The Oneiro Rangers: First Night (12 page)

“Stop right there.”

All five of them had their guns trained on the figure, making a
firing line, ready for its execution. Glenda tried her best to keep her hand
steady, but thankfully the shadows hid her shivering. The gunman stood there
like he was part of the scenery, only the tail of his coat moving when the wind
told it to. Two holsters poked out from under its pulled-back duster, its
clawed hands hovering over them. If Roland could see the determined smirk
hidden under his chewed-up cowboy hat, he wouldn’t have opened his mouth.

“Put your hands behind your head and lie on the ground,” Roland
ordered loudly, “or we will be forced to open fire!”

Gears clanked, the rusted revolvers flying up. Nyxus held his arms
straight out, shooting rounds of blue flames. The brass gears used as a firing
hammer also spun the cylinders, launching the scorching rounds in rapid
succession. The rangers returned fire, spreading out to find cover behind
generators and air conditioning units. Sizzling white bolts and blue flames
filled the roof, lighting the area in splashing embers and sparks.

After the few short seconds of artificial daylight, the gunfire
ceased abruptly.

The culprit was nowhere to be found, his spot filled with spent
shells. The rangers peeked past the edges of their cover, searching for any
tell of the shooter’s whereabouts. The unnatural silence was a lot colder than
the wind could ever be. Reloading was all around, the clatter of used clips
almost in unison.

“I lost sight of him,” Errol called out.

“Maybe we blasted him to smithereens.” Roland huffed hopefully.

A rapid chime made Sova take his eyes off of his OP6, right when
he slapped in a new clip. Before he could even see what was coming, a boot
knocked the gun out of his grip, nearly tearing his trigger finger off with it.
The jagged blade that followed headed right for his forehead. Ducking by
instinct, Sova avoided it, letting the metal box behind him take it instead;
the fan blade inside shorting out. Connected to the blade by the bottom of its
grip, the rusted revolver firing off rapidly.

Flames screamed over to Errol and Roland, their cover flanked.
Both of them changed corners, the metal barely able to hold off the shots;
nearly folding into themselves after taking a few hits. The curved blade on the
bottom of revolver’s grip forced him to fire sideways, carving through the
metal grating as he followed his moving targets.  From below, Sova shot up
with a charged uppercut to the jaw. The cowboy hat flew off, but Nyxus barely
budged; his eye slowly lowering down towards the Gothnian.

The face Sova stared at was too human to be monstrous, yet too
monstrous to be human. His lips were rotted away, giving a permanent grin
reaching past his grey gums. Skin was missing from his chin and part of his
forehead, nothing but the pure white bone remaining. An eye patch covered his
left eye, the other glaring with a bright blue glow. Nyxus popped his jaw back
in place with a quick flex, making a hollow click.

Sova unleashed more blows to the gunman’s face, his knuckles
harshly rubbing against dry leathery skin and bare skull; the recoil like
hitting solid brick. A decayed hand wrapped around Sova’s right fist in
mid-strike, the speed of it faster than his eyes could see. Pulling Sova’s arm
straight out, his other palm flew upwards at his elbow. The crack of bones
assured a successful hit, Sova’s arm bent in the complete opposite direction. He
struggled to hold in his cry of pain, but it was too much.

The presence of someone behind Nyxus made his squinted eye widen,
his rotten teeth grinding slowly. Angelica aimed her OP9 at the back of his
head, point blank range. Nyxus kicked backwards; the shot sent straight up in
the air. Angelica’s gun practically flew to the moon, her fingers shredded from
the spur. Sova could only watch her stagger, holding his loose arm in pain with
Nyxus’ relentless grip still curled around it.

Like a pendulum, Nyxus’ leg swung back down towards Sova, knee
first. The hit to the chest knocked him to the ground, his right arm flailing
limp. Errol came in from the side, tackling the gunman at full speed. His
powerful arms lifted Nyxus off the ground by his black leather vest, plowing
him into the rooftop’s flooring. Errol let out all he had, punch after punch,
but all it did was make hard smacks with no effect.

All it took was one swift blow from Nyxus to knock Errol to the
side, rolling flat on his back. Roland ran into the picture, nothing between
him and the attacker. Two guns went off at the same time, one from each of
them. Blue flames exploded out of the back of Roland’s shoulder, forcing him to
drop his gun and hold the sizzling hole in him. Embers splashed out of Nyxus–dead
center of his chest–but he got right to his feet without making a peep.

