Razor curiously asked.

“Taste of Ash.”, Bishop repeated.

“The movie?”, Jersey curiously asked.

“Shep Blackstorm lost his pack to a demon and had to kill it on his own as it hunted him through the woods.”, Bishop began, recapping the film’s plot.

“Yea.”, Thumper enthusiastically said. “That was a good one.”

“He was alone. Out matched. Low on e-clips and mourning the loss of his pack. Yet with the indomitable fighting spirit the C.S. gave each and every one of us, Blackstorm ripped that mother suckin’ piece of d-bee crap ten new pie holes and made it home to fight another day. Sure, he lost an arm and half his face in the fight, but Shep pushed through all that and kicked… its… ass!”, Bishop preached from the gospel of Dog Boy pop culture like an evangelical preacher sermonizing on fire and brimstone, going so far at to even pound his fist in his palm. “Don’t you see? We’re in the exact same situation, and unlike him, we’re only one head down. Just like the top dog, we can turn things around and take on that demon-trash on our tails. We can fight it, and we can win.” The conviction in his voice was as solid as the toughest steel, and there wasn’t a single canine ear that wasn’t clinging on every word.

Seeing that he had the other dogs’ undivided attention, Bishop continued. “The only question we have to ask ourselves is, what would Shep Blackstorm do in our place? He’d fight like a rabid dog! He’d put the chomp on that punta and make him his *****! So, ladies, what are we going to do?”

The pack’s reply wasn’t so much a word, but more of a bark loud enough to hurt Rachel’s ears. Their spirits began to rise again and their defeatist attitudes were quickly replaced by the hearts of the hard chargers they always were. All around could be seen the cold eyes of killers, and not a one of them would be satisfied with anything less than bloody revenge.

“How’d he beat that thing again?”, Blue asked, mixing up the plot with a dozen other similar movies Shep Blackstorm made.

“Ambush. Lured him into a kill zone.”, Bishop reminded the Rottwieler, already knowing the kill hound was onboard with any plan of offensive action.

Having heard enough, slowly Jersey began pull back on the throttle slowing the tank with a purposeful hand.

“What do you think you’re doing there, Jersey?”, Rachel rhetorically asked. “Tell me you’re not thinking of fighting that thing based solely on the plot of a movie. And not one of Shep’s better ones at that.”

“It’s not that.”, Jersey said to his superior as the tank slowly came to a stop. “But Bishop is right. We can’t run from this guy any longer. The situation dictates that we have to make a stand, and here’s as good as anywhere.”

“I don’t believe you guys!”, West shouted as she shot up from her seat and turned to scold the delusional dogs. “We already tried to kill it!. Blew up that ship real good too. Not to mention the fact we wasted this piece of crap’s missiles in the process. That thing’s tougher than all of us combined and we’re good as dead if we try again. And you want to give it another chance?”

“It’s what Shep Blackstorm would do.”, Bishop replied, keeping with his theme.

“What would Shep Blackstorm if he were here right now?”, Rachel asked her squad, looking all of them in the eye in turn. But then before any of them could speak up she answered for them. “He’d call ‘cut’, do another take, and maybe rewrite the script so he can win! It’s a movie, guys! You can’t kill monsters with one arm and a vibro-knife.”

“I did once.”, Blue interjected enthusiastically, raising his bionic arm.

“All due respect, ma’am…”, Tyrus started in his peculiarly scratchy gruff voice, standing up in his seat, “…but what good is running if it’s just going to catch up with us soon after this heap’s power runs dry? Eventually we will have to fight it. Maybe even some other predator in this forest too. Better we do it now while we still have ammo to burn.”

Rachel looked her boys in the eyes again, one by one in turn. Though silent she could tell that they all agreed. They desperately wanted to turn and fight. But even so, none of them would defy her will, even if it meant running forever. The Psi-Stalker knew running was probably the smart play, but deep down she wanted to taste the demon’s blood as well. With a labored sigh of resignation she reluctantly gave in. “OK, boys… If we’re going to do this we need to get our **** together in a hurry, because we have an ambush to set up and a short time to do it.”

As the pack stated to fervently bark and howl, frenzied about their alpha’s decision, Rachel came to terms with her resolution. She knew they made a good point and were probably right… but still, she wondered how she let them talk her into this.

“This is a mistake.”, she thought to herself.
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

Great chapter Dead Boy! Please keep this coming!
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Public Service Announcement:

The next installment of Hounds of the Hunt has been delayed due to homework and an upcoming exam I need to study for in my Consumer Behavior class.

Be patient and the next won't be too long in coming.

Thank You for your readership & have a pleasant day. :)
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Snuffy
Dungeon Crawler
Posts: 353
Joined: Tue May 02, 2006 3:28 pm
Location: Prospect, Connecticut
Contact:

Unread post by Snuffy »

Dead Boy - Keep the good work up at school. I'll be looking forward to your next installment after your done with school work..
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

Yes, study first. Once the exam is finished and you've aced it you can write the next chapter for us! Study hard for it! Good luck! :ok:
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Hounds of the Hunt ~ Part Eleven "Setup"

“Yea, I think they went this way.”, Bandana shouted over his shoulder as he followed the grotesquely wide and obtuse trail. Rakkah and the High Lord trailed behind their tracker by a good twenty feet.

“I’m amazed the creature could even find the vehicle’s tracks.”, Rakkah telepathically said to his master, his tone dripping of sarcasm. “The trail is only four meters wide! Why did you want him back? We could have followed this trail with our eyes gouged out.”

“Learn to think ahead, dear Rakkah.”, Nahvin telepathically beamed back. “Our prey is well aware of the trail their vehicle is making. After they’ve gone a sufficient distance to feel safe, I have every confidence they will depart with it and go on foot so they can cover their trail. At that point this creature will be a great benefit in tracking them down.”

“Stop that.”, Bandana grumbled.

“Stop what?”, Rakkah asked it turn.

“Talking behind my back.”, Bandana said

Rakkah and Nahvin stopped dead in their tracks. “How could you know?”, Nahvin asked, suddenly concerned about what he clearly didn’t know.

“You’re kidding?”, Bandana counter-questioned, halting in kind and turning to face his two masters. “Don’t you get it yet? Me and those guys in the tank aren’t Wolfen or any other kind of canine you’ve hunted. We’re Dog Boys… Psi-hounds… If you’re in range we can sense every flex of your psychic powers and every flux of magic when you cast a spell. We can even sense the reek of your supernatural hides and every piece of magic weaponry on your backs. Especially yours, High Lord.”

“They’re Psi-Stalkers!”, Rakkah realized. He understood the creatures’ abilities batter than Nahvin’s before hand, but didn’t grasp the full extent till just then. “We’re hunting a pack of heavily armed, well trained Psi-Stalkers!”

“Kind of.”, Bandana admitted since there were strong similarities at play. “Except we eat more real food.”

“Do you realize what this means?”, Nahvin asked his trusted aid.

“Indeed I do, master.”, Rakkah replied with a broad smile on his face and a gleam in his eye. “It means I finally have a hunt that will test my mettle.”

Nahvin slowly turned an irritated eye to his minion. Despite the fact that Rakkah stood better than two feet taller than him, the High Lord knew no fear towards the Conservator. “My mettle?”

Rakkah gleaming eyes shrunk to fine specks as his slip of the tongue was repeated back to him. Submissively he bowed his head in shame and said, “Forgive, my lord. My zeal…”

“Keep your mind on the hunt and not your personal glory.”, Nahvin growled. “And you,”, Nahvin said turning his attentions back to the mutant Boxer, “keep tracking or this land is where you’ll die.”

“Ooh.”, Bandana said in a taunting tone and raising a faux shaking hand. “Like I haven’t heard that one lately.”

Controlling his rage over the dog’s insolence, Nahvin began to reach for the small greenish black medallion around his neck to remind his tracker that his fate was in another’s hands. Bandana thought about it for a second. He figured that at this range the explosion would envelop the High Lord as well. Then again he did survive the burning inferno that was the demon’s flying boat, seemingly with out a scratch. The only question was, would the anti-matter puppy bomb take him out too? But instead of pushing it any further, Bandana backed down and went back to the trail. As he did so, Nahvin allowed himself a victorious smirk.

As Bandana went back to his job, he thought he saw something off the path deep in the forest. His eyes searched the area but didn’t see a thing. Not an arm sticking out, a pair of eyes peeping around a tree, not the slightest bit of movement to suggest that someone ducked behind a bush or anything. He even focused on his battery of psychic senses, but found nothing. And since his sixth sense wasn’t telling him to be on guard, he dismissed it as the wind or a small woodland animal.

* * * * *

Tyrus watched as the three hunters continued down the tank’s trail. For a moment there he was concerned he got caught. If he didn’t have a firm control over his emotions, the other Psi-hound might have picked up on him empathetically. But even so the plan couldn’t go on by the numbers.

As the three turned a corner in the path, Tyrus stood up and the bush twigs attached to his 3D Camouflage suit rustled slightly. He made certain that the foliage he used match that of the area. The parts of him the weren’t obscured by the twigs and leaves were blended into the rest of the landscape around him by the suit’s special holographic fabric, it’s woodland camouflage pattern appearing to be in three dimensions up to a foot thick. When coupled with traditional concealing techniques, Tyrus was effectively invisible to even the most scrutinizing eye.

“Tyrus to West.”, the Miniature Pinscher whispered into a sensitive mic behind the black visor and muzzle of his full helm.. “Three targets approaching. Repeat, three. The four-armed freak, one with a giant eye on its head… and that feral from before.”

“Copy that, Tike.”, West’s voice came back.

“Tike.”, Jersey’s voice came on. “You say the feral? As in that Boxer?”

