Mt. Ohm - God Slayer by K. van Marshall (romantic love story reading .txt) 📖

smoke crawled and crept its way over the battle ground, wrapping tentacle like wisps of smoke around the limbs of the blinded and injured warriors.

 

“Now!”, shouted Noobar.

 

With a whip, the smoky tentacles became solid and strong enough to grip, then with a mighty tug the Zulons writhing in pain, the exhausted Chieftain and her elite strike force were yanked clear from Kumi, the Denaar and the demons. As soon as the last warrior was out of the crater, a massive translucent cube appeared, caging the violent quartet neatly.

 

 

Now time for me to show you some real mighty god level power, morties... White room! Heat up!”, yelled Fuego excitedly, and for the hundredth time that day, Lonston became a beacon of light as the dusk sky is illuminated to day.

Chapter 11 - New plan

 

Zweek lay with his body as stiff as a sword, his heart screaming and mind racing. I am done for, a sprigger, he agonised, letting hatred fill him to the brim; more water for the beasts of his subconscious to parch their thirst.

 

The escape failed miserably, sadly the captives did not even have the chance to enact their desperate escape plan. After exiting the training pit, and fleeing the hellish tortures of the Drill, the sprigger apprentices stormed into an ambush. Just thinking about his foolish words of bravery made Zweek cringe.

 

As the exhausted group piled into the abandoned courtyard, one after another, they were greeted by a hail of laughter. Their gloating audience sat high on top the walls of the round arena courtyard. Bewildered by the reception, they were unaware that an invisible menace had been set upon them.

 

Mercilessly, a paralysing gas assaulted their nervous systems; spriggers began dropping like winter rain. By the time anyone tried to cover their faces, it was too late. A mad dash ensued, as they scrambled around the courtyard, to no avail; everyone was rendered immobile.

 

My first time feeling the light of the suns in mooku and all I can do is stare at this cretins mug, thought Zweek, laying face down in the rough scorching gravel; eyes concentrated on his enemies. The smug contentment exuding from Aradian, as he overlooked the proceedings from his high perch only served to jar Zweek further down the road of frustration. His anger burned so much, he easily ignored the hot ground imprinting on his face.

 

The sound of boots crunching through the gravel broke Zweek’s long distance death stare. His self proclaimed teachers and tormentors had come down from the walls and were taking extra special delight in binding his fellow sprigger graduates. Methodically chaining the arms and feet of each and every recruit. Zweek refocused onto the guards in view, taking in the scene of sadistic pleasure.

 

“Oi urry up”, said a guard.

 

“Shut it, I want’em out as quick as you mate!”, replied another.

 

“Look we all want’em gone... Holiday soon bowy’s!”, chimed a third.

 

How dare they chat nonsense, like we’re not being sent to our deaths. These rents have to die. The guards trivial talk was like a backhand to Zweek’s face. Unable to perform the slightest movement, he could barely even hum. Surrounded by his fellow sprigger’s, they were scattered around the courtyard like a field of cropped pinecane.

 

Buzzzzzzz.

 

I am a fool. After the binding comes branding, thought Zweek, instantly recognising the sound.

 

A guard so big that his black robes, which easily cover the other guards from head to toe, stop above his knees; he was the first guard into the arena. Face covered in a pointed black sack like mask, he strode purposefully, beaming malice through the gouged eye holes of the mask. Joyfully swinging a metal rod at his side, he made his way across the courtyard. Stepping over recruit, after recruit. The branding rod crackled and popped with an intimidating red electrical discharge. Its end furnished with a scarred S; several smaller x's stacked up, criss-cross through the violent rod end. Sprigger after sprigger exhaled in relief, as the guard continued walking straight - ignoring the helpless captives.

 

A cold shiver fell over Xena, and her heart pounded. Her concern is for Zweek who lays before her. The guard obviously wanted to torture Zweek one last time. Since arriving in the Drill, Zweek has been thrown into the worst situations possible. Unbeknownst to them Prince Edvard had paid extra to insure he was given a special tuition. However, much to the dismay of the guards, Zweek always rose to the task calmly. Even Aradian looked down, eager to see Zweek’s cool demeanour crack.

 

As the guard reached Zweek. He turned, jabbing the rod deep into the shoulder of another man laying directly beside him.

 

“Maaaarghpliffffffffff!!”, Corve let out an awful muffled scream, a waxy green hue flushed away his pale blue shade. Spinning and slapping himself against the hard ground, like a fish out water. Luckily for him the pain was excruciating, but short lived. Zweek could only look into his eyes as the spasm rolled them into the back of his head, and twitched his eyelids shut.

 

“This is your graduation, and your diploma, this branding - all sprigger's will be tagged... You should know by now your lives are forfeit, but even if you were to survive, or to escape by some miiiiracle. You will always be a Sprigger. Your lives as free people are over. You have no destiny, but to die for your master”, shouted Aradian, sat in his golden chariot, the four gold pillars gleaming in the tri-suns. He looked down at his current sprigger crop with glee. The extra meat on the back of his arms jiggle as he throws them to the sky. “And my faithful men, you will be off to whatever pleasure state you waaaaaaaaaant!”. Aradian rubbed his belly, just thinking about the amount he received from the Youllon empire. The only thing sweeter, was the pittance he would spend to send his loyal employees to Undajelly, or more likely Sommorah; he would like his employees back for the next crop.

