Chapter 11: Black Magic

McKellen

Chapter 11: Black Magic

“Keep it together, men, KEEP IT TOGETHER!” an American commander yelled over the sounds of an intense battle. Bolts of corrupted arcane magic were flying through the air, turning the sky of the battlefield into a colorful (and at the same time fucked up) fireworks show. I was looking at the battle through the eyes of an American War Party (AWP) soldier, who was part of a squadron that had been tasked with clearing the Plavok Treasure Vault on this psycho-ridden moon. We've been laying siege on this vault for two days now, and the only results that we've been getting out of our fruitless (yet constant) attacks were a) the ungodly wrath of a legion consisting of a few hundred crazed cultists and b) the loss of two squads of well-trained men at the hands of said cultists. The leaders of both the American War Party AND the American Explorers' Organization have been watching the battle unfold through the eyes of a soldier's visor from the disgustingly safe confines of the war room in Plavok Moon's AEO base camp, which happened to be a good distance away from where all the action was happening.
The moment I realized that hostiles were present near the treasure vault, I had insisted to join my fellow Americans on the battlefield myself, but my compatriots pleaded me to stay at HQ to help command the troops, because they reminded me of my critical position as a general in the AWP and chief explorer of the AEO, and said that America couldn't afford to lose such a valuable soldier just because he decided to foolishly charge headlong into battle against an enemy we knew nothing about. As much as I hated to admit the truth, I had to agree; my men needed me at to guide them towards victory, especially against such hideous foes.
“Charlie Three-Niner to HQ, We're outnumbered and outmatched; for every cultist we kill, we lose fifteen of our guys,” the commander said to me. “With all due respect, general, HOW IN THE NAME OF IMNUS ARE WE GONNA WIN THIS FUCKING BATTLE?!” the commander suddenly yelled. One and a half second later, as if on cue, a mass of ash-colored roots erupted from the ground over in the distance, with a screaming AWP soldier wrapped within the decayed (yet somehow very alive) roots of the vile vegetation. The gruesome greenery then proceeded to shrivel the shrieking soldier up, and the poor guy was unable to do anything but helplessly cry for help as his life was leeched out of his body. Within a matter of seconds, the perilous plant had fed on the soldier until he was nothing but a deflated corpse comprised solely of skin and bones. After the ruthless roots had finished feeding, they then began to repeatedly smash the soldier's body on the ground until the corpse looked more reminiscent of an exploded pinata than an actual human body (difference is, THIS certain pinata has viscera and bones bursting out of it as opposed to your typical birthday pinata filled with candy and chocolate. Jesus, that shit got dark REAL quick, didn't it?).
“HQ, requesting permission to retreat to the extraction point. I repeat, requesting permission to retreat to the extraction point!” I heard the commander of team Charlie Three-Niner scream into my headset as he emptied the magazine of his Lingdao assault rifle into a nearby cult sorcerer, who looked as if she was channeling some sort of spell (I don't have to tell you what the spell was, since she's already kinda dead now). After witnessing the heavy amount of casualties we had suffered firsthand, I had to approve of the commander's request; there was no way we were gonna win this battle by brute force, as evidenced by the losses of two AWP squadrons. We needed all our people to pull back so we could devise a new assault plan.
“Granted, Charlie Three-Niner. You have the permission to fall back,” I approved. “Just head for the nearest extraction point in-” Before I could finish my sentence, A gigantic panther-like beast leaped at the commander, knocking him down and sinking its gigantic jaws into the commander's neck. Since I was watching the entire battle unfold from the view of the commander's visor, I managed to sneak a very slight peek at the cruel cat's menacing appearance as it mauled the commander (who was screaming like a stuck pig as the ferocious feline savagely chewed through the sinews of his fragile neck). The cat was definitely a panther, but there was something very dark (both metaphorically and literally) about the creature's appearance. From what I was able to discern, the panther was almost as tall as a soldier, and this was when the cat was on all fours. In addition to its great size, the panther was also filled with so much perverted arcane energy that the proposition of this beast being a demonic apparition wasn't completely out of the question. The panther's eyes were blood-red, which was another one of the panther's paranormal features, considering the fact that typical panthers (and other types of big cats, on that matter) had yellow eyes. Not only that, but said eyes were also emanating a sort of red smoke for some unknown reason. In addition to the cat's odd eyes, I also noticed black smoke billowing out of the feline's fur as I observed the panther's body. What the hell is this thing?
Before I could take a closer look at the panther, the commander's visor went dark. Shit. The view on the soldier's visor had been displayed on a large projector screen during the entire battle, meaning that everyone in the war room had been watching the gruesome ordeal happen the entire time (yes, including the entire “living roots” bit) Some people cringed at the sight of the excessive amounts of violence and horror that unfolded before their eyes, whereas the more battle-hardened audience members like me merely watched the massacre go down with disgusted looks on our faces. The only sound I heard from my headset was the eerie sound of static, so I took off my headset.