Glenda flew down from behind Nyxus, both knees to the back of the
skull. Her weight knocked him forward, Glenda cartwheeling to spin and face
him. As she leaped to send a spinning kick his way, Nyxus slapped her foot
down, punching her in the gut when she landed. Her slim body loosely wrapped
itself over his fist, all the air forced out of her lungs in a wet cough that
lightly sprinkled the ground. With his other hand, he flipped her onto the
ground; leaving her gasping for air, choking on her own saliva.

Roland picked up his gun, using his good arm to aim, struggling to
stand. The world blurred in pulses, the trigger too much to pull for his weak
finger. Nyxus flew from a brief sprint, hitting Roland with a powerful jump
kick to the chest. Flying back, Roland slid against the rough rooftop, the low
edge stopping him with a painful halt. His pistol went right over the end, gone
for good, down the six story fall.

Errol punched Nyxus in his skinless temple, blocking the
counter-punch from nyxus with his forearm. Angelica grabbed Nyxus’ arms from
behind, shifting her weight to get them on the ground. Nyxus stayed standing,
his arm coming right off as Angelica took it with her. Strings of muscle hanged
off his opened socket, the freed arm wriggling in Angelica’s hands. She let go
with a shriek, the hand grabbing her throat.

Gagging, she desperately tried to pry the fingers wrapped around
her neck. Its grip was enough to make her windpipe feel like it was going to be
folded in half. Errol elbowed Nyxus in the back of the head, giving him two
quick lefts. While Errol reeled back for a wound-up straight, Nyxus snagged his
own arm away from Angelica’s neck. The gnarled fingers slipped off and she
could taste air again.

Nyxus swung his dismembered arm out at Errol, hand to hand.
Angelica fought to stand and fought to breath, holding her throat, coughing
while on her hands and knees. Errol stumbled to the side, his jaw nearly
knocked right off. Coming full circle, Nyxus dropped his separated arm like a
hammer, straight down to the back of Angelica’s neck. By the time Errol could
turn around, it was too late.

Bones collided, pain ensued.

Angelica’s arms nearly gave in with the first blow, her body stiff
in excruciating pain. She couldn’t stand up or lift her head; all she could do
was stay there and take it. Nyxus beat her repeatedly with his own arm, even
after she fell flat on the floor. She let out helpless cries of pain with each
sharp crack that came to her. Tears pushed through her closed eyelids and she
waited for the pain to stop — the world growing faint, her consciousness
leaving her.

Seeing her lying there stiff as a painting, Nyxus reattached his
arm, the squirming strands of muscle tying themselves back together. Errol
swung a leg up at Nyxus’ head, feeling it connect. Splitting at the waist, the
undead gunman’s body flopped right off his still-standing legs. With his
top-half landing on his hands, he saw Roland struggling to get up at the end of
the rooftop. The legs without a body went after Errol, the rest of Nyxus going
for Roland.

Errol tried to trip the legs with a sweeping kick, but they hopped
right over it. Getting him with a backflip kick, the hit to the chin knocked
Errol off his feet. Running on his hands, Nyxus closed in on Roland. Free of
distractions, the separated legs chased after the rest of the body. Flipping
into the air, Nyxus landed his torso onto the oncoming legs, grabbing the
revolver he left in the metal unit as he passed by.

Roland barely got to his feet when he was pushed right back onto
the ledge, a rusted gun barrel pressing under his chin. The revolver’s bottom
blade hovered over his heart, making sure either way was going to end it. Nyxus
held his only usable arm down, no way to fight back. Roland opened his eyes but
could barely see what he was looking at. At the sight of his eyes, Nyxus
loosened his grip, his snarling face dropping to cold frown.

“Roland…”

The sudden loss of force allowed Roland to push Nyxus up, getting
a knee between them. With his foot, he vaulted Nyxus overhead, far past the
edge. Too far for Nyxus to even attempt to grab for the ledge, his gun tumbling
beside him. He fell, all the way down the entire six story drop. It took a
while until a muffled crash was heard, none of the rangers having the energy or
strength to see what happened.

Only Roland was able to move, inching himself over the edge in
pain. From the height he was at, it was difficult to tell where the body landed
through the darkness. Grunting in pain, he pulled out his radio. “Clint…?
Ovid...? Anybody?”

Clint answered, Malory’s voice chatting senselessly in the
background. “What’s the status?”

“We got him… I think. We’re on the roof. Come get us.”

The light went on right when Roland let go of the radio to save
his strength. Looking back down at the ground below, he could now see the
bottom. There was a man-sized crater… and nothing else.

Chapter 13

“Who’s next?” Ovid shouted into the infirmary waiting room. He
seemed to have an outfit for every occasion; this time wearing a doctor’s coat.
“How about you Errol? Do you need some medical attention?”

“It’s just a scratch,” Errol grumbled with his arms crossed, the
shallow wound on his cheek already scabbed over.

