Super-Soldier in Another World: Book Two: The Fiendwood

Four days of travel was starting to wear Hoplite’s patience thin. The days were gruesomely slow; his objectives seemed to never come closer to completion, despite their rapid pace. Already they had covered over half the span of the Fiendbridge, yet he still hadn’t picked up on a single radio signal. Perhaps his comrades had landed further inland? Yes that had to be it-

“So then I said to him,” Michael guffawed, “I said you can’t make a sandwich with only meat! Ya gotta have two nice squishy buns in yer hands, ya get me?” He asked a groaning Alistair.

“I don’t care,” Alistair replied.

“This guy,” Michael laughed and jerked a thumb at him while glancing at the other companions, “He only likes meat cause that’s all he’s got.”

Hoplite’s brow furrowed. Why did Alistair only have meat? They had packed plenty of dried food for the journey, but there wasn’t much of it on his person. Most of the rations were stashed safely within their packs to protect from the elements. 

“Proper nutrition should not be ignored, Alistair,” Hoplite noted, “you must eat more than meat.”

For some reason, Michael suddenly burst into laughter and the golden-haired Alistair rubbed his face with both hands.

“Meat is all he knows,” Michael chuckled louder. “He loves gobbling it down.”

“Takes one to know one.” Alistair rolled his eyes.

“Says the one with the princess-grip hair.”

Hoplite’s brow furrowed at the exchange. Princess-grip hair? Wasn’t this supposed to be a conversation about food? Was there some sort of innuendo there he didn’t understand? He almost sighed aloud. Did it matter? No, of course it didn’t, but he had to admit to himself that he needed something to keep his mind busy. His thoughts kept seeming to wander back to that day Hoplite twenty-five had shattered his worldview. If only something else could occupy his time other than this useless banter. After a few more agonizing minutes of listening to their inane chatter, something else appeared that could occupy his attention. 

“Hey, um,” Kid’ka stuttered, “not to sound rude or anything. I like a good joke and all but um, do those Fiends seem a little bit horde-y over there?” 

Hoplite’s eyes narrowed as he noted that, yes, the scattered crowds of Fiends seemed to have banded together. They were shoulder to shoulder and spanned the whole width of the bridge it seemed, forming a barrier of cursed flesh. There was no way he could plow the wagon through all of these mutants, it would be upturned after a dozen feet. That left only one option.

His pace slowed, eventually coming to a complete stop as the horde loomed ahead of them, “Affirmative.” He replied to Kid’ka, head nodding toward the nearest rest-stop, “The squad will retreat there and I will engage the hostiles.”

“W-with all due respect, I can handle myself.” The pale young man pounded his fists together. “No self-respecting Tongue would back down from a fight like this.”

“You’re staying curse-free, Kid’ka,” Twindil stated. “Hoplite’s been able to handle everything so far, no need for unnecessary risks.” 

“Yeah,” Elum piped up from near the back, “Metal-man will squish them like he has countless times before.”

Kid’ka frowned. “But doesn’t that grouping seem a little too planned? It gi-gives me something like a creepy-crawly across the skin.” He winced for some reason and slapped his own forehead. 

Arrangement or not, talking about it wasn’t going to rid the barrier of purple, spiraled bodies. Hoplite backed the cart into the alcove, its looming dark maw swallowing up the wagon entirely. He ducked under the pull-bar, hardening his features as he drew the Sectis from its sheath. There wouldn’t be any need for him to use his guns most likely, unless the horde proved to be overwhelmingly massive. He did not wish to spend all day hacking apart Fiends one at a time, if the mass of mutants numbered over a thousand then he would employ ballistics to save time. He still may need to, depending on outside factors.

The outside factor being whatever managed to organize the Fiends in such a way. Kid’ka was right, it looked as if it had been planned out. It was abnormal for Fiends to behave in such a way, they were constantly moving, aggressive, almost fidgety from the pains they felt. For them to stand so still was unnatural for them. Had Kazon himself orchestrated this as an ambush? Would he be there to fight alongside the mutants? 

