Chương 13: The Last Stand

They made it halfway up the mountain by the time the swarm hit them. The pace Malachi had set was grueling. The last soldier from HQ-35 had collapsed on the side of the rocky slopes and just said, "I can't. Legs won't move anymore." Then he'd smiled at them and held up a pistol.

"I saved a bullet." They'd heard the gunshot a few minutes later. As they'd climbed, Malachi had felt a building pressure inside himself. William had been right. It was bullshit. If they'd been trapped on the wrong side of any other portal, they'd have stood a fighting chance. Here, there was no water, the enemy was infinite, and the fucking sky rained deadly acid. Green-tinted mists continued to roll down the mountain slopes as the acid rain continued. His skin felt like it was on fire.

Every few hundred feet, they'd looked back and seen that tide of bodies moving toward them. As they approached, he'd kept thinking faster. We have to go faster. It hadn't mattered. The swarm of mantises wasn't directed at them; it was like a cloud. At the edge of the cloud were only a few of the creatures. The deeper into the swarm, though, the denser the mantises. Right now, they still had a fighting chance. The more the cloud of monsters overtook them, the faster they'd be overwhelmed.

The endless swarm broke like a wave against the mountain, most going around, but thousands were still heading up the slopes. To the sides, Malachi could see the mantises advancing in parallel with them as another group skittered toward them.

"Running battle," Malachi wheezed, and that was what they did. They were seven soldiers and one scientist, and the uneven slopes made it impossible to form anything like a phalanx line. Instead, they just slashed and stabbed anything that got too close. At first, they could still make good progress. While three of them held the rear, the others could advance without opposition. Then the three holding the rear could run past the advanced group, and that group would become the defenders.

Chavez helped where he could, but he wasn't a fighter. Then, too much of the swarm had overtaken them, and suddenly there were mantises on every side. Two of the soldiers from HQ-29 were the first to fall. There wasn't a moment where they slipped up, there were just too many mantises attacking from all sides, and by then, everyone's armor was pitted and falling apart.

Malachi was too busy fighting to see when they fell, only one moment they were standing, moving past a large boulder they were using to cover one of the angles, and the next they were on the ground being cut to ribbons by a half-dozen bugs. Malachi had never learned their names. Then it was himself, Nicole, William, Dr. Chavez, and Tran—Malachi didn't know which portal team he'd been from. One of the ones they'd headed in to rescue, he was pretty sure.

Tran had been an avid hiker, so he was ahead of the group when it happened. A large creature, resembling a giant tarantula with silver-streaked black carapace, darted down the slope. Its mouth opened up and a worm-like protrusion struck out, full of rows of circular teeth like it was some kind of Dune worm. Tran, to his credit, stabbed it, and then he was on the ground screaming, his face and body cut to ribbons by the teeth. The second bite killed him.

"What the fuck!" Nicole shouted. There was a pile of boulders to their left, slightly up the slope. Apparently, the creature had been hiding behind them. The spider-terror started digging into the corpse, tearing it into chunks with its lamprey mouth that it sucked down. Part of the breastplate got caught in its mouth, the needle-like teeth making a terrible scratching sound as they scraped at it. It made a screeching noise, then spit the hunk of steel out and returned to its feast.

"Behind us!" Chavez said. Malachi whirled. Another dozen mantises were coming up from behind. And just like that, everything was chaos. The giant tarantula thing was the bigger threat, but the mantises were closing, while the other creature was feasting. Malachi whirled his spear and brought the head down hard, slicing down the center of the first mantis, then ducked under a blade arm that tried to take off his head. Another blade came, too fast for him to move.

He brought up his buckler and cried out as the mantis arm smashed into it, sending a piece of the buckler flying. Malachi recovered, thrusting into the center mass. Then, disaster. The spear had stuck too deep inside the creature. Another mantis was charging him from behind while another was coming in on his flank. Malachi drove the spear father down. Just before he did it, he had this image in his head of using the spear like a pole for vaulting.

He'd flip forward, then his forward momentum would help him yank the spear back out and he'd whirl and stab the nearest mantis while getting far enough away that the one to his rear would be out of range. What actually happened was his spear snapped and he fell face first into the mantis corpse, now holding the broken shaft. Two bladed arms cut through the air where he'd been a moment ago. Malachi saw the next blow coming in his peripheral vision and rolled to the side just in time.

