The Colossus – Francisco Goya
Part I: Speciecide Blues
These things rot in my primal brain. They eat through my sanity. It was slow at first, but gradually the plot thickened and I was left with the aftertaste of insanity. I have seen the battle between Gods and monsters, and seen the revelation that the
Gods are the real monsters.
A painful march of death orchestrated by the symphonic hateful metronome of the defiled saints; fodder for those immortal beings.
Humans are nothing in the battlefield, except for rotting corpses, a welcome mat for oblivion. There only use is for the advent of fear, and the haste of self-loathing. My only wish is to finally die before the aftermath. A hell not from the fear factories of the gods, but from the true Titans of ragnorock, those of which have been to blasphemous to speak of throughout histories slow bloody march.
Death now can be only hastened for the few remaining, for I will bring it to them with open arms, and have them greet it with the warmth of friendship. They will slay their foes with a ferocity that no being has or will see for the rest of infinity. I wither in sadness, immortal, vacant of soul. Terrified of freedom.
A festering cloud of disease and rot, batters the landscape with its omnipotent sickness. Defiling the pure pristine life-force, decaying it with its stench. The rain, or what should be rain, storms down in a sickly brown torrent upon the earth. Parasites devour the life energy of those creatures within the range of hills. A spell of sickness conjured by an arch-demon of decay.
The vast armies of decay, sew their seeds upon the earth. Devouring all life for its retched abuse.
This is war. This is oblivion.
Part II: Those that fear mortals
Gods, once immortal entities of light and darkness, perverted by their now malevolent infinity, have become twisted obscene creatures of the wretched. They Struggle with the Titans, colossal alien beings of immense power, around which mighty armies carry their banners of allegiance. Destroying everything in their path that has not given their allegiance to their Titan.
And finally the monsters; ancient creatures of untold power and
intelligence who choose to loath in their pits of apathy, rather than take part in the destiny of their planet. Some sulk on their thrones protecting their invisible empires, preying on the life-force of unwilling victims. Some monsters, the size of Titans, sleep beneath abysmal swamps, or in sunken cities deep beneath the sea, dreaming of better times and of other lives once spent. Yet others, created by the blindness of humanity, wither in their sadness and loneliness. Endlessly searching for the soul that man had forsaken them when he had created them. And I! What am I?
One of the first conquered by the power of the Titans. My allegiance torn from them by the malevolence of the gods. And now I sulk in a pool of self-loathing, empowered by my apathy, to do nothing. Even my last vestige of humanity, my lust for war, has been quelled. I have become a monster,
Unworthy to help the last vestiges of the human empire, as they reach out to me for help. Humanity has always destroyed what they have feared. Monsters being no exception to the rule, but now we are their last hope. Because a monster and a human share more than each group would like to admit. You see in every human their lies a monster, its called fear, and in every monster there lies a human and its called fear. This thin web has kept us inseparable throughout the millennia, and it shall forever, or as long as forever has been deemed.
At one time I was the most powerful and feared warlord, killing under the banner of the Titan of Battle. My lust for blood and death carried my vast armies to slay all other followers of rival Titans that stood in
my way. Even the malevolent gods feared my mighty charge. Their angels and demons were no match for the bloodlust of my forces. With me at the helm the Titan’s victory was almost certain, until the divine darkness attacked me in my dreams, and corrupted me into the service of the warring factions of the gods. My armies loyalty was unwavering and they followed me into the service of the demon-god Necrem, after I slew the Titan. To all my foes I was a Titan, but in a profane alliance with the Demon-god Necrem. For ages we ravaged everything, from rival gods and titans, to the dwindling empire of humanity of which I was sewn from. And then, when are victory was almost certain for the attainment of — I don’t even remember what it was for anymore, I had a dream of a child catching frogs by a shallow pond on a humid summer day.
When I woke up, I had changed.
I cut through my self-created shackles, realizing that I was never truly a prisoner of Necrem, but of myself. And I left, and now I’m hiding. An outcast, I belong nowhere. I am a monster.
Part III:This Mortal Burden
At first the alarm resounded faintly through Clayden’s dream, but then in a second it became more intense; he was awake.
