FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 18: Going Down the Fast Way.

The area would be safe enough. Tucked behind the impromptu shelter of a boulder and with the storm raging around them, Brian could finally give his stricken friend the attention she needed. Krystal's still form was propped against the unyielding rock, blood flowing from a ragged hole in her left shoulder. The wound was small, about the diameter of a pencil, but its placement was serious.

He was no doctor, but his mother was an ER nurse at St. Vincent and he had gone through the requisite courses on combat first aid during boot. A high-velocity rifle round like the 5.45x39mm he was certain she was shot with tended to deal two distinct types of damage. Tissue damage and shattered bones from the bullet's path through the body was only one danger. A temporary cavity dealt by the energy dump of the round was another; considering the closeness of the wound to her heart that was a serious concern.

Getting her bleeding under control was his first priority. The Marine opened a small pouch at his side, grateful at whoever was in charge of their personal equipment loadout having the foresight of actually providing the materials that would save her life. His cold-numbed hands grabbed two packets of quick-clot. They were gauze pads which were coated in an enzyme which promoted coagulation; the packets were proven to stop blood loss from massive wounds. The USMC had been including them as part of their standard combat first aid kit for the past several months; the decision to do so had saved more than a few lives.

He pressed a patch against the front of her shoulder, noting with a tiny bit of relief that the bullet passed through her body cleanly. Another patch on the exit wound stemmed off the bleeding, helped by a generous wrapping of bandages and a makeshift sling for her arm. Afterwards he checked her pulse; he wasn't sure what was normal for her species but at least her heart was beating. It was slow, but that was to be expected considering her unconsciousness. The Marine also held his ear up to her lips, checking her breathing. It was labored, but she was alive.

There wasn't much more he could do for her. The Marine glanced up to the snow-filled sky and took a deep breath of frozen air, wincing as his ribcage protested his actions. The enemy forces they had been ambushed by were far more effective than the Sharpclaw they had been wading through. They had the advantage of numbers and possibly weapons, and they used sound tactics. If he had a full squad behind him there wouldn't be much of a contest, but with Krystal out of the fight there wasn't much he could do. There was no telling how many they were up against, or if they had reinforcements. The thought was sobering, but he would have to get this Spellstone thing himself then figure out exactly how to punch through back to their ship.

They had pretty much laughed at his M16, but the Marine had a possible equalizer up his sleeve. He unloaded the standard-issue rifle, popping out the pins that held the upper receiver to the lower. The broken-down weapon fit fairly well in his pack, albeit with the rifle's barrel sticking out of it like a radio antenna. He followed suit with Krystal's M4. The partially field-stripped rifles didn't weigh any less that way, but the reduction in bulk would make it easier to carry her to safety. Afterwards he attached his tactical sling to his M14, popping out its magazine and replacing it with what he hoped to be his ace in the hole.

As the squad designated marksman, he made sure to carry along an added surprise just in case they came across insurgents wearing body armor or protected by light vehicles. The two magazines of black-tipped armor-piercers weren't nearly as accurate as the match ammunition he normally carried, but the AP rounds would be better medicine against the AK-toting badasses. He removed the rifle's scope, a variable-power Unertl he had purchased while on leave, and slid it into its carrying case. He would need iron sights for working up close.

Letting the rifle dangle from its sling, he stooped over to pick up Krystal. Only then did he notice the bloodstains all over his armor and her flightsuit. If he had a chance he'd make them pay for hurting her, though his first priority right now was survival. He slid the unconscious Cerinian over his shoulders and headed back out into the snowstorm.

---

A dim glow filled her senses, pushing beyond the dull sensation of pain and the numbing cold that had spread throughout her body. Was she dead? Was she dying? Krystal's questions went unanswered as she simply floated. There was no perception of time passing, only the glow which rapidly got brighter.

As if someone had flipped a switch her senses returned to her. Panic filled her mind as she tried to move her arms and legs, stiff metal bands binding her limbs to a cold stone slab beneath her. What was going on? Why was she here? Another, more confusing thought crossed her mind. Where was her mother, her father?

"Please! Let me go!" Her voice cried out of its own accord in her native Cerinian, yet it sounded much younger, much higher-pitched than she remembered. Another involuntary action was taken, her head rising from the table to glance around. There wasn't much to see other than stone columns flickering in the dim torchlight; the bluish-gray hue suggesting she was in one of the High Temples. That wasn't possible.

Her body wasn't her own; replaced with that of a child. Devoid of any of the markings on her arms denoting her position as a Guardian, she was dressed in the same expensive, flowing sage green robes she commonly wore as a young kit. A realization crossed her mind. 'This is a memory from my childhood! My father would never have stood for this!'

