Fallen Earth: The Newcomer

By Jordan Ledbetter

For eight years humanity fought against the Bolst armada, crippling civilization with a biogenetic weapon unleashed across the globe. Where the rest of the world fell, Russia, the last human bastion, delivered a final blow, devastating the alien fleet and leaving the Bolst stranded on earth. Seventeen years after the fall, humanity has survived

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cadmus Publishing
• Release date: Sep 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781637512586

Jordan Ledbetter

J. W. Ledbetter is a budding new author with a passion for storytelling that he intends to pursue throughout his lifetime. This ishis first publication. He spent twenty-one years in Springfield,Oregon and found endless beauty in his "Emerald Pine City"that inspired much of his setting. He currently resides at OregonState Correctional Institution, in Salem, but finds plenty of escapeinto the world he has begun to create.

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Fallen Earth

The Newcomer

History of Heroes Trilogy

Book 1

J.W. Ledbetter

Cadmus Publishing

www.cadmuspublishing.com

Copyright © 2022 J.W. Ledbetter

Cover art by Tad M. Bomboli

Published by Cadmus Publishing

www.cadmuspublishing.com

Port Angeles, WA

ISBN: 978-1-63751-258-6

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022913499

All rights reserved. Copyright under Berne Copyright Convention, Universal Copyright Convention, and Pan-American Copyright Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction; therefore, names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

I wrote a story I wanted to read. I’ll be happy with that if this is the only copy ever made.

But, I dedicate this step of my life to Garret. There will never be enough in this one lifetime to honor you, but mark this as the first day in trying.

Acknowledgments

There are so many people that deserve a mention on these pages for their dedication to my success that I would likely double the length of this book trying to include them all. With that in mind, I will do my best to mention those who’ve been constantly adamant about my work and if I miss anyone it is not for a lack of gratitude for your support, but a simple slip of my fallible mind.

First and foremost, I feel that I would not have been able to publish this work if not for the complete support and endless love of my Momma and Pops, Annette and Wyatt. I gave you both endless reasons to doubt me over the years, but neither of you ever did. I love you both, and I am ever grateful to have such wonderful parents.

My siblings have been wonderful idea generators and emotional supports. Alika and Jesslyn, you both have such beautiful hearts, and I’ve been exceedingly proud to watch you both grow into the women you’ve become. Damon, you received the brunt of my youthful anguish but our bond has been one of the strongest in my life. Little Brother, you are my most important collaborator, my most trusted confidant. You’re the only person who shares the excitement I feel for storytelling, so much so, that sometimes I’ve had to calm you down in our discussions. Our ideas are evident in the story I’ve longed to tell, and together we’ll finish many more.

My extended family has been consistently supportive in numerous ways. Aunt Abby, you were among the first to reach out to my in the darkest dungeons, and your continued welcome into your life has been cherished deeply. Thank yous are deserved to everyone else as well, but with the totality of us reaching over twenty easy, I will just hope you all know how very important you’ve been to me. I love you all.

I want to give a special appreciation to those I miss every day. Uncle Wayland, Uncle David, Aunt Sherrie, Grandpa J.C., and Grandma Martha, as I’ve spent these years writing, you all have been in my heart and mind, offering me love when I need it most. I love you all with the deepest parts of me. I hope you’ll find enjoyment in the work your lights helped create.

Tiffany, you’ve been my closest friend, a real and genuine gift in my life. Your love and kind heart has given this man more humility than I could truly explain, and I am lucky to count you among my friends.

I’ve met many people on my journey to this point, and I’ve received everything from congratulations to jealous dismissals, and once advice on a secretary. Still, there are a few men from the cages I live in that deserve direct mention. Scotty, you are a real friend, supportive even in the earliest days of my goals. I hope you find this note a reminder of the adventures we’ll have some day to come. Travis, your help in my first year has changed the man I am forever, and I am lucky I got the opportunity to learn those incredible lessons. Jimbo, you are a crystal example that the wise will walk similar paths. You paved the road I am trying to follow now, and your dedication to self-improvement and bettering life has been an inspiration to continue bettering mine.

Cadmus Publishing, I want to include a direct thank you for the work you do. If not for the wonderful opportunity to see my writing published that your efforts provide, I would not be writing these notes now. I look forward to what our continued relationship will become.

My last words are for the few I’ve met in life who didn’t believe in this reality. I’ve only recently discovered that I gain strength from those who try to hold me back as much as those who urge me on. Obstacles in life provide opportunity to challenge yourself, to overcome your limitations and grow beyond your expectations. All of your challenges have made me the man I am today, and pushed me to create this story I longed to tell. So truly, full heartily, with all my love. Thank you.

I leave you all with my love and peace of mind.

Yours, the unbreakable,

J. W. Ledbetter

Prologue

Even Heroes Die

The fire had spread faster than he imagined. Like a wild animal, it consumed everything in its path without hesitation. The last scream of a dying comrade faded into the roar of furious flames. Korvik Tsyerkov held his anguish, there would be time to mourn later. They had been too slow, and now they would only be more fuel. Smoke overwhelmed the air, choking him with every breath as he fought to break from it. The constant rattle of ballistic gunfire against photon bolt echoed in the distance, as real battles were being fought in rooms around him.

The firm hand of a trusted friend pulled his shoulder, and his mind, back to the task at hand. Ivan caught his eyes and ushered him further down the hallway. The cracked features of his older comrade were only more defined by the black smoke and red light pouring over them. His dark brown hair was glazed with grit and singed in embers. It made him look ancient, decrepit even. If they hadn’t spent years together, fighting side by side, Korvik could have thought he was just another feeble old man. However, Ivan is anything but feeble.

Screams tore through the roaring flame, distorted in the echo of an exposed vent somewhere above, as Ivan lead them into another hallway. A Russian voice shouted orders and commands somewhere farther off. We’re close to help! They rushed down the hall in a half crouch. The lower from the smoke they stayed the easier it would be to see, but still their eyes burned with suffocating aggravation.

