What had happened?
He remembered Tambak laughing, swearing to kill a dozen Nucerians. Imit was there, so was Bersi, Gloeri, Mooruk and Votoj. Yes, they were going to die the day after. His brothers and sisters. The Nucerians had encircled them. He remembered the final feast, a celebration of their defiance and freedom. A final homage to those who refused to the rule of tyrants, slavers and masters.
Teleportation. The words suddenly leaped into his mind. In a fraction of a second he understood the complex scientific theories behind the technology that had transported him here.
Where am I?
He was in a gigantic room. On the walls were screens, hundreds of them. They lit an otherwise dark room, they were depicting hundreds of people in disarray. No, it was an army in disarray. No …
IT WAS
HIS ARMY. He looked around, desperate for answers. He was still wearing his makeshift armour and his two power halberds were by his side. Then he realised that he had been deafened and sound was returning to his senses.That’s when he first heard the cries. His brothers and sisters were crying for him. They were pleading for his return, begging, praying. He tried to shout out to them, reassure them, give them comfort. But nothing happened. They were confused and hurt, he heard half a hundred explanations. Nucerian sorcery or super weapons of some kind. It mattered not. He was stuck in this room, away from his brothers and sisters.
His head started to hurt.
There was a door. He slammed into it, using all of his momentum and all of his mass. It would not budge. He tried to hack it down, smash it down, pull it down. His head started to throb with an aching pain. He did not know how long he spent at the door, but he realised that the cries from the screen had stop. He looked back to the screens only to see his army defeated. Not in combat, but in spirit.
He recognised Ojoo, Zennick and Jera on one of the screens. They looked hopeless, as if all the life had drained from them. Their eyes were full of grief and pain. He touched the screen, wishing he was there. Angry he was not. The pain in his mind flared. They were preparing for battle, and he was not with them.
Starship. Again, a flood of information washed over him. He knew he was on a great hulking craft in space. He put his ear onto the floor and felt the hum and vibration pass through him. It was a gigantic craft, many kilometres in length. He could not even begin to fathom the tonnage.
The fire burned again. There was pain in his head, why was he hurting so much. He buried the pain.
‘FATHER. I KNOW YOU DID THIS. I KNOW YOU HEAR ME. RELEASE ME.’
Silence greeted him.
Desperately, he renewed his attack on the door. He did not know for how long. He could not recall the passage of time. He only remembered the buzz, a feeling verging on pleasure as he threw himself at the door. He was covered in sweat. The door had over a thousand slashes on it now, but it still held. His halberds were broken, his hands were bloody, he saw some of his nails stuck in the metal of the door. He could not remember any of it.
This could only mean one thing. He had never let it control him, he also fought it, mastered it. He saw others consumed by it. He knew what it did to people, strong warriors who were full of pride and resilience. They had become savages, little more than beast and spawn. No better than whelps and cur. He had vowed never to become that.
That’s when he heard the screams.
He stared at the screens, and saw that the battle had started. Every screen showed the same thing, battle was not the appropriate word to convey what was displayed on the screen, it was a massacre. His brothers and sisters fought like a mob against an army. He knew why. It was all his fault. He started barking orders at the screen. He went around the room commanding an army that could not hear him, trying to save a battle that was already lost.
‘Orter, move your unit to Zerrick’s position. Kanka, advance. Falo, retreat and have Frik cut off the Nucerian shock troops.’
He must have given hundreds of orders. All in vain. The northern salient was further encircled as the western flank fell to the big guns of the Nucerians. Tears started streaming down his face.
FATHER. I WILL JOIN IN YOUR CRUSADE. SAVE THEM. PLEASE, THEY ARE INNOCENT. I WILL DO AS YOU ASK. SAVE THEM. PLEASE FATHER.’
The fire renewed in his brain. It was beyond pain, it was like his head was being dipped into the sun.
‘FATHER. I WILL SLAUGHTER ALL YOUR ENEMIES. I SWEAR IT. SAVE THEM. PLEASE, SAVE THEM ALL. I WILL DO EVERYTHING YOU COMMAND.’
All across the battlefield his warriors were being pushed back across every front. Many units had been surrounded, all were dying. He was on his knees now, looking at the hundreds of screens that showed the same thing.
‘save them … please … anything … just do anything’
A pain, greater than anything he had felt in his entire life consumed him. The fire, his hands, everything was consumed by this pain. The tears that rolled down his eyes became a torrent. His face became fixed with the greatest of pained expressions.
The center of the slave army collapsed. The Eater of Cities became a collection of disparate groups fighting across the mountain for survival. He saw it all. He doubled over and slammed in his fist into the floor. The tears wouldn’t stop.
‘why father?’
The cries and screams started again, and didn’t stop. Those he loved had become little more than pest being exterminated. He saw flamer units flushing out bands of warriors and sharpshooters picking them off.
All at once, he let it consume him. His belly became hot, his vision red. He roared and smashed the screens directly in front of him. The flame in his head dissipated, but he was losing control of his body. The burning lessened, but the fire inside him grew. Every screen he saw, he smashed. The nails flushed his head with a sickening sweet sensation. It pushed him harder, further, hungry for more mayhem, more destruction. He let it take him over, it lessened the deeper pain.
But that pain, the real pain, the true pain, it didn’t die. It would never die.