“That’s right. Same Boxer, same beat-up old style DPM armor, same red bandana, but no hoverbike this time.”, Tyrus answered. “Seems to be their tracker, so be prepared. Tyrus out.”

With his report in the diminutive scout shouldered his pistol sized rifle, keeping the muzzle lowered to the ground, and began to make his way back to the ambush site, careful not to move too fast and betray his presence.

* * * * *

“Something’s up ahead.”, Bandana said over his shoulder as he rounded another corner in the wide and long zigzagging trail. Instead of going on, the Dog Boy held his position allowing the two demons to catch up. As they approached from behind Bandana drew the gold plated slug thrower he looted from the decapitated dog earlier and pulled back its engraved slide, chambering its first silver round.

“What?”, Rakkah asked as he came upon the corner himself. Once there the supernatural predator saw what he didn’t expect to see for days; his quarry’s tracked vehicle. It was too soon. Instantly the hunter suspected a trap of some kind. Rakkah glanced down at his master to see if they were thinking alike. Nahvin in turn returned his eye contact and then glanced over to Bandana. Rakkah knowingly nodded his head, agreeing with the High Lord. “Dog, investigate.”

Fearing and anticipating that command, Bandana froze. Even when Rakkah gave him a nudge, he still couldn’t overcome his paralysis. It was only after he saw Rakkah drawing his four Demon Claw swords that his sense of self-preservation told him that it was safer down the trail than in the company of his fiendish masters.

Bandana took a single step forward and then stopped again. “Wait a second. I’m not taking another step until you hand over the medallion.”

“That again?”, Rakkah moaned. “You chose to whine at the worst times, dog. Now go, do your job!”

“Yea, sure.”, Bandana replied rolling his eyes. “I go out there and at the first hint of them, you guys push the button and turn me into an instant living claymore.”

“What is he talking about?”, Nahvin asked turning to his servant. “What does he mean, transform him into a sword?”

“No that kind of claymore, moron.”, Bandana snapped, reminding him self to watch his words. But after a second it appeared they either didn’t catch the ‘moron’ comment or elected to let it slide. “An anti-personnel explosive? That kind of claymore.”

Nahvin smiled so wide it was obvious he was having a hard time repressing a laugh. Bandana couldn’t help but to think the punchline of the unspoken joke was his explosively guts splattered on every tree, bush, and blade of grass in a fifty-meter radius. The High Lord did appreciate the Boxer’s mind for the fine art of back-stabery. “Fine. If that’s what it takes to earn your trust, then is yours.”

Bandana’s jaw almost dropped was the demon hunter withdrew the medallion from under his armor’s breastplate and yanked it from his neck, snapping its chain in the process. Nahvin dangled it in front of Bandana’s face like a treat. “Here. It’s telepathically activated so be careful not to transmit into it the thought…”, Nahvin paused for a moment as if afraid saying it aloud would trigger the anti-mater in Bandana’s body. “… ‘tick-tock’. Take it and let’s get on with the hunt.”

The mutant Boxer greedily snatched it from the demon’s clutches and stuffed it into a pouch attached to his mostly empty utility belt. At long last, he was free to make up his own mind. He was overcome with emotion and excited to finish the job so he could go home.

“Not a problem.”, the happy puppy said with a smile. “I don’t even have T.P.”

With that stresser out of his mind Bandana did as they asked. Cautiously proceeding down the path the Boxer noticed that his surroundings were silent. Not a single audible noise filled the air save a slight rustling of pine and leaves in the light wind. But the more he thought about it, he hadn’t heard a single bird all day. He surmised that perhaps in this immense forest of death nothing dared to make a noise lest they become something else’s lunch.

As he neared the tank, Bandana noticed something else that began to make him feel a bit better. One of the tracks of the tank appeared to have snapped. With it lying on the ground behind the turretless tank, the wheels on the left side were bare and caked in dirt. Even the tracks changed, showing where the tractioned belt came off and where the wheels tried in vain to get some grip in the grassy soil. It appeared as if the pack had to abandon the tracked vehicle and continue on by foot.

But being the paranoid type he was, that wasn’t enough to convince him that it was safe. Reaching out with his psychic senses the Dog Boy felt his surroundings searching for any psychic signatures or stray emotions near by. There were some critters in the area, but nothing like a Dog Boy or their Psi-Stalker leader. There wasn’t even the slightest hint of danger in the air. As best as he could tell, it was safe as this forest got. But just to be sure he opened the rear entrance and took a quick step back, just in case the Dog Boys were using the tanks environmental shielding to mask their signatures. But still nothing beyond their smell. In fact the tank reeked of the smell of urine. Bandana speculated that an inexperienced mutt got scared when they lost the track.

“Won’t be long now.” Bandana said to himself based on how fresh their collective smell was, casually sitting down on the rear of the tank.

* * * * *

Rachel used her small steel mirror to peek over the back of the central gunner’s seat and spotted the back of the feral Dog Boy. As she already knew, he couldn’t detect her on any psionic level even on her worst day thanks to her null-void, a natural surrounding field that made her and special psychics like her a supernatural black hole. But she was concerned about her body scent, which was why she had Blue pop up and hose down one of the benches in the back when Tyrus mentioned there was a Dog Boy among the hunters. Blue was happy to oblige and ‘mark his territory’ the old fashioned way. Upon inspecting the reverse image of the feral’s back as he sat in the entry’s frame, feet dangling outside, the aberrant Psi-Stalker was pleased to see him fooled into letting his guard down.

With a slow and deliberate motion Rachel activated the radio microphone in her helm. “OK, boys. Move in and shut the door.”, she whispered over the radio. “Call in when in position.”
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

Another AWESOME chapter! Thank you Dead Boy for posting a new one. I hope your test went well!
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

I'm kicking this back to the top! That way it'll be easier to others to read and for Deadboy to update!
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Aramanthus wrote:I'm kicking this back to the top! That way it'll be easier to others to read and for Deadboy to update!


Now if only one of the mods would make it a Sticky too. :D
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

Do it this thread deserves that!!! :D
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

Fingers crossed. I should see if they could do that for a couple of other threads.
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Hounds of the Hunt ~ Part Twelve "The Imperfect Trap"

Seeing Bandana take a casual seat in the tank’s doorframe and wave for him to come, Nahvin fully rounded the path’s corner and cautiously approached. Rakkah kept no more than three steps behind, far enough to show respect but close enough to leap into the path of a blast intended to harm his better. The closer he got, the more detail he could see. The evidence told the tale of the tank’s fate, but the High Lord wasn’t convinced that that tale wasn’t entirely falsified. “Rakkah, what do you see?”

Using his natural two and magical third eye, embedded in his forehead through cruel and painful mystic means, Rakkah scanned the surrounding area as best he could. “Nothing. But nothing’s certain.”, he said in a hushed voice.

Given his protector’s uncertainty, Nahvin called upon one of the powers in his Eylor Helm and looked at his surroundings through the ‘eyes of the wolf’, enabling him to see in various spectrums of light, both natural and otherwise. He too saw nothing out of the ordinary. But that wasn’t enough to satisfy him. Something wasn’t right. That much he knew. Coming to a stop so he could concentrate, he again called upon the powers of his helm willing it to cast one of its innate spells, the clairvoyant granting spell of Oracle.

“With your permission, Lord, I’m going to investigate.”, Rakkah said to the one he worshiped.

“Fine.”, Nahvin replied with his eyes shut as the magic spell began to take effect in his mind’s eye.

* * * * *

From under the Grinning Skull, Blue and Thumper crawled forward from the substantial foxhole they dug under it’s belly. The hole was wide enough to accommodate the lengths of their bodies and deep enough to allow them to stay out of view while giving the illusion of there being nothing out of the ordinary under the tank to those down the path. And should anything go wrong, the tank’s trapdoor was just overhead, unlocked so they could seek the protection of the armored vehicle in a moment’s notice if need be.

As they peeked over the edge of the foxhole they could see the four-armed demon that got Rock, still a fair distance beyond the dangling legs of the feral Dog Boy. Careful not to make any noise or quick motions that would draw any attention to them, the two kill hounds positioned and aimed their weapons from the cover of shadows. Thumper had some difficulty in being discreet with his massive missile rifle, but was able to rest it on the edge of the foxhole without alarming the feral. Blue on the other hand didn’t have any trouble keeping stealthy. The particle beam projector attached to his mechanical arm was relatively compact and the ion blaster on his shoulder protruded forward less than his own snout. The clunkiest part of the Doberman’s weapon system was the power-pack firmly secured to his back, its connecting cables providing energy to both of his tools of the trade. As Blue aimed the particle beam on his forearm, it stood ready to emit an aiming laser which the micro-turreted ion blaster would automatically zero in on as well. With a squeeze of his bionic thumb on the triggering stud on the side of his index finger, both would fire as one. Even so, if he and his partner couldn’t stay concealed and undetected for just a while longer, none of that would matter.

With stealth being the key to the ambush the two Kill Hounds did their best to maintain their focus and concentration on their psychic powers. Blue with his mind block technique, which effectively made him non-existent on the psychic level, and Thumper with his masking technique, which though didn’t completely blot out his psychic sent, it did make him indistinguishable from any other non-psychic creature. As far as the traitor dog’s senses were concerned, Thumper was nothing more than a squirrel, a bug, or maybe a gardener snake. The other dogs of the pack weren’t born with stealthy psi-powers such as theirs. They had to rely on their knowledge of their own Psi-hound psychic senses in order to remain hidden from the feral. Mainly their powers’ greatest limitation; a limited range.