"Is the collection jewel ready?" A voice stopped her thoughts for a moment as its speaker, another Cerinian dressed in the ornately decorated robes of an Elder, entered her peripheral vision. He cast a glance at the bound vixen, casting a soft frown at her. "Do not be afraid, little one. You will not remember any of this." His words didn't inspire confidence, and instead Krystal's involuntary struggles against her bonds continued.

"It is, my Elder." A feminine voice answered, its owner instantly recognized. High Priestess Generia, one of her family's most trusted advisors. She had something to do with this? "Has this ever been attempted on one so young?"

"No." the Elder reached for something out of her line of sight, his hands returning with a kokli ball-sized prism filled with an ethereal orange glow. She immediately shrunk from the object, a wave of fear and revulsion filling her heart. "I say this with a heavy heart, but the Beacon must be maintained and the cause of death of its previous Vessel must be determined."

"This is the first I've heard of this Beacon." Generia growled. "This child is a Potential for the Grand Council. The Elders cannot simply use her as a plaything! Your will must be followed, but I demand an explanation!"

"You are not in the position to demand anything, Priestess." The Elder sighed and shook his head. "However, you must ensure the protection of this child no matter what happens. Only a Channeler can access the powers of the Beacon. She will serve as a conduit if the need ever arises; a living connection to the Prime World."

"That is simply a myth!" the Priestess retaliated. "There is no evidence to indicate the Prime World even exists, let alone a way to..."

"We have visited the Prime World hundreds of years ago, Priestess." The Elder set the prism next to Krystal's face, her only reaction to recoil from it as far as her bonds allowed, which wasn't very far. A lingering, alien presence seemed to curl at the tendrils of her thoughts, tearing her concentration from the Elder's voice. It didn't stop until he moved the device away, his words fading back into her consciousness. "...haven for our kind in case of a disaster."

"And the Haleths agreed to this?" There was a hint of resignation in her voice.

"There was no choice in the matter, Priestess." The Elder reached over and grasped Krystal's muzzle, turning her head towards him as he continued. "The Beacon cannot be contained outside of a Channeler for more than a few days, and she was the closest to Narten when he was killed." His other hand was holding a glass vial full of a viscous liquid, lifting it to her lips. When she struggled to shut her mouth the Elder responded, prying her muzzle open with strong fingers. Before she had a chance to resist the foul-tasting, syrupy substance washed over her tongue.

Those same fingers clamped her muzzle shut before she could spit it back at him, the concoction burning her throat as she was forced to swallow the liquid. Almost immediately her head swam and her body felt heavy; an experience which evoked fear in both the child experiencing the brutal memory and the adult Guardian which had undergone a very similar experience with the stasis pod a few days before. Her head fell back against the stone slab she was bound to, helpless against what happened next.

The Elder once again wielded the ethereal prism, its energies returning to drown out her mind. The glow consumed her vision as the Elder drove the object into her heart. The last thing Krystal felt was a freezing pain spread into her chest; the last thing she heard was her young voice screaming in agony.

______________________

The blizzard conditions tapered off after an indeterminable amount of time. The cold had numbed Brian to the bone, but he had kept on going. There was no choice but to press on. He was tired, hungry, beset with a stabbing pain in his ribs if he even took a deep breath, and carrying an unconscious vixen was taking its toll. As long as he put more distance between them and their new enemies they would be relatively safe, or so he hoped.

The path ended at another one of those impossibly tall rock walls, a series of boards over the mouth of a small tunnel blocking any further progress. He wasted no time, setting his wounded friend down and gingerly propping her against the granite backdrop before smashing the planks in with his boot. They eventually yielded under his assault, yet at the cost of alerting the tunnel's occupants.

The two Sharpclaw within were already making their way towards the Marine, wielding nasty-looking maces. Brian didn't back down, his hand snatching Krystal's M9 from his waistband. The Beretta cracked several times, driving the angry Saurians to the ground in a hail of gunfire. He cursed under his breath; if the Lylatians who were after them were within earshot he just rang the dinner bell. The Marine scooped up his fallen friend and pressed on, making his way into the short tunnel and stepping over the bodies of the Sharpclaw he had just shot.

The tunnel opened up into a small cavern, one half containing a few sleeping bags and a roaring fire. Apparently he had just invaded a guard outpost. The fire was a welcome addition, and it was prudent to check on Krystal's welfare while he warmed up a bit. He slid the unconscious vixen onto one of the sleeping bags, placing a hand on the side of her neck to check her pulse. It had steadied since last time, and her breathing had also become more regular. She was doing about as well as could be expected.

