Smoke filled the air. Blasts shattered dirt and debris to all four corners of the battlefield. The Spryten army was losing a harsh battle to their enemies, despite having the greater numbers. It couldn’t be explained. They had the bigger tanks, the bigger weapons, yet by some miracle the enemy was immune to the onslaught and cut their numbers by the second.
Vicenzo Napoleon, General of the Spryten Special Armed Forces and second in line to the Spryten throne, watched from his ground runner. He had kept his eyes scanning the field looking for one combatant in particular. It had been rumored that Morgan the Merciless would make an appearance at today’s battle.
It had been no secret that Vicenzo sought the infamous Messian general. After the raid on his brother’s party, which had resulted in his brother’s death, Vicenzo wanted to nail Morgan to the wall and cut out his guts. He was angry and the death, although a year passed, stayed fresh on his mind. He had loved his older brother dearly – as he cared for all his siblings – and it had nearly killed him when he had received word that the convoy his brother had ridden in along with many of the other Spryten officials had been ambushed, many perishing.
One survivor, who had died from his wounds later, had described the ambush like hell raining down on them. The Messian guerillas were merciless in their attack. He hadn’t even recalled weapons being used. They had swooped down as if flying through the air and slit throats left and right. The survivor had vividly described Morgan the Merciless. A visage in all black, complete with a titanium mask to shield his face but not the vicious glint in his umber eyes. The mask was etched with Messian symbols untranslatable by Spryten scholars.
He had dealt the killing blow to Vicenzo’s brother, Victoro. Apparently, Victoro had put up a good fight against the vile beast. They had matched each other blow for blow and Victoro seemed to have had the upper hand. Only, Morgan had given him a false impression of his skill. Much too confident in his skill, Victoro fell into Morgan’s trap. With a swift movement, that Vicenzo still questioned and, with the passing of the only survivor, could not have answered, Morgan, as if by magic, halted his brother’s arm as it swung to cut him down and with just as much swiftness sent his own serrated scimitar straight into him.
The vision woke him up almost every night. He was not there, but he had felt every inch of that blade shred through his brother. Morgan haunted him and he thirsted for his blood. He had made it his mission to study his enemy and learn his whereabouts. He interviewed soldiers who had met and fought the specter head on in battle. They described a hulking figure in black that swooped through the sky like a ravenous falcon. He never used a pistol or other modern weapons. Just that serrated scimitar, which Vicenzo had learned had a special name, El-Mar’s Vengeance, or EV for short.
One soldier said he had heard Morgan cry out its name as if commanding it to slice and sever. Another soldier mentioned seeing Morgan fling a bevy of silver stars that killed several soldiers including a commanding officer. When they had completed their tasks, Morgan had retrieved all, but one, back with the simple beckon of his fingers. The soldier produced the star for Vicenzo, who now carried the star around his neck as a keepsake.
He found himself studying it every so often as if trying to will Morgan to him. It was a solid circle of worn silver with six serrated blades that extended and retracted. While retracted, it looked like a simple pendant, but once the circle was clicked it extended into the deathly blades that could easily sever fingers, wrists or slit a throat if thrown right. It was a merciless little trinket, which made Vicenzo all the more determined to capture the bastard and rip him apart.
“Sir – they’re coming over the horizon!” a voice called from the field.
Vicenzo woke from his daydream and glared through his darkened visor at the specter on the field. A dark dust cloud swirled in the distance. It consumed L-gun blasts and it tossed his men clear across the field in its wake. Vicenzo kicked his ground runner into gear and headed into the fray.
He drove right into the storm. The screams grew louder and direr as he drew closer to the source. There was the culprit surrounded by his officials who Vicenzo quaintly dubbed, the Black Sandstorm-12, BS-12s for short, because a dark cloud of sand always preceded them in battles. He raised his L-gun and began to fire blast beams hoping to stun them. It was imperative that they capture General Morgan and his BS-12s alive, much to Vicenzo’s disgust.
The Spryten royal court had demanded that the criminals be delivered into their hands, so justice could be handed down. Vicenzo grudgingly complied with his father’s court’s wishes, but his desire was to run the blackguard through.
“I need men behind these bastards,” he called into his communicator. “I want them boxed in!”
“Cenz, you know that’s damn near impossible,” the response coming in from his second in command, Aries Forte. “The last time we tried the Pen Tactic we limped away from this fight with barely half our men.”
“This time I need them to increase the power on the L-guns from stun to neuro-shock,” he ordered. “Shut down their internal systems and they’ll drop like flies.”
“It could also kill them,” he advised.
“What the fuck do I care?”
“You care,” Aries chuckled into the communicator. “You’re father makes you care.”
“That’s his political game, not mine,” Vicenzo growled.
“Yeah, but that’s what’s kept his court in check all these years,” Aries answered.
