The Wild Beasts of Anthony Mannis

The orange-armored hotshots are soldiers handpicked from candidates of Project Warcry (see Pamphlet X). They are equipped with close-range flamethrowers; in groups they are very effective in flushing rebels out from deep within Forest Zone. (See also: Dragon Turtles, Pamphlet XIX).

- Information Available to Borges Citizens, Pamphlet XI.

The Jester watched Raffick rush towards the boy invoker.

“Well, now this is an interesting development,” he said with a uncharacteristic shred of enthusiasm. He distractedly slipped and blocked Hayley’s wild swings.

“Little girl, you are irritating me,” he said to her, “a man must have time to think of things on a grander scale.”

She had managed to land a strike on his thigh, partly because he had allowed it and partly because his mind was elsewhere. If it had been a blade, I would have been hamstrung.

“WHERE ARE MY PARENTS?” she shrieked at him, tears streaming down her face. Her staff hammered at him, some hits landing, but most missing. Her arms burned from exertion but she couldn’t give up. Don’t get tired. Not now.

She pressed her thumb on a part of her quarterstaff and it split into three sections, with a chain running through it. She spun it so quickly it became a blur and flicked it at Marceau. He raised his sabre to block it, but it wrapped around his weapon and struck him solidly on the back. He coughed, and a bit of blood came out of the mouth of his mask. A small aerator slipped into his hand and he took a deep breath from it.

“It appears I must give you my full attention,” he said in a terrible, dark voice that drove the tears from Hayley’s eyes and made her shrink back momentarily. Then the gold fire was back in them and she grit her teeth.

“I have questions and I aim to have some answers,” she snarled at him, “you drug-addled fool.”

“It would be my pleasure. Although, you would be a lunatic to think that this information would come…free.”

“Go to hell.”

“I have.”

At his last word he stepped forward, lightning-quick, with a sabre thrust. Hayley blocked it barely in time, but the strike sent her stumbling backward. Marceau pressed her hard, raining hateful blows as he accentuated his words.

“Your father has been generously, and may I say, willingly smithing his famous armor for the Borges cause.”

Despite this seeming onslaught, the straw-jacketed girl was doing very well in her defensive maneuvers. The new fluidity of her weapon allowed for interruptive jabs that broke up his striking combinations. One of her low attacks caught him on the ankle and he stumbled momentarily. It was all she needed to jump on him. There’s that dagger she keeps in her mouth. Her face was so close to his her hair swept alongside his face as well as her hidden blade. He jerked his head back but it still caught him on the cheek, scraping metallically against his mask. She kicked off his chest with two feet, back-flipping while launching the coiled three-section-staff at him like a spring-loaded trap. It caught him full in the face, and he sat down hard in the dirt. He raised his hand and caught the knife flung at his throat.

“My goodness. And I haven’t even told you about your mother yet.”

#

Anthony jumped backwards as Raffick swung at him, the baton crackling past his face.

“Gimme a break, would ya officer?”

His chimaera swung its tail at Raffick, and the man in black was knocked backwards into a pile of carrion beetles who promptly started chewing on his armor. Disgusted, he stood up and crushed one in his hands. He ducked a blast of fire from a chimaera head as the two-headed beast ran past him, crisping carrion beetles in its path as it bulled a path to Shino. Panicked, Shino recalled the nearby carrion beetles into a giant tarantula in time to lock horns with the chimaera. The second head of the chimaera shattered the legs of the tarantula with an ice blast, and the invocation was tossed aside like a broken toy. The other SSI ran forward, now that their captains were in trouble. A Tartarian with grey eyes conjured up a felhound—a grim, unearthly beast that was both doglike and bull-like; flames burst from its eyes and nose, and jutting from its head were two brass curved horns. It bellowed hellishly and ran towards the chimaera. Anthony turned the front two legs of the chimaera into ape-like forelimbs, and used its new dexterity to grab the felhound by its horns. He remembered the move that the invoker in Oaktown used to beat him in their duel, and maneuvered his beast to do the same. The chimaera locked in its grip tighter and used the horns as leverage to twist the felhound on its back on the ground. The grey-eyed Tartarian grimaced as the pinned felhound dissipated under alternating blasts of fire and ice.