The reprieve was short-lived. The harsh whine of some sort of electrical motor echoed into the tunnel, causing the Marine to glance up. His blood ran cold as he beheld the obsidian object hovering a mere foot off the ground; its appearance was that of a saucer-shaped disk about two feet in diameter, supporting a very nasty-looking tower festooned with a few nastier-looking protrusions which were obviously weapons. One of them crackled with sparks of electricity as it advanced towards him.

"Jesus!" the Marine spat, jumping up to his feet. The protrusion shot out at him, narrowly missing his arm; the sickening tingle of an electric shock still managing to pulse through his nervous system. Instinctively he kicked out at the device with all the strength he could muster; other than a hollow bong there was no discernible effect.

The hovering object went in for the kill, the crackling probe scraping across the Marine's side. Even through his armor the pain was enough to drop him to the ground, a shout escaping his lips as he tried to evade the artificial attacker. Despite the agony coursing through his body his hands filled themselves with his pistols; there was no room to bring his rifle to bear. Firing a pistol in each hand wasn't usually an effective tactic, but he had no choice.

Before the device struck back, he fired. The Beretta and Colt roared into the enclosed space, creating a deafening cacophony of gunfire as he emptied the magazines into the hovering menace. Most of his hits were solid ones, smashing dents into its glistening black shell and forcing the machine back far enough to give Brian a reprieve.

He used that moment to drop the empty handguns and switch to his rifle. With precious few AP rounds he had to make his hits count. The M14 snapped into his shoulder as he fired several times, the machine emitting a harsh whine as it collided with the floor. After a tense moment he was pretty sure it was destroyed, but that meant the bastards were already after them. After replacing the magazines on both his pistols he picked Krystal back up, uttering a quick prayer of thanks she hadn't been harmed.

"Damn robots." As he passed the destroyed construct a strange thought came to mind. When he was a teenager he spent much of his free time playing computer games in his dad's office; mostly the gory shooters his old man kept buying despite his mom's protests. One of them was called Rise of the Triad; among its more nasty foes were robots that took an incredible amount of punishment to bring down. One of them was called the NME; an apt name for the damn thing that had just zapped him.

The tired, angry Marine tread further into the cavern, a groan uttered to the cold, still air at what awaited him. "You have got to be fucking kidding." In lieu of an entrance to the mine complex, a solitary hoverbike sat pointed at the exit to what looked to be the exact same channel they spotted before being ambushed by the armored, AK-toting assholes. The channel was currently being used to deliver large boulders to God knew where.

Brian had to somehow figure out how to keep Krystal's unconscious form on the bike, which didn't seem possible. He wasn't going to leave her behind for those bastards, but this wasn't the place to get involved in a firefight. Frankly, he was hoping he could lead them into some Sharpclaw and let them at each other. Even if the club-wielding Saurians would get their asses kicked, it would distract them long enough to get some good shots in.

An idea came to mind. The notion was desperate and crazy, but it was all he had. As gently as he could he set his friend down on the seat, trying to ensure some measure of comfort. Afterwards he slipped his pack off his back, adjusting its shoulder straps as far as they would go before slipping it onto her. Finally he slid onto the hoverbike's seat, squeezing into the straps himself. It was an incredibly tight fit yet the backpack served to secure the unconscious Cerinian to his body as best he could. Her head fell on his shoulder, the faint sound of her drawing breath ensuring him she was still alive. "Sorry for doing this, but it's the only way."

The bike worked in the exact same manner as the one he used on that mountain; he punched the throttle and it took off with enough power to equal the crotch rockets some of his squadmates had back in San Diego. The backpack trick kept Krystal tucked against him as he powered the vehicle out of the tunnel and into the culvert. The bike's speedometer steadily climbed, the wind buffeting his face causing him to squint his eyes to see.

He whipped the bike past a careening boulder, the Marine's white-knuckle grip barely keeping it in control. Within seconds the bridge they had crossed earlier came into view, his gaze spotting one of the armored figures standing atop it. The enemy combatant tried to snap their AK clone to their shoulder but the bike was far too fast; by the time the merc had tried to get a decent sight picture the bike had already screamed under the bridge at full throttle.

"Fuck!" Brian hissed into the wind as he coaxed as much speed out of the bike as he could. They had been spotted. The hoverbike's engines whined and rumbled beneath him as the vehicle shot into another, much larger tunnel. The wooden supports zipping by like fenceposts convinced him they were finally in the mine complex itself. The tunnel zig-zagged randomly, Brian giving the bike as much juice as he dared as he sped through the complex. They needed to get as much distance between them and the armored badasses as possible.

