Ramides Cluster Crusade, Part 4
Just a short one this time, since I’ve barely had time to think about these projects lately what with finding and starting a new job. A new character is introduced, and a new chapter starts…
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Sereoph Plains, West of Ceredes. Primary mustering point for forces entering the besieged Gerhanna Mountains.Day 16 of Arcadian 3rd operations on Merghast.
The air was damp, making his skin feel clammy, and condensing into tiny water droplets on the polished steel stock of his las-rifle. But despite the moisture in the air, his mouth was dry as a tomb, his tongue like a swollen stone in his mouth. He wiped his eyes, and stared into the gloom.
The shadows in the cave crawled, as if alive. He tried to put it down to the stabbing beam of his lamp pack, but he knew that wasn’t the cause. Whenever he shone his lamp at a section of crawling shadow, it seemed to linger in the light before clearing, as if the darkness was a living thing, shying away from his probing beam of light. His trigger finger twitched as the squirming shadows parted, resisting the urge to open fire. Shooting at shadows? Was he some wet-behind-the-ears recruit? The hell he was! Drawing a lungful of the damp air that did nothing to ease the desiccation of his desert-dry mouth, he tried to collect his wits.
The crawling shadows weren’t the worst of it. The sound, that was the worst. Like a monstrously slow heartbeat, almost rhythmic. It seemed to emanate from the walls, from the damp floor, every surface in the gloom shrouded cave resonating and amplifying the bone-shaking bass rumble of an arrhythmic heart beat. It disrupted his thoughts, and made the echoes do strange things. Footsteps and voices he knew were behind him seemed to come from ahead. In the lulls between beats, there were almost voices in the air, at the very edge of hearing, and yet somehow always heard, like whispers inside his skull.
The caves were filled with an almost palpable sense of dread, and it got worse with every step he took.
A snarl came from ahead, and he snapped his rifle up, trying vainly to find the source in amongst the crawling shadows. He tried to call into his vox for backup, as the sense of dread increased incredibly, and a foul smell, like spoiled meat flooded over him, but his voice was dead in his throat, and he managed nothing but a rasp. Questions chirped in the vox, enquiring at the strange noise, and he struggled to make any noise. Words never came, as something surged forward from the darkness, flashes of mottled flesh, claws, teeth, and utterly inhuman eyes. His las-rifle fired, shots blasting wildly and striking stone chips from the cave wall. No time to aim. No time to react. But time to die.
He finally found his voice as sharp points sank into his flesh, spilling his blood. He screamed.
