Shadow's Sacrament

Chapter One: Reminisces

Shadow's Sacrament

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Mystery

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: "Quake" is a property owned by ID Software. I do not own any of these characters.

Chapter One: Reminisces

"I love to dream, but I never try to dream and think at the same time."

- H.P. Lovecraft

The road forward had been long, painful, and violent.

From the blood-soaked, rivet and sheet metal-covered floors of the Slipgate Complex, through the gore-drenched block masonry of the Castle of the Damned, the dark Romanesque halls of the Necropolis, the subterranean and water-filled Grisly Grotto, the Ranger had pushed onward despite the odds against him.

From the bubbling, molten hot realm of the Ziggurat Vertigo and House of Cthon, to the grim corridors of Gloom Keep, he slew his way through, killing anything and everything that dared block his path, including Cthon himself in all of his horrible glory.

Through the complex and labyrinthine Ebon Fortress, where he had traversed slime-filled moats, swam through dark, murky, disgusting shit-covered and pissed-filled waters, the marine kept his attention fixed on his goal of finding his target and getting home.

Through the Installation, the heavily fortified fortress of the Ogre Citadel, through the dark and decrepit castle that was the Crypt of Decay, he had fought legions of the Undead. And through the magma and trap-riddled Haunted Halls, Chambers of Torment and the dizzying tubes of the Wind Tunnels that had lifted him off his feet, the Ranger persevered, unrelenting in his pursuit.

Every step forward became lined with a trail of bodies in his wake, his path lined with viscera.

As he finished decapitating another Ogre, the Ranger tiredly pulled away and settled against a column, pinching the bridge of his nose in exhaustion. He had been fighting for so goddamned long, he just needed a moment to rest! Every part of him ached, protesting.

How am I still alive?

The Ranger shut his eyes and shook his head wearily, letting out a tired, derisive scoff. By all accounts, it had been a miracle that he had been able to survive for so long, and without infection. He'll probably need to get tetanus shots after this, but all things considered, he's lucky.

Then again, his entire life had been based on defying the odds.

What were the chances of a small kid from a poor family, with a single working-class mother in Arkham, becoming one of the top football players with a scholarship on the Fightin' Badgers Team at Miskatonic U? Granted, he wasn't good enough to turn pro, but it had been enough to make a geeky, awkward runt like him into something of a hometown hero. 

What were the chances of him, a scrawny kid, coming back from 'Nam a highly decorated soldier? 

Hell, even his own conception had been against all odds; before he had even been born, his own mother had been declared infertile, told by doctors that she wouldn't ever be able to have children of her own.