The tunnel ended after a blind corner, culminating on some sort of walkway over a small cavern filled with machinery. He stomped on the brakes but was far too late; the bike slammed into the walkway's rail at significant speed. With the combined weight of Krystal and their gear he was pitched from the bike, a short fall broken by a rumbling conveyor belt underneath.

"Oh, shit!" His cry was prompted by the flaming jets shooting across the conveyor belt only several feet away. That was something they wouldn't survive. The Marine reached out and grabbed a support rail at the edge of the belt, struggling to pull himself off of the deathtrap. He collapsed in a heap, Krystal's forehead smacking into the side of his face as he did so. Suppressing a cry of pain his battered body struggled to get to its feet, sliding out of the backpack as he did so.

The universe was out to get him that day. Two Sharpclaw had heard the accident and were rushing towards him, mace and halberd ready to eviscerate the young soldier where he stood. There was no time to draw a pistol and shoot, so he had to opt for his rifle. The wood furniture of his M14 was brought up to block the incoming mace, the weapon leaving a couple of gouges in its wooden stock. Brian lined up his combat boot and slammed it into the Sharpclaw's crotch, hoping the Saurian had that particular weak spot.

By the lizardman's screech of pain and its next action of collapsing into a ball on the ground, he had been right. The Sharpclaw's buddy tried for a clumsy stab at Brian's chest, which was sidestepped as he slammed the rifle's stock into his muzzle. The heavy weapon made for a decent club if push came to shove, which was punctuated by the sound of bones cracking and the thump the Saurian made as he joined his slightly more fortunate buddy on the floor.

He was tempted to leave them there, but with Krystal defenseless he couldn't take any chances. He let the M14 dangle on its sling and pulled out the Beretta, giving both Sharpclaw a coup de grace shot. A wave of revulsion rippled through him after he shoved the pistol back into his belt. He had killed before. Taliban fighters, Iraqi insurgents and Sharpclaw had fallen before him, but killing in cold blood like that gave him the creeps. A voice in his mind rationalized it as survival, but he had to force it aside.

Brian returned to Krystal's side, checking the vixen over more thoroughly than he had been able to before. His bandage job was holding and her vials were stable; quite surprising considering the hell he had just dragged her through. Frankly, he felt bad for having to do this to her; she was a friend and ally, not a sack of potatoes. With a sigh he readjusted his backpack and slid it back on, picking her up afterwards. He would find a way to make this up to her, somehow.

Her vision cleared up once more, yet the fuzziness gave a dreamlike quality to the whole scene. Sunlight filtered in through the leaves of trees; not the spindly ones which grew on Sauria but the substantial, towering giants of the forests of Cerinia. A pang of homesickness stabbed into her heart at the sight, yet she was drawn to it like a moth to flame.

Emotions of contentment and happiness filled her mind as sensations of another body which was not hers took over her senses. As her vision moved lower she was once again reminded of the fact she was but an observer in someone else's body, just like the ordeal she had gone through with what may or may not have been her younger self. This was all confusing.

A flush of embarrassment came when she saw the scene; the flat, white and blue-patterned fur of a male's bare chest greeted her sight. She was in the mind of a male Cerinian for some reason, and the warm, comforting presence tucked in beside him was no longer being ignored. Lips caressed her neck, the sensations so vivid and confusing it gave her chills.

The vision moved lower and to the left, a small, white star-shaped pattern embedded right over the man's heart. That was intimately familiar; unbeknownst to anyone except her parents she had an identical marking. What did it mean? Was she sharing someone's memories?

"What bothers you, Narten?" A female's voice, low and hushed, spoke directly into her ear. "You leave for your Trials in three days; afterwards we won't have to hide anymore." Her involuntary gaze fell on the female tucked in beside him; the lack of any clothing on either of them was very telling as to what had been going on. The embarrassment skyrocketed as the strange sensations tried to flood her thoughts. Krystal tried to force herself out of this stranger's mind yet to no avail; it was like she was trapped there.

"The dreams, Vianna." The voice she felt herself speaking was unquestionably male, yet it was as if it was her own at the same time. "They've returned. The strange monkey-men, the pain, suffering, war... I don't even know if it is real or not." She turned towards the sky, giving a sigh as she did so. "I'm afraid to tell anyone, lest they think I have gone mad and will bar me from becoming a Guardian.

This definitely wasn't herself. She was already a Guardian. Likely the last one to ever serve Cerinia. Yet, the emotions of fear and doubt circled around her heart, even though on some level she understood they weren't hers. The conflict continued as the other vixen placed a hand on her muzzle, guiding it to her lips. The kiss was fierce and passionate, even as Krystal's embarrassment flooded her unconscious mind. She was witnessing far more of this man's life than she wanted to. The vixen's arms around her, guiding her closer as the kiss ended.

