32nd of Frost
A cloud of dirt ripped through the air as Izzy turned hard on the chariot. Wheels scraping the hard rock of the Badlands, black marks stained the ground where they skidded, gripped the rock with the traction of the chariot's wheels, and ran to the left of the firing squad.
A barrage of bullets tore through the air and struck the ground with a few bursts in quick succession as they burned out of the way. "After them!" Arkash called as he aimed his pistol.
The movement was too chaotic and unpredictable for him to land a shot at that distance; there was no use gambling with stakes that high. "On it!" Izzy called back with another hard turn that barreled them in the direction of the raiders.
Their chariots dispersed, each going in another direction from one other. Arkash's yellow eyes darted about the red rock of the badlands and settled on his mark. "Right! Hard!" he called. On the swing of the chariot, he swung his pistol and pulled the trigger. In an instant, a second deafening crack roared through the air as his bullet struck the powdered load upon a near-swinging chariot. The force of the explosion pressed their chariot on its suspension and left Arkash and Izzy bouncing for a stretch.
He began to reload as he scanned for an opportunity, and found his next mark. One of the Raiders rushed toward them on another chariot, headfirst in the chaos of the battlefield. "Slight right!" he called as he finished reloading the pistol, and stowed it on his hip. "I'll be back!"
"What?!" Yelled the human as Arkash readied his footing on the chariot's seat, then leaped and flipped in the air with a kick of his clawed legs. Izzy sped off ahead of him as Arkash's body rapidly slowed off the moving vehicle, and he landed crouched on the opposing chariot with his sword drawn.
"Wotcha-?!" Called one of the raiders as Arkash Drove his sword through the back of the rifleman, and into the cervical spine of the driver.
One hand clutched the blade and used its length to steer as the raider's strength gave out and the weight of their foot floored the gas pedal. With his free hand, he took the gunman's rifle, aimed down the sight with a slight bend to his arm, then pulled the trigger at the right time to strike the fuel tank of another chariot.
The amber bloom of the fiery explosion shined in his dark scales as his vicious teeth bared a sickening grin.
Ahead of him, another chariot came with a beeline from the left. In a split-second decision, Arkash steered the corpses of the raiders for a collision course and leaped from the chariot at the very last second. The sound of crashing metal ripped through the air before Arkash could even tuck and roll on the ground.
There on the red rock, he landed crouched. Yellow eyes darted all about the chaos of the scene, through plumes of smoke and fields of metallic rubble. Four chariots down, four to go. His eye came upon two chariots that darted back over the crag they'd come from. His brow furrowed at the cloud of dust they cast, but the sound of an engine closing in snatched his attention.
Arkash curled his nose as he looked over his shoulder and found a maniacally-laughing raider with their curved blade hurtling for his head. Arkash ducked and swiped his own curved sword at the legs of the driver and mounted assault alike. Both limbs flew off in a vibrant spatter of red, and the smell of wurmblood fuel mixed with the smoke, blood, and ash.
Above the horrified screams of the raiders to pass him, Arkash drew his pistol as they began to slow, aimed at them with a straight arm, pulled the trigger, and turned at the ball bearing kindled their remaining fuel reserves, and blew up the machine. The force of the blast brought him to shield his eyes once more. In that second of blindness, Arkash came to widen his eyes as he found the remaining chariot with its rifleman aiming at him. Though he tried to evade, the bullet was too fast and scraped through the side of his face with burning intensity.
The force of the gunshot was enough to knock him off balance, and the Rath fell to his back before he caught his senses, rolled with the momentum, and flipped to land on all fours with his eyes set on the chariot.
Pupils shrunk to pinpricks, Arkash hissed under his breath and looked about the field of rubble before he found one of the rifles of his victims laid on the floor with a blackened, burnt hand attached. The chariot's driver seemed to catch his realization, as it began to hurtle toward him in a mad race.
Arkash kicked off the floor and began a wild sprint for the weapon. Through the dirt and rock he scrambled, ignorant of the jagged surface against his hands and feet until he managed to stand upright and bolted the final stretch to the rifle. From the corner of his eye, he saw the chariot coming and swung his sword against the direction they hurtled.
