Slumrat Rising

A "Can Do" Attitude

The crow headed man was about nine meters tall. Nine meters is a funny sort of distance. On the one hand, it’s just a few steps to walk. On the other hand, you wouldn’t want to fall nine meters. And you really, really wouldn’t want to have a nine meter tall crow-headed, dual-flaming-ax wielding murderer running over to give your insides some fresh air. When you are armed with a screwdriver. And the bastard is fast.

Truth scrambled out from behind the corner as the axes smashed down. He hesitated a moment, all his instincts thrown off by the sheer size of the maniac. This was a mistake, as it gave the bird-creature, flaming eyed and bloody beaked, time to reset and launch another attack straight down at him. One ax followed by the other. Truth dove in and went for the ankle. He reached it ahead of the axes, and stabbed. The screwdriver skittered off the ankle bone, as he tried to work it around. Bird Head wasn’t having it, and kicked Truth away. Just like with Dad in the old days- Truth went with the blow and let it launch him back towards the customs station. He tumbled back a few more times as he crashed into the concrete, then bolted towards the door. He wasn’t winning this fight with a damn screwdriver.

A flaming ax smashed into the door ahead of him.

“NOWHERE TO RUN, FUCKBOY!”

“That’s hurtful.” Truth thought, as he desperately tried to find either a weapon or cover. “I hardly ever chat with women. They aren’t interested. Damn it all.” There was nothing that looked promising, so he just ran for the corner of the building.

Electric-violet needles smashed out through a window in a narrow stream, and into Bird Head’s chest. Another stream, from another window, then a third. The Border Agents and the rest of the stationed soldiers had decided to get off their ass at this point. Truth just got his head down and ran harder. He slid around the corner of the building, and kept running. The needlers were just barely sticking into Bird Head’s skin. Time to up the damage level.

There was a boom from the building behind him, then a grating, roaring noise. “Ax through the window, then dragging it through the wall?” He didn’t know. Screams started.

“I FUCKING WARNED YOU. NOSY SHITHEADS. THIS IS YOUR FAULT.”

“Oh yeah, really bringing up the “Dad” memories today. Well. I always thought about doing this to the old bastard.”

The customs station was, as the Sergeant noted, up in the mountains. It snowed up here, meters deep sometimes. You needed a big rig to get through the snow. Something with a lot of torque and a lot of grip. More spells went off in the background, and another thundering tear. This wasn’t going well.

Army spellwagons were made of metal, had big, chunky rubber wheels, and could do a hundred and twenty unloaded. They also weighed almost six thousand kilos. He channeled his magic into the activation glyph as he hopped into the driver’s seat. The chained spirit hissed to life, and was immediately put to sleep again. Truth willed the truck forward, willed it faster and faster. He didn’t have a driver’s license, but how hard could it be, right?

The truck cornered like shit. The back wheels slid out, and Truth fought to get out of the spin. Bird Head was right in front of him. Some bodies around him. No sign of Ludovic. Faster. Faster. Faster. Safety override. Faster. Bird Head nipped down with his beak and decapitated some poor office worker. Then hoisted an ax, looking directly at Truth.

“SEE. SHIT LIKE THIS IS WHY YOU A FUCKBOY. LITTLE BITCH.”

Faster. Faster. The ax came swinging down. It was going to chop him and the truck directly in half. Truth ripped his magic through the speed regulator, the chained spirit howling in agony. For a fraction of a second, the truck burned all its magic to cross ten yards. The ax sliced through the back of the truck, snapping the rear axle. Didn’t matter. The cab plowed right through Bird Head, smearing him across the road. And windscreen. The truck lost control, but the emergency brake kept it from flipping over. Truth smacked into the steering rig, cracking ribs and for a second, seeing stars. It seems that seatbelts really were as important as everyone said.

Truth hopped out. Bird Head was rattling and wheezing on the ground. Everything from the bottom of its rib cage on down was gone. Organs Truth couldn’t put a name to covered the ground like litter after a concert. Like the torn down bunting after a party. But Bird Head still had an ax in his right hand, and murder in his eyes. Truth gave him plenty of space.

“Actually, I would appreciate any advice you had for picking up girls. I’m so bad at it, I thought I might be gay. Turns out, no. Or, well, probably not. Like, when I think about my ideal date, I think “woman.” But, you know. Everybody wonders sometimes, right? Like, it wouldn’t be the worst to just… check, right? I’m asking here, I really don’t know. No good role models. Tips would be appreciated.” Truth said, walking around Bird Head’s left.

“OH FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. YOU GOING TO CALL A DOCTOR, LITTLE BITCH?”