"You are not going mad, my love. I don't feel it within you." Vianna continued, nuzzling against her neck once more. "We still have more time before you leave, and I promise to do anything I can to ensure you will pass your Trials."

"Anything?" Her/his voice answered, yet the far more embarrassing request that crossed Krystal's thoughts went unspoken. Her head exploded with pain, her vision bursting into a white light that caused her to scream uncontrollably. A dull roar echoed all around them, Vianna's terrified voice calling unintelligibly into her ear.

Then as abruptly as it came it vanished. They were not alone. As the man whose body she inhabited struggled to his feet, grabbing the training staff which was resting next to him, a circle nearly a hundred meters in diameter had been burned into the ground. Trees had simply been reduced to twisted, charred stumps; the grass had been burned neatly to the topsoil.

Two figures stood several meters away, one of which was dressed in a strange white coat and light-colored pants. The other was dressed in an odd, dark green uniform under which a blue and white-striped shirt rested. The thoughts from the mind she was inside differed greatly from her own, finally separating the two distinct consciousnesses of Narten and Krystal.

To Narten, the figures were that of the warlike monkey-men which had plagued his dreams. They stood somewhat taller than the Cerinians they had appeared next to. The outsiders were devoid of fur except for the sparse, coarse amount which sprouted on the top of their heads, fair, yet weathered skin covered their entire bodies. They had no tails and the ears which they had were ugly flaps of skin grafted to their heads. One was armed with an odd-looking, bulky staff of sorts; wooden bits were crafted onto it as well as a strange handgrip. The Guardian Potential had heard of the strange 'blasters' the Lylatians who visited the large cities used for protection; was that one of them?

Krystal understood what they were. They were others of Brian's race, yet how? Why? What did this have to do with her? They looked significantly older than her friend, yet the object in the hands of the one with the green dress was also sickeningly familiar. The human was wielding an identical rifle to the one she had been shot with earlier, causing an onholy chill to shoot down her back.

"Who are you?" Narten's voice demanded, brandishing the staff. "Why are you here? As a Guardian-potential, I demand you answer me!" The response from the men he accosted, however, was likewise suspicious. The armed man instantly tucked his rifle into his shoulder, shouting in a thick, guttural language which neither Cerinian could interpret. "Lower your weapon, now!"

As the Guardian trainee shook his weapon in the air, Krystal could feel a sense of alarm from the human wielding the rifle. The man reacted as if his reflexes were made of lightning; his weapon spat fire and roared thunder into the still, calm air. Krystal once again felt like she had been punched; only this time as she fell back onto the ground numbness took over. Her vision started to fade to black and the screaming of the other vixen softened.

Was this what it was like to die?

She awoke with a panicked gasp, the numbness of her unconscious dream replaced with excruciating pain. Her entire left side felt as if it had been burned from the inside out; being doubled over on something hard and unyielding wasn't helping matters any. Her head ached as if she had hit it on something, and even though she was now conscious a drained, groggy sensation gripped her senses.

"Krystal?" Brian's voice called out from behind her, though her foggy perception had become aware enough that she was being carried through a roughly-hewn rock tunnel of some sort. He stopped abruptly, carefully sliding her off the side of his shoulder. Even through the pain and her confused, addled senses she could feel the deep level of concern he had for her plight. "You alright?"

She shook her head, choking out a reply as much as her pain-wracked body could allow. "No... hurts. What happened?" Her hand brushed against her staff, noticing that her rifle and pistol were missing. The staff pulsed slightly, a warning that its power reserves had been completely drained.

"You went to engage one of those assholes that ambushed us and wound up getting hit." Brian frowned slightly as she stumbled somewhat, almost losing her footing. In response he gently took her good arm and wound it around his shoulders. "You lost a lot of blood and I regret I don't have anything for the pain." As he spoke he moved forward, helping her along as best he could. "We need to move quickly. They've already sent two NMEs after us."

"Enemies?" That confused her even more. "Aren't they already enemies?" The events she experienced while unconscious swam through her head, yet there wasn't any time to explain it to him.

"Acronym. N. M. E. Nasty Metallic Enforcers. They're killer robots, whatever the hell they are. Decided to name them after... nevermind." The Marine sighed as they pushed forward. "What bugs me is that both of them decided to use some sort of stun gun on me, despite having enough firepower to level a building. Tough bastards, too. One jumped me before I got you into the mines and the other tried to get us as I was freeing one of the Snowhorns locked up here. They caused a cave in and buried it under several tons of rock."