The hall suddenly split between two stairs, one going down and the other up. The flames raced after them, red tongues licking every inch of the dust filled carpets and peeled wallpaper. In its wake were flashes of ignition and the roar for more fuel. They would run out of time fast. Ivan began screaming, the older Russian’s voice just as dry and scratchy as Korvik’s own. Combined, they called for a sign, any sign, of where to go next. A compliment of replies barreled from the stairway leading down.

Ivan led the charge as they rushed three steps at a time. Fire crackled and wood snapped where the flames chewed after them. They followed their comrades’ voices toward a massive double oak door. Korvik grabbed the handle and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge.

The automatic locks! he yelled over the roar of the approaching fire.

Ivan slammed into the door beside him, shoulder first. He got the message. They’d have to break through it. He pulled himself back, his weary legs and empty lungs spitting at his feet. Ivan stepped back beside him, their shoulders lowered together. They crashed forward, ash and dust pouring into the air as wood groaned under their weight. Ivan’s side splintered under the man’s force, splitting a thick crack across the wood. The older Russian was built with the strength of a horse, and he knew how to use it.

They pounded the door in frantic desperation. Behind them, the flames consumed the whole staircase, leaving only a thin stretch of hall between it and them. We have only moments before it reaches us. Voices of their comrades muffled by the fire reached Korvik’s ears as the door was assaulted from the other side. Axe heads tore into the outside edges, ripping massive chunks free. He fell back for one more charge, Ivan moving in unison with him. The fire kissed their backs. This was the last try they would get. He closed his eyes and threw all his weight into the wooden barrier. Cracks like glass shattered tiny pricks of pain across his exposed cheeks as the red glow of fire gave way to bright, white light.

They’re through! Seal the wing, now!

The hoarse voices were a comfort to his ears. Hands swarmed him as his body collapsed and his vision fell to the blackness of exhaustion. For a long moment, the only sensation he had left was the burn of fresh air fighting against the smoke in his lungs. His vision stabled as the clean air settled back into his blood. The room was full of wounded and desperate soldiers. It was a grim look at the state of Russia’s last soldiers. Our last stand.

Ivan appeared under his right arm as the older Russian forced him back to his feet. The man’s face was still black with soot, marking the large scar lining his jaw in grizzled definition. His eyes were a mix or pink and red, the skin around them swollen and suffering. Tears tried to escape beneath the older Russian’s gaze, not from sadness, or even pain, but from the sheer need to clear away the blinding ash that clogged them. The effect left thick globs of paste that cluttered their faces.

They were standing in the connecting corridor between two wings of the museum, but like all the other spaces available here, it had been repurposed for the war. The small corridor was now a place for the wounded, and a space for the medics to work their art. The museum offered little in open spaces, its halls mostly formed complex networks of connecting wings, but that had served excellently for their defense. Too bad it makes for a terrible living space.

Comrade, Korvik said. I’ve got myself, you should see a medic.

Ivan shook his head, dropping several globs of ash from his skin.

No, brother. This is it. Our comrades upstairs need as much time as we can give them. Today we end the war, or they do. Let’s get to the lobby. Neskoliv is still fighting hard there.

Ivan hauled him out of the way as several of their comrades rushed extinguishers to the roaring fire. He glanced at the wounded men as any who could walk helped push back the fire enough for the engineers to seal the wing off.

Yeah, I would guess that the east hall is as protected as it’ll get, Korvik said.

Except that now the assault has less places to focus on, Ivan shot back, with a stern look. The defense will only get harder, don’t doubt that.

Korvik nodded as Ivan turned toward the exit.

The older Russian stopped them beside a dead comrade leaning against a wall and began taking the rifle from her back. Korvik glanced down the rest of the hall as he balanced himself. Bodies were stacked to one side, leaving a single footpath for the living to traverse the dead. The evidence of Russia’s last stand was displayed in the eyes of each body. Defiant and resolute to the last second. Well done, comrades. This was a sight too common now, and it didn’t rest well in his heart that he’d become so accustomed to it.

Ivan was in the middle of delivering a silent prayer to their fallen soldiers when he turned his attention away from the bodies. Out of respect, he too held a moment of silence, giving the older Russian the time needed to finish. Ivan let out a held breath and dropped his hands from his face back to the borrowed gun hanging by his ribs.

Thank you for the gifts, comrades.

Korvik nodded in agreement, and took a weapon for himself. The current Russian best felt cool and natural in his grasp. The innovational hybrid of human mechanical ingenuity and their enemy’s alien technologic advancements sealed power within a small frame. He had no idea how the beaker boys upstairs had figured out the science, but the result was a ballistic weapon that packed an energized payload. They called it the Mule Kick. It hummed lightly as he pulled it tight to his shoulder.

Ivan led the way in a sprint, navigating their trail past wounded and dead alike. They followed the echoes of gunfire and war. Old blood, burnt flesh, and charged static electricity seared his nostrils, choking his every breath into aching lungs. The wounded too hurt to keep fighting resting along the walls, sitting in quiet determination. Each one was steeling their nerves for the fight they would surely have to make. Korvik didn’t envy their rest. Waiting was by far worse.

The labyrinth of thin halls and small exhibit rooms intertwined at the edge of the westward wing of the building. Ivan spun them along the Hall of Legends, which would lead them far into the center. The walls once held a pantheon of powerful and important men, forever sealed in paint and canvas or carved marble. Not even the outlines of those works of art were left standing. They could have never existed in the first place. Will we all fade into the depths of history forgotten?

The torn and tattered carpet stopped in an abrupt wave of charred and shattered wood. Ten feet ahead the large door that sealed the lobby from the hall rested in pieces. The scream of gunfire and soldiers fighting for survival thundered through the gap like a symphony. Ivan picked up his pace, nearly sprinting for the crowd of soldiers preparing weapons by the opening. Several corpses crowded the entrance at once, thick with congealed blood and melted flesh. The living took turns trying to put gunfire into the room, but they were met with heavy resistance.