Sova got out of his chair, a cloth sling and splint supporting his
left arm. “How’s Angelica doing?”

Ovid paused long enough to make Sova’s heart sink. “... Come see
for yourself… all of you.”

Glenda stood up, hugging the bandage wrapped around her abdomen.
“I’d rather not. I’m going to bed.”

“Eh, young lady,” Ovid protested kindly, “I insist you see the
darling Angelica.”

Glenda glanced over her shoulder, holding herself on the
doorframe. Her eyes grew cold. “I don’t care.”

Roland pointed them the back to the medical rooms after Glenda
left. “Lead the way.”

The boys entered the room Angelica was held in, limping and
groaning.  Roland had a sling like Sova’s, bandages wrapped around the gun
wound on his shoulder. His ribs were wrapped white medical tape, keeping them
together until they heal. Errol’s school uniform and leg muscles were both torn
in several places. Sova just got out of the operating chair a few minutes ago,
Ovid drilling in a metal plate to keep his arm in one piece.

Even with their own injuries, the teens weren’t ready for the
sight of Angelica. Her eyes were still closed, not even opening once while were
carrying her back into the building. Tubes and wires surrounded her, a loom of
life support. A respirator covered her mouth and nose, her chest rising too
subtle to see under the thin white covers. Bandages and medical tape was
patched all over her face and neck, all the way down to her collarbone.

The heart monitor beeped slowly, followed by the hollow sucking
noise from the respirator lung. Her IV bag hung on the thick metal hook from
the pole, the clear liquid flowing through the tube, going into the top of her
wrist. Everyone looked down at her, not saying a word. Clint was already in the
room, his hands in front of his mouth as he sat in the chair near her bed. He
added to the silence.

“She suffered a blackout during the fight,” Ovid stated darkly,
“knocking her out cold for a while. She’s steady now… after a few close calls.
Her cervical vertebrae are what we have to worry about. The back of her neck
took far too much damage. She’s lucky her spinal cord wasn’t severed,
paralyzing her forever.”

Clint moved his hands away from his lips, dropping them into his
lap. “... It’s all my fault.”

Roland put his good hand on Clint’s shoulder. “It’s not your
fault.”

Clint gave Roland’s hand a glance and let out a deep sigh, getting
up and away from him. “It is. I didn’t activate the Oneiro Quarantine. I knew I
was forgetting something. Why did it have to be that? Why was it the most
important thing? I just had to push a simple button — raise the defenses,
nothing more.”

“Mistakes happen,” Roland told him. “You’re only human, you know.”

Clint talked as he walked out of there. “This wasn’t a mistake. It
was a complete disaster.”

Roland's head dropped, his shoulders slumped. Ovid tried to say
something, but nothing came out of his mouth, him leave as well. Everyone’s
eyes were still trained on Angelica, as if the attention would heal her and
make everything all right. Errol was the only one not standing over Angelica.
He sat in a chair, holding a notebook on the spacey windowsill. Pencil on the
pad, he began to write:

Dear dad,

I just started my second day of Oneiro training and they already
made us rangers. It's some kind of new program they started, to give students
experience in the field. Don't worry about us, we won't be in any danger.

He scratched at the drying scab on his cheek, nearly reopening it
by accident. Quickly looking over his shoulder, he saw his sister in the bed,
motionless. He continued writing:

Angelica is doing fine. She is top in all of her classes right
now. We both want the war to end soon. First thing we’ll do when you get back
is go fishing on pier 9 like we did back in the day.

I really miss those times—

“Come on Errol,” Roland said from the doorway, “let’s get going.
We need to sleep for tomorrow.”

“Right,” Errol closed the notebook and got up, “I’m coming.”

Sova stayed.

They passed by him, momentarily blocking his sight of Angelica
from the end of the infirmary bed. The bruises and cuts made her nearly
unrecognizable, like an imitation sent to kill him from the inside out. His
trench coat fluttered like a broken flower petal from his short walk, sitting
down in the chair by her bed. Her wrapped hand was cold, Sova feeling the
missing chunks of her fingers under the bandages. He wouldn’t have known she
was still alive if it wasn’t for the long steady beeps from the heart monitor.

“If only I wasn’t so weak,” he whispered angrily. “... If only I
knew what to do. This is my fault.” His grip tightened, his breaths sharp and
shaking. “I’m making a promise, here and now. This
isn’t
happening
again. Not as long as I’m alive…”

.  .  .

Nyxus trudged through the cave, glowing blue embers dripping out
of his chest, dimly trailing behind him. His hand clenched the giant gash from
where the ribs stuck out of his grey skin, parts of his organs dangling out of
the opening. The main cavern burst into a haze of blue, Darkilov lying in the
center of the flames. Nyxus stopped hesitantly, his feet struggling to stay in
place. He stood before Darkilov, hunched over, like a puppet with a few broken
strings.