"They might be trying to capture you, but why?" Krystal mused. Thinking of their current situation forced her mind off the disturbing visions and could help them fight the Lylatian mercs who were tracking them. "They're out to kill me, so it doesn't make sense."

"I don't know how many of them we're up against, but I killed at least one of them. Maybe three if we're lucky. The one I confirmed wasn't wearing any armor, and my frag could have taken out the SAW gunner and the one who shot you." He was about to continue yet was abruptly stopped by Krystal squeezing him as tightly as she could with only one arm.

"The one who shot me... she killed my mother." It took all her willpower to keep her voice from breaking. While a Guardian wasn't supposed to think of such petty concepts as revenge it didn't stop her from being thankful Brian had at least repaid them some of the pain she felt.

"Jesus." The Marine spat, his voice growling as he carried on. "I'm going to make these bastards pay. If they're what's standing between us and getting out of this fucking place, I'm going to dust every last one of them." He had no obligations against considering revenge. They had both taken a bullet and the NMEs the bastards sent after him seemed to suggest they wanted him alive and her dead. It didn't matter to him that they had Kalashnikovs and killer robots. Payback was going to be a bitch.

The tunnel reached its endpoint, merging into a circular ramp which wound down into a large storage area of some kind. Krystal was about to reply to Brian yet the presence of a light-colored Snowhorn stopped her. "I know you can't understand me, but I'm glad you made it. Your Cerinian friend looks better, also."

"I speak your language." The vixen replied. "Who are you, and what is going on here?" Using Brian as a crutch she slowly made her way to the Snowhorn, a curious expression on her features.

"I am Belina Te, daughter of Garunda Te, the Gatekeeper for the Snowhorn Tribe." She turned her attention to Krystal, giving a slight frown at her condition. "You have suffered much coming here, but I must thank you and your friend for your aid. He freed me from the prison cell the Sharpclaw forced me into."

Krystal wasn't sure if she should tell her what her father had mentioned, that he considered her giving up the Spellstone's location to the Sharpclaw a betrayal. Yet she could at least explain why they were here. "We are here for the Spellstone, Belina. Do you know where it is?"

Brian stood there for a moment, witnessing the exchange between Krystal and the Snowhorn he had sprung from the lizards' prison. He couldn't speak their language, but his companion's frightened tone gave away the fact she had come into some information she didn't want to hear. After they finished he turned to her, confusion and concern apparent on his face. "What's going on?"

"Belina told me where the Spellstone is." She took a deep breath and tilted her head towards the only exit out of the chamber; a short tunnel leading into what he could see was a massive cavern beyond. "It's being guarded by a legendary beast called the Galdon. Even the Sharpclaw are afraid to come near it. We will have to defeat it in order to obtain the Spellstone."

"This gets better and better, doesn't it?" Brian quipped. "We've got some beast thing ahead of us and a force of pissed off, AK-toting killers behind us. Being caught between a rock and a hard place sounds pretty apt to me."

"We've made it this far, Brian." Krystal leaned in somewhat closer, trying to push the pain from her mind. "Furthermore, we've made it together. We can do this. We're still alive." Offering a tired sigh to the air, she settled her head upon his shoulder. "How can we get past this?"

The Marine offered no resistance to her actions, his mental resolve wavering due to the twin forces of exhaustion and pain. "We ambush their sorry asses like they did us. Set up a position where their weapons aren't as effective as ours are." His thoughts were conflicted. Despite what he told her earlier Krystal's presence was comforting. Her cautious optimism and willingness to help those in need reminded him of the ideals he had lost. "I'm going to make damn well sure we have the upper hand this time."

The two took a longer look into the cavern they were about to enter, an understanding sigh echoing from their lips as they took the lay of the land. Several open pits of magma dotted the floor of the cavern, casting an orange glow over the whole area. The heat could easily be seen, manifesting itself as a thick, hazy mirage everywhere they looked. Even from the distance the thick scent of sulfur and soot was barely tolerable. "It's not safe in there." Brian admitted. "It's pretty much like that lava pit we had to park your ship at. It's not as dangerous as that, but it's not far from it either. Plus, those giant mushrooms over there don't exactly look groovy."

The vixen lifted her head from his shoulder enough to give her human ally a quizzical glance. Her senses were far from recovered, most of her concentration given to fighting the burning pain coming from her shoulder. She decided to ask him. "We'll be using the breathing gear again?" As she said that she offered a pained grimace; to say it was not a pleasant day would have been a major understatement.