…attalion. Alert is red.” The hurried voice of his general sprang to his ears. “This is a full alert. Suit up and stand ready for deployment. Full details will be given at that time.”
“Dammit, I just went to sleep three hours
ago,” Clayden said to himself, half awake with sleep clouding his eyes.
The barracks were ablaze with activity, as the soldiers, suited themselves into there heavily plated battle armor. Thousands of heavy trodden footsteps resounded throughout the stadium sized barracks of the 10th assault battalion.
Clayden pushes himself up slowly, clearing his eyes of more heavy sleep.
“Sir, you’re not setting a good example for the rest of us,” Carter, his communication officer badgers as he fastens the last of his heavy armor onto his body.
“Shut up,” as Jacob Clayden suddenly reflects on his sortie five hours earlier into one of the Alien Titans territories. What was the objective anyway? He asked himself. It was suicide in the first place.
Why did I volunteer? Titan armies have more powerful weapons. Not only that, they’re also insane. Just the other day one of my men was mauled by the augmented teeth of a titan soldier, only after his legs and one arm had been severed by my lance. Why did we go?
He quickly shrugs it off and suits up in his shiny metallic assault armor, powered by chemical reactions within its Bio-furnace, fueled by the blood of its wearer. Stolen technology from the titans, being used for the sake of humanity.
Not many cities were left standing, but the ones that had survived became Mega-metropolises, defended heavily by there inhabitants. One of these sprawls, was defended by a human Warlord, known only as lord Seth. In fact all remaining human cities were either controlled by warlords, or by military orders.
Lord Seth’s army was over three million strong, with at least one million in reserve, which were rotated into civilian and army life to keep essential city services in line.
Humanity, although overpowered by Titans and gods, still enjoyed fighting among itself and warlords clashed with each other, with such a ferocity that it could be deemed that there was no threat to humanity’s survival. Humanity’s greatest gift, from who ever spawned these creatures, was the lust for war and the craving for domination. But Seth was different. At first to gain power he killed and maimed up the ranks, and once he got his power, he began to network with the other Orders and Warlords, in order to save humanity. They all could see that he was justified, for humanity had one last battle, before it was destroyed.
And within the vast ranks of the Army of the Seth, Jacob Clayden waits for his
orders. Will they be to defend or to attack. Did it even matter to him anymore?
Lord Seth, an awesomely built man, stood at a height of seven feet, strength rippled through his mighty body like thunder. His long brown hair gripped in a ponytail while he coldly coordinated his defense against his foe. Rumors of his supernatural intelligence abounded around him as a legend. Some say that he battled against Necrem in his realm after the disappearance of the Warmaster, who’s name has been lost through the ages. And through force attained supernatural strength, intelligence, and near immortality; but those were just rumors. What the humans lacked in force, was almost made up by strategic and tactical supremacy against their foes. Seth was the master among these strategist, but his city would fall if he did not stop this gathering. He knew that they had ran out of options.
“The Titan gathering has just entered the defensive perimeter, Sir,” one of Seth’s stalwart commander’s relays to him.
“I want the Zigram’s launched now, have them drop load the 10th, 14th, 15th, 17th, and 25th assault platoons in tree cover before they intercept,” Seth feverishly orders.
“How far are the 5th, 6th, and 8th light mechanized division from the front!”
“Ten minutes to defensive position.”
“Good,” Seth smiles. “Have them deploy the infantry as soon as they reach their positions.”
“Bombard them, now”
Loud thuds, and the thrusts of rockets rebounded throughout the city as the cannon’s shoot there ordinance, like a rain
of molten death upon there unseen titan enemy. Missile streak off into the early dawn to destroy there unknowing enemy.
“I want the interceptors to flank the enemy on the left and drive them to the mountain. I want them cornered.”
His commandeers quickly, coldly order their troops, knowing that each syllable brings death upon them.
“Are the 1st and 4th heavy mechanized battalions ready for deployment?”
“In five more minutes; the last of the heavy tanks are being fitted with the new hurricane missiles.”
“Good,” he pauses. “When they’re ready have the Hell Angels flank the left. The 4th can go straight up the middle, to cover the infantry’s spear head.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Titan’s, alien beings. Who are you again? I remember, your the Titan Ramses.