“Look, let’s be re-realistic here,” Kid’ka said, hopping down onto the cool stone, “You can’t handle a host of enemies like this by yourself with just a knife, no matter how sharp it is. Some enemies are going to slip past and the rest of us need to be prepared,” he finished, his tone steadying, “And this is not a fight I will sit out on.”

If that's what Kid’ka truly wanted to do, that was on him. Hoplite was not his commanding officer, he’d not tell him to stand down if he wished to fight alongside him. He thought it was unwise, but Kid’ka’s devotion to Zodd seemed to overwhelm his common sense. 

“I won’t stop you,” Hoplite replied, “But I advise against it.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Kid’ka shot back, “There might be hundreds over there. We’ll have to fight no matter what!”

He was strangely confident when it came to conflict, there was no quaver or awkward phrasings to his words. Hoplite said nothing in reply as he walked back out into the light, Kid’ka trailing after him as Twindil cried out various objections. She too stepped free of the wagon, along with Michael, who glanced nervously back at the darkness as he hurried toward the entrance. 

“Private, you can remain where the light is, but you aren’t to engage in combat unless the Fiends close on your position.” Hoplite ordered.

“Copy.” Michael replied, a slight shake in his tone.

Hoplite suspected that, if given the option, Michael might have preferred to fight the Fiends over spending any length of time in the dark. He wouldn’t have to do either, hopefully, since the mutants would beeline for the closest uninfected creature, which would be Hoplite. He didn’t think the Fiends had the presence of mind to go and attack easier targets over closer ones. 

“If you aren’t going to stay safe,” Twindil called after Kid’ka, quickly trailing after him, “Then I’ll have to go with you.”

“It’s called being ready for the worst, Twindil,” Kid’ka replied curtly, gaze fixed firmly ahead.

“Hey!” Alistair shouted, “Don’t you have faith that Hoplite can handle this solo?”

When Kid’ka gave no reply, Alistair cursed. Hopping down from the wagon and hurrying after them, he quickly chanted in an alien tongue. Hoplite rounded the corner by time he saw Baomiel appear, emerging from a torrent of Golden Flame and speeding after his summoner. He wasn’t going to stop anyone but Michael from participating in the fight if they pursued, and perhaps maybe Lance. She was a talented fighter but technically, she was under his direct command now, and he’d rather not risk her contracting the curse.

She may object, but Lance had chosen to follow Hoplite on his mission, not Twindil and her friends. Still though, he saw that familiar black hair rounding the corner behind Alistair, and he immediately turned, pointing a finger back to the rest-stop.

“Negative. Remain with Michael until the threat is neutralized.” He ordered, causing the entire squad to freeze behind him.

Ah, that’s right. They couldn’t exactly tell that he was looking at Lance when he said that. 

“That’s not what you told me!” Kid’ka said, looking outright appalled. “As a fellow adventurer, you can’t order me around on our shared quest!”

“I’m not an adventurer.” Hoplite stated, “I’m a soldier, and I wasn’t talking to you.”

Lance stiffened at his words, fists clenching as Elum rushed past, looking irritated as he caught up to Alistair. 

“Why is that?” she asked with a glare, raising her chin in challenge.

“Your participation is an unnecessary risk,” he told her. “Stay with Michael and retreat if the Fiends make it past us.”

“What, are you saying you’re worried about me?” she asked with a shake of her head, “I’ll just stick behind you and wait for anything that might try and move past. I won’t get hurt.”

“You aren’t going to change anything.” Hoplite said flatly, “This fight does not require you, or anyone else for that matter.”

For some reason, her face looked… pained. Her lips tightened, almost to the brink of quivering before she hardened her features, brows knitting together before she spat on the stone. 

“I’ll do whatever I please, you’ll have to force me back in that wagon to keep me away.” She said, those green eyes narrowing.

If he had to manhandle her, he would. What was with Ahkoolians and suicidal bravado? Just as he was about to apprehend her however, a loud roar could be heard, booming out from the mass of Fiends behind him. It drowned out all other noise, causing everyone, save for Hoplite, to jump. His attention turned back to the monstrous crowd, where he saw a being that loomed above even the tallest Fiend in the horde. It even towered over Hoplite himself, a mass of spiraling muscled flesh. A broad jaw with two jutting tusks lay agape on the thing's monstrous head, staring ahead with hunger in its yellow, glowing eyes.