What’s the situation? Where’s Neskoliv? Ivan asked.

One of the soldiers reloading weapons gestured into the room, his head never turning from his task. Ivan understood, the faster they could provide ammunition, the more of their comrades they’d likely save. Korvik forced his way to the side of the door, moving a man with a blown off hand further away. He didn’t resist much, but his anger was easy to see. Ivan placed a hand on Korvik’s shoulder, his eyes scanning the scene ahead.

Russian soldiers lay like a minefield across the tile floor, filling the open space in front of the doorway nearly two bodies high. Their only entry point would be a dangerous foot hazard in the midst of a war zone. The door was set in the far back left of the lobby, and the angle of enemy fire made scanning the whole room too much of a risk. Still, shouts and war cries of their comrades echoed from somewhere out of sight. The battle was far from over. The two soldiers shared a brief look, and rushed over fallen comrades toward a fate they would likely share soon enough.

Photon bolts shattered past Korvik’s shoulder the second he stepped into the doorway. Bright green light coursed over his body before smashing into the wall behind him. The wood and plaster erupted in a squeal and a flash of white fire. He barreled over the bodies in a frantic dash as more photon consumed the air around him. Something caught his foot. He crashed onto his elbows with a vibrating thwack rolling up his spine. He bit back his pain, pushing his hands to crawl desperately for the base of a toppled marble pillar. What the hell did I trip on?

He glanced back at the mound of corpses, and his heart nearly stopped. A fellow soldier was half buried in the bodies, leaving only her head and one arm free. Her face was nearly devoid of all skin and hair, even the hairs on her arms seemed to be fried off. Her red flesh pulsed with agonizing breaths, her eyes locked on him with the confused dull that could only be shock. She’d tried grabbing him for help, and instead accidentally tripped him. The bodies covering her were likely those of dear friends who’d risked getting to her, and failed. Digging her out now would be impossible. At least until the enemy was pushed back. He cringed at the thought of being stuck so close to comrades, but being completely helpless.

He shook his head of it, and focused back on the battle ahead. He rolled to his knees and shoved his back into the marble pillar as tightly as it would fit. Ivan had managed to slide across the floor to the opposite side of the room, but with the amount photon flinging through the air between them, they might as well have been in different rooms now.

He slowly leaned out from cover and gauged his surroundings. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The remaining soldiers were scattered across the grand lobby among piles of the dead. A squad of six held the center of the room, using the remnants of a fountain for cover. More soldiers held the base of two staircases that rose from the left and right of the lobby. They ascended to the second story balcony, where more soldiers held the high ground against their attackers. Centering the high ground stood the Russian Commander, Neskoliv. He gave orders to his comrades in between his own attacks on the enemy.

The enemy was in no small position either. The front lobby was filled to the brim with the colorful husks and sharp carapace of the alien monsters. Wotuwan soldiers held the doorway to the building with three lines of defense, the first taking cover against the Russian barricades once used to keep them out. The second and third line of attack came from outside the building, where unknown hordes of the insectoid creatures were pushing ever closer.

Rare wood once adorned with the carvings of a revered sculptor laid in abused pieces at the front of the building, where the enemy exchanged fire with the Russian soldiers still holding the rooftop. Streams of photon energy flew through the open door like a wild firework show as the enemy tried to advance up the courtyard. Those soldiers unlucky enough to be caught out of cover were reduced to pulp, flesh, and ash in a matter of moments. Everyone still standing returned fire whenever possible, but the scene was grim at its best. It’s time I start carrying my weight.

He raised the Mule-Kick from his back and quickly checked the sights. The tumble he took earlier could have tilted them off balance, and even a fraction of a degree could be the difference between survival or death. Everything looked good, the important parts anyway. He glanced once more to Ivan. The older Russian had his eyes closed, his weapon pushed tight to his chest as he whispered a small affirmation to himself. Korvik grinned, and shifted his body closer to the edge of his cover. Clicking off the safety, he leveled his weapon and took aim.

Through the stream of photon bolts a small opening appeared just to the right. With the speed of a moving car, the enemy broke through the front line. Angled with sharp points and hard shapes, nobody could mistake a Wotuwan soldier for a Russian one, or any human for that matter. Natural armor covered their bodies in thick layers that were stronger than most metals. Their oily flesh surrounding their heads interlaced with bulging eyes that seemed to stare everywhere and nowhere. Their torsos stretched taller than a human’s, making room for two added arms on either side of their inhuman body. Between these obvious differences, and the cringing gargle of their spoken language, they were the nightmare of most children.

The first one entered the room to the abrupt end of several Russian guns, but its sacrifice carved a hole the others could utilize. The carapace plates deflected hybrid bullets as easily as their ballistic counterparts, but the extra, interlaced energy would slow their bodies down and tear at their armor. He lined his rifle with the closest Wotuwan, targeting the slopping wet eyes hidden in dense, oiled leather, and fired. Energy coursed through his nerves as the Mule-Kick spat bright red light into the advancing creature. Blood as blue as melted sapphires webbed across the ground leaving the invader toppling to the floor like a brick.

Korvik moved to his second target, a bright red husk highlighted with yellow accents around the edges. It charged the right staircase, screaming unrecognizable sounds as it unloaded the twin guns in its grasp. He sent a volley of fire into the creature’s side. While there were chinks in their armor, mostly around their exposed joints and the fleshy parts between carapace plates, they were still pretty tough to take down. The red creature absorbed the hits and tore through to better cover. Korvik shifted his head as return fire melted marble.

The creature tried to get a better angle on him, but blood spewed from a torn shoulder, painting visceral graffiti across the marble walls, as the Wotuwan was engulfed in Russian gunfire. His comrades held the staircase without a single step back. They were combining their efforts to cut down the Wotuwan bastards still trying to charge in. Neskoliv shouted out orders to the others while those stationed on the balcony tore through the targets trying to form a sensible defense.