Right as the chariot sped in front of him, he found the gun of the rifleman aimed directly at his head. The rifleman, a purple-skinned Moroi of dark eyes and a broken horn, bared his teeth at the Rath as Arkash cleaved through the arm that held the rifle. The chariot sped ahead of him with the pained wail of a young man.
Arkash didn't stop. And seized the gun mid-air. A flick of his wrist put the purple hand in his own. Arkash took aim with a straight arm, followed the chariot, pulled the trigger... And struck the hardened rock of the rise as the chariot sped away for a hasty retreat.
Arkash exhaled deeply, then felt along his cheek at the site of the wound. He was bleeding, but his blight had already healed most of the damage to his tissue. He stayed there for a moment and focused on his breathing when he found that his claws were blurry. Had the bullet rattled his brain? With a sigh, he discarded the rifle and began to swallow the Moroi's severed arm. There, he found enough strength to jumpstart his healing factor, and his vision began to clear steadily.
The softened rumble of an engine popped to his right as another chariot eased toward him. There, in the driver's seat, was Izzy. The human promptly lifted her goggles when she was close enough and eased off the gas pedal. "Arkash!" She yelled. Arkash winced. "What the Bel was that?!"
"Shhh..." he spoke with squinted eyes. "You're giving me a headache..."
Her eyes went wide, bewildered. "Are you serious?!" She screeched. "How about all the explosions and gunfire?! Why didn't those give you a headache?!"
"...Headshot," he clarified with a point of his claw at his cheek. "Head's thumpin'."
"Oh..." her tone changed immediately. "Oh!" it changed again. "So you could have died there! You got shot in the head!" Arkash didn't reply. He covered his ears with both hands and bent down at the knees. "Oh for crying out loud...!" She rolled her eye and parked the chariot. Quickly enough, she closed the gap with the Rath, helped him up, and walked him back to the vehicle.
"Bants," Arkash said as she started the engine.
"Who?"
"The driver... Gnome... Druskai... Kid."
"Oh, right. Yeah, we'll catch up. Hold on tight."
Through the field of rubble, fire, and blood, the duo sped along after the tracks of the wagon. Arkash fully recovered from the concussion on the way there and looked when the wagon came into view. All along the wooden boarding of the wagon were scratch marks and bits of broken metal embedded in the carriage. The Ozymastyx was running at full speed, as though it was trying to elude some sort of predator. "Fuck..." Izzy started. "What are the odds that all our kit survived?"
"Mmmm..." Arkash began, more focused on the scent of blood on the wind. Once they were close enough, Arkash leaped up on the wagon, crawled atop, and shambled over the secured gear to the driver's seat, where he found Bants. The young Druskai was slumped in his seat, covered in blood with a bloodied arm clutching his stomach. "Bants," Arkash spoke quietly, and the stout Druskai weekly looked up at him.
"Hi..." he whimpered. Arkash clambered over the front, sat beside the Druskai, and lifted the man's hand to see the site of the injury. Bants had been struck by a piece of the chariot, sharp bloody metal protruded from his clothing around his lower abdomen.
"What's wrong?" asked Izzy as she neared the front of the wagon, just keeping pace with the Ozy that hauled the structure. "Oh God..." She covered her mouth.
"I need my kit," Arkash said as he scooped up the stout Druskai. "We've gotta get back to the Derelict, now."
"What about the sundering kit?" she asked with emphasis.
"We'll come back for it," he said with a shake of his head, then carefully approached the edge of the carriage with Bants in his arms.
"Are you sure...?" Izzy asked with a squint as Arkash climbed over into the chariot's back seat.
"Yes, I'm sure." He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Quick, we don't have much time." As Izzy revved the engine and began to speed up, Arkash adjusted his hold on the Druskai to sit him upright. "Bants, keep it together. You're gonna be okay..." he directed the boy's hand to his stomach and pressed. The Druskai bared his teeth in pain and became tense. "Keep up the pressure, slow the bleeding," he instructed and looked ahead as they sped through the rocky terrain, and into the dunes.
Far behind them, the Ozymastix continued to pull the wagon of Sundering tools in the direction the half-gnome left it.