“I’m sure someone will. Although letting you bleed out seems like a winner of an idea to me. How the hell did you transform into this? Whatever this is. This should be a damn high level spell. And you ain’t above Level 2. A shitty Level 3 at the absolute most.”

“Oh mY GOD, you aRE THE dumbest FUck.” The huge body started twisting and disintegrating, turning into strange puddles and rivulets of flesh. The smell, already bad, became almost unendurable.

“We are the only things that are real…” The voice trailed off. The ax collapsed on the ground. Shortly thereafter, so did Truth. He shivered hard. That was so fucked up. So, goddamn, fucked up.

The battered Lieutenant crawled out of the ruins of the customs station. “Private Medici! HEY! PFC Medici! Can you confirm the creature is dead?”

“Sir, not really Sir! It doesn’t appear to have a heart, and whatever was it’s brain looks like a grease trap, Sir! It’s acting dead, but I really can’t say for sure. Sir. Also, may I respectfully remind the Lieutenant that I am a Private Second Class, Sir?”

The Lieutenant looked at the gorey mess stretching across half the customs station. He took particular note of the hacked open building, with its burnt out offices. The Lieutenant looked at the dead customs agents and his own dead soldiers, none of whom had a remotely intact corpse, and even managed to spot Private Ludovic hugging his knees and weeping in the remains of the inspection booth.

“You are wrong, Private Medici. After all this, you are definitely getting promoted.”

The station was swarmed by black armored specialists with “Police'' stenciled in bright yellow on their chests and back. They came with terrifying speed, moving on their six legged frogs, spell fetishes and talismans at the ready. They turned up an hour and a half after the attack, but they did look damned impressive doing it. A lot more impressive than the Army truck that rolled in thirty minutes behind them, carrying a crime scene crew. An hour behind the truck came an Army badged flying carriage, containing what Truth guessed was senior brass, to supervise and sort out turf issues.

Truth had been hauled into the infirmary, out of the infirmary, into interrogation, out, in, out, cup of coffee provided, then removed, then provided again and this time he necked it before there could be any funny business. The black armored cops looked mad when he did that, but the Army guys couldn’t have cared less. What did he see? What was said, exactly? Why was that different from what the recording talismans saw and heard? Did he know the driver? Why did he talk to the driver? Why did the driver call him a fuckboy? Was he a fuckboy? Was he a little bitch who thought he could play games with the cops and if he didn’t confess right this fucking instant was going to be a little prison bitch until he was burned at the stake…

It was at this point the Army guys hauled the cops out of the room. Apparently, there were things involved that a newly minted corporal would be wise to forget. That the newly minted corporal never actually saw in the first place. A corporal who was going to be getting military meritorious service points, a medal, and a transfer to work in an Army maintenance depot somewhere very quiet. Truth just nodded along. That all sounded excellent to him. The Starbrite volunteer had told him to excel and accumulate merits where possible, and he had certainly done that. Spending the rest of his service at a nice, quiet posting sounded perfect.

Especially since he saw what spilled out of Bird Head’s wagon. He didn’t know why those talismans were soaking in blood. He didn’t know why they were a problem. There sure seemed to be a lot of them. Especially the way they seemed to… almost hum. And wiggle. A chorus of tones, making… something.

Yeah, he didn’t see a single fucking thing at all.

The rest of his enlistment was, as promised, spent quietly in a maintenance depot. It was perfectly nice, and it was easy to stay in touch with the sibs. Maybe a bit noisier than the mountains, definitely more assholes, but, plus side, no Ludovic. So really, it was a solid win. And with a blur of the turning seasons, he was out. Deployment done. Standard offer to remain in the Army at grade was politely offered and firmly rejected.

The year had transformed Truth. In one year, he had added more than thirty kilos of muscle, and grew five centimeters. All the PT was to thank for the physique, but it was the regular calories and the protein that saw him shoot up in height. He learned that he could walk down the middle of the sidewalk, and not skulk from corner to corner. He learned that while he was a genius of applied violence, he was also a capable mechanic and maintenance tech. He learned that the Shattervoid Clan were not, in fact, their alien overlords, and were more a glorified trucking company. He had his doubts about that last one.

The Army taught him a lot of things. Most importantly, they taught him dignity. Not a lesson that most conscripts learned, but that’s what Truth walked away with. He had worth. He didn’t have to be scared all the time. He had his dignity. But he wasn’t an Army Man. He was a Starbrite Man. In two days, he would report for duty at the company. But for now, after one blessed year apart, it was time to see his parents.