Desperate to save as many lives as possible, I quickly tried to find a way to make contact with the rest of team Charlie Three-Niner. “Is there any way to make contact the rest of the team?” I asked the rest of the room. “ANY WAY?”
“We're working on it, general. We're patching our comms system through every member of team Charlie Three-Niner as we speak. Just give us a minute,” a technician sitting in the war room's communications division replied as he and fifteen other people in his division began finding a way to communicate with the suffering squad.
“We don't HAVE a minute. C'mon people, work with me here; the longer it takes to reach the team, the more guys we'll lose! DOUBLE TIME, GUYS, GO, GO, GO!” I shouted at the man on my right side of the room (and his fifteen other compatriots). Hearing this, the communications division frantically scrambled to make contact with team Charlie Three-Niner, whereas everyone else in the war room got to work on arranging the team's extraction.
“General, we've successfully accessed team Charlie Three-Niner's comms system. Just put on the headset and you'll be able to speak with the entire team,” the technician from the communications division told me, despite the fact that I had just shouted at said man (and the entire war room, on that matter) just 24 seconds ago. The man handed me a headset that was connected to a communications panel.
“Thank you for being prompt, kiddo,” I said, taking the headset and putting it on. “Team Charlie Three-Niner, this is the general speaking. Fall back to the nearest extraction point; dropships will be waiting your arrival. I repeat, drop everything and head straight to the nearest extraction point,”
“Roger that, general. Team Charlie Three-Niner out,” I heard the entire squadron respond in unison to my command. I took off the headset and returned it to the man in the communications division. Now that the entire team had heard my orders, all we had to do now was ensure the safety of the team (or what's left of it, at least).
“Raz, are the dropships in position?” I asked the guy in charge of planning team Charlie Three-Niner's safe escape.
“Iolas-class dropships are en route to the extraction points as we speak, general. They're still flying over the ravine near team Charlie Three-Niner's position,” Raza replied.
“ARE THE DROPSHIPS IN FUCKING POSITION OR NOT?” I shouted, exasperated that the person I've been speaking to had been beating around the bush instead of giving me a straight answer. Raza looked offended, but gave me an answer nevertheless.
'No, general, they are not,” Raza replied sadly.
“Well, get those guys in position, people! C'mon, we've got an army to save, CHOP CHOP!” I screamed at Raza, then at the entire war room. “Activate the drone camera; I need to know what the hell's going on down there!”
The projector screen then switched over to the perspective of a camera on one of our aerial drones, which we had launched prior to the battle so that we could get a bird's eye view on the fight as it unfolded. The remaining members of team Charlie Three-Niner were falling back as waves of never-ending worshippers continued to strike them down. After spending two minutes running and gunning for their lives, the remaining members of team Charlie Three-Niner had successfully reached nearby extraction points, although not without the company of thirty-five or so bloodthirsty barbarians on their asses. Even after the soldiers have boarded their respective dropships and had began to leave the battlefield, they weren't completely out of the woods yet; the cultists still refused to give up their chase, shooting bolts of deadly necromantic energy at the dropships in an attempt to send the soldiers' only hope of fleeing crashing to the ground.
Alas, the cultists still managed to hit four dropships with their magic missiles despite the dropship pilots' (presumably) adept flying skills. While this might not seem all that worrying to the ignorant layman, as an AWP general and head explorer of the AEO, I knew that the projectiles shot by our foes were probably capable of doing at least some amount of damage to the ships, or else they wouldn't bother shooting the projectiles in the first place.
“Zoom in on one of the ships that just got hit, NOW.” I commanded. Within half a second, the drone's camera zoomed in on a ship that got shot by a magic missile, and the sight I saw was far from pretty. The missile's point of impact had created a portal on the ship from which cultists could now use to get on the ship, which the savage worshippers would most likely use to latch onto the sides of the ship. Fortunately for the dropship's occupants, the Iolas-class dropship is one of the fastest dropships ever made, meaning that any hijackers attempting to enter from the outside of the ship are gonna have to go through hell trying not to fall off before they can get in (wait for it...WAIT FOR IT...).
Unfortunately, I was forced to eat my own words after witnessing the cultists' method of getting into the ship. Much to my surprise (and dismay), the first thing that came out of the portal was not a clueless cultist who fell into the ravine below the dropship in a vain attempt to climb into the ship (hey, that's stereotypical henchmen behavior, so don't blame McKellen for underestimating the idiocy of his opponents), but instead a gigantic black spitting cobra that instantaneously planted its lower fangs into the dropship the second it popped its ugly-ass head out of the portal. With the cobra's lower jaw embedded within the dropship, and as a result, it could no longer rely on its speed to shake off its slippery attacker. Oh, and did I ever mention the fact that Iolas-class dropships have absolutely zero defense mechanisms (unless you classify “breakneck speed” as a defense mechanism, that is. And I guess that in a way it DOES technically count as one, but still...)? Yep, you heard me: no turrets, no shields, nothing. Now that I think about it, this certain dropship model has a lot in common with a wimpy private in the military; both are ill-equipped, and don't face their problems head on, but instead run away from said problems. Goddammit, I knew we should've brought the Prometheus-class dropships to Plavok Moon instead. Those ships may be slightly slower, but at least it stands a bigger chance against stowaways like this raging reptile right here...
