Geez3r Posted October 3, 2010 Share Posted October 3, 2010 Rusty Bones Day of Invasion, 9 PM “And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts, and I looked and behold, a pale horse, and the name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.†In the midst of the chaos, Nick Cimitiere couldn’t remember if that was the gospel according to King James or Johnny Cash. But as he sped through the streets of Freedom in his car, he realized just how true it was. Death sat on him, he was on the Pale Horse, and Hell was certainly following him. He’d been meeting up with his parents when the monsters began appearing in the streets. He’d managed to get them out of the city with some creative driving (with a minimum of damage to their car). Pretty soon, they were back in the suburbs, and a new problem presented itself – getting back into the city without making his folks panic. He told them he was going to go check on his coworkers, see if any of them needed a place to ride out the invasion. He really had gone to check on them, only to find most of them had gotten out of the city already. After that, it was time to go to work. Nick had been picking at the Grue at all sides. He knew he wasn’t one of the powerhouses – one good swat and he’d probably be a red pancake. But he offered support where he could, pinning down the foot soldiers of the Grue and sending their veterans fleeing. Apparently a hive mind was a benefit to the other guy when a shriek of primal fear was broadcast over it. He made his way through Downtown and was going back for a second sweep of West Freedom as night fell. Once he crossed the bridge, however, he felt something wash over him – the stench of decay and the taste of carrion, and the echo of a death rattle amplified to the volume of a fighter jet’s engine. It came from Lantern Hill. He’d spend down to the neighborhood, and saw the face of death slithering through the streets. It was half in this world and the next, made of ectoplasm and something that he could only assume was Grue corpses. Nick counted what must have been ten distinct Grue forms that seemed to melt and blur together into one many-handed war engine. And unlike the other Grue he’d run into, there was no imperialistic jargon when it opened its mouth, no calls to surrender. There was just the shrieking of the damned. Nick soon realized where it was heading – the Lantern Hill Cemetery. He’d seen what the Grue bioweapons did to people – mental domination, assimilation, the suppression of all thought until the brain just shut down. If that was what your standard Grue did to the body, he could only imagine what this thing would do to the soul. He leapt out of the Pale Horse, gathered his will, and let the voice of dead ages speak through him. He wasn’t expecting it to install mortal fear in the thing, like it did in most crooks. But it certainly caught the thing’s attention. It rounded on him, and even from this distance, he could sense the hunger in its heart. “You wanna feast on the font of death, creep?†he called out. “I’m a nine-course meal! Come and get me!†He dashed back into the Pale Horse and peeled off, As he’d hoped, the Hecatonchire – it helped to think of it in those terms, even if it didn’t have a hundred hands – came barreling after him. That took care of one problem, getting it away from the cemetery. Now cane the problem of figuring out what to do with it. Most of his offensive options were short range. If he tried getting close enough to claw it up, it would probably eat him first. He could try ramming it with the Pale Horse, but that generally only worked once, and if it didn’t work, he’d be in trouble. He could call the chill mists of Nilfhelm, and while that would help, it would only slow the thing down a little. He was kicking himself now – he should have let it go to the cemetery. Dead Head would likely be there, as would Freedom Angel. They could have teamed up, taken the thing out together. And in the meantime, who knows how many ghosts it might have eaten, Nick thought to himself. As much as he was kicking himself, he knew he’d made the right choice. Most ghosts were limited in their escape options; they were pretty much limited to areas and objects of close association with their mortal life. If they didn’t have a bond to move with – Ah. Now Nick knew why the Hecatonchire was part flesh. Whoever made it had woven the bond right into the flesh. The bodies of the dead Grue were the anchor keeping them weighed on this mortal plane. If he could find a way to break the connection... He revved the engine and proceeded to Greenbank. The ride got rough – he had to swerve around abandoned vehicles, taking the sidewalk when it was abandoned, while the Hecatonchire just swept cars aside behind him. Soon enough, however, he was at the open gates to the Farrelli Bros. Junkyard. Greenbank had been the center of the train hub when the rails had ruled the nation, and when the railroad began to dry up, it became a cemetery for all sorts of engines. The Farelli family had held the junkyard for generations, making money off of scrap from terminally-busted boxcars, rusted out trucks and whatever other machinery had gone its last mile. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind Nick borrowing some of it. He parked the Pale Horse behind a pile of cars and leapt out. He scanned the graveyard – most of the cars here were empty, desiccated, and rusted to the point of obsolescence. But a few looked like they still had some bang left for their buck. He could hear the front gates rending – the Hecatonchire would be here soon. And he’d be ready. It came looming out of the darkness like a very pissed-off fog bank. It looked at Nick, standing right in the middle of the clearing, and he could have sworn he heard something like laughter emerging from it. It reached out to grab an engine block to throw at the lone necromancer – -- and that was when a pickup truck came barreling out of the darkness and rammed right into its side. The truck crumpled up like used tissue, and the Hecatonchire was sent reeling into a bank of crushed cars. The force from the blow was enough to topple the stack, bringing it crashing down on the monstrosity. Nick allowed himself half a breath as the sound of rending metal filled the air. Now that he’d softened it up, it was time for the final blow. As the Hecatonchire emerged from the pile of ruined cars, it charged towards Nick. He didn’t blink, even as the thing began to manifest ectoplasmic talons that looked like they could split titanium. The second before it came down on him, it let out a triumphant shriek – that soon turned to panic as it was lifted up off the ground. The Farellis didn’t use an electromagnetic crane to dispose of their cars; they were one of the few places left in Jersey to use the old-fashioned claw machine. The Hecatonchire buckled against its restraints, trying to alternatively slither free and break the claw. Nick knew he couldn’t give it a chance. He called to the machine, the sound of infernal engines riddling his voice. “Drop it off.†The crane swung around to the large crusher at the back of the junkyard and unceremoniously dropped the Hecatonchire in it. Nick withdrew his will from the crane and focused on the crusher. With just a word, the crusher sprung to life and began pressing in. The Hecatonchire cried out from within, in defeat, anguish, and in pain. Judging by the sounds of bucking metal, it sounded like it was fighting back, but it definitely wasn’t winning. There was a muted squishing noise in the distance, and the air was split with a cry that could have split glass. Then, all was quiet again. Nick sighed with relief. He’d broken the bond. The Grue ghosts had gone… well, wherever dead Grue went. He got back in the Pale Horse and drove out of the junkyard. He had a feeling the night had horrors still ahead. Link to comment
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