by Corin Hamilton

I have no one to blame but myself and everyone to thank otherwise.

Copyright 2013 by Corin Hamilton All rights reserved. Cover design by Ivan Terzic Book design by Corin Hamilton No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-0-9920033-0-2

Interrupted in the stillness of a disappearing winter night, waxy green pine needles were shaken from their branches. The disturbed fascicles dropped to the powder lightly covering the ancient forest floor as fresh snowflakes fell from the night sky, lackadaisically drifting on the lofty winds, to pile into a cold, white blanket of serenity. It was a quiet peace that was cruelly out of place amidst the devastation of this bloodied battlefield. At its center was the command post. Columns of iron and concrete held back the thunder of war as the lights in-between flickered like echoes to every explosion that shook the strategic structure. Within, two uncommon warriors led a platoon of Unified Military soldiers that huddled together in silence waiting for the dread inevitability to come. Adding to the gloom, a winding, low hum from beneath told them that the energy shield overhead had just come down. Standing at the breach was the Demon; a young woman dressed in a short leather jacket over a tight charcoal-colored uniform. The light armor which adorned her body accentuated the thin, muscular frame beneath. She was beautiful, unyielding, and deadly. Emanating from her delicate wrists were black swords fixed to her flesh. Her long, golden hair, damp from the snow that crowned it earlier, fell defiantly over her brown eyes that pierced the darkness as she watched the battle drawing near. She remained still, unwavering against the tension, and ready; fear did not grip her heart. She was poised to kill any who dare enter. Behind her was a young man nervously brandishing a long, metal war hammer. Strapped across his heavy chest was an assortment of pistols and knives adding girth and threat to his posture. He trembled, cold and fearful. His gaze fixed anxiously on the Demon, who moments ago seemed uncharacteristically upset, if only briefly. Then, a bright flash, an explosion too close to ignore, drew his attention out past the entrance to the battlefield. He squinted to adjust his vision; a near impossible task as the darkness gave way to flashes of blinding light every few seconds. He tried to focus on the motion of distant shadows darting about in all directions. He could hear their enemies getting closer but was unable to see what was occurring. His whole body shook as his unpracticed hand held loosely to the hammer in his doubt. He didnt belong and knew he would die here, it was only a matter of time; he was afraid and unprepared. Do you see? came the Demons eerily calm voice.

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I cant see a damned thing. I hear a lot of noise but I cant make anything out! Whats happening? he shouted, provoked by her tone. She pointed a black sword to the sky. He cannot hold them back any longer. Theres too many theyre coming. Prepare yourselves! the out-of-place warrior insisted doubtfully to the troops behind him, drawing scoffed murmurs. Were about to test our mettle. Just watch your aim, scorned the Demon without looking back. Ill be quite sore if one of you shoots me instead. The cocking of rifles cracked through the hall. The few whispers faded as the cries of war grew closer, signaling that their enemies had broken through. The young warrior gripped his hammer tight with anticipation as panic gnawed at the edges of his mind. The Demon, alert to her keen instincts, struck swiftly with sword into a shadowy figure appearing seemingly out of nowhere. It was a large, unfamiliar beast that she stabbed with uncanny accuracy through its neck. Her comrade stared in both awe and horror while curiously examining its strange armor decorated by the gentle snowflakes. It had a helmet that left only narrow lips over barred, jagged teeth visible. The Demon withdrew her sword while this creature of foul temperament, bred for war, hesitated awkwardly and then fell dead over the threshold. Two more Akhorza slave soldiers rushed in, leaping over the corpse of their comrade. The Demon swung with her right sword, decapitating the first and sending its severed head rolling just inches from the young warriors feet. A pale gasp escaped his lips before he recomposed himself, witness to the Demon nonchalantly disposing of the second. Both swords sliced in bloodied concert and were then quiet as she stepped gracefully aside to position for her next assault. He was oddly comforted by her lethal skills. A third Akhorza burst through the entrance, shoving past the Demon, only to have its skull crushed against the concrete wall by the full force of a war hammer in motion. The neutralized trooper reflexively discharged its weapon, firing a violet energy pulse that left a crater in the wall opposite the surprised young warrior. Silence reigned for a notable few seconds as the platoon stared at the effect, now fully aware that Death, itself, was with them, waiting impatiently and indiscriminately. Their shared silence was quickly invaded by the monsters outside trying to take the bunker. The Demon again danced rhythmically to the song of her swords slicing through the air as she slayed enemy after enemy while the young warrior, realizing that now was indeed the time to fight, thrust his hammer forward attempting to halt the advancement of Akhorza soldiers. His unskilled blows sent them reeling and falling back through the entrance. The few Akhorza that made it past the pair came through unbalanced and were shot down by the Unified Military in back. The platoon soldiers, too, were passionately committed to the executions of these inhuman marauders in their duty to defend the command post, but more so to the preservation of their own lives.

