ETHMARK: Annals - Ruined Son

  The man's hands stopped fighting for his life, feet floating in the air; sword and shield, battle-scarred with chipped blade edge and dented surface lay below him. Where the humanoid’s fingers pressed his throat, his skin began to turn black. Not from bruising. Decay. The flesh collapsed against bone. The grass around the humanoid’s boots had given up, turning brittle yellow and dry. A wave of rot expanded from the humanoid’s feet, rippling across the lush green forest. Tree bark peels off the trunks and falls like the leaves they produce.

  The humanoid’s lacerations stitched themselves shut; his bruises no longer discolored as if nothing had happened. A wet collapse of tissue and the faint grit of mineral matter hit the ground. The smell is involuntarily vomit-inducing.

  An informational erasure of human form.

  Dad! No! Ragnel wanted to shout. What good would that have done? Nothing but give away his position. Crouching behind a shrub barely concealing him, he had patches of clear eyesight through which he could see. Heart throbbing and palms sweaty, he tried to get a better view, but his body wouldn’t obey him.

  He was with his dad earlier, celebrating his brother’s 16th birthday. The whole family: dad, mom, and little brother. Mom’s beef stew was amazing as usual; his brother always got at least a fourth of it. They were planning to go to the village fair later for the weekly festivities and the fireworks.

  The village fair was supposed to take place in front of the cathedral. A big open space full of stands. Every weekend, families would go eat and have fun. The smell of beef, pork, and chicken filled the air, making anyone hungry – food stands all around — you wouldn’t need to look far. This tradition always ended with fireworks at night.

  "I've disposed of the deserter. Resuming search for the artifact," the humanoid reported into his transceiver, scanning the area without looking at what remained. He swung his arm downward, flinging away the fluid remains.

  Leaves rustled, the sound amplified by how silent everything had become. The humanoid snapped his gaze toward it. His body followed. The crunching of dead leaves echoed as he slowly made his way towards the sound. Head sweeping left, right, left. Getting closer.

  Ragnel's legs wouldn't obey him. Had he caused the rustling when shifting his weight? Probably, the shrub he was hiding behind should have been far enough. There’s no way that anything from this distance could be heard.

  The humanoid stopped walking.

  Mechanical legs flung open at the calves and shimmered reddish-orange. A low boom sent shockwaves throughout the forest, knocking down the younger, smaller trees and bushes. Jet propulsion launched him toward the sound. Ragnel's lungs stopped working.

  A burst of air hit him as it rocketed by, knocking him down flat. By the time Ragnel got up and turned his head – only a corridor of broken plant life.

  Snapping his head back towards the decayed area, he sprinted there. Stop. Turned back to the wake of destruction. Head turning back and forth. Which way? He wanted to check on his dad, but what was there to check?. Now closer, the stench from the decomposed remains crept into his nose, causing him to gag and cough. The sword and shield that lay next to where his dad wa, was, were so badly damaged that it wasn’t worth getting back. It was just something he and Dad used for sparring.

  He realized the path trampled the clear trail he used to get there, connected to the village. Hesitant. He exhaled. One full breath. He darted towards the village.

  "I need to warn everybody about whatever that thing is," he said, fumbling through his pockets to reach and power on his communicator, hands still shaky.

  He signaled to his brother.

  "Disappearing as always, Ragnel, on my birthday too," a voice crackled through the communicator.

  "There's no time! Warn the village — something is coming fast!" He gasped, his legs starting to cramp. Was it too much soup or fear? "Whatever it is, it killed Dad. There's nothing left of him. Nothing."

  The flattened shrubbery was slowing him down, causing him to raise his legs higher every stride.

  "Whoa, what are you talking about—" A crashing sound like rubble overcame his brother’s voice. Then distant shrieks.

  "Hello!? Hey!? Damn it!" Heart pounding like drums. He witnessed his dad die from this humanoid’s magi,c and now his brother’s comms just cut out. Fear was settled in him.