 

“UOOOOOOOOOOH!”, roared every guard in the camp, obviously eager to get on with their holidays - only the few with families reject a trip to seedy bliss.

 

Next the electric buzzing of branding rods snapped into life - kicking around the arena. At that moment, every last one of immobile sprigger’s hearts filled with dread. Pure fear and desperation crept through the besieged group. A buzz followed by a scream, followed by multiple buzzes and more screams, filled the air. The mixture of agony and energetic discharge cascaded around the courtyard one after the other, and then simultaneously, as the guards began stabbing the rods into the captives indiscriminately.

 

Now stood over Zweek, the hulking guard tugged at his mask - lifting it enough so Zweek could see his sharp mangled smile. Licking his lips, he wanted to show him exactly how much he intended to enjoy this moment. Plunging the crackling rod into the shoulder of Zweek, his smile grew to a crooked gape. Zweeks body didn’t bounce anywhere near as high as Corve’s; the pain set him rigid as all the muscles in his body tensed at once.

 

Zweek bit down, refusing to let the scream scratch its way out from the depths of his throat - then the pain stopped, miraculously. The malicious guard pulled back the rod to give Zweek a second of solace - before shoving it deeply into his gut.

 

The first jab felt like a baby slap compared to this. This, this, errrrrrr - won't break me, Zweek resolved, biting down, and gritting his teeth - again refusing to scream. Trying to deny the guard his sinful empty satisfaction. It was the only form of retaliation Zweek could muster. As his muscles cramped and whole body convulsed, he felt as if he had held on for ages; biting down, and holding so hard his gums bled - in reality, seconds passed. The smell of his own skin filling his nostrils would be the last thing he remembers. 

 

“Rrraaaaaaaaaaghhhh!”, roared Zweek.

 

After what felt like a blink, Zweek opened his eyes to find himself in a cold, dimly lit room. The sound of water slapping outside perked him upright. He forced his eyes open wide - immediately recognising the soft rocking motion. Rubbing his eyes, Zweek looked around; only dejected spriggers looked back.

 

“Zweek, be easy”, said Xena, as he frantically scrambled to his feet, stumbling to a port hole.

 

“Don’t worry, he can't go nowhere”, said Stow, he was sat alone, stewing in a shadowy section of the room.

 

“Shut it”, replied Xena.

 

Zweek ignored the pair - he had to see. Bulky chains attached to his ankles and wrists made the hobble awkward, but he made it far enough to confirm his fears. He gripped the circular window frame tight and witnessed the heart wrenching truth. They were surrounded by water, and definitely on their way to Mt. Ohm.

 

“We failed, I guess”, said Zweek turning to Stow, Xena and the others. Altogether there were ten others squashed into the cramped brig. Slumping down, his back squeaked as it slid down the cold wooden wall.

 

“Yep... And ya wimped out”, sniggered Stow.

 

“Yeah, you did”, laughed Xena.

 

“I... The last thing I remem... that sleg!”, yelled Zweek. His memory was hazy, it took him some time to remember, but the pain in his gut helped him focus. He pulled up his vest to investigate his stomach - the brand had scarred the misshapen dark red ‘S’ into his stomach. “That rent faced guard, from the smell I thought he burnt away my gut”.

 

“Yeah he enjoyed that... Your plan wouldn’t have worked even if you had been awake, even if we weren’t set stiff”, said Stow.

 

“Yeah, we weren’t taken out the same gate we entered... the graduation ceremony was a total stitch up”, added Xena.

 

“So... We are on our way to Mt Ohm”, said Zweek, clearly disheartened.

 

“Yeah... but it's not over!”, stated Xena determined.

 

Zweek looked at her, unable to hide his disappointment, their situation was bleak and this time he could not think of a way out. His mind raced back to Youllo and the fate of friends left behind and their role as hostages; the twin beasts of regret and frustration charge at the gate.

 

Holding Zweek in a determined gaze. “Don't other think”, said Xena, with a stern light shining through her green eyes.

 

Zweek looked at her puzzled, she is trying to tell him something without actually saying it, as usual.

 

What she trying to say, it's over no matter how you look at it. What if Novus is dead... Zweek's had no time for riddles, he could barely think in a straight line. “What are you on?”.

 

“Godhood... We just need to become Gods”, replied Xena, she was sure, and her mind was obviously made up.

 

“It is all we got”, said Stow, he was now standing next to Xena.

 

“You are always trying to save the day with your plans, but we got you. They say we are sprigger's and destined to die, but I think we are being handed power. We are being underestimated and if even one of us can claim Godhood, we can change things. Everyone wants... No, people dream of the chance to challenge Mt. Ohm and gain ultimate power, but we are being given that chance”, implored Xena.

 

Zweek was stunned. He looked