Secret War: The Annihilation Plague (Part 2)

Chapter 30

 Attelus elected to follow the main corridor, as above, plenty of alcoves and shadows seemed to consume the light. He ignored the doors in the walls for now. It was labyrinthine, with a few turns here and there. And turn-offs, but all of them were only a few metres down before ending at another door.

There were too many damned doors, frig it. During this time, Faleaseen had withdrawn; she'd needed to rest after such an extended exertion, but she'd been hesitant to leave him alone.

It was a while before he stopped as another thought occurred to him. Why the hell was he following Enandra and the others down here? He supposed he wanted to make sure they were okay, but surely they would be long gone by now? Especially with his newfound old-man speed. Assuming they weren't overwhelmed and consumed by the horde, of course. Attelus didn't see them among the walls of corpses, but they could've been hidden underneath the piles, and he had hardly tried to search for them. He could just try to leave outside and walk the road back to civilisation.

That consideration actually made Attelus feel sick, and he didn't know why. Perhaps he could...

Attelus reached for his microbead, but of course, it wasn't there. He had probably eaten along with him, but Enandra had perhaps sent word of his betrayal after his escape. So, his brief time as a Throne Agent was likely over. How the hell he was going to find and stop Etuarq now was beyond him.

Yet again, Attelus sighed and began toward the next turn. He wished his damn body would finally work better, frig it. When he finally made it around the corner, he froze at what he had found.

Another staircase led a few metres down to a wide downward stairwell but lying in front of it. Scattered and shattered were corpses.

'Shit!' Attelus cried and began limping down the stairs and fighting hard to keep himself from falling. As he approached, the despair consumed him more and more. It was them, all of them, Enandra! Soloston! Goruan! The Palantine! Hadrel! Frigging all of them.

'No, no, no, no!' Attelus yelled as he fell to his knees into the pooling blood. His wide eyes shot around them, trying to find some sign of life in the tragedy.

But of course, there was none.

Then, through the haze in his head and the despair, Attelus began to comprehend-

It was then that the armoured arm wrapped around his neck, and the punch crashed against the base of his spine.

Attelus uttered a muffled cry, and several more blows smashed against it. Not even Wraithbone could withstand such repeated brute force, and his spine broke. Almost instantly, Attelus' legs went limp. The arm let go, allowing him to fall to his side. Attelus groaned and gasped with agony as his body convulsed on the stone floor. Bile flooded his mouth and seemed to sear his throat, followed by vomit, which blasted from his lips and mingled with the blood of his once allies and friends.

The shadows around Attelus bulged and warped, then revealed Serghar Kaltos with two masked cronies on his flanks. Attelus knew the tall, short swordsman and the curved swordsman from Sarkeath. Both he was sure were the supposedly dead Rodylle and Feuilt.

Serghar looked down at Attelus; the smugness on his face was like nothing Attelus had ever witnessed.

'Hello there, my son,' he said. 'Yet again, your foolish sentimentality has made you frig up.'

Attelus wanted to roar; he wanted to launch himself at the bastard and tear him apart with his bare hand! But all he could do was growl like an animal and treat Serghar with his most withering glare.

Serghar just glanced at the curved swordsman, then the short swordsman. He then kicked Attelus in the guts.

Utter agony became Attelus' world, and he blacked out.