  This morning was good. I celebrated my brother’s birthday with mom and dad. We had plans together. Today was supposed to be fun and relaxing.

  A low, heavy hum rose from a distance. Bone-deep vibration jarring Ragnel as it neared. Turning his head, he saw a sleek, sharp-angled craft making its way to the village. There was nothing left to do but keep moving — or let the village —

  Cuts opened on his hands, his foot caught by vines. His knees stabilized him on uneven snapped branches. There was no time; he needed to hurry. Fresh wounds hit the hardest, the body accepting new information and not able to numb the pain yet. His movements became sluggish despite the need to move faster.

  He kept pulling his leg, trying to break free. Finally. Free to move again,n he continued. A sharp stab in his ankle caused him to drop again. He got back up and ran again, ignoring the pain with sheer force of will. The vine must have sprained his ankle when it caught his foot.

  "No, please." Ragnel’s voice is shaking. Shrieks and spine-tingling screams pierced the air. He reached the end of the forest, half running – half limping, a searing burn in his lungs. Black smoke with hints of red. Where was Mom? Where was his brother?

  What had been the village wall was now rubble. He reached the wall and hand over hand, foot over foot — grit and debris grinding into his palms, mixing in with his cuts as he climbed. Atop the rubble,e he stood, breathing heavily. Shivers ran down his spine.

  Fire. Everything within sight was ablaze. The taste of ashen smoke stuck to his tongue.

  The central cathedral and its ornate arches billowed black smoke, so thick that suffocation would be instant, eclipsing the sunset. A deep metallic concussion resonated, covering the city like a shroud when a strong gust moved the cathedral bell. Buildings that stood tall, now collapsed.

  Muscles tensed. Teeth ground together. Blood dripped slowly from his closed fists. He didn't feel it. Somewhere in the smoke were spine-bending screams, but he couldn't see anyone. No bodies. No survivors. Just fire, eating what had been his home.

  The fear didn't leave. It curdled into something else. Trembling muscles carried him forward. He moved down from the rubble at a speed where one mistake could mean tumbling to death.

  Shopping bags, school backpacks, and abandoned vehicles riddled the streets. Corpses are now visible. No one he knew — yet. Wheezing, he made his way to the armory, checking for survivors along the way, catching his breath. Was that thing still here, or did it leave? He needed to be careful. He needed at least something to defend himself with; he was not going down without a fight. Now he was remorseful for not picking up the sword and shield.

  Thud. The sound startled him, a piece of rubble tumbling down a ruined building. Slabs of wall are collapsing under their own weight. Screams are starting to quiet. Passing no survivors. All of the corpses were either split or stabbed. If this were a nightmare, Ragnel wanted to wake from it.

  A corpse held the armory door open. Someone had died trying to enter. The closer he got, the more he recognized the face. His brother. He rushed over, limping the final few strides.

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  "No!" He knelt and lifted the lifeless body. Warmth — not from body heat. From the fires all around. How long had he been dead? It looked like he was trying to grab a weapon.

  "No…" Wetness traveled down his cheek. "It was your birthday…"

  He laid him down gently. Stood. “Where’s mom?” he said in a tone mixed with care and fury. He went inside.

  The weapon racks were bare — the villagers must have armed themselves and gone out to fight. Ragnel scanned left, right, desperate. Nobody else here. Just cold metal racks amid fire and the darkness of the building. He switched on the lights. They didn’t work. All he had to see was the light radiating from the fire in the streets.

  One weapon remained. A Zwei Buster. Massive and unwieldy — almost as tall as him. Sitting on a rack, it seemed like no one even bothered trying to lift it out. Abandoned because whoever came before couldn't lift it or didn't have time.

  He picked it up with both hands. At least he tried, too. He shimmied the hilt over and slid it off the rack. A murderous metal clang echoed in the armory when the tip fell to the floor. It was too heavy for him. There was no way anybody could use this thing. Why was it even here?

  He held it anyway.