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Unable to swing his hammer fast enough to keep pace with the mounting attacks, the young warrior pulled a pistol from the holster on his hip. He examined the cold, foreign piece in his hand before raising it. Firing from around the corner of the bunker entrance at the advancing troops, he carefully kept cover, hoping to make each shot count, until his attention was drawn back to the battlefield. As he looked through the darkness as his eyes focused time slowed. There, in the midst of thousands of Akhorza soldiers rushing in a berserk rage for the bunker, were two female figures fighting, leaping and dodging with meticulous precision. Further back from these unequivocally agile warriors was an enormous man battling methodically while remote operating other mobilized defenses. The three steadfast defenders engaged the Akhorza infantry and mechanized divisions with a slurry of weapons fire. The odds seemed unfavorably stacked against these players, but then, they were not ordinary in the least. Looking up, through the smoke and chaos, the warrior saw him. Floating high above and outlined by the shrouded light of the moon was Mephisto, master of time. The dogged devil was unopposed as he rained his barrage of devastation upon the hordes that scrambled frantically to avoid annihilation in their efforts to reach the command post. Now it was Mephisto that strategically examined the battle. Watching through glowing yellow eyes, as the others desperately defended the bunker, he knew it would soon be taken. He ceased his assault and retreated into the dark sky above. Curse that cowardly devil! screeched the Demon as she burst expansive black wings from her backside. She rushed against the monsters, angrily pushing her way through. She passed beyond the threshold and prepared to take flight, I will bring that treacherous son-of-abitch back here and serve him to these dogs myself! Dont leave me! pleaded the young warrior as he fired into the darkness that swarmed with enemies. I wont last without you! Please, Carol! The Demon took pause as she broke the neck of an Akhorza infanteer and then hesitantly folded her wings over her shoulders. She stepped back into the safety between the concrete walls to avoid the incoming fire of the slave soldiers that sighted her in the entrance. A growl escaped her throat, her body tensed, and her brow furrowed as her wings disappeared and her swords took shape once more. She would instead unleash her wrath upon the next advance. Mephistos desertion at this critical time fueled her perfect rage and she slaughtered with furious precision. The hall of the bunker was choked with the dead of enemies and allies alike. A mixture of blood pooled around the corpses, wetting the feet of the soldiers and soaking the uniforms of the wounded. It was apparent that the structure was badly damaged. Stone cracked and concrete crumbled, thinning the path of the entryway. With each explosion the shelter shuddered, weakening at its foundation. When it could no longer stand, it would be necessary to abandon the command post and collapse the bunker. Once this occurred, there would be no safety in the open and their advantage would be lost. Better this, however, than to allow the enemy to reach its

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depths. And for this reason the Akhorza had otherwise conserved their ammunition and instead charged forward in an attempt to overtake it with brute force and their vast numbers. Once more, the young warriors vision wandered out onto the battlefield. This time attracted to the silhouette of a woman at the far end, viciously tearing slave soldiers asunder with just her bare hands. Near to her, never straying too far, were her two large feline companions with their own instinctive and fierce appetites. She was engrossed in the glory of murder. She killed with the joy of a bloodlust that the warrior could not have imagined in his darkest nightmares, but there was something else: a prisoners melancholy that was briefly evident during pauses. It was the fuel for her fire. For an instant, before again being swept back into his own struggle, the young warrior felt something rise out of the pit of his stomach and break upon his heavy heart for this lone woman of darkness: profound remorse.