“Foxhole, ready.”, the Doberman kill hound whispered into his radio so faintly he was afraid no one heard it, but it was necessary with the feral no more than a meter or so away. But his doubts were alleviated when Thumper gave him an assuring confident nod.

Meanwhile, Boone Dog and Razor were advancing from their hidden position in the forest’s west flank. Their movements were moderately slow and careful not to make a single solitary noise that betrayed the Dog Boys’ clandestine procession. The second the four-armed beast came into view through the trees they could already see its back and the spiny tail that waved back and forth in a continuous fluid motion. The sight of the vile creature’s pompous stance and stride made Boone Dog simmer, and its pervasive psychic stench just about made both of the trackers physically ill. The Bloodhound and Beagle held their position with the hunter set in their gun sights. Razor locked his aim on the creature’s center mass, ready to let loose a barrage of micro-fusion ballistic grenades from his venerable C-14 “Fire Breather”. Razor, being identically armed, followed suit and waited for the sign. They would have preferred to come in closer but feared doing so would tip off the feral Boxer. He might pick up their scents, both psychic and physical.

“West flank. We’re good to go.”, Boone Dog said a few seconds after Blue called in his readiness.

* * * * *

As Rakkah’s departing footsteps faded form Nahvin’s auditory perception, the spell induced swirls of colors and images began to come more coherent and recognizable. In the High Lord’s brain, the mental image slowly reverted from a blurry picture to something vaguely more vivid, but still distorted. The vision showed Rakkah walking down a path towards something, a hazy mass of some kind. A few seconds later the deformed mass came into focus. It was the tank not 50 meters in front of the High Lord! Suddenly the point of view in the vision changed, showing Rakkah walking away from Nahvin himself. He saw himself showing some kind of display of emotion, shouting something and waving his hands. As the Conservator came to a standstill and turned to face his master, the four-armed hunter was suddenly enveloped in explosive fire and pelted with various destructive beams and streams of energy. The sensation of dread engulfed the High Lord like a flood of blood.

Instantly Nahvin’s eyes snapped open and he was terrified to see his loyal bodyguard and servant exactly where he was in the spell induced vision.

“Rakkah!”, Nahvin shouted, hoping to avert the future he just witnessed. “It’s a trap!”

* * * * *

Bishop and Jersey were given the toughest job of the pack. They were to cover the east flank of the ambush’s triad. That meant that they had to hang back as far to the North as the tank and then loop around to the South as the feral Boxer approached. All without being spotted by the demon hunters, staying out of the feral’s psychic sensory range and in the time constraints of the ambush’s limited window of opportunity. Not an easy task. Which is exactly why it was those two dogs who were assigned to that part of the triad, the pack’s two most experienced and, arguably formidable Dog Boy soldiers. But as good as they were, they were late.

Bishop didn’t want to run at his full speed so the Shepherd could keep up with him, yet Jersey was still having troubles to keeping pace up with the swift Greyhound. The arc of the path he was trailblazing was too wide because he overestimated the strength of the feral’s sensory powers. A number of trees and thick bushes between him and the path prevented him from him from seeing the target. Bishop hated to admit it, but he screwed up. When he hit the tank-made trail and saw the back of the oddly armored hunter to his far right, the degree of his error hit home.

Jersey, not ten steps behind Bishop, sensed the supernatural fiend before he caught up to the Greyhound and saw it to his right. He could tell it was the wrong demon from it’s psychic sent alone. The sigh of it only confirmed what his other senses already told him. Suddenly the creature jolted and yelled a warning to its partner in Dragonese. There was no more time. The pack would have to make due without his and Bishop’s guns. “Go! Go! Go!”, Jersey barked into his helm’s radio.

* * * * *

Nahvin again yelled to warn his servant, both verbally and telepathically to guarantee he’d be heard. But deep down, he knew he was too late to do anything. The vision told him so. But still he hoped that that particular future might yet be averted though there simply wasn’t enough time. Had he even a few seconds more he might have been able to use his enlightenment of what was yet to be to his advantage. His only hope was that Rakkah might yet survive the onslaught. The clairvoyant image may have displayed the attack, but maybe not his death.

* * * * *

Still sitting in the open frame of the tank’s rear hatch, Bandana began to casually kick his feet in the air at the knees, cooking up a reasonable story in his mind so he could B.S. his way through an explanation to the two demons. They were expecting him to be their tracker, which probably meant they were expecting him to know everything that happened based solely on the imprints on the grassy ground and smells in the air. He was a bred and trained to be a soldier, not a tracker, but they didn’t know that. And even if he did have a better nose for tracking, he was at least three years out of practice. Frankly Bandana was surprised the Coalition States hadn’t retired his breed from service yet. He and those of his breed weren’t the fastest, the strongest, the smartest, nor even the bravest or most loyal. Back in the day he kept expecting his Human masters to relegate him to manual labor duties, but they never did. Well, no more than the rest. His superior’s frequently told him “You’re a soldier. A killer! A fur coated razorblade and death incarnate! You think the CS is going to waste talent like yours?” whenever he voiced his concern. Bandana missed having affirmations yelled in his ear. The sergeants may have been rough on him, but they always made him feel like a welcomed and needed member of the pack.

Bandana was so busy day dreaming he almost didn’t notice the hand grabbing him by the scruff of his neck. Before he could protest the mutant Boxer was yanked into the tank’s hold and crashed tumbling into the sparsely padded seat of the urine soaked bench. As the Dog Boy regained his senses he saw the unbelievably tall Psi-Stalker as she stepped in front of him with a plasma cannon on her back and a taser rifle in hand.

“Where did you…?”, Bandana asked, confused about why his sixth sense didn’t warn him about her. Then it hit him. He was never in danger. And as for the two Atlantians, he didn’t give a damn about them so the psychic warning wouldn’t have extended to them. He couldn’t sense danger if there wasn’t any coming. A fraction of a second after that thought passed though his head, a pair of armor piercing darts shot from the taser rifle, unspooling two wires behind them back to the gun. The instant they burrowed into his chest plate, a lightning bolt’s worth of volts coursed though his body rendering him unconscious on the spot.

* * * * *

Nahvin re-witnessed what he saw in his spell spawned vision. Before he could react, Rakkah was hit by four streaming missiles which enveloped him in a massive fireball. Following on instantly after, a flurry of grenades from the side made the ball of flame and desolation even more deadly and furious, sending pieces of shrapnel an earthly debris flying in all directions. Before the glow of the blast could subside a viscous assault of particle and ion beams immediately accompanied the instant inferno, a few of which missing the target and streaming through the sphere of concessive flames and smoke. Under such an onslaught even Nahvin began to doubt the durability of his bodyguard’s magically forged and grafted hide.

The High Lord began to cast a spell to aid the Conservator, but couldn’t. The smoke from the explosives completely obscured his line of sight leaving Nahvin nowhere to direct the magic. But just as sudden as the attack on Rakkah, Nahvin felt a jarring hit to his side and the heat of something trying to burn its way through his armor. He turned to his right and saw two of his prey firing their weapons at him. As they pressed their attack a primal roar from where Rakkah stood filled the air and reverberated throughout the forest. Try as the dogs might, they failed to killed him. Knowing he was not alone, the High Lord turned to face his prey to let them know that no tables would be turned today.

* * * * *

Rachel’s pink eyes widened behind the blackened visor of her helm as the four-armed demon came staggering out of the smoke filled crater, ready to charge with ebon blades drawn and roaring like the beast of prey it was. The sight sent a chill down her spine nearly freezing her like a sculpture, just as it stunned her dogs. But as it charged her, blood weeping down the natural creases and from damage induced cracks in its thick hide like armor, her ear caught the beginning of a magical incantation. She knew at that juncture that she couldn’t allow it to weave that spell.

As the beast spit out the last syllable of its incantation designed to freeze all in that moment of time except for himself, which would enable him to make his escape, Rachel focused her will and filled the air around the beast with a charge of negative psionic energy. Just enough to negate the slightest amount of magic power the beast put into the sorcery, making the desired effect of the spell die a crib death.

Confounded and confused about what just happened, the beast’s eyes squinted harder, enraged that his words of power were somehow muted. But somehow he knew the armor clad woman in the tank was responsible, and she would pay dearly.

“Fire!”, West said into her open mic, commanding her boys to let the beast have another taste of death. Hopefully a lasting one this time. This time she added to the fusillade with her own plasma cannon, hoping it would be enough to put the monster down.

Once more the three-eyed predator found himself enveloped in intense fire and steel shattering concessive force. The sensation of his chest crushing in on his organs and his heart combusting into ash was so painful and surreal at the same time. He wondered if the experience was real or some hellish nightmare. Perhaps it was a vision sent to him by the High Lord as punishment for something he had done wrong. But as his eyes melted down and merged with the boiling flesh of his face, and skull began to crack and cave in, the hunter realized he had fallen prey to his prey. What was left of Rakkah fell to his knees, about to collapse into a mound of his smoldering remains. Then he though the worst was over Rakkah was struck with the most agonizing torment that he ever felt, which given his life was saying quite a bit.

As his soul began to separate from the mystically enhanced flesh it once called home, it began to be ripped asunder and drawn into the Human that somehow canceled his spell. He could feel her suckling upon the reserves of magic power he held in his person, reserved for the sole purpose of empowering the spells at his command. But along with that energy, she was devouring the essence of his spirit as well. To her it may have been all basically the same thing, but to him the Psi-Stalker was consuming that which might have lived on forevermore. What would become of very non-corporeal thing that made up who and what he was, was suddenly cast in doubt. Only the pain of not knowing if his soul could survive being preyed upon and consumed as food eclipsed the anguish of his essence being rending apart.

