Leviathan

by Shocks

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Science Fiction, Human
Length: 5292

We do not fight for honor. We do not fight for an idea or ideal. We do not even fight for our fellow man. We fight because it is easy. We fight, becuase it is what we know.

Where we go, worlds burn.

Where we step, the ground is stained red.

Where we descend, death soon follows.

There is a saying about an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. I wonder when the day will come when we meet that object.

But til then, we will continue on.

The leviathan is hungry.

Always hungry.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2016-08-16 04:08:06 UTC

Prisoners of War

“Give. It. Here.”

“No way. I saw it first!”

“I had it first, runt.”

“It doesn’t matter, those aren’t the rules!”

“Izat’ so? A hovel rat suddenly knows more than me now eh?”

“Yeah, I think I d-“

The sound of a pistol discharging rings through the air with sudden clarity, arresting my attention for the moment away from reloading my own weapon, the weight of the shell I was loading a minuscule feeling against the weight on my thumb. My pause continues for a millisecond before the tell tale sound of a body hitting the floor echoes in the room, the heavy thud of armor against stone making the noise all that more sharp.

I shake my head silently to myself as I finish reloading the remaining round, the munition sliding in with practiced ease before I heft the weapon in my free arm, holding onto the slide as my muscles tighten. In a single fluid motion, my weapon moves up then down, a shell loaded into the chamber and ready for use.

I think for the moment on laying my gun down on the floor next to me, before mentally declining the offer, my hands still holding onto the stock and slide like a cherished child.

That silly idea brings the barest hint of a smile to my lips, before my inner thoughts are quelled at the sound of metal striking flesh, a wet, yet somehow hard sound that is all too familiar.

I look up from my elevated position to see the large form of Mathwell finish delivering a swift kick to Jackson’s head before reaching around the body to pick up his prize, prying away the newbie’s fingers from the golden object held there.

A thin sigh escapes my nostrils as I stare disapprovingly at the messy, matted brown hair that was the top of his head. His hair offers no reaction as the pool of blood around him grows slowly, quietly creeping along the white stone floor.

My eyes glance at his helmet off to the side, the blackened metal of the armor only contrasted by the hairs length red visor that cut across its features, the band often an ominous and intimidating sight to those it falls upon.

I think it’s stupid in all honesty. I don’t care to voice the opinion however.

I return my attention back to the duo, where Mathwell now stands triumphantly over Jackson, admiring his catch in both hands as the body below him is completely ignored.

I knew the newbie wasn’t going to make it.

I knew the minute he was placed in the platoon.

Armed robbery? Assault on an officer? Grand theft? A bunch of other petty crimes they most likely slapped on him because they were inclined to at the time?

He wasn’t going to stand a chance.

Perhaps he pissed off someone important to be placed with us. He was certainly the outlier in our little group.

My annoyance bubbles up again as I stare at him.

Damn fool.

People thought he just had some fucking balls to stand up to some of the men, earning him an almost comedic respect before they realized he was just a Sigma damned idiot.

I had warned him too. I had warned him. He was in a cage with ridgebacks and he was the cub.

The wasted effort needles me internally as my eyes narrow at Jackson’s body once more.

I lean back into the excuse of a chair behind me, my armor sinking into the cushions and relieving some pressure off my body. It’s actually almost unnoticeable, but I don’t bother to dwell on the fact.

The kid was going to die anyways. I knew that right away. He was cocky, foolish, and just someone who didn’t understand exactly what kind of shit they just landed themselves into. One would think training would have slammed that out of him, but apparently his skill with a weapon had done him some good.

Lot it did him now.

A thought flitters through my mind for a second, and I briefly consider dismissing it before looking around the room and noting the utter lack of activity, the quiet only disturbed by the rumbles that rattle the palace on the occasion.

“Doc.” I call out, noting the android below me bring its concave metal head around to face me, its single blue eye lens focusing on me with striking clarity.

“How’s Jackson?” I ask as my gaze moves over to Mathwell, who now is congratulated and applauded on his trophy by several of the other men, armored hands slapping his shoulders as they admire their new toy.