Fashioning yourself after and eldritch earthen warlord emperor. You’re As big as the pyramids in your colossal battle armor, but you have not the gaul to destroy my city. You will be routed. As I have routed so many of my enemies.
Part IV: Blood Furnace
Through a crack in the tree cover, Clayden glimpses the immense size of the Titan, as tall as the largest building in the city, bristling with the destructive power of a hundred earthquakes. Beneath his clossal feet waves upon waves of blood thirsty clones charge into the artillery barrage, obliterated, chopped to peices while the heat dissipates the their inhuman blood into the atmosphere.
Even after all his years, thrusting headlong into the brunt of almost every battle, the site of the Titan still invoked terror, but that terror also pumped the adrenilian into his system, and installed the fury he needed to vanquish his enemies. Be that they were angels, or legions of titan soldiers — they all died by his hand.
The battlefield rumbled with the slow gait of the alien Titan, and the constant barrage’s of the cities cannon’s. The brave pilots of the Zigrams, launched themselves directly at the smaller shock titans, which stood about six stories tall. It was a lucky attempt, but the Zigrams destroyed two of the ten “shock tee’s” that’s what the ground pounders called them. But like always the Zigrams were just swatted away like flies, crashing in a fiery death, killing all aboard.
“Stupid HQ,” Clayden yelled aloud, angry at the senseless sacrifice of the Zigrams. Good pilots are hard to train these days. It either takes a brave person, or an idiot. There was no use for a wasted death.
Clayden was the commander of the 25th assault platoon, but they were really known by their other name. A name more fitting for their ferocity in battle, and the destruction of a Titan by them one hundred years ago, when Clayden wasn’t even a thought. They were deemed the Hyperion slayer’s, after the Titan that had been killed.
With the killing and defeat of two Titans that only left ten. Not a bad kill ratio; a couple billion humans, to two. Not bad at all Clayden cynically laughed to himself, anxiously awaiting his orders from HQ.
The mighty roar of a hundred armored interceptors thundered past them as they
raced to corner the Ramses battle clones; who’s battle lust were nearly unequaled among the other Titan clones. The Titan forces were made up of the genetically vat grown clone warriors, and warpartys of human followers, who joined the titans when they first arrived on the planet.
These followers were the deadliest, since their bodies have become more machine than flesh over the centuries. They had some mechanized divisions, captured and suped up beyond normal human methods, but mostly the attacks came in mighty waves of clones, and scattered warpartys. Too experienced veterans like Clayden and his platoon the clones weren’t even a concern, but the warparty’s were to be feared, they were vicious, calculating, and insane.
“Have you received anything from HQ yet,
Carter?” Clayden asks his Psi officer.
Carter’s eyes are closed as he sits lotus style, as if in meditation, peacefully reacting to the communications sent by unseen minds.
When the Titans first arrived to greet the earth forces they jammed all radio communication. To counter this, after a hundred years or so of secret genetic research certain people were born with the gift of mental communication. These people were them intermixed with the normal gene pool. Carter was born a PSI, a very valuable gift, one that warlords will inscript into their force as soon as they catch wind of one. Although PSI’s are useful against alien Titan gatherings that give humans that one edge which helps them to survive their onslaughts. They are almost helpless against the gods, whom could crush the mind of a PSI almost
instantly. Then its back to normal communiqué whe battling gods, which is rare, they are mostly busy fighting among themselves for objectives that humans can barley understand. Although its not rare for Titans and Gods to war. The Gods see the Titans as threats to their power.
“Nothing yet,” he pauses as a barrage explodes directly on the Titan. Pieces of armor fly off in every direction, most pieces crushing teems of frothing clones.
“They say stand fast. That’s all.”
“I can’t stand the wait,” Clayden glances up as the Titan Ramses crunches slowly closer to them. Huge gold plates of feet inch armor reflecting the hardest of armor piercing shells.
“The light mechanized divisions are now filling up the gaps in the front,” Carter relays, he pauses as another mental relay pulses into his mind. “The interceptors are
slowly pushing the gathering towards the mountain.”