* * * * *

As the two Dog Boy soldiers to his right pressed their attack, Nahvin believed they were there to stall him until the others were done with Rakkah. This assumption was reinforced by the appearance of a third, smaller Psi-hound, draped in foliage and some kind of camouflaging suit. As soon as the miniature Psi-hound appeared, he too assailed the High Lord with laser fire from his smaller weapon. Nahvin knew that if he stayed and fought on their terms, the pack had a chance of slaying him too. It was time they had their advantage taken away.

With the speed of thought, the High Lord commanded his almost living helm to cast a spell. A heartbeat and plasma scorch later, Nahvin’s visage shifted in nature making him invisible in the Dog Boys’ range of sight. As they began to rush his last known position he uttered a simple incantation and his feet left the earth as he took flight as easily as an eagle to the sky. Out of sight and leaving no footprints to follow or footfalls to hear, the Psi-hounds had no way to track him and no way to aim their weapons. At least so Nahvin thought.

Nahvin allowed himself a taunting chuckle as the two canine soldiers lunged through the air to tackle his last seen position, hitting nothing and landing on top one another. “Now you will learn what it is to face a High Lord of the Splugorth, pups.” Nahvin couldn’t help himself. The additional taunt was sure to send them into a frenzy. But instead he discovered he underestimated them yet again, or at least one of them.

The moment he spoke the taller of the two dogs looked up directly into the hunter’s eyes and growled behind its metallic mask while the other asked a question in a language unknown to him, perhaps Trade Four again. Nahvin knew when to make his escape, and that time was now. As he soared skyward a pulse of laser fire struck him in the back of his armor while a streak of gaseous plasma shot beneath him. As the lasers struck one final time he noticed how his armor barely held up to their flurry of blasts. However, it wouldn’t have to sustain another hit. Before they could even try, the High Lord was behind the cover of several trees and getting deeper into the forest every second.

But even as he fled, and despite the loss of his trusted servant proving they could kill him too, a smile beamed across Nahvin’s jagged toothy maw. He had what he wanted at last. Prey that could fight back like few others could. Prey that would require all his brilliants to sneak up on or catch unaware. Prey worthy of all the time, effort and money he put into this hunt. Prey that he wouldn’t soon forget after the hunt was over.
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

WOW Deadboy! That was another AWESOME chapter! Pleaae keep it coming!
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Check it out. Hounds has been made a Sticky! I just wanted to thank you guys for your support in making that happen. I don't think it would have happened without you. You guys are the best. :love:

I'm really feeling the love over here. :hug:
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

sword-dancer wrote:Hunters Hunted.


Actually that's almost what the original tile was going to be, "Hunt of the Hunters". But then I figured it was a bit too telling and bland, so I changed it prior to the posting of part one.
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

I'm glad to support your story Dead boy! It's a great one!
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Hounds of the Hunt ~ Part Thirteen "Bandana Blues"

“Think he’s coming back?”, Bishop rhetorically asked Jersey.

“You wish.”, Tyrus answered for the German Shepherd as he approached, pulling leaf filled twigs out of his camo-suit as he neared.

“Let’s regroup with the others.”, Jersey said as he looked in the direction he was aimlessly shooting his plasma cannon seconds before. It was times like these when he wished he had Bishop’s special talent to see those magically rendered invisible.

Just then a loud but distant bang filled their ears and reverberated through the trees. Jersey’s, Tyrus’ and Bishop’s ears instantly tilted towards its source, the Grinning Skull tank. Without hesitation the three of them took off like a shot with the Greyhound instantly in the lead. Jersey followed with Tyrus surprisingly not far behind. As Bishop neared he noticed West face down on the ground, just then getting back to her feet. Meanwhile the two Kill Hounds scrambled to get out from under the tank, and the trackers too were closing in from the side.

“Skipper!”, Bishop howled as he skidded to a halt and helped the Psi-Stalker to her feet. “You OK?”

“Little bastard shot me!”, West angrily shouted. “Blue, Thumper, fetch.”, she said with a snap of her fingers and pointing into the tank.

As she turned Bishop noticed the blemish on the back of her body armor. It wasn’t even dinged. Only a gray smudge where the silver bullet splattered and ricocheted from. A credit to the materials used in all their armors.

The other dogs arrived just as the Kill Hound duo tossed the feral Boxer traitor out the rear door, landing on the dirt with a thud. As the mutant Boxer wearily got his feet back under him, Blue grabbed the traitor by the rigid collar of his old armor and dead-lifted the feral with one hand. Before Bandana could take a breath to protest he found himself confronted by a pair of claw like vibro-blades shooting out of Blue’ bionic fist with a metallic snap, stopping just shy of his face and threatening to gouge out his brain through his eyes. A second later the ion blaster on his shoulder turret joined in and aimed at the Boxer’s head as well.

“Blue!”, Rachel shouted, stopping the zealous Kill Hound Doberman from murdering the smaller Boxer.

Thumper then exited the tank with a large automatic slug thrower in hand. The very one Bandana used to shoot West with. “I know this gun. Look’s fami… famier…fam…”, he stuttered barely able to contain his rage.

“Very familiar.”, Jersey agreed with the dim Rottwieler, turning a viscous glare to the Boxer. “Looks like our rock star’s lucky ‘fifty’.”

“Let me see it.” Boone said. After Thumper handed it over, Boone Dog instantly recognized the gaudy gold plated hand cannon. The scent on its grip only confirmed it to the Bloodhound. “Still smells of Rock’s death too.” Holding the grip and warm barrel, Boone Dog closed his eyes and called up on his special gift.

As Boone divined what he could from the old-fashioned slug thrower, Rachel decided to question the feral before her boys ripped him apart. “Name and rank.”, she said to the feral Dog Boy.

“Sergeant Bandana.”, the Boxer said with wide-eyed terror. Though still groggy from the taser, as his nose whiskers began to melt from the close proximity to the humming lethal energy field of the Doberman’s vibro-claws, the adrenaline pumping through is veins brought him to his full senses fast enough. “I’m here on a secret recon mission for the Emperor.”

All the dogs of the pack rolled their eyes upon hearing that whopper as their empathetic psi-senses detected his blatant desperation and not an ounce of honesty.

“Try again.”, Rachel commended, slapping the Boxer on the top of his head.

“No, really!”, Bandana insisted, his eyes focusing on nothing but the humming blades as they hovered no more than an inch from his eyes. “I’m a deep cover agent and you guys just blew three years of work. You are so screwed when Prosek hears about this.”

“You are so full of crap.”, Tyrus said, not needing his empathic senses to feel the deceit oozing off the Boxer. “Just kill the little bastard already.”

Focusing on the custom engraved gun and the thought of the last person to possess it, Boone Dog began to read the psychic imprints on the weapon. After a moment the first impression hit him. “This guy is a spineless weasel.”, Boone told his pack. But there was more to learn. Flashes of moments belonging to all those who held the weapon began to flow through the Bloodhound’s mind, but Boone Dog decided to turn it off when he learned enough. “He looted Lucus’s lucky gun off his headless corpse. Didn’t even pity him one bit. Dirty mutt was even going to help them kill us.”

“That’s all I need to hear.”, West said. “Do ‘im, Blue.”

“No! Wait A Minute!”, Bandana squealed waving his hands between his face and the energy coated claws, feet kicking his in the air. “I didn’t have a choice! They turned me into a friggin’ walking bomb! It wasn’t my fault.” Bandana’s own psychic sixth sense was turning on and off at a maddening pace as his fate was being decided by the Psi-Stalker. He could feel her teetering back and forth though his life threatening detecting sixth sense. Frantically he retrieved the medallion from the pouch on his belt as proof. “Here’s proof. This is the detonator.”

“Let me see that.”, Boone Dog said as he snatched the small greenish black disk by its broken chain. “Let’s just see what this little puppy’s story is.”

“Careful with that, man!”, Bandana said with panic in his eyes. “It’s telepathically activated.”

“Really?”, Razor said. “I’m not sensing any magic comin’ off it.”

“Shut up guys.”, Boone said as he coddled the medallion and closed his eyes again. “I’m trying to concentrate.” Again the Bloodhound focused on a solitary thought to determine the object’s secret. After a few seconds interpreting flashes of information Boone Dog opened his eyes, cracked a big smile and shook his head causing his big floppy ears to sway. “You are such a sucker.”

“What’s the story, Boone?”, Rachel inquired.

“What we got here is some grade ‘A’ Atlantian junk jewelry.”, the mutant Bloodhound explained

“Say what?” Bandana said in an apprehensive tone as his whole body dangled in Blue’ grasp, momentarily oblivious to the vibro-blades humming over his face.

“They got this thing for ten credits around the corner from where you were.”, Boone relayed. “You were held in check by a lie. They B.S.ed you something good.”

Bandana was stunned silent. All the things he did, all the opportunities he had to just walk away, the things he was willing to do to get it over with, it all sunk in to him like a knife through his heart. He didn’t even consider it was all a bluff. “I just wanted to go home.” he whispered through his welling tears.

Awwwww, poor little puppy. Daddy’s little girl goin’ a cry? Go on, squirt me some tears.”, Blue mocked while clenching his bionic fist tighter, ready to slam it and its claws through the feral’s face. “Can I kill him now?”

Rachel’s answer didn’t come immediately. She had to think about it for a second more. “No… Throw him in the back. We’re taking him home with us.”

“Really?”, Jersey asked, that not being the call he would have made.

“Ah, man.”, Blue moaned as he kicked the dirt like a child who didn’t get his own way. With a casual flick of his wrist the mutant Doberman sent the Boxer flying into the tank, landing with a bang and an audible “Ooof!” from the traitor.

“I don’t usually agree with Blue…”, Jersey started. “…but I think we should off the little runt… No offense Tike.”