Doc doesn’t move, his skeletal body remaining at the edge of the throne as his head returns to look at the body, the crimson pool having significantly grown larger during the short time.

“The prognosis is not good.” His deep voice rumbles, the mechanical undertones making it inhuman as his three fingered hand oscillates occasionaly, the digits almost trembling.

Looks like he’s getting twitchy again.

“Sergeant Mathwell’s bullet has gone through Private Jackson’s frontal lobe, as well as his parietal lobe, doing extensive damage to each in turn before exiting the lower part of his cranium. In addition, the shrapnel has also decimated areas of his spinal cord, rendering them useless. I believe he has a point zero zero zero zero zero six two percentage of survival, within the next fifty seconds of course.”

I didn’t understand half of what he said, though I knew he was speaking about the brain or something, but I did catch the latter.

So dead then.

“Captain?” Doc asks, his attention squarely focused on Jackson as his right hand picks up its spinning, whirring like a drill as his metal arm twitches.

“With your permission, I would like to…examine the body of the Private. For medical purposes you understand.” I roll my eyes derisively at the comment.

“I told you to not feed me that shit, Doc. Go do it in the corner.” I state, watching as the android immediately advances on the body with a fervor, his free arm grabbing one of Jackson’s limp ones as he begins to drag him off behind a nearby pillar.

I watch him silently as he moves with a rapid pace, his right arm now offering a shrill scream at how quickly it is rotating. I think back to his human like pause in his question, at how it was a tie back to his failed programming.

A few of the men watch him as he goes, but most can’t be bothered away from the remedial tasks they’re doing. Remedial being sleeping, playing a few Seric card games, or just readying their weapons again. As per the usual.

Watching the others from my raised position, I realize my own lack of activity, and the calm begins to bother me. I stifle my sudden screaming urge to move, even as my instincts shriek internally.

I grit my teeth. This is unexpected.

Calling out the doc now would be useless, and I don’t particularly care to show my weakness now, or ever.

I rise with a controlled motion, hauling myself out of the strange throne as I use my free arm to whip my cloak away from my legs, the symbol of my rank long since tattered and tarnished, its end now in shredded deformed strips.

The sudden shadow my form casts along the floor triggers something inside me.

‘Shiiiaal!’ The inhuman voice suddenly rings out in my mind, and my head twitches to the side in a way that is unusual, but the moment passes in less than a second.

I remember clearly where I was called that.

Maxiis II.

When we shattered the ceiling of the high regent’s palace, descending on grappling cables as we fired without care into the pathetic excuses it had for guards at the time, Mathwell’s laughter mixing with sound of our own fire. I remember shattering the head of a guard closest to him with a well placed slug. The greenish blood of his people stained the regent across his face and clothes, yet the heavily robed alien just stared at me in open shock, his thin slitted eyes widened as he cried a word, pointing a shriveled hand at me with open terror.

Shiiiaal, he cried at me. I learned later at the time that the word had the closest equivalent to demon in our language.

Demon.

Mathwell put a bullet in his head on my behalf.

The grip on my weapon tightens, and my free hand clenches involuntarily. The word needles me as I descend the steps, my boots seemingly placing more emphasis on each step as I move. My head twitches just a hair again, but if any of the men noticed, they don’t seem to speak up about it.

Good.

My hand rises to cover my face, and for the moment the off black metal of my palm is my only friend, blocking out the world as I take a thin breath through my nostrils, the tension in myself tightening exponentially. Looking over to the corner offers me no reprieve, the pillar where our android went behind giving nothing away, save for the muffled wet sounds that escape it occasionally.

Sigma damn you Doc, get over here you overgrown pill dispenser!

The scream in my head makes my eyes widen and my breathing quicken, and I realize how stifling my suit is. Fuck me its hot. It’s really damn hot.

A muffled explosion outside rocks the castle, enough so that several of the men look up from what they’re doing to direct their attention to the left wall, where much of it was dominated by four massive arched windows that showcased the vast mountain city outside this citadel.

A city that is currently burning.

Just like all the others.

I ignore the thought and shift my entire stance to face the massive orange glow that floods my vision, my visor’s sensors rapidly adjusting the light flow to allow me to see it clearly.

A distraction.

Yes, that’s good.