“Good.” It’s almost time, Clayden psyches himself up.
“Tell the 14th, 15th, 17th, and the 10th to get ready, we’ll be moving out into the carnage soon.”
“These orders just in,” Carter pauses as the mind pulses quicken. “In five minutes the Angels heavy mechanized will take over the left flank from the interceptors. The interceptors will pick up the 10th, 17th, and the 25th; we will ride piggy back into the gathering. Are objective is to kill the Titan. The remaining platoons will provide covering fire and tactical support for our assault.”
The world dropped from beneath Clayden’s armored feet. His throat collapsed within him, he was finding it hard to breath as he glanced up at the Titan closing in on his city, as it loosed a vast arsenal of destructive plasma bursts upon the ranks of the infantry — hundreds died in a flaming death instantly.
“Have the 10th, and the 17th group with us at the edge of the forest,” Clayden swallows.
“Relay the orders you told me.”
New beads of sweat roll down his forehead as he puts on his spiked battle helmet and clamps on his lancer rifle to his back armor grip. He charges up his blood furnace, as the first tinge of the pump sucks his juice to fuel his armor, powering it with his life. Clayden has become one with his armor, both symbiotic with the lust for war.
Part V: Six feet of razor toothed bloody destruction
Frothing bands of clone warriors charge the swift moving interceptors as they slice into the weak clone defensive line; eagerly protecting their Titan from attack. A warparty of followers greedily eyes up the piggy back assault platoon, more victims for their Titan, they project, and more blood for their furnaces.
Clayden notices the bloodthirsty followers, numbering at least over fifty, as they bulldoze through their weaker clone allies, and attempt to overtake his spearhead. The interceptors loosen their
barrages of anti-personal missiles; subsequently decimating the remaining clones in their wake.
“Carter!” Clayden yells over the cacophony of carnage.
“Yes?” He replies screaming.
“What are our losses?”
Carter closes his eyes and mind scans the other platoons for missing members.
“Most of the 10th has been killed by…,” a clone clamps onto his free right leg as the interceptor zooms by. Carter frees his right arm, and slices down on the clones shoulder. Forcing the soulless creature to release its grip and fall, to be trampled by the treaded tracks of another interceptor. Shredding it into small indescribable pieces of cloned flesh.
“…Stray fire,” Carter finishes as if nothing had happened.
The followers varied cyborg forms now
began to take presence ahead of the assault. It was a mass of humanoid type forms; some with immense bio-technoid machete’s growing from were arms should be, and with heads half scabbed by mechandoid deformities. Others had gigantic turrets growing from their chests, firing sporadically at the interceptors, and their precious cargo. All of them shared one main drive – to destroy them for their Titan and absorb their enemies blood for their fuel. You see the main difference between the human body armor and the titan follower body armor was that difference. Human technologist reengineered the armor to be semi-symbiotic with the wearer, both the human and the armor benefiting the other. Sort of a mutual parasitic relationship; they both fueled the other. The armor stole the wearers humanity, as the human took the armors invincibility. The followers on the other hand had to absorb the blood of unlucky foes. A very messy and addictive way to live.
Clayden readied himself for battle with the followers as the Interceptors blasted away at them, thinning out their plentiful force. Farther down the battlefield, to the right, fast lightly armored mechanized units and APC’s stabbed at the advancing frothing battle engineered legions of clone warriors, while the heavy covering barrage from the artillery decimated their ranks. The infantries job was to tie up the entire clone thrust, along with the quickly advancing shock titans, gaining precious time for the assault units to close in on the Titan before it got to close to the cities first line of defense.
“Sir?”
“Yes,” Clayden answered the commander
of the interceptor unit through his comm in his helmet.
“Do you want my units to try to pierce through the warparty, or go around them?”
If they went around the warparty they would have to lose ground, which meant that there would be less time to engage; they didn’t have any time to waste. They had to go through the warparty.
“WE GO TO GO THROUGH!” Clayden shouted over the battlefield cacophony.
“That’s what I wanted to hear!”
Commander Nakajima responded wildly, ordering interceptor units one and two to flank the right, three and four to flank the left, as his unit and the fifth carried the remaining assault troops between them, keeping the troops relatively safe in the wedge.