Korvik lost all sense of the others, his mind focused on the meditation of combat. Fire. Dodge. Take cover. Reload. Fire. The battle only lasted minutes, but it felt like hours. The returning photon ended in a clean snap. Nothing else advanced, not even the wind dared to blow for fear of being shot down by the on edge Russian defenders. The tension was thicker than oil around them, holding every Russian’s lungs tight, nervous that even one breath would awake the monster waiting outside. They couldn’t have defeated the enemy this quickly. No Wotuwan force was beaten in a single wave, there was always more of them waiting, plotting, searching for a weakness

He glanced to the pile of bodies behind him, the wounded woman still reaching desperately for help as several combat medics raced around the battlefield. Hands quickly hauled her from the pile of dead allies, and drug her safely to the back halls of their building. Her wounds were serious, likely even fatal, but the medics would give her all they could despite that. Those who the medics had sufficiently patched up rushed into the room themselves, taking positions along their comrades. Some of them could barely walk, but each soldier was grateful to be breathing. It meant they could keep fighting. No Russian life would be wasted today.

Korvik glanced across the room, catching Ivan’s eyes as they shared a silent breath. He was about to head for the older Russian when the loose stones and shattered marble at his feet began to shake. He glanced up as a string of dust tumbled through the air beside his face from the cracks in the ceiling. Compared to the thunder of combat the tremors were nothing but a faint feeling in his body. Before the war he wouldn’t have noticed it. Nobody would have. But they had spent years searching for it. Searching for the slight shake of the earth beneath them that always foretold…

Swarm! Ivan shouted.

Wotuwan soldiers poured into the lobby by the dozens. They spread out, but each Wotuwan that stepped deeper into the building was instantly replaced by another. They washed into the lobby like a formless monster trying to consume all it touched. Russians drenched the monstrous wave with gunfire from all sides. The creatures that got cut down were sucked under the stampeding feet of the others as the horde doubled its size. Those who stood closest to the rampant swarm were overwhelmed in seconds, many Russian lives extinguished in a flash of photon and crimson. Neskoliv roared orders from above, directing the next lines of soldiers to hold the enemy back.

Amidst the chaos, Korvik kept Ivan in the corner of his eye. The older Russian was advancing through the room, trying to reach the soldiers still standing in the fountain. Always trying to play the hero, aren’t you? Hell, why not. He felt the lightest twinge of fear in his gut, but as fast as it hit he shook it off. He was born in a world of peace, a world that had worked to better itself. The enemy brought them a fight, and he’d fought it since he was a boy himself. This was their war, but Russia would finish it. He took a deep breath, looking to the bodies piled around him. He could have been any one of them. Still could be, before too long. Why start fearing it now? A small grin crept across his face.

He burst from cover with gritted teeth and made a dash for the fountain. Photon flew past him like a hive of bees, forcing him to veer off to the right. Korvik tucked as low as his sprinting legs would allow and fired wildly into the gaping maw of the swarm. The shots suppressed enough of the enemy to cover Ivan while the older Russian leapt into the empty fountain. He moved to follow Ivan’s trail when the swarm made its second push. The Wotuwan force rushed his comrades, forcing those at the front-line further back. Men and women fled up to the balcony while those closest to the swarm stood their ground in a desperate hope to buy their comrades precious time. In a matter of seconds, the lobby floor became a mass grave.

He took cover in the shadow of a crumbling marble column, leaning all of his weight into the wall as he maintained suppressive fire. His body barely fit, his feet poked out just enough for a stray shot to clip his toes if he was unlucky enough. His senses tuned to the battle with absolute focus. The weight of his gun faded away. The echoes of war vanished just as fast. He snapped his arm to the left, placing several rounds into an advancing Wotuwan stomach. Red energy split deep cracks arose the alien’s carapace as flesh popped like a freshly cracked lobster. Two more creatures quickly replaced their screaming ally, skipping over its body without the least hesitation.

Korvik felt their photon smacking into the marble rubble he’d chosen for cover. The scream of melting stone sent shivers down his spine. He dropped to one knee as he leaned from the safety of his marble and sent another volley into the advancing enemy. Photon broke a hole through the rubble just above his head, spilling molten marble and sizzling gunk across his boots. He deftly flicked his feet clear, but not before the searing hot ocher had torn a fresh hole in his boot and seared part of his foot. He had no time to mourn the damaged shoes. Photon was pounding his cover with serious effort as more of the swelling swarm found safety within the lobby. He rolled across the floor as something cracked into the wall beside him. His instincts forced him into the open. His old cover wouldn’t survive long now. Coming back to his feet in a run, he sent another burst of fire into the closest Wotuwan.

Sparks ignited across carapace as his Mule-Kick shattered the Wotuwan weapon in its grasp. The alien weapon violently shook as raw energy poured from its maw like a fire breathing serpent. The unlucky alien holding the device screamed in blood chilling agony as its hands melted to the discharging metals. Then the device died out, its multi-colored metals falling to a dull grey as the energy within it emptied completely. The Wotuwan soldier toppled, leaving behind only a dead husk as its weapon crumbled into dust like wood burnt to brittle ash.

Korvik didn’t have time to consider the startling spectacle. His comrades were still fighting terrible odds. The Russians holding the high ground gunned down any Wotuwan still standing in the open as those on the ground regained their defensive posture. He wouldn’t get a better opportunity. He crashed into cover near the fountain as Ivan and the other soldiers holding the center defiantly emptied their magazines into the Wotuwan swarm. The enemy had purchased plenty of ground between the massive entryway and their new line.

The small hovel in the fountain had become the new focal point for their defense, its chest high walls and reinforced firing positions working efficiently for the job. Neskoliv had no doubt designed it for just this sort of circumstance. Wotuwan soldiers clung to the barricades that had been used to defend against them only moments before. The Russians fighting from the stairs and balcony had an advantage, but even the added angle of their fire wasn’t enough to cut down the creatures before they could fortify their new positions. For a few moments, the swarm was held at bay, more Wotuwan bodies piling up by the second. Still, every Russian knew the stall wouldn’t last forever. The enemy had numbers to lose. Someone needed to flush them out.

