GuNNhead

As I continue my course in search of Kænus, I begin to think of the meaning of revenge. I’ve gotten a taste of it. I’m left to ask if it is really my driving force, or merely a feeling that disappeared as soon as it began, with bloodlust taking over. I know that I never cared for my planet, which is why I left. I have no connection to it, save for the obvious. Revenge is so petty. However, a hunt, or the removing of the life from another; that is what drives me. It fuels my own life. To give that death a path, even one with no ties, it is all I can do to keep myself. If only I could kill Celrdrrun again, a powerful death, so palpable…

Kænus. There is the path in which to direct this paroxysm of death that flows from every fibre of my being. The Network’s databases have very little on him. Whatever other atrocities he has committed must have been done in secret. Why my planet? No matter, death is death. I’ll simply scour the cosmos for eternity until I find him, and he will suffer my ire.

Until then, however, I’ll destroy whatever may cross my path. His last known whereabouts are across to practically the other side of the cosmos. As I set the course to the general location of his last philanthropic exploits, before he set a course for the unknown depths, I receive a transmission. It’s laughable: the luck; a challenge. Already there is a fool who has heard of my search and subsequent destruction of Celrdrrun. Perhaps they have their own rage-fuelled vendetta against him, and I have stolen their one opportunity for revenge, and so they have placed it upon me. I name a barren world that’s on the way to my destination, and it is accepted.

I arrive days later at the proposed meeting time. There’s an army waiting for me. Most likely the last remnants of a civilization dedicated to taking down Celrdrrun. The sun is setting upon the planet, the skies are a deep almost black-orange, a burnt hue. The earthen ground is a dry red. I smile inside my helmet as I leap from my craft into the upper stratosphere. I descend in flames with my arms crossed in front of my head and chest. I cross over canyons and cavernous volcanic mountain range. Their terrestrial air squadron is the first I burst through, burning scraps of metal, twisted, shower the ground. Once I’m within viewing distance, the ground troops begin to fire on me. The force is in the center of a large plane of craters beyond the barren valleys and mountains of burnt trees. The armies themselves are complex creatures, bug like; four legs with multiple bends, two arms created to rip and tear, holding gun-like weapons. Their lizard-heads are topped by a single large horn, and filled with rows of razor sharp teeth. Only coming within range now, their blasts still mostly fly past me, with only the rare one connecting, without enough force to do more than singe my armor.

[Activate: Surge Bullets]

My hand spins with the whirring of the surge bullets, and mows their numbers down. As I get closer, their screeches of war and pain are ear-shattering. My helmet adjusts, filtering it. I land, and send eye beams out into the crowd; the red lasers blast the ones closest to me away. Creatures of instinct, they drop their weapons that may have given them some advantage at this range (if they care not for their own) and lash out at me, screaming and flailing their talons. I enjoy the challenge of hand to hand combat as they claw and scratch my armor. Very few of them bite, which I find odd. They must have been marginally trained in combat, so there’s a commander amongst the cacophony somewhere. Later. I begin assaulting them with a barrage of fists, bursting through their black bug-like carapace with sprays of their green innards flying out. As their numbers begin to pile upon me, I begin my defense, blocking their attacks with my arms, and kicking their limbs off. Soon, however, their numbers begin to overwhelm my patience.

This entry was posted on January 27, 2010 at 3:33 am and is filed under Fiction, Gravity Surge, Sci-Fi. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.