A cloud of dirt ripped through the air as Izzy turned hard on the chariot. Wheels scraping the hard rock of the Badlands, black marks stained the ground where they skidded, gripped the rock with the traction of the chariot's wheels, and ran to the left of the firing squad.
A barrage of bullets tore through the air and struck the ground with a few bursts in quick succession as they burned out of the way. "After them!" Arkash called as he aimed his pistol.
The movement was too chaotic and unpredictable for him to land a shot at that distance; there was no use gambling with stakes that high. "On it!" Izzy called back with another hard turn that barreled them in the direction of the raiders.
Their chariots dispersed, each going in another direction from one other. Arkash's yellow eyes darted about the red rock of the badlands and settled on his mark. "Right! Hard!" he called. On the swing of the chariot, he swung his pistol and pulled the trigger. In an instant, a second deafening crack roared through the air as his bullet struck the powdered load upon a near-swinging chariot. The force of the explosion pressed their chariot on its suspension and left Arkash and Izzy bouncing for a stretch.
He began to reload as he scanned for an opportunity, and found his next mark. One of the Raiders rushed toward them on another chariot, headfirst in the chaos of the battlefield. "Slight right!" he called as he finished reloading the pistol, and stowed it on his hip. "I'll be back!"
"What?!" Yelled the human as Arkash readied his footing on the chariot's seat, then leaped and flipped in the air with a kick of his clawed legs. Izzy sped off ahead of him as Arkash's body rapidly slowed off the moving vehicle, and he landed crouched on the opposing chariot with his sword drawn.
"Wotcha-?!" Called one of the raiders as Arkash Drove his sword through the back of the rifleman, and into the cervical spine of the driver.
One hand clutched the blade and used its length to steer as the raider's strength gave out and the weight of their foot floored the gas pedal. With his free hand, he took the gunman's rifle, aimed down the sight with a slight bend to his arm, then pulled the trigger at the right time to strike the fuel tank of another chariot.
The amber bloom of the fiery explosion shined in his dark scales as his vicious teeth bared a sickening grin.
Ahead of him, another chariot came with a beeline from the left. In a split-second decision, Arkash steered the corpses of the raiders for a collision course and leaped from the chariot at the very last second. The sound of crashing metal ripped through the air before Arkash could even tuck and roll on the ground.
There on the red rock, he landed crouched. Yellow eyes darted all about the chaos of the scene, through plumes of smoke and fields of metallic rubble. Four chariots down, four to go. His eye came upon two chariots that darted back over the crag they'd come from. His brow furrowed at the cloud of dust they cast, but the sound of an engine closing in snatched his attention.
Arkash curled his nose as he looked over his shoulder and found a maniacally-laughing raider with their curved blade hurtling for his head. Arkash ducked and swiped his own curved sword at the legs of the driver and mounted assault alike. Both limbs flew off in a vibrant spatter of red, and the smell of wurmblood fuel mixed with the smoke, blood, and ash.
Above the horrified screams of the raiders to pass him, Arkash drew his pistol as they began to slow, aimed at them with a straight arm, pulled the trigger, and turned at the ball bearing kindled their remaining fuel reserves, and blew up the machine. The force of the blast brought him to shield his eyes once more. In that second of blindness, Arkash came to widen his eyes as he found the remaining chariot with its rifleman aiming at him. Though he tried to evade, the bullet was too fast and scraped through the side of his face with burning intensity.
The force of the gunshot was enough to knock him off balance, and the Rath fell to his back before he caught his senses, rolled with the momentum, and flipped to land on all fours with his eyes set on the chariot.
Pupils shrunk to pinpricks, Arkash hissed under his breath and looked about the field of rubble before he found one of the rifles of his victims laid on the floor with a blackened, burnt hand attached. The chariot's driver seemed to catch his realization, as it began to hurtle toward him in a mad race.
Arkash kicked off the floor and began a wild sprint for the weapon. Through the dirt and rock he scrambled, ignorant of the jagged surface against his hands and feet until he managed to stand upright and bolted the final stretch to the rifle. From the corner of his eye, he saw the chariot coming and swung his sword against the direction they hurtled.