A distraction is good.

The once ancient styled alien metropolis is now a shell of itself, massive fires raging across the cityscape, consuming everything in their path. The infernos so powerful they kick up their own air currents and send the pyres dancing and surging this way and that. Buildings are indiscernible in the flames, black shapes trapped inside the furnaces. It’s almost hypnotic to watch, the bright light of the flames highlighting the dark of the night, the pillars of smoke and ash creating a fake ceiling in the sky, its own orange glow lackluster to its parent.

I don’t even realize my hand is running across my helmet until my fingers slide across my helmet’s stylized swept back spikes, the digits running dangerously close to the manual release.

That is until my index finger suddenly jolts with pain, and I pull it back as calmly as I can. I eye the others carefully out of the corner of my vision, yet none seem to bother with me.

Mathwell is admiring his prize a fair distance away, the big bastard leaning against his own pillar with a content smile as he admires the shining metal in his hands, the thing reflecting the orange light streaming inside.

Carlo, Mags, and Armin, the spiny triplets are busy fixing the mech armor some the men had been outfitted with, chatting amongst themselves in the gibberish they call their own language.

The rest of my unit seems to confine themselves to their own tasks, unaware of my look. I notice some in the darkened corners of the room, only highlighted by the occasional brightening of the fire outside, and the thin slit of their visors to mark their position.

I direct my vision to my hand as discreetly as possible, the fact I’m wearing a helmet be damned, as I look at my armored palm. The pain in my finger still lances strongly, yet I don’t feel any flow of blood along my finger or my HUD alerting me to any sort of injury.

Damn you.

I stare at the offending digit, and I caress my thumb carefully across the edge of my index, as if to stifle the pain.

I need to see my finger.

I crush the shaken thought even as it repeats in my head.

My hand tightens into a fist suddenly as I feel a bubbling anger rise through me, pouring into my limbs as I demand myself to power through the pain.

I will not be weak.

I will not be weak. I repeat the mantra.

The weak die. The strong live.

That’s the rule.

I will not die.

I. Will. Not.

A beeping in the form of a light chime rings quietly in my ears, arresting my attention away again. I let my head twitch ever so slowly as a sigh escapes me before answering the call.

“What.” I speak, my tone delightfully neutral.

“C-Captain Sia, prepare to receive the admiral.” An unfamiliar woman’s voice announces in my head, her voice seemingly shaken somewhat at my tone.

Hmm. I wonder if I scared her.

I take a step away from the window and turn to give my suits external projectors a clear path to create the necessary hologram. Twin beams of dark orange light appear from my point of view just above my shoulders, where they strike the floor before rising rapidly, leaving pixels of an outline in their wake. In less than seconds, the uniformed image of the Admiral stands before me, his back straight and his shoulders squared as his orange face gives me an unamused look.

“Captain Sia.” He speaks slowly, his accented tone ringing and stinging my ears and being nothing but a nuisance despite my stance remaining unchanged.

“Admiral.” I intone, systemically saluting yet not offering the slight bow his position is afforded.

His look sours, and I smile internally at how ridiculous he looks with that large patch of fur on his face.

“Careful with your actions Captain, they can have consequences.” He threatens, and I smile despite the seriousness of the claim, nodding calmly to please the admiral.

“Of course sir. How can I benefit the Equinox today?”

The question causes the admiral to cross his thick arms as he studies me for a moment, his fake pixeled eyes trying to pierce my visor to get at my own.

“Your prisoner, what is its condition?” He asks finally, actually catching me off guard despite my defenses.

“It is alive, for the moment. Command wished for me to acquire all I could from it. I have several of my best breaking it now. Shouldn’t be long now sir.”

It cannot be much longer. None have survived that long with the Gallow brothers, human or otherwise.

The admiral shakes his head, muttering under his breath about ‘savages’, my hackles rising as several faces of my men sour dangerously at his words, those watching now glaring at the holo-admiral.

Oh, if only he was actually here.

“It’s alive is it? See that it stays that way.” He states, causing me to flinch unexpectedly. This was…rare. Not unheard of, but certainly not common. There was no use for alien life on claimed worlds.