There was another boom and a muted explosion hit in front of Raffick, narrowly missing Shino. Raffick turned to look at the wall of Free Crossing, and he cursed as he saw multiple green glows evenly spaced out. The Free Crossing guns were all activated.

Marceau seemed to have figured this out as well, for he kicked Hayley off of him and stood up. A nozzle from his wrist shot a jet of fire and sent her jumping backwards. The Jester stepped up next to Raffick.

“Going rogue, just like I thought you would,” he said to him. “Disobeying direct orders from Collier. Your obsession with this child is unhealthy.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“My part in this is simple. I follow orders, unlike you.”

“That’s a load of crap. You’re a merc. You follow money, the spikes Warden Tan pays to make you jump.”

“Yes, but I take excellent pride in my work. You may remember that when I set out to acquire an invoker, I get my boy.”

“You are sick, clown. Mint Village should have been an easy smash and grab. Thanks to you, there was unnecessary bloodshed. Sloppy work.”

The Jester paused to meditate on the violent raid he led into Mint Village a few months ago. I do enjoy fire and blood, don’t I?

“If you thought that was unnecessary bloodshed, wait until you see what is next.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that, for Raffick picked up on the threat and swung his baton up in time to block Marceau’s downward swing. His one good eye stared coldly into The Jester’s soulless face.

“So she’s got you on clean-up duty, eh?”

“Tan told me that the boy would make you a mad dog. Mad dogs,” Marceau cackled with glee, “get put down.”

The Jester’s dueling pistol slipped down his sleeve and he fired a shot point-blank into Raffick’s stomach. The bullet lodged itself firmly into the black armor, and the officer didn’t budge. Marceau sighed.

“Everyone is armored nowadays. Where is the trust?”

#

“Are you seeing this?” Philip said to Hayley, who had dragged her burnt and bruised body up the hill and collapsed next to him. In her hand was a crushed Spectre Man helmet.

“Nice to see you too,” she grumbled, “Oh, and I’m fine. Just fighting the creep who kidnapped my parents. Almost got set on fire twice also. But whatever.”

She followed Philip’s gaze to where The Man in Black was fighting The Deadman.

“Well, tar me up and call me a feather baby.”

“What?”

“That is an interesting development.”

#

Raffick grabbed Marceau around the forearm and crushed the dueling pistol’s hidden firing mechanism right before The Jester slipped fluidly out of his grasp. A popper appeared in his other hand, and he had it under Raffick’s unarmored chin, but froze involuntarily as his muscles seized. He collapsed on the ground. Raffick waved his electric baton tauntingly.

“All your tricks and you still fall for the dumbest one.”

He pointed his pistol at Marceau and pulled the trigger. Click.

Out of ammo.

Raffick cursed. His HUD radar was red and yellow with OZM and Borges closing in, all of whom wanted him dead or captured. He put his sidearm down, quaking with fury.

The Jester casually tossed a few marbles on the ground in front of him, and jets of thick smoke began hissing out of them. Raffick coughed, and Marceau faded away.

“Catch you later,” he sang with a dangerous playfulness.

#

A hotshot lumbered in, clicking his torch. Flames burst out of the end. Hayley froze momentarily, eyes wide. Then they went back to a steely, angry, glint.

“Don’t you dare come near me with that thing!” she screeched. She snapped her staff upwards and the hotshot yelled in pain, his triggerfinger broken. She slid forward and shot her legs up to trip him, and he fell to the ground with a crash. Isolating one of his legs by entwining it with her own, she cranked his heel so violently the armor at his knee popped off. The hotshot screamed.

“Holy…hell…” stammered a PSO.

