Echoes of the Tomb

Prologue:

Sham smiled wickedly at the pitiful, cornered creature that bleated in agony. Initially, it resembled a winged lamb with white fur and feathers covering much of its body. The creature was not so white or winged anymore, Sham thought with a chuckle. He glanced at his new servants starting to nail the wings he had recently removed from the creature to a beam perpendicular to the main throne hall within his palace.

That thought immediately removed the pleasure from his mind and replaced it with the anger that had initially made him seek out the creature’s pain.

It wasn’t his fault that the king couldn’t take a joke. Sham had simply whispered to his brothers that the king was extensively enjoying the blood wine that came with liberation day's festivities and they may see what was beneath his skin. While the king had always held that he wasn’t projecting a skin and had retained his glorious visage after their initial break from the Creator, some didn’t believe this assertion as nearly all shadows in the fallen legion hid their deteriorating bodies beneath a self-powered projection. Sham was absolutely not part of that group. Definitely not. Sham was extremely loyal to the king. Despite that, his legion brothers at the table were quick to try to gain their superiors’ favor by bringing this harmless joke to their attention—the very next cycle, he was stationed at this remote garbage heap.

The creature’s screams were a mild balm to his mind as he imagined his traitorous brothers screaming in its place.

Sham looked around once more at his new posting. He was in the center of a hall room with a single throne raised on a flat circular stone above the other chairs that lined decrypt tables on either side of a large fire pit that held the room’s center. Of course, he was sitting on the elaborate wooden throne decorated with Creator images and symbols, which often included a beautiful bird. The images and sense of the throne itself rejecting him seemed to seep into his bones as he sat upon it. He tried not to let the discomfort and unease he felt show to his servants as they moved around the room, attempting to make it more hospitable to one of his station. It wouldn’t due to let these lower creatures think he was unworthy of the stupid thing.

The walls of his new hall were made of stone, and the roof, or what was remaining of it, was covered in rotting wood. It smelled of mold, decay, shit - and the fresh blood. The blood being the attempt to make it more to his liking, but it was doing a piss job of masking the other smells. He eyed his servants with contempt as they moved about the room.

While his standing as a captain within the legion warranted him the best servants the horde could provide, he was stuck with kreehauns. There wasn’t even a bultun or marow to heed his call! Due to the suddenness of his departure, Sham was unfairly unable to bring a lowly stone with him. No, he was stuck with only stupid, smelly, ugly kreehauns.

Kreehauns seemed to enjoy taking ugly to another level. The creatures had sensitive noses that extended well beyond their face. Their lower jaw had obscenely large fangs protruding upward to cover their nose and mouth. It gave them the appearance of having been muzzled. Whiskers completed their ridiculous faces as they shot out between their protruding teeth to either side. Tiny, beady, black eyes were barely noticeable behind their ridiculous nose, but Sham assumed they were there.

All that said, the legion only cared about their small muscular bodies and dangerously sharp claws shooting out of their fingers and toes. With these and their inclination to be underground, they made excellent tunnelers that could be used in sieges and ambushes. Surprisingly, their bodies were covered in black fur, which was quite pleasant as a blanket. Few knew that since they were constantly covered in dirt and mud. At least, he hoped that it was dirt…. Sham now questioned where the smells were truly coming from. He may need to kill a few to lessen the smell.

Like all of the horde within this realm, the kreehauns were loyal to the new king and understood their place as much as their tiny brains allowed. They enjoyed the elimination and torture of the Kingdom’s inhabitants, however rare that was. Due to that same rarity, Sham had considered it good tidings that on the day of his arrival, he had found the flying lamb creature stuck in the bowels of the hall. Since the kreehauns enjoyed digging so much, they were quick to hear it in the lower crypts of the outpost upon arriving, and Sham immediately investigated as he was eager to find anything of value. After a brief struggle, he captured it and used his weapons to sever the wings from its small body to both torment the creature and ensure it couldn’t escape.

Sham’s blades were immaculate and beautifully destructive. He was created with sickle blades that curved immediately from the handle, creating a half circle ending in a sharp point. The blades were razor sharp in the inner side of the curve, which enabled Sham to chop pieces off of his enemies. He gently touched the handles of the weapons strapped to his side in almost a reverent way. Considering that the Creator’s images were no longer displayed on the blades or handles and instead gave off an inky black smoke, Sham often enjoyed worshiping his tools of chaos. Every shadow had a weapon representing his skill going back beyond liberation day, but Sham enjoyed his much more than any other he had met. He hardly missed the gifts the Creator had stripped away that so many other shadows bemoaned. Giving those up for true freedom was worth it, Sham thought as he unconsciously reached for the severed gifts in his mind.

Shadow’s blades also weren’t always the black inky color with a dim red light glowing within that they were now. When Sham was a member of the Sword clan, it glowed with the Creator’s light. The thought of that light brought a shiver to Sham’s body. He needed to shift his thoughts quickly away from the light and onto more pleasurable things.