An arm slammed the ground where he'd just been, splattering viscous blood from the dead mantis. Malachi took the metal shaft and held it above his head, just in time to block another blow. The shaft cracked. Corroded too much from the acid rain. Even now, he could feel the burn of the rain on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chavez, Nicole and William trying to hold back a cluster of the mantises. They weren't going to help him. His mind raced.

He rolled again as another blade came down while a second raked his back. Only the remnants of his breastplate stopped the blow from being worse. This time, he scrambled to his feet, body-slamming the nearest mantis. He charged the tarantula. The tactic had come to him before the words did: the tarantula, unlike the bugs, was actually eating Tran. It ate. It needed food. It was an actual, living creature, not one of the magical summons here that just killed and moved on.

"Move further up!" he shouted as he rounded the creature. The tarantula-thing hissed and whirled at him as he approached. Malachi's eyes went wide and his brain went into automatic pilot. He hadn't played soccer in years, but he executed a perfect slide-tackle. The lamprey head snapped at the air above him. Malachi recovered and scrambled forward. As the head lunged for him again, he stabbed the broken spear shaft down like a dagger into the soft neck.

Its long teeth raked him, and he felt a hot line of pain on his face and arm. The spear shaft embedded itself in the fleshy part, and the tarantula screamed, skittering back, its two front legs pawing at the metal sticking out of its lamprey-neck. Malachi now had no weapon, and Tran's body was beneath the flailing monster. The creature's legs were leaving deep gouges in the ground as it slammed them down; Malachi didn't want to risk getting close to them again.

He scrambled up the pile of boulders the beast had been hiding behind. As he'd thought, several of the mantises were now attacking the giant spider-thing, though their claw blades bounced off the black and silver carapace. Even as the tarantula-horror was trying to dig the spear shaft out of its rubbery neck, it was smashing the bugs like they were… yeah. He got higher, then leaned on one of the boulders at the edge of the pile. It wobbled slightly but held as he caught his breath and looked out.

Nicole was clutching her right arm, and he could see blood bubbling between her fingers. Still, she was fighting, jabbing her spear at a mantis to keep it at bay. William was busy fighting two more of them, trying to keep them off Dr. Chavez, who had fallen to the ground with a gash in his leg. He was tearing his shirt to pieces to try and bandage it. They needed to end this fight, and quickly. More mantises were on their way.

The tarantula had moved closer to the rock pile and was now trying to scrape the spear shaft off by rubbing its neck against the boulders. Malachi blinked. The boulder he was leaning on had wobbled. It was a big fucking rock. But it was loose, and it was directly over the creature. He braced himself and heaved. His muscles strained. All the exhaustion, all the soreness, the way his face burned from the acid rain—he tried to bundle that pain and push it into determination. I will not die here, he resolved.

He grit his teeth, grunting from the exertion. I. Will. Not. Die. Here! He felt sharp pain in his back. His legs were trembling. The boulder teetered— He heaved with everything he had. —and then toppled. There was a sickening CRUNCH! as the rock landed right on the creature's neck, cracking its back carapace in two and sending blue blood oozing over the ground. Malachi stood there, panting, and then he heard something behind him. Another fucking mantis.

He jumped down on top of the creature, past the boulder, slamming into its back hard, knocking the wind out of himself.

"Here!" called Chavez, and tossed him his spear. Malachi took it, whirled, and stabbed the mantis in the belly as it descended from the rocks. Then he turned, just in time to see a blade arm impale Nicole, right through the chest. She gurgled, and bloody spittle came flying out of her mouth as more blood leaked around the claw.

"NO!" Malachi screamed. He came at the mantises like a whirlwind. When he slashed, limbs went flying. When he stabbed, they died. Two mantises fell before him—three—four. A fifth one charged and he slammed his tip right into its center mass, lifting it up in the air briefly before slamming it back into the ground. William was standing there, trembling. Chavez was still on the ground, going pale. He'd tried to tie a cloth tourniquet around his leg, but there was still too much blood seeping out of it.