“None taken.”, Tyrus said without missing a beat.

“That little bastard chucked a effin’ grenade at me!”, Bishop protested as he lined up with the others. “He’s the one that lured us into this mess in the first place. Come on! He’s more than earned a killin’.”

“It’s my call, not yours.”, Rachel replied. “Live with it. Besides, after being screwed by every critter on this rock, if we can get him home I bet he’ll be the most hard core Dog Boy the CS has ever seen.”

“Yea, right.”, Tyrus said, his voice oozing with sarcasm and disbelief.

“Get over it, boys.”, Rachel said. “Now shut up, suck it up, and get with the game plan time. Thumper and Jersey, put that tank track back together and get us back on the road.”

“Yes ma’am.” her trusted second in command replied with a nod of his head, not happy with the situation, but knowing when it was time to shut up and follow orders.

“The rest of you, follow me.”, West continued. “It’s time we did some hunting for a change.”

As the rest of the pack trained behind their leader, Boone Dog held back for a moment. The Bloodhound looked into the battered tank and at the Boxer that betrayed him and all his kind. With weeping eyes Bandana returned his look. Boone held nothing in his canine heart for the traitor but loathing and contempt. He considered blowing his head off right then and there, but elected not to disobey the Captain’s wishes. Instead the tracker flung the greenish black medallion at the Boxer and left it at that.

After the Bloodhound left, Bandana reached for the cheep trinket with a trembling hand and picked it up by its broken chain. After tying the chain’s ends together he looped it around his neck and lifted the greenish black disk, holding it out where he could examine it. In its scaly textured, but slightly reflective surface he could see the faces of Petey, Wild Will, and Nahvin laughing at him and his stupidity. They were never his allies, not for a moment. Not even out of convenience or necessity. They were the enemy, just like his Coalition masters taught him from birth. And if he didn’t entirely believe that before, their actions and cruel manipulations proved it to him beyond the shadow of a doubt. “Never again.”, he whispered to himself as the tears overtook him again.
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

Another very cool chapter! I think Bandana will have the last laugh on the evil Atlantean's. I think he'll be as tough as the movie star you created for the dogboys to watch. (Sorry, I can't remember his name at this time.)
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Hounds of the Hunt ~ Part Fourteen "Meditations"

With all weapons reloaded, the pack silently crept through the woods, hot on the trail of the demon that dared to hunt them. The two trackers knew that between the two of them the beast’s psychic and odiferous trail would never go cold for long. Behind them was the other four trailing no more than five meters behind, all paying extra attention to their psychic senses. Rachel considered splitting them up into two groups again, but changed her mind. She refused to make the same mistake that may have cost Rock his life.

Abruptly Boone Dog and Razor froze. As they did so the other dogs of the pack all turned their heads to the right. Rachel could feel it too and knew what was up. The demon entered the range of their senses and was approaching fast. Just as she was about to give a command, one of her sensitive psychic powers went off like and alarm in her skull. Her sixth sense was warning her that she and her pack would be in danger soon.

“Take up firing positions.”, Captain West commanded.

“He’s close.”, Razor said as he covered the direction where the demon was coming from. “But I can’t smell him yet.”

“Neither can I.”, Boone Dog admitted. He backed away as his sixth sense warned him too of the danger coming their way. “Must be using the superior version of inviso. Look sharp guys. He’s really close.”, the old dog warned drawing on over a decade of experience and the battlefields of Tolkeen.

That was Rachel’s and Bishop’s cue to start using their mutual gift. With the expenditure of their mental energy each began to see in the mystical spectrum that magicians have learned to hide in. “I don’t see him.”, Rachel said.

“Neither do I.”, Bishop said, his rifle poised and ready to fire. “But I can feel him and his magic. He’s somewhere in front of us.” The mutant Greyhound regretted saying those words because he knew what West’s next words were going to be before she did.

“Bish, take point and call out when you see anything.”, the Psi-Stalker ordered.

Carefully Bishop walked forward, cautious not to make any noise as he did so. His senses told him the beast was so close the Dog Boy soldier should be able reach out and touch him, but still he saw noting. His full helm prevented him from smelling anything beyond his own bad breath, but that didn’t really matter because his breed made poor trackers anyhow.

Jersey watched as Bishop rounded another tree trunk. Gradually a muted roar slowly came into his perceptions and a flash of a blade seemed to materialize out of nowhere, swinging from behind the tree. As the magically honed edge cut into the chest of Bishop’s armor the rest of the demon appeared for all to see. Bishop was flung back, slamming into another tree more than a dozen feet back. The thud was music to Jersey’s ears because if the magic blade penetrated, his friend would have been bisected and dead on the spot.

“Fire!”, West shouted with flames in her eyes.

Blue planted the aiming laser-dot of his mechanical appendage on the monster’s torso and let cut loose with a massive dual stream of destructive energy. With devastating results the particle beam cannon and the ion blaster on the Doberman’s arm and shoulder struck the demon’s center mass, chewing into its unseen layers of magic defenses with blast after blast of the fierce volley fire. In conjunction with brutal barrage of ballistic micro-fusion grenades from Track’s and Razor’s rifles and the other’s support fire, the assault was more than enough to overwhelm the creature’s defenses, or so they believed.

* * * * *


Nahvin averted eyes from the point blank explosions and reeled back as the combined destructive forces obliterated his defenses. The magic force field emanating from his protective Talisman of Armor popped like a balloon. The magically summoned added layer of protection, from the so-called spell of invincible armor, battered nearly to smithereens as if it were nothing, though not entirely destroyed. All his precautions weren’t enough to keep his prey from nearly scorching his ornate body armor and flesh underneath. Having his lavish custom battle armor already tarnished the earlier salvo his suffered, should his magic barriers fail he would be vulnerable. Another wave of this assault and Nahvin would no doubt suffer the same fate as his departed servant Rakkah. He underestimated the power of their weapons, but even so they had no idea what they were up against. Still, all his magical precautions were justified.

Before the Psi-hounds could inflict any more damage, the High Lord rambled off a quick incantation. As he did so he could sense the Human amongst the dogs flooding the air about him with some kind of energy, but her timing was off and she failed to interfere with his spell, tipping her own hand in the process for the next time they met. The moment the last syllable spilled over his teeth everything around him was frozen in time, except for Nahvin, allowing him the opportunity he needed to disengage from the skirmish and retreat to gather his power elsewhere. As he turned and took to the air the demon lord noticed the tree he laid in wait behind. Its trunk was completely vaporized and the remaining top was frozen in a state of free fall. ‘Shame’, he thought, but only because it was falling away from the dogs. Regardless the High Lord figured he didn’t need any help from chance because he was beginning to better understand his prey and now knew how to take their heads as trophies once and for all.

With little time to waste Nahvin took flight and departed the area as fast as his magic could take him. The sound of the tree crashing to the earth let Nahvin know the short-lived duration of the spell had elapsed. It served its purpose though, and granted him the time he required to remove himself form the dire situation before it got any worse.

* * * * *


“How’s it going, boys?”, Rachel said as she came into view of her ride, hobbled as it may have been. The sounds of a hammer hitting metal could be heard reverberating through the trees for almost a mile out. She prayed it wouldn’t draw the attentions of anything else. But then again, if something was going to draw attention to her and her pack, it probably would have been all the explosions. Either way, leaving in the near to immediate future would be a good thing.

“Just about there.” Jersey said back through his heavy panting.

As she neared, Rachel and the others could see Thumper swinging a ten-pound sledgehammer into the side of the tank’s tread. The pin was just about back in its place in the track but apparently its last inch of travel was fighting him.

“Ah, excuse me.”, Bandana said in a mouse of a voice, peeking his head out of the rear of the tank. “Captain Psi-Stalker… Nullifier… or whatever you are.”

As her dogs went about their business Rachel walked over to the willing captive.
“What?”, she said showing her utter lack of patience for him.

“I… I was just wondering…”, the Boxer stuttered. “…how are we getting home?”

Rachel grinned at the wayward mutt and patted him on his head. She could see that he was a little vulnerable and needed to be reincorporated into the pack of the CS. He needed to know he even had a home to go to and pack that wouldn’t treat him like a dispensable tool. Rachel didn’t quite trust him yet though. He could be playing on her emotions and the Psi-Stalker could see she wasn’t alone in that assessment. Out of the corner of her eye she could see both Bishop and Tyrus keeping an eye on the situation, both with their lasers at the ready. “Let me worry about that. For now, you get some rest.”, she said avoiding the answer.

“You sure?”, Bandana said, feeling a bit rejected by her answer. “Maybe I could help.”

West thought about it for a second, and then casually pulled her lengthy pistol and held it out for the lonely dog to take. “OK, boy.”, she said in a more authoritative tone. “You want a job? Get up on the roof and stand guard while we get this tub fixed.”

As the ex-feral Dog Boy took the particle beam weapon Rachel could see Bishop tense up, ready to raise his rifle and blow the Boxer’s head off, but Rachel kept her supportive composure. “Sound out if you sense something coming Sergeant… Bandana was it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”, Bandana said, amazed that she actually gave him a weapon. And not just any weapon but her personal side arm. A hard hitting beam weapon, not some wimpy pop gun like the one that he looted earlier. After shaking off his awe, the dog did as instructed by his new alpha.

After turning her back on the traitor, West gave Bishop a glance. In response he gave her a small motion of his head, gesturing her to come over to him. “Well?”, she quietly said as she approached the Greyhound and Min Pin to his far side.

“His emotions didn’t feel treacherous or duplicitous.”, Bishop said in a audible but hushed voice. “As long as he thinks it’s in his best interest to stick with us, I think he’ll stay loyal.”

