Call of the Watch Crow, Part 1

The Consortium-Black Sun war had finally come to the world of V’Lusia-4 and brought its indiscriminant devastation with it. First, its terrible touch could be seen in the skies as military Starfighters waged a brutal melee high above, while immense capital ships traded blazing volleys in the night; the fury visible, even from the planetary surface, far below. Then, the giant crash-pods relentlessly fell to the surface from both sides, landing like the hammers of unseen gods, destroying entire villages with their thunderous impacts and murderous aftershocks. Who fought the stellar battle, or why, was unclear, nor was their motive known, but the violence shook more than the world’s surface. The events brought fear and panic to the unsuspecting V’Lusians. The strong overwhelmed the weak and politics changed as barbarian clans clamored to seize control of the shattered lands. Populations were displaced and armies—broken.

In the shadows of the chaos a secret message went out to contra forces signaling it was their time to rise up and take control. This secret message was known to that cadre of war-masters as the Call of The Watch Crow. V’Lusia would sit on the sidelines of human-alien affairs no longer. Peace had been a luxury and neutrality… an illusion.

Steady heat amplified the filthy stench of the toxic swamp enveloping a lone traveler in thick miasma, making every breath difficult. The former mercenary-slave, Kall-Ku, trudged down the winding, narrow trail, surrounded on both sides by black mud. Tattered mail and the remnants of ballistics armor hung off of his shoulders. The battlefields of The Poison Hoard fell even farther behind him. His long, black hair was set in a battle-braid, its heavy, weighted end lightly thumping his lower back.

Halting, he twisted abruptly at the hip and peered back down the trail; the black morass to each side was thick with tall grass, twisted roots, shrubs, and stands of knotted trees. His war-scarred hands flexed on the metal haft of his power-axe, the length of chain that connected it to a wide belt jingled with each movement.  A well-used war hammer dangled by his hip, beside an empty holster, both marked by as many scars as the soldier who bore them. He imagined dark shadows racing just outside the peripherals of his vision.  “Damn,” he whispered to himself; he could not dismiss his instincts as imagination nor paranoia; something was following him.

There was nothing left of the army that had enslaved him; no leaders to recall him, nor were there lash-lords to take him back. The black-hearted V’lusian warlord, Zahnak, well known for cruelty and maddened by his own power had become complacent. Ignoring terrestrial dangers, he only paid attention to the interstellar spectacle that was playing about above and around him. His foolishness was rewarded as folly usually was. Neither his generals, nor war-councils ever dreamt their dread master could be defeated. The Poison Hoard swept in from the jungles taking advantage of the distraction caused by the stellar war being fought above them. Zahnak’s dynasty ended in violence, only to be replaced by another equally cruel regime.  Newly risen contras would quickly begin challenging its authority as well.

Bioroid soldiers engineered for war, Ravenian War-Mavens and vile piranha-women, insured the victory was embarrassingly decisive. The fallen warlord and his generals were left unburied in pools of blood and offal. A full legion of mercenary-slaves broke from the control of their oppressors and was finally free.

Starfighters still flew back and forth in the distance behind him and twice he had seen massive hover tanks moving across distant swamp like immense creatures grazing in alien fields, hatched from the massive crash pods. The battle was everywhere now. The world was changed and the evil that once enslaved him, would be sucked beneath the mud and forgotten.

 Kall-Ku winced at a persistent tingle that tickled his shoulder from within. Months ago he was covertly approached by a scout from an off-world military searching to recruit warriors who would stand with them in a battle against stellar tyranny. He would be a slave no longer, but rather a contra. She spoke of honor and liberty. He smiled flatly. It was the first time anyone asked him for help, or for anything else. The thin smile faded. Slaves were not generally asked anything.   He allowed her to inject a subdermal chip into his shoulder. He breathed her name slowly over his tight lips, punctuating the memory, “Elana.”

Ever since the attack against Zahnak, the chip has been active, sending messages to his brain, telling him exactly when to run and further giving him rudimentary directions as to where; he received digital names and places. He knew that he had to reach Meinor Space Station…providing he was able to leave this world. There were only a couple of V’Lusian starports, both which were likely destroyed by the bombardments. The tingling was a summoning, a call to arms, a call to a war he chose to fight, a cause he believed in.

A soft bubbling in the mud betraying the weight of someone moving through it was all the warning Kall-Ku was given. Instinctively he shifted the weight of his fighting axe to his shoulder; the other hand automatically grabbed for a pistol that had been lost in the escape.  Razor sharp claws dug into his back and shoulders, their metal tips raking vulnerable nerve clusters, causing the entire limb to go momentarily numb. The axe fell from his hand. The attacker was light and fast. He was wrapped up by sinewy arms and lean, muscular legs, all threatening to throw him off balance and drive him into the muck. Death-practiced hands clawed deeper into his already tattered mail and scarred flesh; acid dripped from the tips of the metal claws and sizzled against his skin. Fighting for his balance, he glimpsed additional attackers dropping from the twisted marsh trees. He knew what they were, deadly piranha-women; savage and skilled in death. Her razor-sharp teeth tore into the back of his neck. The tactic could quickly kill most warriors. They did not take prisoners.

[End of part one…stay tuned for part two, next week]