Vicenzo did not respond. His old friend was right. His father made sure his court got to see all the blood and gore to show them how rich his power was. Captured Messian rebels were touted out before his court and executed in lavish ceremonies. Some soldiers would bring back rebel organs to the delight of his father’s court, weaving stories of how they were killed.
Vicenzo hated the political machine his father relished in. His brother had been enchanted by the same spell. He, on the other hand, had taken after his grandfather, in that he was a warrior not a politician. Fight the Fight, regain the Right. That was his grandfather’s motto. The Right was regaining the Messian land thought to have been Spryten land. The war had gone on for so long it was not clear who were the rightful owners, but that was neither here nor there. Vicenzo fought because it was in his blood, not to gain the love of the people.
“Don’t leave any room for those bastards to move,” Vicenzo hollered coldly, nearly drowned out from the roar of the ground runners.
On the other side of the field, riding black, shielded chargers, Morgan and the Empirical Elite raced toward the Spryten ground troopers without hesitation. They had received word on the soldiers’ location from their inside man. They had waited patiently for them to arrive, but had made it appear as if they were on their way to attack a Spryten village nearby. The plan needed to go off without a hitch. Over the last year, they had no good chances in achieving their goal and the Fate was growing further concerned.
“I cannot believe this is the only way,” Vollo grumbled. “Do you know how embarrassing this is going to be?”
“Look, I don’t like this plan either, but if we are going to make this goal we are going to have to make this sacrifice,” Morgan replied focused on the soldiers before them. “The Fate says that we need to make the move now or our window will close forever.”
“It’s not like we weren’t expecting this, Vollo,” Nginzah Marsaun added, slicing into a Spryten. “Besides, Morgan’s the one who’s getting the raw end of the deal. Sorry, boss.”
“Fuck you, Ginz,” Morgan growled tossing off another soldier. “We’re all gonna be screwed on this deal. Everyone, ‘cept you.”
“That is true. You get to be the outside communicator on this one,” Vollo replied.
“That’s ‘cause they have a real issue with women in power,” Ginz replied with a joking chuckle. “Good luck, Morgan.”
“Again, fuck you, Ginz,” Morgan replied also smiling beneath the titanium mask.
“With pleasure, sir,” she laughed separating from the pack.
“Stay safe, Ginz,” Vollo called also separating from the trio.
Morgan stood alone staring into the fray. He was here somewhere, his trace signature was strong. Vicenzo had been tracking the general for quite some time. Morgan had learned his signature early on. His animosity toward Morgan had been so strong that there was no way not to find him on the battlefield.
The general quickly switched to stealth mode. Target has been sghted. Proceed to Phase II: Separation.
Yes, sir, the response came from the Empirical Elite as one.
Run Operation: Box Break and then Operation: Corrales.
Suddenly, the formation changed. As if working individually, the Empirical Elite began sifting major groupings of Spryten soldiers further back on the field, leaving the two generals a wide berth facing one another. It was their hope that the Spryten general would take the bait and follow Morgan out of the Pen, but he was a crafty adversary and there was no telling what he would do.
He looks mad, Morgan heard Vollo report. You sure you want to face him alone?
Trust me, I’d rather stare down a barrage of neuro-pulsers, Morgan replied.
At least we know you can survive that, Nginzah added from her side of the field.
Yeah, but they don’t. Back to work, ladies.
Good luck, sir. The Empire’s Finest are with you.
With that reassurance firm in place, Morgan barreled straight ahead toward the Spryten general.
“What the fuck are they doing?” Vicenzo growled into his communicator.
“Sir, it’s like they’re leaving their general out in the open,” a soldier explained. “This is highly irregular on their part.”
“I don’t care what it is, pen those mother fuckers in,” he ordered. “This is our only chance to capture them as a unit.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vicenzo had a clear view of Morgan the Merciless. He sat upon his great steed with black sand coating his dark armor. He was fitted in a dark coat that seemed to morph with the armor on the charger. His hands were wrapped in titanium-infused leather with talons reinforced in the fingertips. They glinted fiercely against what little sun shined through the clouds. His face and part of his head was covered by a titanium mask inscribed with various Messian symbols, which Vicenzo could not translate. A barrage of plaits laid across his shoulders and down his back adding to the sinister visage. All signs of life seemed non-existent except for the swirls of mist escaping the nostril holes. Vicenzo desired to rip off that mask to reveal his brother’s murderer and watch in delight as he drove his machete deep into his neck.
I think it’s time to tame the bull, Morgan announced as the steed charged forward.
“If he wants to fucking do this, then let’s do fucking do this,” Vicenzo growled as he set his ground runner in motion.
The two combatants were on a collision course for one another. If Morgan’s men could hold the space long enough, it was on the general to make sure to lead the bait to the destination. The eye of the storm was closing and it was a matter of seconds before the warriors met head on.
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