“Good. Keep an eye on him.”, Rachel said, and then turned to Tyrus. “Before we get going grab someone and see if you can find that four-armed freak’s swords. Should be around that crater. If we get home it’d be nice to have some proof we were here.”

As the others went about their business, Blue leaned against the front of the tank reflecting on the day’s work. Casually he reached up to his right ear and removed the black plastic earring from the bottom of the row of jewelry, leaving behind a hole and six golden earrings on his pointy ear’s outer edge. Careful not to drop it the Doberman kill hound held it between his index and thumb and pulled a small utility knife from one of the leather pouches on his belt with his free hand. With pride Blue began to carve a small but discernable notch in it for the day’s kill. The new scratch brought the total number of notches in black ring the to nine, symbolizing nine glorious kills. Blue just stood there for a minute admiring the representation of the victory he took part in. “One more kill and it’s time for another gold.”, he mused with a pleased smile and a blood lusting glint in his eye.

* * * * *

Nahvin sat under the shade of a tree, meditating to rejuvenate the energies he’d expended and to get some much needed rest as well. As he did so his body was given the chance to heal itself from the moderate damage that seeped through his defenses. In the meditative state, he was of an absolute clear state of mind, at peace and still fully aware of his surroundings.

Abruptly he was snapped to a more conscious state by the noise of someone clearing his throat. Nahvin’s black eyes popped open and his heart skipped a beat. There before him was another Conservator like his deceased servant Rakkah, except shorter, less intimidating and had its third eye of Eylor imbedded in his chest instead.

“Pardon the interruption, High Lord… Nahvin I assume?”, the Conservator said to his better.

“Yes?”, Nahvin replied again closing his eyes as his concerns settled. Even though it turned out to be a Conservator, he didn’t like the fact he didn’t hear his approach. Then the High Lord opened his eyes again as he realized the Conservator wasn’t alone. The four-armed hunter had an entourage of six: two heavily augmented Kydians and four Altarian warrior women. And not a one of them rustled so much as a leaf or a blade of grass in their approach. That unnerved Nahvin even more than the death of his bodyguard.

“Do you know where you are, High Lord?”, the Conservator respectfully inquired.

“I’m a hour away from the fulfillment of the best hunt of my life.”, Nahvin answered. “Now leave me. I must finish my meditations before the trail goes cold.”

“I’m sorry, Lord Nahvin, but I can’t allow your hunt to continue.”, the Conservator informed the Splugorth statesman.

Nahvin got off the grassy earth and his feet under his frame. Even at his full height the High Lord was still only as tall as the Conservator’s chest and Eylor eye, but he wasn’t the slightest bit intimidated. “Sorry won’t even start to describe how you’ll be after I’m done with you.”, he warned, poking the Conservator’s thick pectoral and glaring into its third eye nestled between its pecks. “Tell me your name so I can you put to death for this intrusion.”

“I am Gaftha, protector of Lord Splyncryth’s refuge.”, the four-armed creature fearlessly answered. “And your hunt has intruded on the sanctity of my master’s private retreat.”

Nahvin’s voice suddenly became silent and his throat dry. “He’s here?”, He’d never met the Splugorth master of Atlantis and didn’t want to under unfavorable circumstances.

“He decided to spend the day on the beach, just over a hundred miles from here.”, Gaftha said, volunteering the information hoping it would encourage the High Lord to comply with his wishes.

Hearing that, Nahvin decided to chose his next words carefully. “Then I ask you to let me finish this hunt. I swear I will conclude it quickly and without further delay.”

“No.”, Gaftha replied flatly. “They sent me and my R.E.S. team here to end this expedition of yours… right now… without making any further disturbances for Lord Splyncryth’s sensitive ears.”

“R.E.S.?”, Nahvin asked, not familiar with that term. “What is that.”

“Refugee extermination squad.”, the Conservator answered.

“You’re here to hunt. Fine.”, Nahvin said, trying to think of a way to talk them into let him finish his adventure. “Then let me accompany you. Both our needs can be satisfied.”

Gaftha made a deep sigh. He hated dealing with High Lords. They were always so stubborn and difficult to work with, always negotiating to get most out of any situation. And he should know. He used to be one before he elected to undergo the change. And what a liberating change it was, regardless of how painful his ‘transformation’ was. “We appreciate the offer but that won’t be necessary.”

“And why’s that?”, Nahvin asked offended about being rejected.

“Sensors indicate they’re heading due west, towards the coast.”, the Conservator explained. Nahvin tried to interject his thoughts there, but Gaftha cut him off. “And Lord Splyncryth has made a wager with his guest. He believes once they get to the beach they’ll keep on going into the Terror Gulf and attempt to traverse the Demon Sea. His esteemed guest has wagered they will instead turn and skirt the coastline. I have little doubt my Lord also wagered they’d actually make it to their home land and then tasked his navy to make their voyage an uneventful one.”

“Surely they aren’t foolish enough to brave the sea. Your lord is in danger!”, Nahvin asserted. “For his safety, we must press the hunt!” The High Lord knew it wasn’t true. It would take far more than the petty weapons his prey had to even irritate Splyncryth, but it was his last chance to try to get his way.

“I have my orders, and now so do you.”, Gaftha dryly said. “Now please, leave. Return to your home.”

Nahvin thought about it for a second before nodding his head in the affirmative. “Very well.”, he said subserviently. The High Lord quietly gathered his two weapons and dawned his Eylor Helm of Omnipotence. His pieces of armor were so badly damaged Nahvin elected to leave them behind. The protective ware served its purpose during the trap that claimed his servant’s life. “I bid the life devoid of defeat, Gaftha.” With that Nahvin uttered an incantation under his breath and vanished, blinking out of existence without a trace.

Gaftha used his Eylor eye implant to scan the area to see if the High Lord simply turned invisible or attempted some kind of magical trickery. But that did not prove to be the case. Nahvin was gone. With that done he gestured to one of the pig faced Kydians behind him.

The Kydian withdrew a radio and keyed in a channel. “R.E.S. 529 here. The High Lord went back to his master’s dimension. Returning to base camp.” As a confirmation was transmitted back the seven of them began their trek through the woods, none of them making a further sound in the slightest. But before completely disappearing amongst the trees and foliage, Gaftha stopped and glanced back at where Nahvin stood just a moment before and made a thoughtful grunt.
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Snuffy
Dungeon Crawler
Posts: 353
Joined: Tue May 02, 2006 3:28 pm
Location: Prospect, Connecticut
Contact:

Unread post by Snuffy »

aw-ha, there's always a bigger cheese near. So, will Nahvin still continue his pursuit? or was he really sent back lurking? Wondering what will happen if the group skirts the coast line other than the big splooge losing his bet?

Thanks Deadboy for another great chapter!!!!!
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

I'm betting Nahvin isn't finished yet. I'm sure will see him again. It's going to be interesting to watch the extremination squad get extreminated! :D Please keep the story going! An excellent chapter Dead boy!
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

Hounds of the Hunt ~ Part Fifteen "Plan of Attack"

As the Grinning Skull rolled through the forest again towards the coast and beyond, in a race against its own limited life span, Rachel decided it was time to let Bandana in on the escape plan. How they were going to take to the waters separating Atlantis and North America, that is if they could make it to the coast alive. All in all, she thought he took it pretty well.

“Are you ****’in kidding me!”, Bandana gawked. “That’s your plan? That’s suicide!”

“Technically, it can be done.”, Rachel told her new dog in the most reassuring tone she could muster despite the doubts she harbored herself. “This thing may not be all that great of a ride but she is amphibious, has full environmental seals and systems, and I’ve been told it’s weight distribution is bottom heavy so she’ll automatically right herself when we get rolled.”

When she rolls?”, Bandana gulped hard. “Not might, but when?”

“Oh yea, that reminds me.”, Boone Dog said, pulling the celebratory bottle of cola from his mouth as he did so. “How ‘bout a betting pool on how many times we flip this thing out at sea?”

“I am so down with that.”, Bishop piped in, still riding a high off the victory and success of the ambush. “How much we talking?”

“I’m thinking fifty credits each.”, the Bloodhound figured, thinking that amount enough to keep things interesting.

“Puhh!”, Bishop mocked. “Not worth my time. How about two-hundred?”

“You’re on.”, Boone Dog coolly replied with a slight nod of his head. “Tike, you’re in charge of remembering who calls what numbers. I’ll take four rolls myself.”

“Duly noted.”, Tyrus said tapping his temple. “And I’ll put my self down for twelve.”

“Six times.”, Bishop boldly proclaimed holding up three fingers on each hand.

“How long will be in the water?” Razor asked, putting his razor sharp mind to the estimation.

“Let me think.”, Tyrus paused. “It’s about a twenty-four-hundred klick trip and this thing can go forty-eight in the water…”

“Thirty.” Jersey corrected Tyrus, speaking over his shoulder from the helm. “I don’t want to push the engine any harder than we have to out there.”

“Ok, thirty.”, Tyrus conceded. “So it would take us eighty hours. Say a hair over three days to make land fall… barring any sea monsters, storms and mishaps of course.”

“Cool.”, Razor said nonchalantly as probabilities and simulations raced through his head. “Put me down for eight flips then.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this!”, Bandana exclaimed bordering on a squeal. “Haven’t you guys ever heard of the Demon Sea? Nothing gets through it! We’re all good as dead! Stop the tank! I’m getting out of this death box right now!” The Boxer stood up and turned to the door.

“Calm down, ya pansy ass drama queen.”, Blue said, reaching up and forcing Bandana back into his seat. “You’re the most gutless mutt I’ve ever seen.”

“This is what, still June?”, Tyrus asked Bandana.

