Book 3, Chapter 38 - Carnage (1/2)

Outside the Dust Bowl Lodge, amidst the dunes, the lust for blood was rising.

Out in this chaotic mess a fight came whether you wanted it or not, it wasn’t discussed. Sometimes it was over a little thing, sometimes it was for no reason whatsoever. It didn’t matter, bodies in the dirt and rivers of blood were a common sight once the world was destroyed.

Nothing to be done. This was the wastelands, after all.

Autumn didn’t know whether it was from the beating sun or the fear that gripped her, but she was drenched in sweat. Her fists were clenched at her sides, eyes glued to the scene below.

The sun was reflected off the yellow-white sands, forcing her to squint. Dozens of men had started to close in around Cloudhawk – alone in a sea of angry faces.

Autumn didn’t doubt Cloudhawk’s abilities… but would he be able to defend himself against so many at once?

The lame drunkard hobbled his way to Barb’s side. The hunched boozer supported himself with two hands on his walking stick, making him at least outwardly unthreatening. Barb seemed safe for the moment, but was she really? No one was sure whether the drunkard was a friend or foe. As for Autumn, she was within the hotel’s walls. For the time being, she was under Bonobo’s protection. But how long would that last?

The wastelanders looked at her with eyes like fire. Sooner or later, she was going to get burned.

Autumn was feeling more uneasy by the second.

In battle, everyone understood the concept; the mantis throws itself heedlessly at the cicada, unaware that the finch would close in at the first opportunity. Everyone wanted to be the finch, but that wasn’t how things worked. Someone had to make the first move.

Whoosh!

Someone with a massive shield tried to bash him in the face. It was dented and scarred from many battles, but still serviceable. A stream of something dark had stained a part of it, and no amount of washing would make it go away. Blood, from someone who’s life the shield claimed.

They were finally making their move.

Alright. I haven’t had a good fight since I left Hell’s Valley.

Cloudhawk was a wastelander. It didn’t matter what he looked like on the outside, his heart was forged in conflict. This was going to be a fine chance for him to see how much he could really stretch.

Cloudhawk spun through the air, catching the shield with a dropkick.

Clang!

The several-hundred kilometer shield was flung away.

A huge man, easily two and a half meters tall, stepped out from the crowd. His face was dull and sluggish, his eyes dim, clearly not a fellow known for his intelligence. But his skin looked as tough as a rhinoceros, and he was further protected by a set of extremely thick armor. His weapon was the massive shield Cloudhawk had just kicked away, as well as a giant maul.

Most of the crowd was made up of mutants and metahumans. Judging by the look of them, they were largely constitution-based.

Men like this had skin tough as animal hide. Boiling them and they didn’t blister, scorch them and they didn’t burn. Even in death their flesh was hard as iron. Ordinary weapons couldn’t do a thing, it was like they were forged from steel. Tough enough to punch through any enemy.

The brute snatched the man-sized shield from the air then brought it screaming down. For a moment Cloudhawk felt like there was an iron mountain coming straight for his head. He was sure that if it caught him, he’d been smashed flat.

Cloudhawk scrambled backward.

His enormous opponent didn’t rush to follow up. He knocked his hammer against the shield which rang like a gong. A stupid grin spread across his rigid face. The look on his face was proof enough that this guy wasn’t good for much more than fighting. Just then, a tiny handpopped up from behind his shoulder, and a dwarf with the body of a child no older than eleven or twelve scrambled onto his back. Small as he was, Cloudhawk put him at about middle-age, caught in a shriveled and tiny body like the world’s oldest prepubescent.

“You’re going to remember us, elysian. I am Elder Locust, and this is Little Rock.” The ugly dwarf seemed to have some intelligence, as opposed to the brute he rode. He clung to the big man’s back and shoulders like a baby monkey riding its mother. “That spearhead move was impressive. Although, I doubt it’s strong enough to break through my little brother’s shield!”

Cloudhawk chose to respond with his sword.

With a screech, the sword left a mark across the brute’s shield, albeit one that was not to odeep. Little Rock didn’t move one centimeter. Cloudhawk only needed this one test to know the big guy’s defenses were going to be a problem. Locust was probably right, spearhead might not even be enough to break through his shield.

The dwarf tittered sickeningly on his brother’s shoulders. “Hehehehe! You shouldn’t misjudge my brother. Your sword hardly left a scratch! Little Rock, show this asshole what you can do.”

Little Rock bounded forward. His enormous, shoeless feet pounded the soft earth as he charged at Cloudhawk like a feral beast.

Large as he was, Little Rock was anything but slow. With all the force he put behind it, his shield was a weapon of tremendous force. He could go head to head with a bull and the poor beast would have every bone in its body splinter. For someone like Cloudhawk, a full-on impact would turn him into paste.

So far, no one had been able to stand up to Little Rock and his brother. Both of them were sure Cloudhawk wouldn’t be an exception.

While the larger one charged, Locust wasn’t idle either. His tiny hands were flung in wide arcs, throwing poison-drenched concealed weapons before them like bread crumbs. It was clear from the way he fought that Locust made a good compliment to his brother. Where Little Rock was all strength and constitution, Locust was a metahuman whose talents were in control. His weapons were flung with incredible speed, coated with lethal poison that would take a life with a mere nick of the skin.

Cloudhawk suddenly found himself caught in a rain of poison steel.