Korvik turned his attention to the right barricade and the enemies positioned behind it. Battles had left scars across its surface, but it held together as if even the stone and steel were trying to defy the invading armies. Not just that. The tall barricades were creating small bottlenecks, forcing the enemy to focus on getting around the Russian gunfire, and leaving a great deal of it open for a counterattack. There was an opening.

He grabbed three soldiers beside him and shook their attention toward the barricade. The screams of gunfire deafened every word he spoke, but the others understood him anyway. With a nod from the others, he leapt into the open. His comrades ignited a spray of gunfire that could have driven a tank into retreat as he threw all of his body across the ten feet of open floor. Photon cracked the air in a hailstorm as he smashed his shoulder into the barricade. The Wotuwans reacted instantly. Several of the closest creatures tried to stand enough to gun him down. Neskoliv rallied his closest soldiers and chopped down every reaching creature. Waves of Russian fire drowned out the returning photon as the soldiers roared in defiance to their overwhelming enemy. Time to flush them out.

Korvik twisted his body over the barricade. Momentum mixed with the angle of his body to send both feet square into the chest of a cowering Wotuwan. They slammed to the ground, Korvik still standing atop the alien’s body as carapace snapped somewhere beneath them. He turned his attention to the swarm only a few feet ahead of him. They would surely overwhelm him, but his last stand would mean something to the defense. It would buy an opening. The thought of his own death played through his mind, but not an ounce of fear came. Only excitement.

The monsters turned on him, their eyes like knives as weapons all around came in for a kill. Korvik went numb, his body moving with the precision of something beyond conscious thought. His senses soared into overdrive. He could see everything. Hear everything. The firefight was raging on behind him, which gave him the advantage of not having to watch his back. In the flash of a second, he took note of the closest enemy, and the direction its weapon was pointing. He grinned.

Bursting into motion, he avoided a desperate shot from the creature beside him. With a spin he lashed out a kick, catching the Wotuwan just below its large mandibles. In the same instant, he drew his handgun from his hip and sent three rounds into the alien at his feet before circling back to the other threats. The next Wotuwan leveled its gun and fired, but Korvik was already gone. He’d leapt up, pivoting off the Wotuwan like a springboard as photon bolted into the barricade behind him. He landed and thrashed another kick, this one cracking into the Wotuwan’s unarmored neck. His body twisted with the blow, tucking his rifle tightly to the side, and dropped his weight to pin the alien beneath his foot. Choked wheezes fell from its face as clenching hands tried to wretch the foot free.

He silenced the creature with a decisive shot to its bulbous eyes and turned his attention to the swarm. He pulled his rifle to his shoulder and fired wild into the mass of Wotuwan soldiers lining the other barricades. The closest aliens were cut down in moments, their unarmored sides easy targets at this angle, but those further down were harder shots to make, and now they knew he was there.

Those creatures still standing unleashed wild shots back at him. They went mostly into the wounded and dead Wotuwans still nearby, but those misses were too close for Korvik’s liking. He rolled in between the two barricades, pulling a Wotuwan corpse over him as partial cover. Photon tore into the Wotuwan corpse instantly, melting small chunks of carapace and armor. His makeshift shield wouldn’t last long, and with the attention he’d just earned, escaping back across the lobby was impossible. He was stuck, and in moments, probably dead. Better make this count, Ivan. I can’t distract them all day. He was right. The swarm gave up trying to wing him, and charged for the kill.

Russian war cries pierced the air like an avalanche, stunning the advancing Wotuwans. Russian soldiers charged from the right, gunning down every creature within sight. The swarm abandoned their target as they focused exclusively on the Russian charge. They repositioned to defend from the assault, but as they tried to fortify the right side, Russians on the left countered with their own charge, Neskoliv in the lead. Russian fire crossed in perfect unison, pounding into the swarm relentlessly. Wotuwan soldiers collapsed into heaps, many tripping over their kin as chaos filled the enemy ranks. Within seconds the swarm dwindled, then collapsed. Korvik tossed the mutilated corpse to the floor and joined the fight. The Russians reformed their defensive ranks along the barricades, pushing the surviving creatures back into the courtyard outside. Korvik slid against cover, took a breath and swapped magazines. Ivan slammed into cover beside him, blood dripping from his soot covered face. Only a little of it was his own.

You crazy bitch mother! You’re going to get killed pulling stunts like that! Ivan screamed.

Korvik laughed, popping from cover to unload a few more rounds into the fray before the last of the enemy was out of his sight.

You must calm yourself, brother. I survived, worry about my death when it happens, yeah?

That’s the freaking point, kid. I’m trying to prevent you dying.

Korvik shrugged, pointing to the many corpses around them.

How many of them were trying to prevent dying today? Yet they lay dead. It doesn’t matter if I’m trying to survive or not. My time will come when it comes.

Ivan looked as if he would respond, but held his tongue. Korvik had a point, after all. Their rest was short lived. It always was. Photon peppered the Russian line like wildfire. The enemy had returned their retreat with a relentless onslaught. Soldiers fell apart under the extreme energy rounds. Collapsing bodies dumped blood and organs across the floor in thick pools. Korvik could feel it under his boots as the erupted skull of a comrade crashed to the ground beside him. The defensive line was falling apart, and the real threat hadn’t even arrived yet. Neskoliv shifted closer to Korvik’s side, his right arm holding his weapon tight toward the enemy, his left hauling a wounded comrade to better cover.

The Russian commander took charge of the line, holding them together as several soldiers gathered the wounded and positioned them closer to the fountain. The unorganized line managed to stay the enemy for a breath, then two, then five. Seconds lingered on and on as they held back the creatures. For every Russian taken down they slaughtered five Wotuwans in turn. But the enemy could afford those losses. Russia could not.