“Why?” I ask plainly, and the admiral seems to respond with a scowl.

“Are you questioning your orders, Captain?” the man implies with almost a smile, but I do not rise to his bait.

“Simply curious sir. Nothing more.” His smile disappears, and he laments.

“Command wants it alive. It was one of the two to take down the Executor, correct?”

My mood sours at the name of our lost ship.

“Yes sir. The very same. Though I believe it won’t be making a move like that again.”

“Regardless, see that it returns to the Orion in at least one piece. A drop ship has already been dispatched to your position. It will arrive within minutes. Do not tarry. You have your orders.”

And with that, the projection of the admiral disappears abruptly, leaving me with a mix of curiosity and muddled anger. Some of the men seem to share my sentiment, casting glances at each other while others shake their heads.

“Well, aint that somethin eh?” Mathwell jokes, earning him some amusement.

I don’t bother to address him. I have my orders. Its time to go.

I start a brisk walk towards the large doors at the end of this room, or perhaps the beginning, however one wanted to look at that.

“Helmets on. Weapons ready. We move now.” I speak as I walk past the men surrounding me, my commands instantly met with acknowledgments and affirmations.

“Doc! Get your shit in gear!” I call back, the android peaking his head around the pillar he took shelter behind, before looking around and realizing the situation.

“Right away Captain!” He nods quickly, sprinting over to join the other men, his metal hands now consistently more bloody than they were before.

Mathwell strolls up to me with his helmet on, the behemoth of a man a match for any mechanized solider as he takes to a position at my side.

“Well, they want it alive eh? Thatz somethin.” He drawls, his tone almost joking. I’m not fooled however.

“If you so much as raise your weapon in its general direction, I will put you down myself, am I clear?” I state, and he goes silent for a moment, his helmet glances down at the pistol in his right hand, his machine gun already slung along his back.

“C’mon Captain, you know me, now why woulds I do that?” He asks, the other men rushing in front of us to take point, several taking positions at the large hinged doors as others begin to trickle out of its jarred opening.

“Your brother was on the Executor.” The point is immediately taken.

“Aye. He was.” Mathwell looks back at the windows and the fires still raging outside, the light casting his dark armor in shadows.

Our walk is silent for a few more moments before he begins to chuckle, lightly at first, before it turns almost mocking.

“Well, at least I got a nice souvenir at of all of it, eh?”

He raises his left hand, bringing my attention to it. I hadn’t bothered to get a good look at his claim.

It’s an interesting piece. Seemingly made out gold, a prized metal and a fine catch indeed. A golden crown, with three raised peaks making up its main ascetic, the one in the middle rising to the highest zenith compared to the others. At the center of the crown rests a large amethyst jewel, shining softly even in the dark of the room. It would have looked rather beautiful, if it hadn’t been for the splatter of crimson along its face, staining its beauty.

My thoughts wander as we exit the remains of the throne room, passing through the vast corridors of the castle to our target. We pass by the bodies of the aliens with little care, though some of the men take to firing a few shots into the bodies for their own reasons.

Mathwell throws several through unbroken windows.

I ignore their antics.

I’ve learned to accept whatever makes them happy.

We begin to approach the room designated to be the...’interrogation’ room for our prisoner, the door only notable from several other similar ones by the higher amount of alien bodies that pile along the hallways sides, though these corpses were in far less cohesion than the others before them.

We had gotten rather tired of shooting them all down at this point.

I had authorized the use of explosives.

The stench that rises in the hallway is easily filtered through our helmets.

Just as we approach, the doors begin to open, and for a moment, the air is electric with movement. My men at the head suddenly hug the wall, weapons ready. The others take positions behind what they can, the others in mech armor holding their ground. I let out a shallow breath as I raise my own weapon.

Then, an android's head pops out of the crack in the doors, looking down the opposite end of the hallway before looking back to spot us, it's orange iris and head a near identical match to Doc's own.

Medical units were always the buggy ones.

"Captain!" It monotones, waving at our group with an almost enthusiastic vigor. "I thought I detected movement out here."

Curses and insults ring out at the android's tone, and I smile despite my own accelerated heartbeat.