I had to find a way to contact the rest of the dropship pilots to warn them of the imminent danger; I've already seen what one portal could do, and I sure as hell wasn't gonna sit on my ass waiting for the other portals to beat the shit out of my guys. “Patch me through to the fleet,” I ordered. Within two seconds' time, the exact same man from the communications division that had given me a headset earlier on in the battle approached me with the very same headset he gave me earlier (damn, that is a confusing and unnecessarily lengthy sentence if I ever saw one. I feel like I coulda phrased that a little better, but whatever. Moving on). “Well, holy shit, son. Keep this up and you might gain just enough respect for me not to yell the shit out of the way I do with other people,” I complimented the man, taking the headset out of his hands.
“Just doing my job, sir.” the man replied humbly, returning to his seat.
“Pilots, this is the general speaking. We have confirmed reports of portals appearing on four dropships. Wolf, Wick, Jack, Hoax, Prepare to repel incoming enemy forces. Everyone else, continue flying back to base, and make sure not to get hit by anything the cultists shoot at you,” I informed the dropship pilots.
“HQ, this is Wolf. The hijacking is already in progress on my ship, sir. The crew members are in the process of holding off a giant snake, or at least that's what they're telling me. We're still trying to find a way to seal the portal. Problem is, we have no idea how to close the damn thing, and until we find a way to do that, we can't risk landing back at HQ, or we're gonna end up giving away the location of our base of operations,” the pilot of one dropship said in an increasingly worried voice (which is completely reasonable considering the fact that this guy's ship is being attacked BY A SNAKE ALMOST AS BIG AS THE MOTHERFUCKING SHIP HE'S COMMANDEERING).
“HQ, this is Jack. General, as much as I might regret asking this next question, do you have any tips on how to beat these things? I know that you're not known for giving answers to our questions, but a little advice would be great, seeing that we're about to get massacred by a bunch of big-ass undead spirit animals. Please advise, HQ.” another dropship pilot piped in. I wasn't used to giving advice to my troops, mainly because they never ask for advice, now that I think about it. All the situations the AEO and the AWP have been engaged in are situations that they have been able to handle without the assistance of their superiors, least of all me. As a major figure in both organizations, I could personally state that this was the first time either organization had encountered the use of sorcery (forbidden or otherwise) in their battles. For this reason, breaching Plavok Moon's vault hasn't been an easy task, what with all the magic crap we had to fight through.
I paused, trying to search my brain for a decent answer to the dropship dilemma. Suddenly, I came up with a solution after linking the portal issue with a video game (which also involves portals. Surprise, sur-fuckin'-prise) I remember playing as a kid. In the game, you play as a woman stuck inside some kind of testing facility whose objective is to escape said facility, and is given a portal gun to help solve the puzzles that stand between her and the facility's exit (if you don't get the reference, I'm gonna be real disappointed by your lack of video game knowledge) . I thought about how the portals worked in that game, then applied the logic of the portals in the game to the portal problem we were having in real life.
“HQ? Come in, HQ,” Jack said.
“Wolf, Wick, Jack, Hoax. Can you get one of your guys to get near the portal?” I asked.
“Yes, general. For what, if I may ask?” Wolf inquired.
“If someone can get close enough to the portal, that person should logically be able to cut off the piece of the dropship that the portal's stuck onto,” I explained.
“Come again, general?” Hoax asked.
“According to my (video game) logic, the portals are somewhat like doors. If you wanna render a door useless, all that you would have to do is destroy the wall the door's attached to, right?” I said.
“What are you trying to say, general?” Wolf asked.
“What I'm trying to say is that if the portal works in the same way a door does, then all you need to do is cut off the part of the dropship which the portal's attached to. No need to cut off a huge chunk of the ship; the plate of which the portal's stuck onto should suffice to sever the portal's connection with your dropship,” I said. “But first, you need to find a way to get close enough to the portal to cut off the piece of the ship it's attached to,”
There was a long silence that followed the announcement of my insane plan (at least for the pilots. In the background, you can hear the screams of the dropship passengers and the ear-splitting sounds of supernatural, cultist-controlled animals. But otherwise, it's completely silent). Finally, Hoax spoke up. “With all due respect, general, that sounds like a suicidal idea. But hey, it's not like we have any better ideas. We'll get to work. Hoax out,” Hoax said.
“Wolf out,” Wolf said.
“Jack out,” Jack said.
And just like that, the pilots got to work on banishing the otherworldly creatures pouring out of the portals on their ships. I took off my headset and directed my focus toward the large projector screen in front of the room, which was still showing the drone camera's sight on Wolf's dropship (the one being attacked by a giant-ass undead spitting cobra, if you don't remember). It was time to take out some voodoo trash.