We must fall back, get better protection! Neskoliv ordered. Cover our comrades, get the wounded back first!

Hell was coming, and they all knew it, but not one Russian soldier broke and fled.

We fight right here, we die in droves! Then our comrades fight over our corpses while the enemy advances. We fall back, we stand a chance!

Neskoliv was right. Ivan took the first dreaded step back to the center defenses. Other soldiers fell back in waves, abandoning ground fought for with Russian blood. It was the most painful sight Korvik had ever seen. The first to reach the stairs turned to cover the next as they took up positions around the lobby. Korvik stood with the Russian Commander as his comrades fell back, but even with another dozen soldiers holding the line, they’d only bought seconds for others to escape. Still, seconds save lives in war. The last of their comrades fell back, but Neskoliv stayed strong, taking down another advancing creature as he roared into the maw of the enemy. Korvik pulled him from the line, forcing their inspired leader toward safety. Safety is the wrong word. Better place to die. Photon washed over the top of their barricades as Russian fire worked to cover them.

You run, I’ll cover you! Neskoliv barked.

No, you’re slower, old man, Korvik said.

The Commander sneered, but turned for the sprint. Arguing would only waste time they didn’t have. As Korvik blindly laced the Wotuwan forces with gunfire, Neskoliv made a mad dash for the fountain. The Commander had just leapt over the fountain walls when a sudden bite consumed Korvik’s calve.

He collapsed into the shadow of the barricade as more rounds passed just above him. Green gunk leeched from his melting pant leg onto his skin, slowly eating a hole into his body. The wound burned like hell, but he knew better than to try wiping the burning green gunk off. It would only spread. Fate was playing favorites again. The round had been mostly a graze. Still, the sticky discharge was eating him. The pain was deep, throbbing quickly up his whole leg. He had to get it off his body before the toxicity fried his nerves. He’d have to cut the gunk off.

He quickly drew his combat knife and steeled his shaking hands. Echoes of popping metal sent shivers up his spine as the knife handle pulled free from its sheath. Green goop dripped from a twisted nub of what was once a blade. A photon round had caught it pretty good. How close had that been from hitting me? And when? He didn’t have time to worry about it now, the enemy was likely moments from realizing they hadn’t killed him. If he didn’t get away soon, they’d have no trouble making sure they did the second time.

Bodies of fallen comrades were strewn across many feet to his left and right. If he was lucky, one would have knife. The pain on his leg grew more intense as the goop bit deeper, slowly melting his flesh. He crawled quickly to a body, giving his dead comrade a silent nod of respect as he searched for a blade. The man was wide eyed with resent, his face a mask of the hardened look most Russians had grown to hold every day. Cold metal filled his grasp as fingers wrapped around a slender, fitted handle. Lady luck, you are too kind. He pulled the blade free but froze in surprise. No knife came from under the dead, but instead a cavalry cutlass. It had to be from the exhibit halls, its design reminiscent of the pre-soviet era. The blade was well kept despite its ancient heritage, as not a single notch lined the edge, but the years had faded once shining metal to a dull and worn sheen. The Russian regimental engravings were coated with blood, blotting out whatever was left of the worn words. It wasn’t the kind of blade he’d expected, but it would do what he needed.

He slid the blade across his burning leg, pressing hard enough to scrape the goop from the wound. He had to angle the edge harshly into his flesh and dig. Cold scrapped against burning heat, a wet flow of warm liquid rolling from the wound. Then he felt as if his senses had suddenly grown sharp, like the weight of wet clothes had been pulled from him. That shit has a potent bite to it… If the blade had been dull, he might not have managed it at all. Delicate precision and plenty of pressure pulled the goop free in seconds. Raw skin surged his nerves as the seared flesh mingled with open air. All that remained was a seriously ugly burn and some flesh damage. Survivable, if it matters anyway. Besides, women dig battle scars.

Russian fire laced the barricade above him, meaning the enemy was on the other side. There was no way he could make the run back to his comrades before the Wotuwan swarm cut him down. He had to try something. Looking to his fallen comrade again he searched for anything that could help him. I only need a five second window. Help me make one, brother. His comrade must have heard the silent prayer. A random bullet ricocheted off the barricade and forced the fallen soldier to shift slightly. A glint of silver shined from the dead man’s clenched fist. Korvik grinned.

He pried the small device free from the cold, clenching fingers and examined it closer. A small silver cube inscribed with Russian letters and Wotuwan symbols. The beaker boys upstairs created these awhile back, but as the war had stretched their resources ever thinner, they faded away with all of the other tech and toys. Those who managed to find one held it closer than letters from the lost but not forgotten. In a pinch, they were the best back up plan. They called it Plan C.

He turned his attention to Ivan and the others still holding the fountain. The older Russian looked nervous. And angry. Korvik waved cautiously from his hunkered spot, signaling the others for aid. Ivan gave him a slight nod, and the soldiers stood up in unison. Their gunfire smashed into the enemy as he spun around the edge of the barricade. His fingers twisted and compressed the cube shape of Plan C in a blur of motion, igniting the mechanisms within. He threw the small cube high into the entryway, hoping for radius more than damage. He didn’t need to kill them all. He only needed a distraction.

Humming like an over worked jet engine wailed through the air, then everything erupted in white light. Violent heat consumed the barricades in a flash. It washed over the tops of the steel and stone without hesitation. Korvik tucked hard against the ground. His exposed skin was instantly scorched like a sunburn, his clothing seared as if it had been over ironed. Then the heat was gone, replaced by the groan of cooling metal, stone, and flesh.

A brief moment of peace broke the room, every Russian taking a collective breath of rest. The swarm had fallen back, likely regaining forces and courage. The battle was far from over, and everyone knew it. The distant echoes of other battles bounced through the suddenly silent air. All across the city soldiers were fighting for their lives just like they were. They all knew there was no help coming. Russia was the last united force still fighting the Bolst bastards, and if the Bolst wouldn’t relent, neither would Russia.