  He stepped out of the armory. Just the roar of the fire, the thundering of buildings crumbling, and the deep ringing bell toll. He listened closer. No screams. That thing. It was still here.

  His hands were stinging from the open cuts as he gripped the sword. Aching muscles forced the heavy sword onto his shoulders. “Need to find mom,” he whispered.

  He started to walk the streets. A repeating metallic clanking sound from behind the building's corner. Was it that thing? Ragnel slowly crept up to the building corner, breath held, the stone texture of the building against his back. He took a peek. Around the corner in front of him was an abandoned food stall; beyond it — the thing. It was holding somebody up, just like earlier with dad; it looked like it was talking or asking something. Too far to hear. They were in the middle of the central plaza, where the village fair was supposed to be.

  Its right hand is holding the person’s throat. The forearm split open, a blade jabbed out and retracted. No sound from the person. Clean and efficient. It threw away the body as if it were trash.

  Ragnel inhaled sharply. It snapped its head in his direction. Ragnel shifted out of sight.

  Not again.

  He peeked once more. I was walking over to him. Ragnel stepped back carefully. No noise, He turned and moved to the next building corner to hide. As soon as he hid himself, the thing arrived at the previous corner, scanned the area, then went back.

  Ragnel let out a deep exhale. Hands trembling. Only a surprise attack would work on it. Around the other corner of the building — metal footsteps.

  He slithered along the wall and around the corner next to him. This was it. He let the weight of the sword slide back from his shoulder — cold metal pressed through his garment. Both hands tightly gripping the sword, the blood from his hands made it slippery like ice. He shifted his footing and lowered himself into a stance. The ambush was set.

  Crash. A whole body jolt. Head jerked towards the sound. More rubble is falling. He let out an exhale.

  Crash.

  This time it was right next to him. The humanoid punched through the building wall beside him, causing stone shards to fly like shrapnel, his face suddenly stinging from several places. Instinct forced Ragnel to turn the Zwei Buster's thick blade. The impact shook his hands to the bone and buckled his legs. No time for pain. He dashed away — then landed on his bad ankle. He scrunched his face. At least he made some distance to regather himself. The humanoid sharpened back into his view.

  Ragnel got a clearer image of what he was fighting. Orange hue illuminated the over-towering and mostly mechanical human form. The face was eerily attractive, considering the atrocities committed. An iron jaw. Long straight hair that looked too clean to be on a battlefield. And the eyes — unnatural, glowing blue, like it was imposing itself upon others from the Etherworld.

  It took one step forward. Ragnel took one step back and rested the blade on his left arm in a stance that looked like it would thrust through the heavens. His shoulders burned just to keep the position. The thing bowed nobly, looked at him, and froze.

  A moment of silence.

  Boom. It pushed off the ground so hard that the earth cracked from the pressure. Arm and fist coming in like a comet.

  It was too fast. Ragnel barely angled the blade face in time, the punch landing cleaner than he wanted, causing him to lose footing. Weight shifted onto the bad ankle. Push through the pain. He commanded his body to rotate, and the sword sliced the air in a giant sweeping arc. The thing bent backwards and flowed into a backhand spring, resetting the initial position.

  A head tilt and an iron grin, but it didn’t linger long. It kicked the ground hard enough to send chunks of rock hurling at Ragnel; it shadowed the rocks towards him. Ragnel held the sword vertical in front of him, hilt upward, and the rocks bounced off the side of the blade. With footwork, he moved around and swung downward. The thing gracefully side-stepped and spun. The Zwei Buster hit the ground and sent its own chunks of rock flying.

  "Your sword style looks familiar, boy," the humanoid said. The voice was not robotic but had a metallic reverb. "Different weapon, but same principles. Tell me, boy, did Greige teach you?" Pointing at him.

  Ragnel’s head shifted backwards. "Greige? That's my father, the one you killed with that magic!" He barely managed, breathing heavily. Why does this thing know Dad?