The Interceptors charged, firing recklessly into the warparty, as they closed the space between them at an accelerated pace.
Clayden held on stead fast while he grabbed his lancer rifle from his back clasp, preparing for the inevitable clash with the warparty. With one simple flick the rifle transfigured itself into a close combat lance. This variation was needed because the assault troops had varied combat responsibilities, which could change at any given moment, from defense to offense to infiltration. So the Lancer rifle was created giving the assault troop a multi-purpose role in almost every human military. The lancer rifle is made up of various modular components, when ordered configure to its set programming. It has three distinct arrangements. In the rifle form it can be loaded with explosive and armor tipped ammunition, and can hold up to 100 rounds in a box clip. The lance rifle could be used both ways, but with an inevitable lloss in firepower, it could hold only fifty rounds of normal ammunition. And it could only be used like a bayoneted rifle in close combat. Then there was the lancer, a six foot long, razor toothed instrument of bloody destruction, which had the capability to cut through Titan armor. All technology stolen and modified from the Titan’s themselves, of course.
The frothing warparty slashed at the first thrust of the interceptors, as a few were crippled or destroyed by mighty war blades, slashing and crunching their alloyed hulls. The Interceptors slowed as they engaged the enemy.
“Get us…” Clayden paused as he lashed with his lance at a follower who broke through the first line.
Clayden jumped from the interceptor to carve the clawed arm off the mad bio-genetic mutant. The grotesque parody of humanity laughed at
him, while blood and other unknown fluids lapped out of his sliced socket. His remaining arm had a three foot blade, covered in a poisonous slime which could kill Clayden instantly if it pierced his armor.
The follower lunged forward, but Clayden stepped back instantly and parried his opponents blade into the blood soaked dirt, and then kicked him in the face. The follower flew backwards as spiked molars flew chaotically in the air. But the creature did not go down, it lunged forward again slicing down powerfully on Clayden.
He blocked it with his lance. The followers weight and inertia, along with the factor of the slushy blood soaked mud, made Clayden fall backwards onto his back, raking blunted pain along his spine. Then his armor quickly injects him with adrenaline, canceling out the pain making anger rise and strength envelop him.
Clayden pushes back even harder throwing the creature away from him, rolling out of the way, and quickly standing back up. Clayden rushes forward feinting the follower with a fake jab, but then slicing him with a power sweep to the chest, falling the pitiful creature.
“Are you okay sir?” Carter asked, still piggyback, as the interceptor drove back around to pick him up.
“I’m fine.”
“What were you going to say?” Nakajima brought back up as Clayden jumped back onto the Interceptor.
“As soon as there is an opening, lets push through to the Titan,” he pauses, viewing the bloody carnage as more interceptors go down battling the overabundant warparty.
But slowly they’re able to make a wide enough crack for the assault group to pierce. “Lets go now.”
Part VI: The Damned Ghosts of War
The interceptors, coordinating at speeds from hell as if they were one armored spear, thrusted through the opening that the remaining interceptors units sacrificed themselves to create.
Clayden glanced behind him quickly as the last of the interceptors went down, crippled by a small group of followers, who then savagely ripped and tore the armor to get at the prize within.
What a horrible way to go, Clayden seethed under his breath.
Directly ahead of them was their prize for surviving the initial battle flames; the Titan. Its immense colossal frame lurched forward easily maiming and destroying all the infantry before it. The smaller assault vehicles easily melted to torrents of liquid metal, decimating the ranks into bloody steam. It stood at a height 85 meters, making the largest of the heavy armored tanks the size of a large three story house look like meager little ants. Immense spikes uniformly ran up his back like in the form of a wedge. Its dark blue hue made use of the smoke and battle carnage for a
strange form of camouflage, looking as if it were not stable in dimensional space. Its head was encased in a dark silver armor, with one small red slit placed a little above the center, glaring coldly at its seemingly puny opponents. From each ear socket a plume of thin multicolored daggers vertically extend into the open air with vicious intent. The entities body was smattered with Egyptian hieroglyphics and pictographs, all of which dealt with war and conquest.