Sound of pounding feet and frantic calls for the wounded filled the air. Ivan stepped just beside him, the older Russian offering a hand up.

I cannot believe you had one of those this whole time, Ivan said with a chuckle.

I didn’t, Korvik replied. Our comrade left it for me when he fell. We owe our standing right now to his foresight.

You are a lucky child. But you did well. He clapped Korvik’s back. The burn will heal easy. Your leg might need some attention, though. Unless you want to lose it to infection.

Monstrous screams filled the air. Wotuwans were the most common force in the enemy army. They made up a bulk of the force and usually were treated as cannon fodder for their massive numbers and natural armor, but there were a few types of Wotuwan that were special. Some could fly on translucent wings, some were built for the depths of water, others had even more limbs and were adept marksmen because of it, but the most feared creatures every soldier knew, and their bloodlust made a specific sound when they neared the battle. The bone-chilling roar that silenced the room was every man’s nightmare.

Pit Fiends! Screamed the soldiers on the balcony. They’re massing behind the courtyard walls!

I doubt I will need to worry about that for much longer. Their cavalry is on the way.

They moved back to the fountain and took shelter with the last defenders. Several other soldiers patted Korvik’s back as they shared their praise and readied their weapons.

You’re a fearless bitch mother! One soldier said.

I thought for sure you’d be crunchy when you went down, replied another.

What? The first man said. Look at his arm patch! He’s from the goddamn Eighth Legion. They do that kind of shit in basic.

They all shared a laugh, a rare but vital moment between men of war. Neskoliv planted a hand on Korvik’s shoulder, stopping the laughter dead as the others followed their Commander’s gaze. The night sky had grown even blacker as the battle waged on. Distant fires and bright flashes of battle seemed to vanish in the all-consuming stillness. Shadows of creatures long dead danced in the burning red as every eye in the building locked onto the massive doorway. Neskoliv called out orders as everyone on the barricades focused their attention. Ivan pulled his last grenade from his belt. Korvik propped his weapon on the barricade.

Just our luck that those Bolst bastards would send half the freakin’ horde, one soldier spat.

Luck, fate, God, you could call it anything you like, Ivan replied. But it is of little importance now. They’re here, so we’ll have to fight them.

They were speechless.

Can’t argue with that.

Wotuwan bodies cracked through the doorway in a torrent as their carapace plates collided in the frenzy. Russian gunfire erupted all at once, slicing into the initial ranks of Wotuwan soldiers. Korvik focused his fire, picking the targets trying to linger behind the mob as they raced for cover inside. Returning photon smashed into his cover, splashing molten stone across his jacket and searing fresh holes along its length. The battle was back to full swing as Wotuwan soldiers regained their foothold. It seemed to be building to another steady trade of bodies for bodies. Russia couldn’t afford those trades anymore. Then the flow of thin-framed Wotuwan stopped, as if someone had made a kink in an active hose to stop the water flow. The change would only bring worse things

Monsters loomed into the room on scuttling legs. Their shells resembled more of a crab than an insect. Two huge claws supported their armored bodies as they worked doubly as a shield against their enemies. Their faces were still a disgusting, oily, fish-eyed mess, but they sported an elongated jaw and brow with a stretched neck, giving it a snapper fish and eel appearance. They were horrifying. They were nightmares. They were the Pit Fiends.

Heavy carapace rushed like small trucks as the monsters came on. Bullets crashed uselessly against their thick bodies as they charged past the barricades without fear. Several of the monsters headed for the fountain like rabid dogs, taking direct fire from multiple sides with ease. Their front claws would shift just enough to protect them, covering their exposed joints and meaty faces. The first Pit Fiend barreled through the fountain wall like it was packing foam, sending debris across the defending Russians.

Ivan flew across the floor in a tumble, his gun falling free, but Korvik rolled backward, coming to his feet to continue the defense. Several soldiers came from the side to support their downed comrades. The Pit Fiend flashed its claws with frightening speed. The man it tore apart didn’t even scream. A squad leader tried to flank the mighty creature, but the Wotuwan soldiers still holding the barricades cut her down in moments.

The Pit Fiend turned its attention on Korvik, massive claws clenching tight as it readied to charge. He held his ground and fired until the magazine stopped spitting rounds and the click of empty metal sank into his head. The monster wheezed out an evil chuckle too alien to sound anything less than creepy. It took a step forward. Something appeared just over the monster’s left shoulder. A deafening burst tore the pit fiend into pulp and shattered carapace, knocking Korvik to the ground at the same time. The soldiers upstairs whooped and cheered before firing three more rockets at the ugliest pit fiends.

Russians roared across the battlefield as they rallied behind the last of their ordinance. Korvik took the moment to reestablish his cover and reloaded his magazine. With the fountain squad’s leader dead, her second was issuing orders to maintain their positions. He was half panicked himself, but not once did his voice waver as he took control.

Korvik! the man screamed. I need you to cover the right side, we’ll get the sappers a cleaner target for those ugly bitch mothers!

Korvik nodded and jumped to position beside two other soldiers. Ivan slid up beside him with a limp and emptied the last of his magazine into the mass of enemy troops. Somehow, they seemed to be turning the battle around again, driving the swarm back into the night. That is the game, isn’t it? Inch by inch, body by body, until one side decides they don’t want this patch of dirt and ruins as much as the other guy does? Still, this is our patch of dirt. He turned to Ivan with a wide grin as they shared a moment between reloads. Ivan returned it with his own smile, one that actually lightened his grave and gnarled face. They could do this. The new squad leader slid to cover just across the gap in the fountain wall the last Pit Fiend had created. He finished reloading his weapon.