Hayley stood over the moaning hotshot breathing heavily, her fists clenched. The PSO put down his baton and backed away from her slowly, as did his squadmates. Hayley picked up the torch disgustedly and threw it to Philip.

“Here.”

She pointed to the last standing Spectre Man, who had a baton in one hand and a riot shield in the other.

“You’re next, buddy.”

#

Philip watched as jets of red lightning streaked from Borges machines and struck the crenellations of Free Crossing’s outer wall. Part of it burst outwards and crumbled down.

“The Dragonslayers are online,” he yelled.

“Raffick took off into the forest.” Hayley panted. She threw down another Spectre helmet.

“He did?”

“Yea, let’s go after him.”

Darius came crashing into sight, breathing heavily. “There y’all are! Come with me if ya wanna get inta Free Crossing. Now.”

He turned and ran off without waiting to see if they were following.

Hayley jogged up to him. “Hey Darius, what’s going on? Didn’t we win?”

“I thought we were,” Darius said, “We had them until they wised up. They abandoned yer colossus bait, regrouped, and were able ta route my engineers and get their Dragonslayers online.”

“So? The Free Crossing guns will take care of them.”

“No, they won’t. Look.”

With most of the guns focusing on Dragonslayers, two Tartarian colossus—a revenant and a cyclops—were smashing away undisturbed at the main gates of Free Crossing. From where she stood, Hayley could see a group of artillerymen on the parapet turn their railgun on the colossus and charge it. A wasp the size of a battlewagon landed in front of them and crushed the gun in its massive jaws before turning towards the men. Hayley closed her eyes and turned her head aside.

“There are more SSI here than we thought,” said Darius grimly. “Even without Asterion and Shino, the Tartarians and Myrmidons are too strong. Where is Anthony?”

“Over there.” Philip pointed to the moppy-haired boy sitting in the dirt; scorch marks, gaping holes, and other signs of destruction were all around him.

“How ya doin’, buddy? Feelin’ okay?” Darius asked, but in the pandering tone that adults use with children.

“No. I can’t invoke right now.”

“I know buddy, war is hell and you’re burnt out. But—”

“I just need to lie down…” Anthony collapsed on the grass next to a pulse rifle.

“Maybe you just need a rest?” Hayley said, “You just need a recharge, y’know, battery-wise?”

“Maybe,” whispered Anthony, “I just feel really…empty.”

The others were silent, knowing that any more advice they gave would be merely facetious.

“One hundred years this city stood.” Philip said gravely. He was not looking at them, instead staring at the battlements of Free Crossing, where mounted railgun teams were going down one by one to Dragonslayers and Myrmidon insect colossi. The revenant bashed a hole through the five foot thick iron-and-wood gate with a giant club. Spectre Men were lined up on either side, ready to breach. Philip noticed, for the first time, the cherry trees planted along the base of the monolithic wall—they were in full bloom.

“It is the end of an era.”

“Is it?” Darius replied. “Do not give up hope, for yer still alive. Get up. We need ta get ya inside Free Crossing and ta The Line.”

“Yea, hold on,” Hayley snapped at him as she crouched over Anthony, “As you may know, there are still a bunch of colossi and Dragonslayers between us and it.”

“I do know. This is where we come in.”

He gave a low whistle, and a handful of heavily armed OZM came riding up. Hayley recognized one as the guard who had been whittling outside their dormitory. He looked very different horsed and in full body armor. The other eight or so OZM were suited up similarly. Realization of their plan washed over Hayley.

“You had this planned all along. Just in case.”

Darius said nothing as he loaded rounds into a grenade launcher.

“You can’t do this.”

Darius coughed amusedly. “Boys, Miss Dujani here says we can’t do this.”

They laughed, rough and raucous, the way a band of brothers facing death do. Darius turned back to her.

“These here are my best. They volunteered for this; I ordered no one. We’re gonna give ya the shot ya need ta get inta Free Crossing and get ta The Line.”

He spun the chambers on his grenade launcher coolly.

