Flights of Fantasy - The Pub Fantasy Smackdowns

Virus Storm - Part 1

Authors Note: This story is for Round 2.4 of the Fantasy Smackdown. There were a choice of 8 sentences that had to start the story, I chose "The gravestones stood silently, row upon row like soldiers long forgotten". We also had to choose three of nine possible pictures. My choices are included alongside, one per part. This story had to come under the genre of Fantasy Science Fiction which includes elements of both genres and this one comes mainly under Sword and Planet style SF and F, although it could also be thought to include a little Dystopian and Post-Apocalyptic, as many stories of this ilk do. Hope you enjoy it. Cheers, Gav 

~

The gravestones stood silently, row upon row like soldiers long forgotten. Yet they marched to nowhere other than dank despair and the crumbling echoes of a forgotten past. Every single stone had an open pit in front of it where the bodies of the long dead interred had clawed their way to the surface to join their brethren in the vast wastes of the Burnt Lands.

Michael paused at the rusted iron gates of the graveyard. It had been some time since he'd last visited one of the megacities and the decaying, crumbling facades of long dead hopes left him miserable and forlorn. He dropped a hand to the hilt of his Stormblade for reassurance, the hilt responding instantly to his touch with an almost imperceptible whine of power. "Where the hell are you Tielo?" he muttered. In the following silence his ears caught a slight scuffle and the sword hilt vibrated in warning. He turned to face the inevitable, as one of the Claimed shuffled toward him on ruined feet, its virus ravaged body dripping skin over time dried sinew and bone, a few shreds of lank hair draping obscenely over the remnants of a patterned dress. The creature opened and shut its mouth in anticipation of the meal standing by the gates, teeth clattering together in staccato counterpoint to its dragging feet as it lurched toward him.

He drew the blade, purple fire flashing along its length as the Stormshield on his wrist flashed into existence. The whine of its mana borne power became a hum which muted briefly as the blade flashed through the creature's neck in a killing blow.

The Claimed sank to its knees and pitched forward, its headless corpse sprawling over white lines where nothing ever travelled.

"Nice to see you haven't lost your touch with the ladies Michael."

"I was beginning to wonder when you'd turn up little sis. Late for the party as usual..."

She smirked as she wandered out from the darkened doorway of a long collapsed shop. "I consider myself fashionably late, and certainly more fashionably attired than your date."

The two hugged for a long while in the centre of the street, his dark garb enveloping her slight form, clad as ever in its shimmering battlecloth, the mana enhanced armour morphing and changing her presence as it tried to blend her to invisibility.

"You think this is it?"

"Yes," she said simply. The only signal I picked up was yours which means the others are dead or powerless.

Michael shook his head in disbelief, and glanced at the sky. "I think we should find shelter before night comes to join us in play. I spotted the tracks of a Crawler earlier, it'll be attracted by our recently decapitated friend here."

"She's your friend not mine, but you should really learn to stop beheading potential love interests you know..."

~

The fire gave off little warmth, restricted as it was in an old bucket, but it was a sign of transient life in the otherwise void space of the dead city. Tielo carefully fed a few scraps of timber into it and sat back on her haunches warming her hands.

"So all we have left are the mana blades, each other, and the Vir,” she mused.

“And Olymor,” added Michael quietly.

“The Olymor is an ‘it’ that makes no sense. It’s a magic trick designed to confuse people and confound logic.

“That’s not what Alastair thought,” replied Michael.

Tielo paused and exhaled slowly, her hand shaking as she added another piece of wood to the fire. “Alastair was wrong, and I can only assume he’s dead. I’ve not seen or heard from him since…” she paused again and clasped her hands in her lap.

“…since he left for the Burnt Lands to the north,” finished Michael.

Her eyes flashed in anger. “Since he left me alone in the cities of the Southern lands.”

“He did what he thought was right, Tielo. Let’s not argue about this again.” He raised a placatory hand as she flushed and opened her mouth to speak. “I think the only course of action we have left is to follow his lead. Maybe we’ll find out something useful. Otherwise, all we’re doing is surviving until we die: that’s no life to lead. If we’re the last, let’s try and do something no-one will remember us for.” He grinned suddenly as she worked her way through his words, puzzlement giving way to a wry smile and a shake of her head.

“A blaze of glory Michael, really?”

“We get to take out a few Claimed along the way, maybe even a few Crawlers!”

“Oh yes,” she replied, sarcasm dripping from her voice in razors. “Maybe we could find a cure to the virus and take out the Lord of the Vir himself! Hello, is that Lord Strom, we’ve come to kill you and your minions, restore the mana balance and bring the Light back to the Burnt Lands. Sure, that’ll work, let’s go.”

“In the morning, eh sis? For now I suggest we get a good night’s sleep.”

Tielo looked on in open mouthed amazement as her brother rolled into his cloak, pillowing his head on one arm.

“Shades, you’re serious?” she breathed. “Michael, have you gone mad?”

“I’m as sane as the next man,” he muttered.

“There is no next man,” growled Tielo.

“Exactly. Keep an eye on that fire there’s a good girl, I’ll take the dawn watch.”

End of Part 1