"Grim." I state as I advance forward, slipping easily by the broader sized men as I rest my weapon carefully against my shoulder.

"Get your brother and the prisoner. We are moving. Now." He tilts his head for a moment at my command before looking back into the room.

I don't like that.

"Is there a problem?" I ask, and the android quickly shakes its head.

"No problem Captain, we just have made little progress."

My eyes widen despite everything.

"How?" I ask before I can hold my tongue. Curiosity is not something that is useful here.

"It is quite resolute Captain. I must say, it is a rather stubborn creature."

I shake my head. All this time here. Wasted. I gulp down a thick lump. I spy Doc out of the corner of my eyesight, though getting it now would be impossible to not be noticed.

Damn it all.

"Regardless. We're moving. Ready the prisoner. We're moving."

He responds with a nod yet again, and closes the door.

We wait in the hallway for several moments, the tension still in the air as most hold their positions, weapons at the ready. I elect to stand back, careful to keep my movements to a minimum. It seems to be going away. That's good I guess.

Finally, after several more long moments, the doors open to reveal the last two of our little group.

Grim and Gallow, the android 'brothers' that made up our special unit for dealing with prisoners, both competently identical to Doc in body style and shape, save for the different color of their single 'eye' lens.

Though, most of the attention quickly fell on the third individual between the brothers.

Mathwell stirs behind me at its entrance, but makes no further movement.

The creature is certainly an unusual one. Even for the standards of cataloged races.

It is quadrupedal, standing on four legs that end in hooved tips. It's body is faintly familiar, though from where I cannot say. It stands easily as tall as some of the men, making it just slightly a head taller than myself. Covered in soft white fur, and it's clearly rather muscular in overall appearance, muscles easily distinguishable below its coat. It's slender neck supports a muzzle shaped head, ending in a snout while it

“Why?” It asks, and I incline my head back to look over my shoulder.

Our eyes meet. Even though I know it is looking squarely at my visor, its eyes are on my own. I’m sure of it.

They unnerve me. The magenta colored irises convey meaning that no words alone could. I move my head back.

“Why?” It asks again, and Mathwell growls.

“Grim, why didn’t you guys cut its tongue out?”

The android in question turns its gaze on him and replies simply with “We needed it to talk. Removing its tongue would have hampered those efforts greatly.”

I smile at the answer, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Several of the men laugh as well, leaving the alien looking at us with heartbreaking confusion.

It becomes silent again as we walk, heading in the general direction of the shuttle.

Then, it seems to gather its voice again.

“Why? What did all this accomplish?” It asks, and I instinctively feel that it is addressing me, its eyes on my back.

I stay silent for the moment, actually wondering if I should answer it. It would be a wasted conversation, and I know none of the other men even entertain its speak.

Well, maybe Mathwell does.

For the wrong reasons of course.

I look out the windows of this hallway, to the burning city outside.

I realize this palace has a lot of windows.

Briefly, I wonder why that is.

“Because we can.” I answer plainly. The bluntness of my answer should silence it, yet, within seconds, it responds again.

“That can’t be it. I know that is not it.” Its resolute tone surprises me, once again showing its strength even now.

Again, I am left with the crossroad on whether to respond to it or not. And again, the simple decision to not to strikes me as wrong. My grip around my weapon tightens, and I imagine spinning on a heel to put a slug into its head.

No.

That won’t do.

I would die easily along with it.

Though, I believe it might wish for death at this point.

I wouldn’t blame it.

“Your world was claimed.” I speak again, turning down an adjacent hallway as the drop ship comes within sight, hovering just above a large blown out section of the building's wall.

“Claimed?”

This creature does not stop.

“Your world was needed for resources. For my people. The occupants of it were not.”

“And your answer is to kill us?” It almost growls. I briefly glance back to look at it. It glares at me.

I don’t like the glare. I glance at Mathwell, his helmet betrays nothing.

I turn back around.

“What else are we to do?” I reply, and it goes quiet for several seconds. I wonder if I've stifled it when it speaks yet again.

“We could have had peace. We could have coexisted.”

I almost laugh. I truly almost do.

“Impossible.” I state, and an old learned mantra begins to play in my head.

