Posts Tagged ‘Battle’

Bug Hunt by OtisFrampton on DeviantArt.com

Behind a rock I hide, praying for a miracle. It’s one against eleven.

I see but cannot hear the ricochets, gray puffs erupting in vacuum. Soon it’ll be red puffs joining the gray.

Nothing to lose …

I pop up in near-zero gravity and fire as I rise, unerringly taking out one bug-eye after another. I’m hit and pirouette, and the spin helps me see. Crawlers die, sun-hot fires in their thoraxes. I’m a spinning pillar of white, shedding red beads like a spiral fountain. I shove a gloved finger into my wound and my jet pack flares, taking me home.

Harpy by telthona on DeviantArt.com

We form up and charge across the docking bay, hoping to force the Skrebs through the shield, into space. We smash into their mass as if we’ve hit a wall. It’s all about our makeshift weapons against their glass-sharp talons.

I swing my wrench, breaking Skreb limbs. Now and again, I’m sliced on my shoulder, back or arm. There’s feedback from my communicator, and I see the Skreb before me flinch. It doesn’t like the sound. Finally, a real weapon! I shout an order and soon the Skrebs are leaping into space, escaping the sound. It’s a song of victory.

Golden Interdimensional Serpent Redux by GuthrieArtwork on DeviantArt.com

“Bogie on your six, Slick!”

“I see him.”

Slick dropped his speed and rolled into a dive. He maneuvered the enemy into his crosshairs and fired.
The enemy ship exploded.

“Not bad, Slick!”

“Thanks, Jules.”

Alarms blared; the cockpit blazed with warning lights. Jules’ voice crackled through the intercom:
“… unidentified …”

“Come back, Jules. I do not copy. Jules?” Something slammed into the side of the fightership. It spun in frantic circles. The engines bled plasma.

Slick saw the thing now, and his mind broke. It was too big, too hideous—and its tentacles reached for him.

Soldier by Orpheus7 on DeviantArt.com

“Do you even know if this prison ship is space worthy?”

“We’ll find out,, McTish,” smiled Geener.

Smilt and Bern mimicked the grin.

The doors opened. Guards rushed in. Bern’s face exploded. I knelt behind him, taking cover.

Geener threw a chair. When he went down, I could see into the hall through the hole in his middle.

Smilt was the first to surrender. Captain forced him to his knees and executed him on the spot.

Six more after Smilt until it was me remaining.

Captain whispered, “Thanks, McTish, but don’t think you’ve won any favors.”

Thuggie death dealer by John McCambridge on DeviantArt.com

“Can you see them?” asked Tuna.

“Yeah. Four guys, with curved daggers,” said Mark.

“How the hell did they get those on board?”

“Doesn’t matter. We have to get past them. The asteroids damaged the reactor; those terrorist bastards don’t realize that we’re all going to die if the engines go critical.”

Tuna’s whiskers twitched. He pulled the heaviest wrench from his toolbox and placed a furry paw on his friend’s shoulder. “Go. I’ll hold them back..”

“Tuna …”

“Go!”

Mark bolted down the corridor. The terrorists turned, knives drawn, and charged.

Tuna pounced, wrench swinging, ready to die.

King slayer by Suzanne-Helmigh on DeviantArt.com

The siege lasted a fortnight. Now, all had perished except them. He had escorted the Earl, Countess and the boy up the north tower steps. Before dawn, rhythmic pounding and Germanic shouts foretold their doom. Now, a barbarous roar as the tower door below crashes inward.

Sir Gareth of Sussex waits. Across the stone room, the royals cower in a dark corner. The grunts and growls grow louder as they ascend — shouts Edmund doesn’t understand but knows they mean death.

He spreads his stance, gripping the longsword with both hands. The first is nearly decapitated, but there are so many.

Carrion Crow – MtG by AaronMiller

Jacques awoke amongst scattered bodies. His head throbbed where the mace had struck. Nearby, a crow alit on a dead soldier’s chest, plucked an eyeball, just like Laura would pluck vine-ripened grapes. His hand squeezed bloody muck. He envisioned the rich soil of his farmland. He grabbed limbs of the dead, pulled himself forward. He’d crawl back to Laura.

A boot stepped in his path. “Where you heading, mate?”

“Please,” said Jacques, touching the boot.

“Got a live one ‘ere, Sarge,” called the boot.

“Cap’n said no quarter.”

“Sorry mate,” said the boot, grinding Jacques face into the muck.

Ambushed by Kamikazuh on DeviantArt.com

“This leather is stifling and stinks of sweat,” complained Arlen as he marched.
“Be glad for it,” grumbled his commander, Fagen. “It will save your life one day.”
Suddenly, a volley of arrows arced over the berm and rained down upon the road.
Fagen was taken in the neck, his dying words an unintelligible gurgle.
Twice, arrows bounced off the thick boiled hide that covered Arlen’s chest.
A third, however, pierced his unprotected skull.
Later, as Arlen lay dead, an enemy archer prepared to claim his armor.
“Leave it, Kern,” grumbled Kund, his commander. “Find a helm.”

Regicide by thomaswievegg on DeviantArt.com

The door was jammed. He could hear noise inside. Sounds of struggling, of fighting. His heart pounded against his ribcage, eyes watered and dampened his cheeks. The village was in flames at his back, townsfolk screamed into the sky, cursing, wishing, regretting. The King’s death rattle sounded like a siren through the thick wooden door and he stopped thrusting his shoulder against it. It was over. He looked down at his blade, sopping with crimson, and his lips turned down — a bandit who once broke bread with the king.

Desert of blood by Idriu95 on DeviantArt.com

Thugs burst from dunes, gripping curved blades.

Surrounded, Keila turns slowly, remembering rough games played with her brothers – hide and seek, ambush, wooden swords – a girl against aspiring squires. They taught her well. When they went to war, she followed.

The thugs circle; Keila crouches. Winds kick up. She lifts a handkerchief over her mouth, raises a blade and small shield. The thugs become silhouettes in swirling red dust.

She spins like a djin, blade biting through the shrieking desert wind.

The winds die. Dust settles.

Keila stands alone, parched. She gulps water from her wineskin. The dunes gulp blood.