"Afraid so." The Marine huffed, reaching for the pouch holding his gas mask. "Makes me wonder how the hell these Snowhorn tolerate it here." For the second time he removed his helmet and slipped his mask on, motioning for Krystal to do the same. That took a moment; the fact she was down to one usable arm made getting her own mask on significantly more difficult. Brian helped her as best he could, adjusting the straps that held the device to her face.

The two then emerged into the massive cavern system, only then realizing its full scope. The roof stretched at least four hundred feet overhead, supported by several pillars of stone nearly four meters in diameter. A network of catwalks connected them; it was hard to determine how heavily defended they were but Sharpclaw were seen milling around.

"Guess it's time to earn our keep." Brian mused, popping the magazine of armor-piercing rounds out of his M14, racking the bolt to reclaim the round in the chamber. After putting the nearly empty mag back into its pouch, he opted for his usual match load. "Before we do this I need to know how you're feeling."

Between the thick mask over her muzzle and the pain of her wounds, she had to struggle to speak loud enough to be heard. "I'm in great pain, Brian. I feel a little cold and shaky, and it might be best if I stuck as close to you as I can. I'm sorry. I'm starting to feel like a burden." She silently chided herself for the outburst of anger that led to her current state. She should have been more careful. Instead, she let her rage get the better of her and it nearly killed her.

"Quit it." Brian's muffled words cut the toxic air like a knife. "You're not being a burden. We've got a mission to complete and you're pulling your weight just fine. You're still in this fight even after taking a bullet. Wanna know a secret?" His eyes fell to hers. Despite the bulk of the mask hiding her features, the expectant look in her emerald eyes gave him her answer. "Back when I was in Afghanistan, we had this machine gunner. Corporal Weir, I think his name was. Tough as nails. He was the one pushing everyone to be hard, to quit complaining and man up about everything. 'Just a scratch, suck it up and take it like a man,' he'd always say. Basically, six foot three and two hundred fifty pounds of macho right there."

"We got ambushed on a patrol. Taliban fighters had us dead to rights. We got air support to hit them hard, but not before Weir took a round. He fell to the ground screaming like he got his leg blown off. Dude was crying like a baby until we got him on the medivac chopper." He couldn't hold a straight face as he finished the story, the words rolling out in a laugh. "He got hit in the ass. Big tough guy like him blubbering like a kid with a scraped knee. He never lived it down. I hope the unit he got transferred to never catches wind of that tale."

That was enough to elicit a giggle from the wounded vixen. Her spirits needed a boost. "Really. You're still walking around like this, Krystal. You've got more stones than most Marines I know. You're doing just fine. Just keep a hold of me and follow my lead. Once we get out of here, we'll figure out a way to fix you up. Scout's honor."

"Were you ever a scout?" Her reply barely reached his ears. In Cerinian society, a scout was one who stayed ahead of the nomadic trade caravans, keeping eyes, ears, and senses open for bandits or dangerous wildlife. Brian somewhat fit that mold; his experience as a soldier would have made him a decent one.

"Only for a couple years when I was a kid. Still have a couple of my merit badges back home, though." She cast a confused glance at her friend yet decided not to press further; they needed to move forward. At least there was no sign of this Galdon beast. That would make their fight much easier. As Brian started to move forward she kept her hand on his shoulder to support her shaking, exhausted, battered body. This allowed him to keep his hands free, which balanced the wood-furnished rifle he had decided to use. She idly wondered why he had put the others away, and why he decided to rely on the older-looking, bulky weapon.

There was good reason for that, fueled by stories his uncle told him years ago about fighting in the jungles of Vietnam. He had stubbornly clung to the older M14 when the Army passed out the then-new M16; his praises for the weapon caused Brian to pick one up as soon as he found a suitable one. Usually the role of a designated marksman didn't fall on the squad's NCO, but he preferred the heavier firepower and long range accuracy.

The M14 suited the open, vast terrain of the cavern perfectly. Two Sharpclaw stood guard at the edge of a ramp winding up one of the vast pillars a fair distance away. A quick estimate in his head gave him a rough estimate of about a hundred yards, give or take. The two Saurians were staring at them, patting their clubs and simply daring them to come closer. Brian didn't need to.

The Marine swung the sights onto the closest Sharpclaw and stroked the trigger. The sharp report startled Krystal, who nearly jumped at the gunshot. Fractions of a second later his aim shifted slightly and the big rifle bellowed out another report. The two Sharpclaw crumpled to the ground, giving them an opening. "We've gotta get up there, make sure we've got the high ground before they make it down here!"

Krystal was about to reply yet a faint rattling noise caught her attention. "What was that?" Her question caused Brian to stop in his tracks, letting his rifle go before wrapping his hand around hers. The staccato rattling carried on, echoing like distant thunder.

