Whilst Nathan and his compatriots were getting their lives
back on track in the run-down sections of Roshire, another story was just
getting start. A story of agony, hatred
and of the purest desire for vengeance that could possibly exist was being
etched. It begins on the snow covered
steeps of Waquil, amongst the remains of the devastated Port Langrid mining
outpost. Amongst the charred rubble and
various remains several stragglers remain stranded about the combusted walls;
clinging to life as the fires that had been raging slowly went out. Their days had been spent trying to excavate
what they could from the debris, most of it were bits of salvageable metal that
had been used to create shelter; at least, until they found that the doctor’s
office had been intact. After two
nights on the planet, those that had survived were beginning to lose hope and
figured that death was going to come swiftly.
That was around the time they first heard the cry for help,
it was weak at first; however, it grew in intensity the more time passed. It echoed through the region, but it was
muffled meaning that it had to be coming from beneath them, with the majority
of the complex now buried in snow and most of the entrances barricaded; it
didn’t take the men long to figure out that it had to be someone trapped inside
of the locker rooms. Digging began at
once, shoveling through the thick layers of slush and prying away the debris
that blocked their path; after six hours the work was finished and all that
remained was the remains of the door that separated the workers from the frigid
wastes of Waquil. Many of those that had
dug became emotional upon the sight of it, a lot of good memories were going up
in smoke; however, there was someone that needed to be saved. There wasn’t time to get emotional. Opening the door, they were surprised at
what they saw.
Standing in the door way, an exhausted Alexander with a
throat too hoarse to continue speaking stood there; one arm was clutching where
his arm should have sprouted from his shoulder. Both his lips and his fingers were soaked
with blood and his eyes spoke of an unholy rage that was blossoming, he had
kept himself alive by becoming a drinking his own blood. As Alexander, the self-sufficient vampire
stumbled out of the room shaking like a leaf and stomach growling viciously; he
stared off into the distance like a wild animal and began to growl. “Give me a gun, any kind will do…just get it
to me now!” As Alexander roared this out
in his rage; hot tears began to run down his cheeks, he had been free for most
of the two days, but he had explored the confines of Port Langrid and found
Asheral’s body impaled at her work desk.
When the explosion had gone off, the roof had collapsed on her and killed
her immediately by sending several rafters toppling through her body.
Alexander had torn off his own arm to escape from one of the
pillars that had pinned him to the ground; only to find a woman he cared deeply
about dead and the only means of escape trapped under piles of rubble that
would take days to clear away as they were now. One of the men finally handed Alexander a
left over rifle; the former supervisor now lifting up his good arm shakily as
he stared at a canine head rising up in the distance. “Come on, come on you fucking bastard. Come and get me, I know you smell the
blood!” Several moments of silence
passed before a howl ripped across the landscape, a pure white beast began to emerge
from the hill tops and glare down at them. Opening its mouth and exposing its
fangs, the vorshilder seemed intent on routing out the rest of the mining
corporation. Charging down at them, the
beast’s paws slammed through the soft snow sending it flying, while Alexander
opened fire.
Every shot caused Alexander to shake and his intended target
to be off. Every shot sending out a
highly pressurized of bolt of super-heated plasma in its own easy to fill
container; granted, those that weren’t fleeing in terror obviously weren’t
thinking about how the gun worked.
Instead, they were more worried about making sure the beast that was
about to kill them ended up dead first. Die….just die you bastard. I survived that explosion, I survived this
fucking planet, so I will survive you! Alexander
screamed his in his head, letting it become his mantra as he continued to pull
the trigger. Most of his shots flew
about wildly, but one in every seven would find their mark piercing the vorshilder’s
legs and sending it staggering over.
No matter how many times Alexander shot it though, the beast
kept coming. Cursing loudly and
continuing to fire; the one-armed man could see the whites of its eyes. Fear overcame him, but at the same time that
fear pushed him onward; he didn’t want to die, not before he could settle
things with the bastard that fucked up his entire life. Seeing the vorshilder’s mouth wide open
before him and gnashing teeth about to crunch through his sternum, Alexander did
the only thing he could think of. He
thrust the gun forward and began to fire into the beast’s insides. First went the throat which was blown away
and melted almost instantly while the stomach and intestines soon followed.
It was dead before it could close its jaws, leaving
Alexander to stand there panting profusely as he stared down at the
vorshilder. Putting another shell
through its forehead to be safe, he turned around and began to walk back toward
the shocked workers, many of whom were still trembling. “Start digging around the hangar area, there
is a bird that can still fly in there.” As soon as the order went out, the men
nodded for a moment, but were hesitant to move.
“DID I STUTTER!? GET YOUR ASSES
IN MOTION! YOU TWO, I WANT THAT
VORSHILDER SKINNED AND THE MEAT ON IT BEING PREPARED ON THE DOUBLE!” Growling out his orders, the other workers
burst into action heading out towards their respective jobs, while Alexander
treated his wounds. Just you wait, you fucking bastard.
I’ll play you back ten-fold for what you did to me.