“I can
still
smell them,” Darkilov hissed. “Their revolting
stench…”

The blue light from Nyxus’ deep wounds showed overlapping rows of
tiny sharp black teeth inside of a reptilian skull, the rest of its body
shrouded in the dark. A thin forked-tongue flicked around, stretching through
the small gap in the middle of its lower jaw.

“They got lucky,” Nyxus grumbled softly.

Darkilov swished around, the spiked end of its enormous tail
smashing into Nyxus. His body crashed all the way to one of the farther cave
walls, blue flames bursting out and lighting up the cave. Embedded deep into
the stone wall, Nyxus used both hands to push himself out. Darkilov caught up
to him before he could hit the ground, another sweep from his tail. Nyxus felt
the rush of wind, ducking under the attack and under Darkilov’s legs. Rocky
debris flew from the impact of Darkilov's tail brushing against the wall,
sparks flying from the metal spikes.

Nyxus slide away on his knees, whipping out his revolvers. Blue
flames blasted through the cave, flying towards Darkilov in rapid bursts. All
they did was wash the massive creature in useless flames and nothing more. The
blue embers dripped off of its skeletal armor, its rust-covered exterior immune
to anything Nyxus could deliver.

“The wind over a fresh grave,” Darkilov gutturally whispered,
harsh and high pitched. “Useless and forgotten.”

The flying flames ceased, only empty cranks from the revolver’s
gears making any noise. They were back in the darkness, a pile of embers
gathering under Nyxus, showing his position. It didn’t matter; Darkilov knew
where he was at all times. It didn’t need eyes, it didn’t have eyes. Its
slithering tongue was enough, smelling the strong scent of fear around him.

“Like the feast that you are,” Darkilov continued. “The decayed
maggot feast. Maggots vomit from the taste!”

A giant boot plowed into Nyxus’ face, bone fragments flying into
the air. Before Nyxus could fall down, Darkilov snatched him up, lifting his
still struggling body into the air. Eight long thin fingers wrapped completely
around his neck twice, the black clawed tips cutting into his grey throat. His
face wasn’t even there anymore, just a hollowed mess of flesh and broken bones.

“Not even the worms will eat you. Not even the humans will look at
you. You’re nothing but bones and filth. All you ever were. All you’ll ever
be.”

Pressure… and a wet crunch. That’s all it took to make Nyxus’ body
go limp. Darkilov tossed him to the side, the Mara surrounding the body with
curiosity. It returned to its resting place, leaving the body for the Mara to
take care of.

“Fix him. Asteria doesn’t fail. Nyxus... useless. Next time
won’t
be the same.”

A large pack of Mara lifted–what little remained of the body–off
the ground, holding it over their heads. They took it to a side area, away from
where the fight took place. Hundreds of bone chips clanked inside his opened
skull, announcing each step taken. Some fell out, one of the Mara picking one
up and gnawing on it like a dog would. Another Mara plucked the cowboy hat off
of the ground and put it on, having it too big for its head.

Dirt kicked up as Darkilov dropped onto its stone throne, its roar
echoing through the cave tunnels. “... The Nightmares shall keep them company
until Nyxus is fixed. They will weaken and we will flourish. Black roses on a
battlefield.” A disturbing cackle filled the cave, like someone coughing out
their last breathes.

In the side cavern, beaded curtains clattered. The orange glow of
the fire pit was warm and welcoming, unlike the visitor’s destroyed appearance.
The Mara set Nyxus on a rectangular stone slab in the middle of the room, his
bullet belt clanking against the stone. Asteria turned around, not seeing them
come in. The sight of Nyxus made her drop the beakers that she was holding
instantly.

Her hooded cowl fell back from her hasty jog to the slab; the
light fabric of her dress fluttering around her arms and legs. She looked down
at the mangled body, her elegant purple eyes wide in shock. Her gentle slender
hand ran over the gaping hole where Nyxus’ face used to be, her finger tips
rubbing the jagged edge.

“Why do you make the lord do this to you?” Her skin slowly
resembled broken glass, shining reflectively and covered in cracks.

Getting her tools, she pulled out a rusty pair of pliers — blunted
and worn from years of use. Laying out a cloth for removed pieces of skull, she
began to work. The Mara left to bring her replacements for the fractured bones
and limbs. It would be a while until she starts sewing, the rusty needle with a
coil of stained thread already on the stone operating slab, waiting for her.
She would have to ignore the dim blue eye staring at her the entire time she
worked.

Never blinking, and always watching.