"Go," he wheezed.

"—c-cut the femoral artery. Can't tie it off. Can't stuff the wound right. Remember." He shivered. Lying on the ground there, the thin acid mist wafted around him, blistering his skin.

"Remember… what I said," he wheezed at Malachi. More mantises were coming. He could hear their legs clattering against the stone.

"Magic… about…stand… together." His face contorted in pain.

"Go," he said again, and the distant roll of thunder echoed him. Chavez swallowed.

"Wasn't ready… to die. Still… not. But who… who is…" William was looking at the scientist, looking at Nicole. Then he looked at Malachi. He could see that hollow gaze, see the pain in his eyes. He knew that look. He'd seen it in the mirror too many times. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Malia's still out there. She needs you. They didn't say anything. They ran. Above them, the lightning crackled, and the ground before them flashed with violet light.

The rock crunched under their feet. Malachi glanced up, raising his buckler to shield his eyes from the corrosive rain. He could see the colossal pillar. It had gotten closer, but it was still so far. Every few hundred feet, another group of mantises came at them. They fought like one, back to back, spears jabbing in sync. They ran, they fought, they ran again. Together, their breath came in ragged gasps. There was no relief. Then, there was a light. Not purple, like the lightning, but roaring fire.

The beam hit the side of the mountain. The burning rock smelled like plastic melting in the oven. Behind them, crawling up the mountain on its tall legs, was a zilla, some hundred yards downslope. Malachi thought of the Sunbreaker fight. Even when it seemed like there wasn't, there was always a safe place to stand. Here on the mountain, there were boulders and talus dotting the climb. It's far enough back. If we can keep something between us and that thing as we climb…

"This way," he gasped, moving behind a rock, then leading them up an angled part of the trail. He tried to keep a mental visual of where the zilla was behind them. He needed to keep track of its location without actually seeing it, because if he could see it, it could see them, and the next beam of fire might not miss. Another mantis scrambled over the rocks. Malachi impaled it, then kicked the corpse so it tumbled down the mountain. His skin burned. His lungs burned. He clutched his determination.

They kept climbing, the slope growing steeper. His legs ached. Malachi undid the two last clasps on his breastplate and tore it off. The thing crumbled as it hit the ground. It had been too corroded to do much, and was too heavy. William did the same. As his plate slid down, another beam of fire erupted, splashing into it. They kept going. All the fighting and running became a blur. He lost track of how many mantises he killed.

Malachi's legs and feet felt like they were on fire, the skin from the acid, the muscles from the climb. He peaked over a rock formation, looking back.

"It's gaining on us," he wheezed. Two more mantises scampered after them. In perfect synchronization, Malachi and William stabbed them, then turned and kept going. Malachi was still mapping out the route, making sure every time they moved forward, there'd be something to hide behind. William was breathing too hard.

"Mal… I can't. I can't… I'm trying… I just… I need a moment to rest." Malachi felt the tears swelling.

"We can't stop. William, we can't. We have to go." There was a fear building in him. He'd known something like this might happen. The people he got close to—it always happened. He'd tried so damn hard to stay distant from his comrades in HQ-22. It hadn't worked. It hadn't fucking worked at all. The other man collapsed to the ground. He winced as the acid fog burned his hands. He turned and sat, staring out across the strange landscape. His breathing was still so ragged.

"It's kinda… beautiful," he said between gasps, watching the lightning dance from pillar to distant pillar.

"If you… get out…"" We're getting out," Malachi snapped.

"Together. Don't you… don't you fucking—" The words wouldn't come. Three more mantises were coming up the slope. Suddenly, there were all these questions he wanted to ask William. He wanted to hear another one of his dumb stories about his brothers pranking each other back when Vines were still a thing. Wanted to ask about his uncle. He realized he knew nearly nothing about William, just these little pieced together stories. He couldn't leave him. William had saved his life.

They'd trained together, fought together. He'd gotten this far. What came out was, "You still didn't beat me in Soul Calibur. You just gonna let that slide?" William laughed, though it came out as more of a cough. He stood up, clutching his spear.

"Watched a lot of movies where people died and thought, 'that ever happen to me, I ain't gonna do that shit.' Then here I am. Knew we were dead when that bomber… but I had to follow you. You had that—" He coughed again.