Anthony stood up, wobbly. Darius grasped him by the hand to steady him.

“I never asked this of you,” the boy said.

“I never offered it.”

Anthony looked up sincerely with coffee-cool eyes.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.”

“We are past that,” he patted him on the shoulder, “When ya get ta New Haven, there will be a man waiting for ya named Captain Baumer. He will take good care of alla ya. Now, tell yer Ma I said hi, y’hear?”

“I will.”

“Good,” Darius smiled at him, “yer father would be proud of ya, y’know. I owe him this.”

Anthony nodded solemnly. Darius turned back to his men.

“Alright dragoons, we got one shot and one shot only. Y’know what’s at stake. Shoot, what am I motivatin’ ya for? Ya motivation is out there, bangin’ at the wall of freed men. Do it for the blue and brass! Long live Free Atos!”

“Long live Free Atos!”

Darius pulled Anthony up onto his horse behind him. Another soldier did the same to Philip.

“I get horse-sick,” Philip stated to her.

The whittling guard reached down and offered his hand to Hayley. She accepted and he pulled her up next to him with one arm. He turned forward without a word and stirred his horse into a gallop.

Medieval as it seemed, the speed and height advantage the horses gave to Darius’ men allowed them to outmaneuver the Borges foot soldiers completely, and even route some of their bigger machines. Darius shot the leg out of one of the stalkers, hitting a weak spot in its armor and blowing out its equivalent of a knee.

One dragoon was shot off his horse by a Spectre Man, but return fire sent the Borges officer and his men retreating hastily. A Dragonslayer grumbled menacingly over a hill, a behemoth machine with spiked treads and plate armor. The giant swiveling mounted cannon—the eponymous dragon slayer—glowed bright red moments before firing a crackling beam of energy at them. The blast split the ground next to Darius, causing a panicked horse to buck his rider.

“Drop Grenade Split! Just like we planned!” roared Darius.

The OZM split in two, forking around the Dragonslayer and forcing it to focus on one group and leave the other. As one side drew its fire, the other flanked behind it, disabling its small entourage of PSOs and Spectre Men. Darius heaved a shape-charged grenade bodily at the tank. In mid air the grenade popped a small parachute, swinging the charge at a ninety-degree angle towards the base of the cannon. Darius grabbed the reins of his mount and turned it away with one hand.

“Duck and cover!” he bellowed.

There was a muted explosion, knocking all the surrounding Borges to the ground. The now unmounted cannon went spinning forward and bowled over a Spectre Man with a sickening crunch. Shouting triumphantly, the OZM charged for the gates, a path now clear.

At the gates the revenant colossus had widened the hole it had made, and the cyclops reached in and gripped it with two hands. Grunting, it began to tug at the five-ton door, which began creaking on its hinges. There was a thoomp and a grenade exploded against its back. The cyclops roared in pain and let go of the door. It turned to face the OZM.

Like a well-oiled machine, the small band of Ocean Zone soldiers made errorless formation. Two dismounted at the top of the hill and provided cover fire with their Napier-Sulzu grenade launchers. The rest forked again, fluid as a river, trapping the Borges against the wall as they closed on two sides.

“Get the children through the doors!” Darius shouted as he maneuvered his horse beneath the crushing feet of the cyclops. The revenant made a swing at them, but Darius moved easily out of the way.

“I can’t leave you, Darius,” Anthony said. His eyes glazed over the destruction, his stomach twisted into knots. Men were putting themselves in harm’s way for him. “Not while I can still fight.”

“That’s noble of ya, lad,” Darius gruffed. They pulled up to the gaping hole the revenant had made in the door. Philip and his rider were already there, Philip clambering through into Free Crossing. “But there are bigger things than me and my men at stake.”

Darius motioned to Anthony to climb after Philip, but the invoker braced himself on the horse and shook his head. His eyes were glassy.