Listen up, if we can pin down the center barricade, our demo team ca-

Rock erupted in a blaze of fiery death where the man had been crouching. The blast had been instantaneous, but Korvik’s mind could see the shockwave of the impact pulling the man apart just before it knocked them all down in the rubble. Pain washed over his head as the blast shook him to his core. He steadied himself cautiously against his cover with slow moving legs, his eyes regaining their vision quickly. He glanced over to the others as he tried to register his surroundings. Ivan was crouching beside him, the older Russian looking almost unfazed as he quickly slung a stream of fire into the enemy line. The rest of the squad was stunned and staggering in the wake of the shock. Most stayed in cover, but one comrade had been struck hard in the head by a piece of the rubble and it had sent him into a sleep he’d likely never awaken from.

Ivan peaked at the enemy line, then quickly dropped back down with a look of stoic terror. Everything had shifted in the span of a second. His comrades looked desperate. Most were trying to retreat up the stairs. Then his eyes fell on the entryway, and he understood why. A shadow had filled the entire ten-foot doorway, its outline only present due to the radiating, dark green energy leaking in wisps like steam from the massive weapon strapped to its right side. It fired again. The blast erupted somewhere on the second story, sending debris and unlucky soldiers smashing to the ground around them. The energy discharged had ignited a flashing glimpse of the monster awaiting them. Korvik’s gut tightened.

It was easily twelve feet tall and at least half that wide. Its body, painted by the green light, was like staring at a sculpture of a cow twisted to a standing position and given three times the right muscle definition. Cords like thick cables stretched from every inch of it, swirling into each other as they connected to larger and thicker muscles or vanished beneath the near reflective sheen of its armor. It stood on three legs, split evenly around its mountainous frame. Thickened patches of grayed skin protruded like spikes and plates along its body, leaving both added edges for lethal attacks, and hardened layers for a brutal defense. Its body rose from marble shoulders to a neck-less oval slab they called a head. Slits lined the oval shape, opening and closing in seemingly random patterns as the monstrosity drew breath and spat toxic vapors. Four soulless, black eyes dotted the mound like cornerstones that made it difficult to tell what direction the thing was focused on. In ancient times, it would have been feared as a creature of darkness. That wasn’t far off now, either. The Wotuwan called them masters. The Russians called them Demons. They called themselves the Bolst.

Thundering footsteps sent shockwaves across the floor as the Bolst soldier obliterated the doorframe in its flawless stride. Instantly following the demon’s entry, a dozen Wotuwan Striders sailed into the room on translucent wings. Hell broke through the doors, and spat brimstone across the Russian soldiers. The sight sent chills down Korvik’s spine. The Striders were hard targets as it was, but everyone in the room knew exactly what the Demon was capable of. And, how hard they were to take down.

Photon smashed into a fellow comrade just half a foot from Korvik’s chest. Flesh went up in stands of black smoke as the soldiers dying screams faded to choked breaths under thick acidic soup. Korvik reacted just before a second stream would have crashed into him. He focused his fire, clipping into the wings of the closest Strider and forcing it to descend toward the attention of his comrades on the balcony. Time for a fair fight!

The Bolst fired its weapon again, drenching the right stairs in a belch of photon as marble and stone erupted in molten clumps. Ivan forced him into cover just as another blast tore past them. His own eyes looked wild in the reflection of the older Russian’s, but he could feel Ivan’s heartbeat pounding just as hard. They leapt up together and returned fire, cutting down a pair of Striders trying to get above the balcony defenders. Screams volleyed the air followed by another deafening boom. Korvik crouched as he swapped magazines. Someone has to do something about the damn cannon! Ivan beckoned for his attention, the words reduced to abstract sounds under the scream of war. He followed the older Russian’s gaze.

The left stair had collapsed completely, but there were still over a dozen Russian soldiers holding the ground beneath it. The balcony teams were trying to cover the forced retreat, but the enemy was too fierce. Few made it more than inches. The stair itself was reduced to useless rubble and melted marble, giving the wounded nowhere to go as Striders cut them down in swarming assaults. It was disgusting to witness, the foulest aspects of war, but Korvik also saw what Ivan was trying to point out. Two comrades had taken shelter in a crevice under the base of the decayed stairwell, and among them was one of the rockets. Perhaps, the last one in all of Russia.

Korvik understood instantly, and followed the older Russian’s lead. Together they opened fire on the Striders above the staircase, drawing far more attention than was comfortable. They managed to take down another couple by slicing through their wings, but the others quickly adjusted to defend their exposed wings and surged toward them like an angry beehive. Korvik grinned. They’d managed to steal the enemy’s attention, perhaps even too well as photon slashed all around them. They peppered their weapons empty as the hive tried circling around their cover. Each shot from the hive inched closer to them, narrowly gaining the ground needed to make their cover useless. Korvik knew this would happen the moment the hive charged for them. He knew they’d be dead in a matter of moments. Ivan screamed as photon tore cleanly through his hip. The older Russian dropped to his side as flesh and bone sizzled with the potent discharge. Two clawed feet crashed onto the stone barrier at Korvik’s head. He glanced up at the barrel pointed straight at his face.

Waves of Russian gunfire met the flying creatures hard and fast. Half a dozen fell from the air, others fled back toward safer cover. The strider above him panicked, hesitating for a split second to glance at the balcony. It should have finished him off. Korvik quickly seized the creature by its ankles and tore it to the ground. It hit the shattered tile with a wail as its wings shot out in an attempt to escape. Korvik spun with its ankles in hand, forcing it to one side, and crushed his boot onto the translucent film stretching from its back. A snap poured screams from the creature. It lashed him across the thigh with a clawed foot, knocking him to the floor beside it. They met eyes the second he landed.

Situations like these were always a race. Whoever could get to a weapon first determined who would likely survive, and the Strider had weapons for feet. It scrambled toward him on its four arms. Korvik crashed his boot into its shoulder, anything to keep it off him for a moment longer. Its pointed claws dug into his legs, nearly stabbing bone. It hauled him underneath its body and forced him hard to the ground. He swung his fists trying to fend the creature off. It clawed to his arms, pinning him completely as its two free hands pulled something long and vibrant from its belt. The cold of a blade sliced across his chest, leaving a light cut barely deep in