“Give the urchin a piece of your fruit, and he will have some.” I tell it. “If he has some, you have less. If you have less, you will not be as strong. If you are not as strong, he might take what you have.”

“Give nothing. Take everything. Always remember, if he lives, he can take what you have.”

For a moment, I forget the men surround me, and it is just me and the creature. Just the two of us in this hallway. In this city, in this world.

Then, things are brought back to how they are, and I feel almost betrayed with myself for uttering something as personal as that. My anger soon bubbles at the creature, but I hold it, my head only twitching lightly in response.

"I'm sorry."

The words strike me like a hammer blow, and I whirl in a moment, the barrel of my shotgun pointed directly at its temple. Several of the men take a step backward in surprise, though my vision fell solely on this creature. I wondered, truly wondered, how it could say those words to me.

ME.

I am not the one who's planet has been ravaged. Who's people has been slaughtered.

I am not the one who has been tortured.

Yet, it speaks as if I am the one to be pitied.

My hand shakes with a mix of emotions as my head tilts ever so slightly, my body on fire and my blood hot.

Yet, its eyes never leave mine.

Do it.

The words echo in my head. I wonder what would happen if I chose to apply the minimal amount of pressure on the trigger of my weapon.

This alien would die. Equinox would lose it's prisoner. I would die. Equinox would lose another prisoner.

The fact it is somehow fitting brings an even greater weight down on me.

Seconds pass.

Then more.

Like a spring being uncoiled, I pull my weapon away, turning away almost shamefully.

"Do not speak again. That is your only warning." A thought passes why don't I have Grim or Gallow put a muzzle on it.

I don't bother to go deeper into it.

We approach the drop ship silently again. Its engines begin to become louder and louder as it hovers at the ready, its wing door open with what is presumably one of the pilots waving us on.

We reach it and board without issue, several of the men hopping on first before they haul the prisoner with little kindness onto the shuttle’s floor.

I watch from the side, overseeing things quietly. While it resists against the men, it makes no move to actively escape.

Instead, it stares at me yet again.

My hands feel like ice as they tighten around my weapon.

I do not like that look.

I wait till the men have it secured with gravity clamps onto the floor before coming aboard myself, Mathwell the last to board.

“Let’s go. The admiral is expecting us.” I call over to the short flight of stairs that lead to the pilot’s seats. Two pairs of arms give an affirmative before the wing door closes behind me with a hiss and a pop, securing the airlock.

Most of the men take to standing around the bay of the drop ship, though several take to resting along the many seats that line its ends.

The feeling of vertigo begins to become apparent as the shuttle pushes away from the castle, the window on the wing door offering us a clear view.

I steady myself with a handrail on the ceiling, careful of my footing as the ship continues to gain more and more altitude, pushing upward with a higher speed.

As we rise, the full scale of the destruction below begins to come into startling clarity. The smoke that had been rising from the city hugs the mountainside as the flames rise into the sky, the waterfalls that flow in and around the city pathetically close to put out the fires, but no such event occurs.

I watch the creature out of the corner of my vision. It is watching the scene the same as us.

It is silent as it stares, watching its home burn to cinders.

Then, it begins to cry. Slowly, as small little drops, before small streaks of water begin to patter the floor of the drop ship. Most of the men don’t care to notice. It seems I am the only one observing it.

It continues to cry mutely, not saying or making any noise, just watching and crying.

A take a step forward.

Then another.

And another.

It doesn’t notice me as I approach it. My hand tightens into a fist.

It still doesn’t look away from the city, even as it quickly becomes smaller with each moment.

I am now just a few feet away from it. Still, it does not move.

It never sees my fist coming, impacting it on its broken horn as it cries in anguish for but a second before collapsing onto the floor with a metal thud. It appears I knocked it unconscious.

Good.

Several eyes are now on me, but I ignore them, leaving the creature where it was as I make my way to a free seat. Incidentally, it happens to be next to Mathwell. He looks down on me as I rest against the harness.

“I’m glad someone did that.” He laughs at me, looking back at its prone form.

My eyes just close, thinking about the alien.

About its city.

About its home.

Its life.

The hum of the shuttles engine’s and the rough movement soon lull me to sleep.