“Damnit boy, get through there!” Darius shouted, “Ya need to get ta The Line. Don’t make us die for nothing. Ya can’t help us anyway, with no powers. Yer a liability. We can’t use ya!”

The hurt showed on his face, but Anthony still didn’t move. “I’m no quitter.”

“Anthony,” Philip called gently, halfway to freedom, “we are not quitting. Come before their sacrifice is for naught. Our story does not end here.”

“Aye,” there was a twinkle in Darius’ eye, “Our story does not end here.”

Anthony let out one gut-wrenching sob but climbed up to Philip, who pulled him through. He turned to look behind him.

“Where’s Hayley?”

Philip pointed at a clump of hay leaping off the back of a horse into a full Citadel Defense Force squadron.

“Come on, you sons of Borges, I ain’t leaving!”

The staff was a blur in her hands; sometimes splitting into three sections, other times straight and true. Helmets cracked, armor splintered, joints broke; her hits always found their mark yet no one could strike back. The whittling militiaman had to loop around and pull her back onto the horse, scooping her up with one arm. She cursed and yelled at being taken away from battle, managing to lay in one final bone-breaking blow to an unlucky PSO. Dodging past the slow swings of the colossus, the whittling militiaman hoisted Hayley up to Anthony and Philip.

“Let me stay,” she growled, crouching catlike in the opening, filled with bloodlust. “I’ll break every bone in their jaggo Borges body.”

“No,” Darius shouted, wheeling his horse around to dodge another swing from the revenant, “we need ya to protect these two. Get ta The Line. Take ’em ta New Haven.”

Hayley yelled in frustration, and started to crawl back out towards the battle but the whittling militiaman held up his arm and she stopped. He winked at her and pressed something into her hand: the finished wooden jumping-jack he had been working on back in Oaktown. Hayley saw it and the fight washed from her face. Her eyes lost their fire and she began to cry. She clutched the toy tightly, white-knuckled.

“Go,” Darius said. He pushed them through the hole, and they tumbled out the other side. Anthony and Darius locked eyes.

“Everything ya can imagine is real,” said the red-bearded captain, cherry blossoms floating around him, “never lose that sense of wonder.”

Darius turned away and raised his arm to his face as a blast of fire washed over him.

“Darius!” Anthony screamed. Around him, Free Crossing OZM pointed their rifles nervously at the weakening gate.

“Anthony. Hayley.” Philip said with mesmerizing calm. “On the count of three, we are going to run for The Line. We are going to get on the train. We will get to New Haven, find your mother, and rescue your brother. Just like I promised.”

Anthony nodded, teary-eyed. “Just like you promised.”

They both stared at the barred door, listening to the shouts and gunfire of Darius’ final stand. Philip closed his eyes, as if he could shut out what he could see in his mind.

“One.”

Two massive glowing hands smashed a new hole in the door and grasped it, pulling it outwards. The steel groaned heavily under the strain. Nervous orders to “stand fast,” came faintly through the sounds of battle.

“Two.”

The five-ton steel and iron door came ripping off its hinges, the cyclops holding it above its head as if it were a coffee table. Behind it, the revenant glowed a dull red and its mace crackled with lightning. Fire surrounded them, and there was no sign of Darius or his riders.

The Free Crossing OZM opened fire, but the pulse rifles did no more damage to the colossus than if they had been firing water-guns. The cyclops stepped through the entryway, flipping the heavy door carelessly onto a house. It pointed with a huge hand towards Anthony. Skydrones and stalkers and PSOs and Spectre Men streamed in. Rifle butts hit stomachs and boots stomped on faces. The defensive firing lessened amidst screaming.

“Three.”

They ran, hurtling past crates and barrels, carts and fences. OZM around them provided cover fire, shooting down skydrones and baiting stalkers. Every once in awhile, a militiaman would encourage them along.

“You can do it, invoker!”

“Get outta here kid, you’re the one to save us!”

“You’re the man, kiddo, we got your back!”

The three ran down the burning streets. A sweeper gunner went rat-tat-tat.