“I think. So what?”, the panicking Boxer said.

“Then based on the north star’s position we should be just above the triangle.”, Tyrus explained. “Well, most of it anyhow. We’ll still probably pass through the northern tip. But hey, no risk, no reward.”

As the other dogs threw out their guesses of how many times the tank would flip over at sea, Bandana looked for any seatbelts the bench might offer, maybe hiding in the tail-trough. As he searched, the Boxer was amazed about how calm the pack was when they had every right to be as scared and paranoid as he was. They still didn’t know if the coast was hours, days or even weeks away, and Nahvin was still out there hunting them for sport. If that weren’t enough they already lost one of their own to the demon and nearly lost another. Frankly, Bandana was surprised there weren’t more Dog Boys dead on the field of battle out there.

Just as that thought passed through Bandana’s mind the entire tank instantly came to an abrupt stop, as if they rammed the side of an invisible cliff. With no seatbelts there to be used, all of the occupants in the back flew forward like a collection of rag-dolls, slamming into the tank’s internal framework and falling on top each other. Fortunately their body armors took the brunt of the force leaving them mostly unharmed.

“What the hell was that?!?”, Blue cried out from the bottom of the instant dog pile.

“Everyone alright?”, Rachel asked as she undid her four point seatbelt and scrambled to help them off one another.

“No.”, Boone Dog whimpered from under to two other Psi-hounds, his cola freely pouring on the floor beneath him into his short coat of reddish-brown fur. “I think I twisted a leg.”

Before she could examine it herself, hoping his leg wasn’t broken, the tank was lightly shook by something striking it from the rear. Even if she still wanted to ask what it was, the tank’s engine and gears strained and whined so loud no one would have heard her anyhow. That is until Jersey pulled back on the throttle with his bionic hand to mute the unhealthy mechanical noises. Meanwhile, Razor moved over to the functioning gunnery station and swung its targeting optics around looking to identify what was out there. As the mini-turret spun around Razor saw only trees near and far. That is till it hit barring 2-7-7. What he saw in that direction disturbed him to no end. It was the demon they briefly met in the woods, but it was covered in squirming and writhing tentacles, snakes, worms and leaches like something out of his worst nightmares. Before getting his nerves back together again the hunter aimed some kind of weapon at the mini-turret and knocked out its optics. From then on the monitor showed nothing but snow.

“He’s back.”, Razor grimly said to the pack. “About sixty meters behind us and lookin’ pissed.”

“Alright, boys.”, West started as the tank lightly shook again, suffering another hit from outside. “We don’t have a lot of options here. Open the door and pile on!”

Razor and Thumper were the first two to gather their weapons and get to the rear entry. With his free hand Razor grabbed the handle and gave it a turn to open the heavily armored door. But despite the handle turning all the way, and the sound of the latching mechanism audibly disengaging from the entry’s frame, the big steel door wouldn’t budge. Not having to be told, Thumper took the smaller dog’s place and put his significantly stronger back to the task. But try and strain as he did, the door wouldn’t budge so much as a hair.

“What about the top hatch?”, Captain West quickly asked, assessing the situation.

“Yea, we finally got it to open.”, Blue proclaimed as he stood up and reached for its overhead handle. With a minor squeal the rusty bolt pulled free of its strike-plate, but when the hulking Doberman pushed on the circular hatch, it still wouldn’t budge.

“Escape hatch won’t move either.”, Tyrus announced having taken the initiative and tried to open the rectangular hatch in the floor.

“We’re trapped!”, Bandana nearly shrieked as the flashbacks of captivity came crashing back to him. Tightly holding the grip and barrel of the pistol Rachel gave him earlier, the Boxer considered his options and the prospect of suicide before being taken prisoner again was at the top of his list.

* * * * *

Nahvin’s plan was starting as well as he conceived it. Knowing he required the element of surprise, he had to spring his trap without endangering the lives of his prey. Otherwise their sixth sense would have warned them of the danger as it had in the past. So as the tank passed his hiding place, he cast a simple spell on the vehicle, sealing all its doors shut so it would be impossible to exit until the time of his choosing. There after, a properly placed Carpet of Adhesion spell stopped the dogs’ shabby vehicle in its tracks and would snare those foolish enough to charge out before looking. From that point on it would be a matter of keeping them disorganized and off balance so they wouldn’t be able to attack as a group. If nothing else Rakkah’s death taught him what a mistake it would be to allow that again. Picking them off one at a time as the opportunities presented themselves was the way to win this fight, the High Lord surmised. Between the magic at his command and, should he need it, the Dragon Rod in his hand, Nahvin believed the pack would fall before him in a mater of minutes.

The High Lord considered just hitting them and their armored vehicle with an Annihilation spell to take his prey out with one decisive devastating shot. But the situation before with the Conservator Gaftha forced him to use a teleportation spell which consumed much of this already low energies making that an impossibility. Besides which, where was the sport in that? Fighting them in this way was more dangerous and gave the Psi-hounds a chance to take his head as a trophy instead. Waging this final battle with lesser spells was a truer test of his skills and ability, and would make for a grander adventure.

* * * * *

Upon hearing the news from Tike, West reached and retried the emergency exit in the flooring of the tank, but the Min Pin was right. Even the small hatch wouldn’t open. From the corner of her eye she spotted Tike’s saddened disappointment in her lack of trust in his strength and capabilities, but there was no time to deal with that now. She immediately knew what was going on and had a good idea what the demon’s plan was. “Alright, guys, listen up!”, West said to her troops, trying prevent them from panicking blast a hole through the rear door. “Sooner or later, that door will open. When it does we have to get out of here fast or we’ll be easy pickin’s.”

With the opportunity to think things through a little more, the Psi-Stalker Captain quickly formulated her plan of attack befitting this particular foe. With strategy in mind she turned to her two trackers. “Boone Dog, Razor, he’s going to play ‘Hide & Seek’ out there so find him quick before he gets too crazy with that spell magic. If you see him, shoot and call out, but don’t get our guys with those grenades.” Wasting no time West next gave her two professional soldiers their marching orders. “Jersey, Bishop, open the non-lethals case and grab the net guns and neural maces. Snare him good, guys, then beat him into submission.” She then quickly turned to her kill hounds. “Blue, Thumper, once he’s netted get up close and slice him up like a Christmas ham. Get the blood flowing and put the fear of God in him, boys!” Then lastly West turned to the two new dogs of the pack. “Tike, … new guy, arm up. You’re sticking with me and guarding my six.”

After making their hasty preparations the pack cooled their nerves as they anxiously waited for the door to unjam. As they did, weapons ready fire, feet ready to scramble, one by one their danger sensing precognitive powers told them what they already knew. That death and danger was soon at hand and waiting for them all just outside that hatch. Unfortunately that was something they didn’t need their psychic abilities to know. And then, as suddenly as the tank came to a stop a minute before, the door slightly opened with a light metallic pop.

With battle plans firmly in mind, the pack did exactly as West commanded. The rear entry swung open and Thumper was the first to have his feet hit the ground followed immediately by Razor with ‘Fire Breather’ in hand. With the door open the rest of them could smell the reek of fresh magic out there, perhaps all around. Be that as it may have been, none of the others could get past the first two Dog Boys out the door who for some reason remained by the rear opening, effectively blocking the others inside.

“Move it, mutts!”, Bishop barked in their ears being next in line to get out.

“We can’t!”, Razor proclaimed. “Magic carpet! Our feet are stuck to the ground!”

“Damn it!”, Jersey cursed from behind Bishop. “Well don’t just stand there, guys! Shoot him!”

Seeing the monster hunter standing out in the open to admire his handy work, Razor and Thumper took a quick aim to let loose the fury of their weapons at their target through the corridor of trees. Bishop, with rifle in hand and net gun slung across his back, fired off a pulse of three nearly simultaneous beams of laser light that seemed to hit some kind of force field around the demon. A heartbeat latter Thumper cut loose the next to last volley of mini-missiles his super rifle had to offer. The small rockets streaked forward and struck their intended target. This time the force field collapsed under their tremendous potency and the hunter’s contorting and grotesque shell flailed about as the snakes and tentacles seemed to partially burn away. As for Razor, with his old ‘Fire Breather’ in hand, all the mutant Beagle needed to do was take aim, hold the secondary trigger down, and start working the weapon’s pump action in order unleash a flurry of ballistic grenades. But faced with the visage of the hunter’s vile, repugnant and disturbing armor of … ick…to his shame the dog momentarily freeze up.

In defiance of their intentions to see him dead, the hideously clad demon verbalized some arcane words of power and gestured towards the captive Psi-hounds. As he did so, ten small but lethal fiery bolts flung from his fingertips, splitting into two groups of five in mid air en route to their predestined points of impact.

The first volley of flaming bolts of destructive magic energy struck Razor square in his chest, knocking the short Beagle’s back against the lower frame of the tank’s rear door. The hit stunned the tracker and badly scorched his till-them pristine breastplate, but he stood his ground, mostly because he had no way of going anywhere if he tried.

Bishop’s armor on the other hand had a massive gash in it from his previous encounter, and probably wouldn’t save him again. With the reflexes of the expert soldier he was, the Greyhound spun on the short soles of his dog-leg boots and took cover behind the entry’s armored doorframe, unintentionally exposing those behind him to the attack. But his action proved to be futile as the five streaks of fire entered the tank and made a sharp turn to the left, seeking out their prey as though they had a mind of their own. As if seeing it in slow motion Bishop saw the bolts of flame rip through his breastplate and burrow deep into his susceptible chest, scorching his short gray coat of hair in all directions from the multiple points of entry. The bolts burned so hot they left nothing in their wake save five narrow channels of scorched flesh, literally vaporizing everything in their path till the back of Bishop’s armor stopped their short lived reign of terror in his body. Bishop tried to gurgle a final piercing insult at his slayer, one he’d been saving for just this occasion, but couldn’t after discovering the flaming streaks burned off all the air in his lungs.

