Book 2, Chapter 92 - The Skull (1/2)

Cloudhawk had only started to recover, but already another life-threatening danger was coming his way. That couldn’t be permitted. His eyes turned red and bloodshot, nearly bulging from his head. A power from deep inside him burst out and he shot to his feet. The several ton slab of rock that pinned him was flung at his attacker.

At the same moment, Cloudhawk threw his crossbow aside and lunged at the large man with his bare fist.

The hulking man roared like a beast, delivering a thunderous punch at the stone tumbling his way. It shattered it into pieces then met Cloudhawk’s fist on the other side. When the two men collided, the shards of rock suspended in air were blasted away.

The mutant’s strength was nothing short of amazing. Punching through the stone slab hadn’t slowed him down or weakened his punch in the least. Cloudhawk felt engulfed in a tide of concussive force that shook every bone in his body and made him numb. His body slammed against the door once again as he was thrown back.

An ugly, twisted sneer tugged at the mutant’s lips. It was a mocking sneer for the little man who thought he could stand toe to toe with him. His skinny arms and twig-like legs weren’t worthy of his overconfidence.

Cloudhawk clutched his shoulder, face pale.

This guy was just a Dark Atom soldier, albeit one of their crack troops. Still, the difference in strength between them was too big. If he had his relics maybe Cloudhawk would have stood a chance. But wishing wouldn’t make it so. His enemy’s attacks were crushing – clumsy and slow, but strong enough to punch a hole right through him.

Typically Cloudhawk would use superior speed to take pot shots, but his legs were hurt when the hall collapsed. Anyway, a protracted battle wasn’t going to work in his favor in this circumstance. Who knew how many more Dark Atom fighters were on their way? He and the elysians were on the back foot. They weren’t going to hold out long.

He had to think of a way to escape. If he didn’t, he’d been left to rot here.

All escapes routes were blocked off by Wolfblade and his people, he had to think of something else. He wracked his mind for an answer but that disquieting call was whispering at him, making it hard to think. I was coming from behind him, on the other side of the thick bronze doors. It was in there somewhere, it had to be, and it could help him. Escape would mean getting his hands on… whatever it was.

There was no other choice. He had to just go for it.

The burly mutant wasn’t interested in giving Cloudhawk time to ponder the end of his days. He stooped over and wrapped his arms around a section of fallen column. He heaved, swinging it around in a semicircle and then releasing it right at him. He charged after the rubble with a roar, the ground cracking beneath the force of his stamping feet.

Cloudhawk threw his hands in front of him for protection. Not that it would do anything – the impact would liquefy the bones in his arms.

The mutant’s sheer force was beyond what any typical man could fathom. He wanted to smash Cloudhawk against the door with that column, an act which would certainly smash the scrawny man flat. Cloudhawk knew he couldn’t protect himself, so he used the last of his mental energies and called on the phase stone. Its mystical field immediately covered him, and he was safe from the outside world.

Time was crucial. The instant the stone’s power awakened, Cloudhawk struggled against the door to try and push his way through. He was met with stiff resistance. It was a thick and intractable barrier, but Cloudhawk knew deep within that this was his last chance. Either he got through, or it was the end.

So he grit his teeth, focused his psychic power and funneled it through the stone. Its field instantly strengthened and he managed to squeeze through. He popped out on the other side.

BOOM!

The door and its whole frame shook as something enormous slammed into it. Cloudhawk could hear the column exploding into pieces just where he’d been lying. The freak’s sheer power was never in doubt.

He’s squeaked through, surviving by the skin of his teeth.

I’ll remember you, ugly. One day you’ll get what you deserve.

Cloudhawk struggled back onto his feet. A little blob of yellow popped out of his clothes.

“Hey, lil guy. You doin’ alright?”

Oddball offered a chirp of reassurance and perched on his shoulder. It looked fine, just a little shaken. Cloudhawk couldn’t blame it, they were both almost killed after all. He didn’t know how it was the pudgy little thing was so tough, though he was thankful for it. Those feathers looked frail, but they weren’t even scorched from the explosions. His friend was a real survivor.

No time to waste. I’ve gotta keep going.

Cloudhawk hobbled around to begin searching for the source of the call. Then, suddenly, everything disappeared. No more door, no building, nothing. He was in a pitch-dark place without substance, except that the ground was oddly uneven. There were enormous craters all around, some as wide as a hundred meters, like the whole place had been leveled by meteors.

Great mountains had been blown apart and were strewn across the horizon. Among the ruin were the mangled remains of countless warships.

The corpses carpeted everything, a sea of bodies. The ground was red, the mountains were red, the rivers were red. The sky was red. Everything was painted the color of blood, and the stench of death stuck in Cloudhawk’s nostrils. It was almost more than he could stand.

What… what happened?

It had to be some kind of illusion! What was all this on the other side of that bronze door?

Cloudhawk stumbled through the vast, dead world. An angry sun burned in the sky, alongside a second and a third. All told there had to be thirteen burning orbs in total.

No… not suns, but figures that burned just as bright. Suddenly they were right before him, radiating with intense light that made it hard to look directly at them.

“You’ve lost.”