"You make it out of here, you host a barbecue in my name. Make sure… make sure all the kids know about it, and that it's got one of them bouncy castles. I'll lead the zilla away. Give you more time."

"No—!" Malachi said, and tried to grab his arm, but suddenly his friend was half-stumbling, half-charging down the slope. He tripped, sliding and rolling over the rocks for a dozen feet. The three mantises that had been coming watched William tumble past, then started skittering after him. He pushed himself to his feet, then stumbled onward. A beam of fire seared a nearby rock, barely missing him. For a moment, Malachi wanted to follow him. Save his stupid ass. But he stopped himself.

He wasn't going to spit in his friend's sacrifice. Malia needs you. Malachi turned and ran. That motherfucker had no right—had no fucking right to save his life again. The tears fell as he climbed, mixing with the sweat and acid. His helmet had fallen to pieces, so now he could smell his mop of hair burning away. He was alone. Again. Malia, he reminded himself. But when he thought of her, he thought of all the dead men and women, scattered from this mountain to where the portal had spit them out.

He thought of Nicole, always steadfast. He thought of Juan, always by his side. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. They'd been good people. He tried to think of what he could have done differently. Instead, all he could think of was that stupid Star Trek quote.

'It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose,' he could hear Captain Picard saying. He had to keep going. He wasn't going to let a fucking Star Trek quote be his last thought. Another mantis came down the slope. He sent its corpse tumbling down the mountain. Then another. And another. His world became the fight, became the climb. That was all there was, beneath the dark ceiling and the flashing lightning.

The rain came down heavier, and when he looked back, the hazy clouds billowed about the land, drowning all the hills in fog. Cresting over the top of every hill was the swarm, the shadows of which swam beneath the haze. When he looked down the steep slopes and the lightning flash, he could see them teeming with the bulk of the horde. He looked back up. The pillar was larger. He was close, he was so close. A group of mantises charged from behind, and Malachi had to spin to fight them.

He didn't know how he did it, he just reacted, his buckler clanging as bladed arms reached for him, his spear stabbing out again and again until another group of bugs slipped down the mountainside. His breathing was loud in his ears, and the pain in his lungs was like nothing he'd ever felt before. The slope was so steep. His muscles burned, and he was sure each step he took would be his last, that his legs would just give out. Somehow, they didn't. Somehow, he kept going.

The acid rain had eaten through any armor he had left and was chewing through his clothes. He could feel raw blisters all over his body. His pants were torn to shreds, and his shirt was beginning to fail too. The worst part was, there was all this pain, and he wasn't even numb to it. When he blocked another blow from a mantis, another chunk of his shield tumbled down the slope. His buckler barely resembled the shield it had been, it was like he had a piece of scrap metal strapped to his arm.

When another mantis came, disaster struck—he raised his spear to block the blow, and the haft snapped. The mantis tore a strip of flesh off his chest, but he'd deflected it just enough not to be skewered. Malachi tossed aside the lower part of the haft as he stumbled back, then leapt at the mantis, bringing the shortened spear down like a dagger, stabbing it in its simulacrum of a head over and over until it stilled. He collapsed onto it, knees on the ground. More were coming.

And not a handful, not a dozen, but hundreds, skittering up the slopes like a tide. He couldn't rest. With a shout, he stood again. Lightning cracked again, and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, thumping like a drumbeat. Faster and faster it came, and Malachi knew he was a hair's-breath away not just from his limit, but the limit of what any human could endure. And then, the slope became more gentle, and he could see the peak. It was there—right there!

—a hundred feet away, that colossal pillar rising from it like a skyscraper. For a moment, he stopped and gaped. At the base of the pillar was some sort of creature. It was a colossal humanoid three times as tall as even a zilla. It had six arms and six wings, and all of them were pinned to the tower with a hundred thick spears. Each spear glistened like spilled oil in a parking lot, and that nacreous shimmer bled into the body.

The wings were full of swirling patterns, so that, mothlike, it resembled dozens of eyes staring back out at him. The actual eyes in its face were empty—more than empty. It was like the blackness in them was so deep he'd find whole galaxies of stars in there. The chest of the creature was an open hollow, but there were no bones in it. Instead, it was full of coils and metallic things, like the innards of some sort of alien machine.