"Shit! That was gunfire." Brian growled. "Someone's blasting away on full-auto. Might be those asshats running into some lizards I gave the slip to earlier. We don't have time to screw around here. I hope you know what a piggyback ride is, because you're about to get one."

Without any preamble she found herself scooped up in his arms, struggling to hold onto his shoulders with her remaining useful arm. The jostling aggravated her wound somewhat, the vixen gritting her teeth to stifle a yelp of pain. "Hold on as tight as you can!" The Marine called out, rushing out onto the ramp as quickly as he could.

The forces arrayed against them didn't give up, however. Several large wooden barrels cascaded down the ramp, nearly smashing into them. Krystal's cry of surprise melded with Brian's muttered curse as he bolted forward, concentration focused on only one thing: survival.

"Enough with this Donkey Kong bullshit!" he yelled, pulling her legs out of the way of another careening barrel. To add to his stress there were no guardrails to prevent them getting knocked over the edge. How the barrels managed to stay mostly on target was beyond him, but it was annoying as Hell.

Despite the screaming pain in his chest and the exhaustion threatening to shut his body down, he made it to the top without getting them bowled over by one of the barrels. He half-expected one of those unusually large Sharpclaw to be waiting for them, raining barrels down on them like a scene from the arcade game he played as a kid. Instead they came face to face with two other Sharpclaw, busily reaching for their rifles as they abandoned the barrel-launching machine they had been manning.

"Don't let go of me!" Krystal's muffled voice reached him as she slipped her arm off her shoulders, travelling to his belt where her borrowed handgun had been resting. Forcing back the pain and residual embarrassment, she pulled the pistol from its resting place and turned it on the Saurian foes. The Beretta snapped back against her hand as she fired, one of the Sharpclaw slipping off the platform they were on and taking a lethal tumble to the stone floor below.

His comrade was quicker, shouldering his rifle and firing before Krystal could turn her attention to him. The report hurt her ears, her hearing barely registering the snapping sound of the bullet sailing mere inches above her head. With speed born from adrenaline and sheer fear she pointed her handgun at his chest and fired several times, sending the Sharpclaw to the wooden planks he had been standing on. Her amplified, hollow-sounding breath rasped in her ears, giving an alien, unnatural quality to the entire scene.

"You did good, Krys." Even though he had been shot at on a pretty consistent basis, facing down the barrel of a gun was an experience he never relished. "They likely heard our little exchange, so we need to find a good fire position and set up." He pressed on, eyes scanning the area for a place which would suit their needs. A catwalk stretched ahead of them, leading up to a wooden platform which would provide a decent field of fire over the entrance to the cavern. "That looks good."

Once they arrived he gingerly set her down, propping her up next to the stone pillar. She breathed a sigh of thanks, keeping up a constant effort to force the pain from her mind. "Do you think this will work?" Her question was genuine; did they have a chance against the Lylatians who were out to kill her?

"We've got some cards up our sleeve, at least." Brian was already hard at work, shrugging off his pack before reloading his M14 with his last full magazine of armor-piercers. "Going to put the ARs back together. Leaving one with you and taking the other with me. Do you think you'll be able to cover that approach?" He motioned to the path leading up to their position as he put the other rifles back together. He propped the M4 against the pillar next to her, leaving the majority of his magazines next to the weapon.

Krystal nodded, hefting the Beretta she was still holding onto. "Will I be able to fire it with only one arm?" In response Brian picked it up, tucking the M4's stock into his shoulder, bringing it up without using his left hand for support.

"Yeah. Don't count on pinpoint accuracy, but if you can keep their heads down I can sweep in and take care of them. He grinned; a useless gesture through the gas mask. He wasn't sure how long he would be combat effective in these conditions, but he held out hope being far above the ground would keep him from passing out with CO2 poisoning.

He turned to set up a position overlooking the cavern entrance. Yet, before he could move Krystal's hand reached out to grasp his. "Please. Be careful." Her eyes fell upon his, a great amount of concern conveyed with her emerald gaze.

"I will be. I've got you here to watch my back." He let go, giving her a nod which she returned. There was really nothing left to do but wait until the mysterious Lylatian killers came to try to get them. This time he would be more than ready, the thought crossing his mind as he reattached the scope to his M14.

The Marine laid down on the platform, glancing through the rifle's scope and letting its crosshairs settle upon the cavern entrance. He wasn't sure how long it would take the armored, gun-toting cowboys to show up, but somehow he just knew they would. And, when they did, he would teach them one of the most sacred mantras of the Corps.

They would find out exactly why a Marine and his rifle were the masters of their enemy.