Fallout: Fury Blood

Chapter 88: A Woman, A Wanderer, A Weapon

*WARNING*
Graphic depictions of violence and gore

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A chilling klaxon of warhorns broke the air. Blood and bone were clashing, the sight followed keenly by the eyes of a predator, provoking a deep desire.

Dark Bloods and Red Claws. Fang and claw. Tooth and nail.

Kelly waited, primed in the sands on the outskirts of the Red Claw encampment as the invading force rushed in like a tidal wave of greasy madness. Screams and roars bled up into the sun with the flames, pleading and inciting in equal fervor. In less than ten seconds, the camp was heaving with gore.

Kelly moved. Sidearm in hand, blade ripped free in the other, she charged in under the fog of war. The territorial stakes sanctioned her entry without complaint, bristling as she squeezed through laterally and used that momentum to shoulder-fire off her first rounds in tight, vicious succession.

Three Dark Bloods dropped. The Red Claw saved from a group rape paddled backward in her shock, lunging for the nearest weapon in the sand to bear on the mysterious stranger. But Kelly was gone by the time the woman readied a bow, her arrow instead plunging into the next raider to dare it.

The rich reek of blood soared up Kelly's nostrils as her blade freed it from veins to unleash across her skin, eyes lancing through the hot hail, tongue tasting it on cracked lips. It quenched a thirst. She dashed through anything in her path of wild destruction, raiders bearing both sigils heeding her a rogue element. But the Dark Bloods were in her fatal focus, their primate weapons falling short of the mark when she switched out for her combat rifle and snatched up kills in neat throngs, resorting to her machete when monsters came too close for comfort.

The abstruse blade cut through the mobs with ease, splitting throats and impaling guts to spill on bare feet. Even in the hands of it's wounded mistress, it soared, lending her an occult edge that touched the superstition of her foes.

With a break in the melee, Kelly swung her rifle back over her shoulder and unlatched her handgun again, hurrying for cover in the nearest canvas shelter. The muted darkness was a welcome relief from the blare of sun and battle. Her eyes adapted within a blink, sliding down the rough ten metres of the canvas to fix on the archer at the far end, perched low between the opening flaps to send off his arrows. His war raiments were of a thick leathery hide, dipped in red dye and festooned with bone baubles and hunting trophies. Kelly released a shallow breath and stood prone, unable to place him as a Red Claw or Dark Blood.

Upon loosing an arrow into battle, he sensed her, his head twitching back for an eye to glimpse her shadow through the narrow slit in his helmet.

Had he simply sensed her presence, or the mad thunder she carried in her shadow?

He spun on a knee, arm a blur as he notched another arrow, taking aim and flinging it free. Coiled, Kelly ducked the shot, feeling it's wind brush the crown of her head before she straightened and lifted her aim at his centre mass, smacking bullets into his chest. The dull echo of reinforced leather, and she knew his armor had blunted her fire.

As he staggered back from the force, Kelly grimaced and rushed him, evading another quick-fire arrow, blasting off two more rounds for his helmet to keep him suppressed. One missed, punching through the tent flap where a shot of light poured back in, the other skimmed his metal helm and kept him reeling. Her machete crashed down on him with a stunted yell, chiming with his metal gauntlet in a last second defence.