A man stood atop the beast’s right shoulder, shirtless to reveal the purple flesh and spiraling etchings that showed he was a Fiend as well. Yet, something was different about this one. His eyes were too lucid, he held himself too straight, too confidently to be merely another mad Fiend. In a smooth motion, the mutant leapt from the hulk’s shoulder, landing cleanly a few paces in front of the horde before crossing its lean arms. It was short, with long chains seemingly grafted to each of its forearms. The long links scraped the stones at its feet as it shifted its stance, stretching its arms out wide.

“I am Tolak, scourge of the Akan-Dark, and the end of your journey!” It shouted, the guttural voice echoing across the emptiness between them. 

Hoplite was on the border of surprise at hearing the thing's voice. Some Fiends really could talk, and more importantly, could seemingly command the standard ones. The horde still hadn’t charged from behind their sapient commander. He had no doubt that, if Tolak gave the order, the mass of mutants would charge and try to overrun their position. The current priority objective was clear, neutralize Tolak.

That would not end the horde, but it would be better for the squad to face an enemy without a commander. He wasn’t sure as to what sorts of orders the Fiends could be given, but if they were suitably complex, then eliminating them without casualties would be difficult. He swiftly turned around, pointing sharply toward the entrance of the rest stop.

“Retreat to that position and hold, we can’t be surrounded.” Hoplite shouted, sheathing the Sectis before pulling the Visus rifle from his back-plate.

Tolak needed to be taken out ASAP, who knew just what the mutant was capable of? Aside from his apparent leadership amongst Fiends, he could be a Foundation user. He took aim with the Visus as he heard the party’s footsteps retreating behind him, thankfully they hadn’t decided to be insubordinate. It was far more strategically advantageous to have the horde funnel into that entrance, it would both limit the number of foes that needed to be faced and prevent them from being flanked.

As soon as Tolak’s wrinkled head was in his sights, he pulled the trigger, the sound echoing across the bridge. Time seemed to slow from Hoplite’s perspective as the round sped towards the creature's head, allowing him to see as one of the chains, completely on its own, snaked upwards, completely autonomous of Tolak’s control, knocking the bullet away as if it were nothing more than a fly. 

Hoplite’s eyes widened in shock at this development. Tolak hadn’t moved an inch, yet the chains had whipped up to protect him, seemingly of their own will. Were they somehow living things? Maybe they were enchanted with Foundation to protect whoever wielded them? He quickly switched the Visus over to full-auto, taking aim again before unloading a full magazine at Tolak. 

Both chains whipped upward, slapping the bullets away with cacophonous plinks. Several of these deflected rounds found a home within the horde’s innumerable bodies, dozens dropping with pained howls of agony as Tolak crossed his arms, smirking in a way that caused Hoplite’s blood to boil. 

“There is no attack that can make it past my chains,” Tolak explained in a smug tone, “Before my blessing from Lord Kazon, I was also known as ‘The Scarless’. I have never been touched by blade nor bolt, no matter how fast they might be. Your thunderstaves are useless.” He finished, pointing directly to Hoplite.

If that were the case… Then trying to take him out from range would be difficult. An entire magazine couldn’t even make it past that dervish of metal. The chains didn’t even look a single bit worse for wear, an effect of their magic perhaps? Perhaps one of the squad's casters could find a way to make it through, or maybe CQB would fare better in this battle?

Tolak pointed again, giving a wide toothy grin as he shouted, “Smother!”

With that, the gargantuan Fiend took a lumbering step forward, its smaller kin pooling out toward Hoplite like a tainted river, trampling one another in their eagerness to rip into his flesh. He magnetized the Visus to his back, instead gripping the Magnus before bringing it to bear, backing away as he took aim.

He hoped dearly that he wouldn’t have to use every single shell, but the horde seemed to stretch back farther than he could see. This was going to be a long day.