As the smell of death began to fill the tank, Rachel’s thoughts became more desperate. She tried to use her powers to neutralize the demon’s magic, but the beast was too far away and out of her effective range of influence. As Jersey filled the open door taking up Bishop’s place, she could see around him and outside. The adhering magic carpet extended out a good five meters from the back of the tank. Plenty enough to snare them if they simply hopped out or even tried to long-jump it, but not impossible to circumvent.

“Blue, grab Tike.”, Rachel ordered the Doberman. “Jersey, duck!”

Without a moment’s hesitation Blue did as he was told, scooping up the fifty-five pound Miniature Pinscher. With a focused thought Rachel mentally willed Blue into the air and telekinetically launched him like missile, just missing Jersey as he evasively threw his body to the side. The kill hound and recon expert soared through the air as if they were a bent javelin with an erratic and less than linear flight path, but landed like a rubber ball. Upon impact with the ground the two separated, rolled on the grass for a bit and then sprung to their feet. Blue decided to get in closer while Tyrus saw no need with the fiend in his line of sight, completely unphased and unafraid of the horrific armor that squirmed across the demon’s person.

As Tyrus added his smaller gun to the fight, the last of Thumper’s supply of missiles streaked overhead. However they never reached their target as the demon hastily raised its odd pistol and fired. As the miniature missiles darted to the demon, a bolt of lightning from the dragon shaped weapon struck the lead missile and detonated it in mid air. The resulting fireball consumed the other three powered projectiles causing them to go off as well.

However, Razor quickly followed up the failed attack as he launched a volley of ballistic grenades from his rifle. The spiraling shells arced high above Tyrus’ head and came down on the beast. The resulting thunderous explosion consumed it in a flaming short-lived inferno which appeared to destroy nearly all of the frightful snakes and tentacles shrouding the unearthly hunter.

Inside the tank, Jersey muttered some foul words under his breath as he realized he landed on Bishop’s cooling mess of a body. As his mass set down on the corpse it made a single convulsion that spooked the German Shepherd soldier sending a chill down to the foundation of his soul. The close up whiff of death through the nasal slots of his helm filled his extra sensitive nose, making him want to puke his guts out on the spot. He couldn’t push himself away fast enough. As Jersey got back to his feet he noticed Thumper had apparently fallen. The Shepherd assumed that after firing the last of his super rifle’s volleys the recoil pushed Thumper off what little balance he had and knocked him on his butt, down to the magic flypaper. His left hand too was stuck on the carpet as Thumper instinctively used it to break his fall.

“We can’t jump it.” Jersey informed everyone left in the tank, looking at how far the magic carpet extended out.

“Go up!”, West succinctly instructed her second in command, pushing open the small circular hatch in the ceiling.

Seeing what she had in mind Jersey helped push her up through the hatch and she in turn helped pull him up onto the tank’s roof. Looking out beyond the edge in all directions the dog could see that the added elevation and new vantage perspective gave them exactly what they needed. Though the carpet extend far out in back, more towards the front it was a significantly shorter distance they’d have to jump to clear its stick surface.

After a short running start Rachel sprung off the bow end of the physically abused tank, shortly followed by Jersey. Though stronger than the Psi-Stalker Captain, the German Shepherd was carrying a heavier load and didn’t’ jump off at the same angle. Upon takeoff the dog’s rifle slid down off his back and dangled by its strap from his arm. Jersey’s feet struck the ground just inches from the edge of the carpet, but his momentum kept propelling him forward forcing into a roll. However the butt end of the Shepherd’s rifle nicked the carpet, which was all it needed to take hold with its impossible grip. In mid roll after his landing Jersey came to a sudden stop as his ensnared rifle acted as a anchor, wrenching his arm in the process. Seeing his main weapon effectively useless the soldier dog abandoned it where it laid. The only saving grace Jersey had was that he still had his back-up weapons and the net gun on his back. But more importantly the dog was free of the death trap behind him.

Rachel on the other hand hit the ground running and assumed Jersey was right behind. But her second in command had a different job to do, and she had one of her own to attend to. Like getting closer to the demonic monstrosity so she could prevent it from killing any more of her dogs with its magic. She may not have anywhere near as tough as the monsters she and her pack usually hunted, but she packed a big gun and could shut down magic like no one’s business. That is, she could when she’s close enough.

“Boone, Razor, I lost sight of him. Give me a sit-rep.”, West commanded over the radio pushing the appropriate button on her armor’s cuff. But after doing so she felt like a moron. In her haste to get some form of counter offensive going and out of the immobilized tank, Rachel forgot to put on her helmet, which contained the mic she needed to speak into and earphones she needed to hear any reply. At best she’d have to use the smaller backup system in her armor’s cuff. Coordinating things was going to be tough. Knowing that her head would make far too tempting of a target, Rachel decided to use her powerful telekinetic abilities to erect form-fitting field around her person added protection. And given how easily the other demon dispatched Rock, she figured she could use all the help she could get.

Bringing her wrist closer to her mouth she repeated her command for a situation report from her trackers. “Boone, Razor…”

“We’re still in the tank, Captain.”, Boone Dog’s voice audibly sounded over the radio. “My leg’s too messed up to jump clear and Razor’s still stuck with Thumper.”

Seconds after the report, a volley of ballistic grenades arced over the Psi-Stalker’s exposed head into the forest. With a booming blast a fireball and pillar of smoke shot up into the cloud filled sky. A moment later West could hear the demonic roar of the beast echoing through the trees from the same direction.

“He’s over there!”, Razor’s voice announced to his entire pack over the radio with a slight static squelch.

West allowed herself a second to feel pride for mutant Beagle. Though stuck in one place, but he didn’t let that put him entirely out of commission. “Good job, Razor!”, the Psi-Stalker praised him from afar.

* * * * *

Burnt and battered as Nahvin may have been, the supernatural slayer wouldn’t take the explosive assault on his person laying down. With a few steps in the right direction out form behind the cover the forest provided, he immediately glared at the one who lobed the grenades at him through a narrow corridor of trees and brush; the mutant Beagle stuck on the carpet. The short dog returned his glare without so much as flinching. That was until the demon chanted off another incantation and pointed at the Beagle with its free hand. With to the magic carpet holding him in place, the dog had no where to run. With a gesture of a clawed digit, a thick blue beam of energy shot from the thin air in front of the beast’s pointing fist.

“That’s two.”, Nahvin presumptuously smiled to himself seeing his magic power blast strike its mark.

* * * * *

Razor desperately tried to move before the demon’s magic attack could manifest but just couldn’t with his feet adhering to the ground. He had already freed his foot from one of his boots and was about to work on the other. There after all he needed to do was get back into the tank without touching the ground and go from there. But there wasn’t enough time. In the span of a blink of an eye the power bolt blazed a wide hole through his already burned armor and continued on to do the same to his innards with terrible fury. The blue beam burned so intensely it vaporized a cavernous hole in Razor’s chest filling it instantly with rapidly expanding gasses that used to be flesh and blood. The gasses expanded quickly and violently and literally ripped him apart from the inside out. With the explosive force of a bundle of dynamite, Razor’s body blew up like a bomb, squirting out his arms and waist from the confines of his traditional Dog Boy breastplate body armor. Likewise Razor’s head came free of his body and popped up twenty feet in the air with his mind still semi-conscious inside, coming down on the top of the tank with a bouncing thud. The Beagle’s weapon fell to the earth by his relatively unscathed but explosively removed hips and lower extremities, adhering to the carpet rendering it useless for anyone else to use.
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
burgler81
Explorer
Posts: 131
Joined: Sat Mar 05, 2005 2:53 pm
Location: Currently Va
Contact:

Unread post by burgler81 »

This story is great keep them coming.
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

Great chapter Dead boy! Please keep them coming. Your story does place the dogboys under a different light! Thank you for sharing them with us!
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
User avatar
Dead Boy
Rifter® Contributer
Posts: 3068
Joined: Fri Oct 06, 2000 1:01 am
Comment: Eternal Defender of C.S. Righteous Indignation
~
Adamant Advocate for the Last Best Hope for Uncorrupted Humanity
~
Stalwart Exponent of the C.S.’s Eminent Domain of Man
~
Arbiter of Coalition Dogma and the Precepts of Emperor Prosek
Location: The black heart of Chi-Town.
Contact:

Unread post by Dead Boy »

King Heart wrote:this tale is becoming quite gripping. As a writer i believe your talents have grown since the offset of this story and I am now totally entraced. I hope the little guy makes it!


I won't give anything away, but as you've probably figured out, in this final big fight NO ONE is safe! I could even go with a Wild Bunch ending if it feels right. :demon:
From the author of The RCSG, Ft. Laredo & the E. St. Louis Rift in Rifter #37, The Coalition Edge in Rifter #42, New Chillicothe & the N.C. Burbs in Rifter #54, New Toys of the Coalition States in Rifter #57, and The Black-Malice Legacy in Rifters #63, 64 & (Pt. 3, TBA)

[img]x[/img]
User avatar
Aramanthus
Monk
Posts: 18712
Joined: Tue Feb 21, 2006 5:18 am
Location: Racine, WI

Unread post by Aramanthus »

Ah but will the story really be finished?
"Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled or dead?"

"My Lady," the protector of Grayson told his Champion, "I do not wish him to leave this chamber alive."

"As you will it, your Grace."

HH....FIE
Locked

Return to “Rifts®”