Its feet were buried in the mountainside, but by it, by a flash of lightning—he saw it: a pale octahedron, just like the one they'd tried to extract with their rescue. This one was white and gold. Then Malachi turned, and saw the horde. Worse, he saw what was walking with them: one of the zillas, towering above like a fucked-up bug giraffe, charging straight at him, mouth opening. He dove to the side, just as a beam of fire cut across where he'd been standing, felt the heat of the blast wash over him.

He scrambled to his feet—or rather, tried and collapsed. He looked dumbly down at his left leg. Oh. He hadn't escaped it. His left leg was a charred stump, just below the hip. Suddenly, the determination that had been keeping him together evaporated, and in its place was a fear. He fell into it like a puddle, slippery and wet, and it had drenched him. He was going to die. He was going to die. But I'm not ready, he thought. There were still so many things he'd wanted to do. Places he'd wanted to travel.

For god's sake, he still had a Steam account packed full of games he'd never played. And Malia. She needed him. He needed her. He didn't just need her. He needed his team. He needed HQ-22. But they were gone. The zilla stepped stomped closer. It towered over him, and it raised a giant scythe arm. Then, his fear became a rage. It erupted in him like a volcano bursting from the earth, hot enough to shape the world. No, Malachi thought. He wasn't dead yet.

He rolled, just as the scythe arm came slamming down, and tasted the dust of the rocks it had broken next to him. Then in a flash, he reached out with his shield arm and swung it over the arm of the creature. As the zilla retracted it, Malachi went flying up with it. The zilla's strange mouth began to glow red. But as its arm had lifted him up, it had brought him right next to the mouth. With a roar, Malachi plunged his broken spear into its mouth. Something happened when he did that.

Instead of a beam, there was a burst of fire that crackled through the creature like its circulatory system had just turned molten. It screamed, and its legs collapsed out from under it. As its body hit the ground, fire burst from his belly, incinerating the nearby mantises. Malachi was flung forward, slamming into the rocks. His ears rang. All he could hear was the pounding of his heartbeat. His right arm was gone. There was just a charred stump left. He tilted his head up. The pain was unbearable.

He clenched his teeth and raised his head. Lightning flashed. Thunder shook the mountain. And there it was. Before him was the pillar and the strange angel-like creature, and sticking out of the ground next to it was the Magical Core. Six feet away. The mantises were still swarming. The fire blast had knocked them away, but he had a few dozen seconds at most. Lightning flashed again.

Malachi reached out with his left arm and clawed at the rock in front of himself, dragging himself forward, then kicked with his right leg. With infuriating slowness, he dragged himself forward, muscles trembling. The acid mist wafted all around him, and he felt it scouring his lungs. What miracle he expected, he couldn't say, but since its magic was his only chance, he moved for it. He would not be broken by this; he had set his path, and he was determined to make it.

Death could claim him, but if he got that core, he'd win. Deep down inside, though, he prayed for that miracle. He hadn't had faith in anything, not for a long time. But he had to hope. Buried beneath the volcanic fury that was driving him was that tiny candle flame. He dragged himself forward again. In his peripheral vision, he could see movement. Mantises closing in. He clawed at the broken ground, then reached. His fingers touched the core. As he did, it lit up with gold and ivory glyphs. The magic was there.

A little warm light, here, at the end of the world. Then, a greater light. Above him, the eldritch angel-creature stirred. Tendrils of light snaked out of its belly. He heard a sound in his head, like a rushing river. Glyphs rushed about in his head, even as his vision darkened. They swirled, until the symbols coalesced into something that looked like a game screen, and the glyphs morphed from nonsense into words he could understand, even as his vision began dim around the edges. WHAT ARE YOU, LITTLE PIECE OF LIFE?

he heard. It was like a booming voice, like he was in a dark sphere and the sound came from everywhere at once. Was he dreaming? Was he dead? YOU LINGER AT THE PRECIPICE, the voice said. The glyphs morphed into something he could read. His eyes focused on the words that had appeared before him: System Initializing.