Right as the chariot sped in front of him, he found the gun of the rifleman aimed directly at his head. The rifleman, a purple-skinned Moroi of dark eyes and a broken horn, bared his teeth at the Rath as Arkash cleaved through the arm that held the rifle. The chariot sped ahead of him with the pained wail of a young man.
Arkash didn't stop. And seized the gun mid-air. A flick of his wrist put the purple hand in his own. Arkash took aim with a straight arm, followed the chariot, pulled the trigger... And struck the hardened rock of the rise as the chariot sped away for a hasty retreat.
Arkash exhaled deeply, then felt along his cheek at the site of the wound. He was bleeding, but his blight had already healed most of the damage to his tissue. He stayed there for a moment and focused on his breathing when he found that his claws were blurry. Had the bullet rattled his brain? With a sigh, he discarded the rifle and began to swallow the Moroi's severed arm. There, he found enough strength to jumpstart his healing factor, and his vision began to clear steadily.
The softened rumble of an engine popped to his right as another chariot eased toward him. There, in the driver's seat, was Izzy. The human promptly lifted her goggles when she was close enough and eased off the gas pedal. "Arkash!" She yelled. Arkash winced. "What the Bel was that?!"
"Shhh..." he spoke with squinted eyes. "You're giving me a headache..."
Her eyes went wide, bewildered. "Are you serious?!" She screeched. "How about all the explosions and gunfire?! Why didn't those give you a headache?!"
"...Headshot," he clarified with a point of his claw at his cheek. "Head's thumpin'."
"Oh..." her tone changed immediately. "Oh!" it changed again. "So you could have died there! You got shot in the head!" Arkash didn't reply. He covered his ears with both hands and bent down at the knees. "Oh for crying out loud...!" She rolled her eye and parked the chariot. Quickly enough, she closed the gap with the Rath, helped him up, and walked him back to the vehicle.
"Bants," Arkash said as she started the engine.
"Who?"
"The driver... Gnome... Druskai... Kid."
"Oh, right. Yeah, we'll catch up. Hold on tight."
Through the field of rubble, fire, and blood, the duo sped along after the tracks of the wagon. Arkash fully recovered from the concussion on the way there and looked when the wagon came into view. All along the wooden boarding of the wagon were scratch marks and bits of broken metal embedded in the carriage. The Ozymastyx was running at full speed, as though it was trying to elude some sort of predator. "Fuck..." Izzy started. "What are the odds that all our kit survived?"
"Mmmm..." Arkash began, more focused on the scent of blood on the wind. Once they were close enough, Arkash leaped up on the wagon, crawled atop, and shambled over the secured gear to the driver's seat, where he found Bants. The young Druskai was slumped in his seat, covered in blood with a bloodied arm clutching his stomach. "Bants," Arkash spoke quietly, and the stout Druskai weekly looked up at him.
"Hi..." he whimpered. Arkash clambered over the front, sat beside the Druskai, and lifted the man's hand to see the site of the injury. Bants had been struck by a piece of the chariot, sharp bloody metal protruded from his clothing around his lower abdomen.
"What's wrong?" asked Izzy as she neared the front of the wagon, just keeping pace with the Ozy that hauled the structure. "Oh God..." She covered her mouth.
"I need my kit," Arkash said as he scooped up the stout Druskai. "We've gotta get back to the Derelict, now."
"What about the sundering kit?" she asked with emphasis.
"We'll come back for it," he said with a shake of his head, then carefully approached the edge of the carriage with Bants in his arms.
"Are you sure...?" Izzy asked with a squint as Arkash climbed over into the chariot's back seat.
"Yes, I'm sure." He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Quick, we don't have much time." As Izzy revved the engine and began to speed up, Arkash adjusted his hold on the Druskai to sit him upright. "Bants, keep it together. You're gonna be okay..." he directed the boy's hand to his stomach and pressed. The Druskai bared his teeth in pain and became tense. "Keep up the pressure, slow the bleeding," he instructed and looked ahead as they sped through the rocky terrain, and into the dunes.
Far behind them, the Ozymastix continued to pull the wagon of Sundering tools in the direction the half-gnome left it.
Image source.