  The thing’s head tilted. "You're Greige's son." Not a question. "Where is the artifact?" Ragnel felt the increased aggression in its voice.

  "I don't know what you're talking about!" He took the sword and moved it behind him, obscuring the sword from the thing’s vision. His muscles aching and pushed past their limits, the sword tip resting on the ground. Another stance.

  I don’t know how much longer I can go.

  The thing leapt in the air. Arm and fist cocked back. It shouldn’t have gone that high. He moved the sword to block.

  What? Ragnel’s body wouldn’t obey. Another attack was incoming, and he hadn’t moved at all. Grunting and veins surfacing, he forced his body to block in time. His knees crashed into the ground. A kick landed on his side, sending him sliding on the ground. He coughed up blood.

  It took everything he had to stand. The sword felt heavier. A punch to the stomach folded him, his head forced to turn with another punch, sweat flying off his face.

  Then it came.

  Compression around his throat.

  Ragnel couldn't feel the ground anymore. He couldn't find any air. A loud metallic thud — the Zwei Buster slid from his grip, slick from blood. His hands are suddenly free.

  "If you do not know, then I have no need for you," the thing said, its glowing blue eyes gazing into his soul. Its left arm suspended the weight of a man without strain. Almost too easy.

  High-pitched whirring from its right arm. The forearm split open; a slender, slightly curved blade sliced the air as it protruded out towards the elbow, not yet impaling him. Ragnel's eyes widened. He dug his fingernails into the hand at his throat.

  Blood from its left hand and forearm slowly dripped. The left arm was organic. Ragnel dug in harder, raked and clawed, their blood mixed. It didn’t wince, just a dead expression on its face, watching a futile struggle.

  It reared the sickle arm back, blade levered forward. Ragnel tensed.

  Thud. A piece of wood shattered over its head. Splinters fell onto its shoulders. No reaction at all, like a statue. Ragnel squinted.

  "Mom." Saying it took every bit of air he had. The thing took note. Ragnel’s arms went numb, dangling on his sides. He coughed and found himself face down, tasting dust and feeling grit in his mouth.

  He looked up. His mother was running away. One dash and it caught her.

  It happened again.

  She was hoisted by her throat. "Mom, where is the artifact?" Ragnel did not utter these words.

  No reply. Just struggling. A starvation of air. It looked down at Ragnel, made eye contact, and shook its head.

  “Live. Love you,” his mother mouthed, looking at Ragnel.

  The blade skewered her.

  Discoloration set in — blackness spreading from the entry wound, creeping down arms and legs, climbing up the neck. His mother's flesh decayed just like his father’s. The small scratches on its arm sealed shut, its arm clean like new skin. That magic. Again.

  Fists closed. Muscles felt like they were tearing from the bone. Face stinging from salt, tears wet the ground. Air in his lungs bellowed a beastly, primal cry — more demon-like than human. He heaved the Zwei Buster from the ground. Every step was like moving through knee-deep mud. He intended to bring the sword down hard; all he managed was a side swipe.

  The humanoid’s blade came from where his mother had been; the sickle blade split through the crumbling remnants. Clean. Precise. Ragnel's right arm and the Zwei Buster met the earth at the same time.

  His body followed.

  It paused. Sickle retracted. Just staring at him. Watching blood gush. Ragnel’s body was lifeless on the ground.

  A sharp-angled aircraft came into view and circled the village. The thing looked up at it as the craft leveled out and hovered above. A deep hum vibrates the air.

  He spoke into his transceiver. "Mission summary: Greige did not relinquish the artifact's location, nor did anyone close to him. The search will continue."

  Everything was blurry. The sound went distant. Ragnel caught fragments of the call — "Kama, retreat… head to… is near…"

  Kama looked down at Ragnel, and reached down —.

  Kama’s blade whirred out and cut a projectile in half. He stepped away. Three more came. All cut.

  He looked up, and jet propulsion launched him upward. The craft blasted off.

  Kama.

  Ragnel's last conscious breath.