“Carter!” He yelled as a shock titan burst into an explosive flower, hit by one of the largest ultra heavy battle tanks. “Can your telepathy block the titan’s sensors?”
“I don’t know,” he coughs. “It has never been tried before.”
“Well I think its time to make history,” Clayden answers back with a chuckle. From his waist pouch he pulls out a
grenade size disk and pre-arms its quarter kiloton mini thermonuclear payload.
The interceptors were closing the distance, but to Clayden it seemed like vast eternity as he prepared himself for almost certain death. Wishing he could’ve lived in a world that was not constantly at war, between their brothers and sisters, between titans and demons and gods, and monsters.
Who are the true monsters? The answer he decided was that they all were. Humans were no better. We’re just trying to survive.
Survival was the only thing left now.
“I hope everyone has made peace with themselves, cause I haven’t even begun!” Power surged from within him, his demons had been driven away. “If we’re going to die lets take this bastard thing with us!”
Suddenly all fire directed at the titan stopped as the assault team closed in. The titan realized what was happening and he turned his head towards the assault team right at his face. Small ant like things grappled onto his feet vainly cutting at his layers of armor. He picked up his foot and tried to shake them off. A few flew off dropping to their dooms but most of them clung on.
Two of Clayden’s men who did not hold on very well flew off in the distance, sucked into the carnage between the infantry and the clone warriors.
“Fireteam one, start blasting away all those turret weapons on its chest, hopefully we can start some explosions.”
“Carter tell HQ that I want them to keep firing at this things upper portion, otherwise its just going to swat us off like ants. Tell them to keep its mind on them and not us,” he orders as he slices his lance into its foot actuator, getting closer
to its internal parts, while other members of his platoon began to scale up the Titans leg, some fall and die, but the rest never break their morale.
The remaining interceptors set up a defensive line of fire as the wave of followers catch on to the plan and begin to rush towards them.
The first volley of shots rake the armored upper torso of the titan as shrapnel and peeled off armor fall on the two platoons. Each step it takes is like an earthquake for Clayden and his troops, if you fall you die.
Clayden furiously cuts into the foot thinning out the tick armor plating, revealing its delicate inner workings. He slashes them effortlessly rendering the foots movement. One of his men had made it to the knee, furiously stabbing his lance into the armor, hoping to render its movement. Most of the 17th had made it
to the things back, continuing to scale as clones fired at them from the ground, they knew that they were not coming down, they had made their peace and were going to sacrifice themselves for the continued survival of their city.
“Carter!”
“Yes,” he answered as he continued to slice away at the titans foot, reveling more of its delicate inner workings.
“Are you ready to interface with the titan?”
“Yes,” he answered as he connected a thin cable from his armor to one of the aliens exposed sensor cables.”
“You know what to do?”
“Create a little chaos with its systems, no problem. Its never been tried before, but I’m sure I can do it,” Carter responds sarcastically, chuckling, as he sits down inside the hole he created.
The remaining interceptors met the
followers charge, being cut down instantly, but not before decimating their enemies ranks down till about ten. The few surviving interceptors broke and ran for cover. Now the way was clear as they thrust to meet Clayden and his three reaming troops still on the titans foot. Guttural calls of destruction tallied from the followers as they closed to engage.
“Okay guys, lets protect Carter. Form a defensive circle,” Clayden ordered as a new uneasiness grated through his mind, as the titan now stood still blasting away at the dwindling ranks of the infantry.
A deformed rush by ten angry followers met head on with the last five of the 25th assault platoon. Mutated body parts flew erratically off Clayden’s first foe.
Some of Clayden’s comrades go as far to say that when he fights that he becomes
possessed by an angel of war, making him into a demon of battle. It is said that the war gods will sometimes grant certain warriors that they deem worthy a power, and that power of cold rage.
Two followers ganged up on Private Newsome, who was standing near Clayden. The first follower to engage him was the size of a bear, with jaws filled many razor sharp daggers. Its body was covered in thin vomit covered spikes. The other one was the size of a normal man, and almost looked normal, except for that both of his forearms had three feet long blades growing out from them. Newsome lunged at the large one with all his collected strength, knocking the monstrosity onto his back. Small spikes pierced his armor, as the acid on the spikes began to burn through his armor.
