A boot grazed the tripwire strung up between two posts under the bottom floor of the village. Jasper's head came mere inches from a ball of mud filled with spikes hanging precariously above. Now Jasper stood by the entrance to the north side of the under village. The larger stilts were less common on this side, with clusters of bamboo holding up the platforms instead.
Several pyres burning bodies along the rising hillside gave the ground an evil glow and the air a wicked smell. Down the stretch of sand were curved rows of fortifications made from five foot long wooden spikes. Scattered everywhere, except straight ahead down the path, were dozens of imperceivable holes dug six foot deep and covered in debris.
At the edge of the beach, nearing the woods was a trench dug nearly a mile long. It was deep enough for a person to stand in, and sure enough, Jasper found Throng at the far end pounding his shovel desperately into the dirt wall.
Forked and sharpened twigs riddled the ground behind the trench. They would act like caltrops and force anyone climbing out of the pit to think twice about where they put their hands and feet.
"How's the digging?" Jasper fully expected an exhausted sigh in response.
"Terrible! Can't we just make more of those spikey things?"
"The fences? Not without tearing apart the entire village for wood. Besides, I just wanted you to know a few different things. Now you can fix 'er up however you want, once I leave."
"You're going to leave!? What about that thing when it comes back? I mean I don't give a damn if it kills me, but the others need you."
"I'll fight it once more, then it will be a few months before both moons are in the sky again. I'm only human. I can't protect them by myself."
"What are you trying to say?"
"Have you ever been to the third floor? The war-room?"
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The war room was locked. So the mechanism was promptly blasted with a sawn off shotgun. The door swung open to a large circular room draped with family banners of all designs (both magnificent and crude) and lined with all manner of weapons. At the end of the room near the staircase was a small desk with the only soul in the room. The desk clerk was a striking blonde lady despite two left arms both pinned to the desk by a long nail. Solid black eyes looked up at them full of shiny specks of dust, "the strategy room is closed. All intellectuals are indisposed infinitely."
"Go get Crow."
"She's too far gone, Jasper."
"So is everyone else. Crow has a way with this stuff."
Throng left without another word, and the room dropped several degrees. Jasper took one last look at the trapped woman and climbed the dark staircase. Every step of the way she called out to him, "the strategy room is closed. The strategy room is closed."
The room was as large as downstairs, but not nearly as empty. A bench desk circled the walls, and a hexagonal table sat in the middle. Just enough room was between both for excessive amounts of pacing. None of the strategists were pacing, though. They all sat slumped around the table and walls with a pistol clutched in each of their hands.
Jasper pushed a button by one of the generals, causing tiny metallic bugs to float out of the sides of the table. They arrange themselves to make walls and prisms to reflect the light that shoots up from bulbs in the table. A final overhead blue light flickered continuously in an attempt to bathe all of the existing lines. In the flashes of light, blood could be seen on the table. All of the uniformed and armored men wore bullet holes uniformly in their skulls.
YOU ARE READING
Shadows of Elysium: The Laughing King
HorrorOnce upon a time there was a world, much like our own. This world is gone. The machinations and wars of man saw to every manner of apocalypse. What was left is a world as nightmarish as it is fantastical. Gunslingers and swordsmen ply the same trade...