He quickly twirled to engage the one with the blades as it sliced at him. He deflected one arm, but they nicked his chest armor, almost slicing through the hard outer shell. You see, if your armor bleeds you bleed, its just like taking a normal hit if your armor is pierced through the first layer. The large follower jumps back up and delivers a powerful punch to Newsomes back; the inertia pushing him fatally into both blades of the smaller follower.
Blood gushed out of Newsomes body as it went suddenly limp. They instantly began to feed upon his carcass. There were three followers left. Then zero as Clayden decapitated all three in one mighty slice. Suddenly the titan stopped its advance and lifted his immense arm to scratch his head, massacring the entire 17th like head lice, dark red blood congealed on his head, wearing it as a head dress of victory.
“Ahhhhh…,” Carter screamed as a small
stream of blood trickled out of his nose.
Clayden jumped by him as the last of the Followers was dispatched by private Derringer.
“Carter!”
“Carter, are you OK!”
“I’m alive,” he slowly stands up as pain washes over his brain.
“Something’s strange,” as a quietness begot the battlefield. Carter gazes up at the titans hand frozen in mid air on its way to crush them, with thick blood raining onto the remaining members of the 25th.
“I think you got another first today Carter,” clayden laughed gazing up at their almost certain death, as blood dripped onto his battle scared silver armor.
“Lets plant the thermos and cut ASAP!” Clayden ordered while Carter tried to regain his sight, but was having no luck.
“WE have about 100 seconds, until it can
move again.”
The tide of battle had been turned as the human infantry rallied and began to drive the clones and mutant followers back. The now outnumbered infantry fought with a ferocity greater than their enemy. They were fighting for their city, for their loved ones, for the human race, but most importantly for their own survival.
“NO!” Carter screamed in agony as his brain absorbed a powerful energy surge, pulsed back in defense by the Titan; he fell limply onto the cold armored surface of its foot.
“Carter!” Clayden jolted toward his friend just as he planted his thermo.
“Wake up!”
“You can’t die now!” His friend lies there unmoving in his armored shell.
“Carter!” Clayden says weakly, gently cradling his friends head.
“Carter!”
An armored hand grabs his shoulder forcefully, “Sir, we got to go Now!”
Two of the last remaining interceptors pull up in a whirlwind of dust.
“Carter…”
“He’s DEAD!” Derringer shouts. “The thermals are set and the TITAN is starting to move.”
Clayden sits there sorrowfully, apathetically.
“If we DIE, his sacrifice will never be known,” Derringer pauses. “Lets go!”
A wall of carnage comes racing towards them as thousands of retreating clones and followers race chaotically back toward their Titan, rousing Clayden back to the reality of their situation. He throws Carter over his shoulder, and leaps down to the sodden blood soaked earth. Private
Derringer and Sylver follow him onto the backs of the Interceptors as the Titan begins to move.
“I’m so sick of death. I just want to give up. Why couldn’t I die instead?” He replies to his guilt, answering to his sadness.
“Sir!” Sylver yells. “Look behind you.”
Clayden rotates his head to see the Titans leg shatter from the inside out, quickly engulfed by a multitude of small mushroom clouds.
Winds thick with radiation immerse the chaotic swarm of battling clones and human infantry, annihilating them instantly with a plague of intense flame. The Titan totters backwards, as other thermals placed on his back, trigger internal explosions bursting it apart from within; flames and armor blast off its once mighty frame.
It falls backwards in a massive eruption of molten annihilation, destroying everything in a half-mile radius of death heads judgment. And afterwards, when the battle field has been eradicated of all life, it shall forever seethe with hate from the dammed ghosts of war.
Gray. A cloud of gray unveils itself,
molten annihilation, destroying everything in a half-mile radius of death heads judgment. And afterwards, when the battle field has been eradicated of all life, it shall forever seethe with hate from the dammed ghosts of war.
Written ~ 1997. ©Jacob A Pickard. 2025. All rights reserved. This work is protected by copyright and may not be reproduced, republished, excerpted, or used for academic, commercial, or derivative purposes without written permission. None of the artwork is mine and will be taken down upon request if asked.
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