As his servants continued to nail his trophies to the center beam, he glanced around and imagined other trophies he might collect. There was nothing better to do now as his time in this wretched place slowly ticked by.

However, Sham would not sit idle in his time here. No, he would scheme and plot his triumphant return from this hideous ruin. He just needed something to get the king’s attention, in a positive way.

While his outpost was far from the glories, pleasures, and intrigues of the castle and liberation city surrounding it, the small fort bordered other realms, including the Kingdom. Perhaps Sham could convince some of his former brethren along the border teams to join their war against the Creator? It had not been done since the great war, but Sham was obviously better equipped and more intelligent than other shadows who had worked the border before him. He could be as convincing as the king himself in the right circumstances. Alternatively, bringing back a few of his blue-skinned former brothers in chains would undoubtedly put him in good standing with the king. Yes, thought Sham. The king would be pleased to welcome another shadow to the liberated realm but perhaps even more thrilled to play with them instead. Sham could get anything he wanted! Screams of his legion brothers who had turned on him rang in his ears again, but the sound of them calling him general was just as sweet. Perhaps he would hear both? Sham laughed with glee at the imagined sound. The plan began forming in his mind, and the thought of rising from this dung pile to the upper heights of court gave him immediate gratification.

The cries of the creature brought him back to the current situation. While he wanted to prolong its suffering, he beamed with renewed energy as it was time to begin working on his strategy. With a quick step down from the throne and an even faster slice of one of his sickles, the head of the creature was separated from its body. He quickly ordered the kreehauns not to eat the body as both a punishment and the again hope of the blood masking the smell of his new hall.

In the far distance, a barely audible roar could be heard as the creature’s blood poured over the immediate area of the hall, causing the rocks and wood to turn a bright red hue. Slower but no less steadily, it trickled down through the floorboards, stone slabs, and support beams. It made its way back to the crypt where the lamb was first seen and where something else began to stir.

Chapter 1:

COMMANDER Titus surveyed the training hall where his team was currently spread out, doing various exercises to prepare them for potential deployments.

In the center, there was a combat circle where they could test each other 1-on-1 or sometimes 1-on-many, depending on the training and the trainer. Currently, the latter was the case as his two sergeants, Killian and Kurian, or the twins as they were known, were taking on Private John in a no-holds brawl using only their gifted armor and primary weapons. It was an interesting tactical problem to consider as the twins should clearly have the advantage with their number; however, John’s two-handed battle axe held the superior range against both Killian’s knives and Kurian’s bladed round shield.

Each member of the Host had a primary weapon used for close-quarters combat with an adversary, which was their preferred tactic when dispatching the enemy. Titus’s team was unique in that no two primary weapons were the same type. It gave them more chances to train against odd fighting styles and weapons they could potentially face in the field, including the current scenario.

Or at least that is what Titus’s team trained for. In truth, he and 1-1-8 hadn’t been deployed since the initial attempted coup by some former members of the Clan. Titus could never understand why some of his brothers and sisters would ever abandon their King, but he had an extra measure of contempt for the traitors as it was his previous superior who helped lead the attack. Now, they lived outside the Kingdom and constantly looked for ways to hinder their Maker and His loyal subjects.

Re-centering his thoughts on his team’s training, Titus watched as Killian tried a distraction maneuver of diving in, rolling, and leaping high to slash his knives at the taller and brawnier team member’s eye slits. He continued his aerial acrobatics by flipping over his opponent’s head. The maneuver was timed to his brother’s attempt at a surprise attack on the left. Unfortunately for the twins, John wasn’t distracted as he quickly tucked his chin out the knife’s path and swung his ax with all his might at Kurian’s shield. He missed and only caused a glancing blow to the edge, but the force was still strong enough to cause the smaller brother to step back. Unknown to his opponents, the hit was perfectly aimed as John’s large framed body used the momentum of the deflected strike to swing around and deliver an acrobatic spinning high kick to the armored head of Killian. Both brothers were knocked back, and the game of cat and mouse continued. Titus wasn’t sure yet who was the cat and who was the mouse, but it would likely be ages before anything was truly decided.

To his immediate left, Private Marcus was pouring over the latest information on the borderlands. Tactics used by the enemy, their strengths, weaknesses, supply lines, and some historical information on plant life, as well as a poem or song. While Marcus was awkward in his speech, Titus would rely on his thin yet extremely tall team member for intelligence as the team’s knowledge seeker. When the time came for their eventual deployment, the information that Marcus provided could mean the difference between returning and going blue.

“Commander, can you please do something about that?” Marcus pleaded as he looked up from a fresh-looking scroll and gestured to the source of his irritation.

Next to Marcus was the complete opposite of everything the tall, quiet squad member encapsulated. Private Amadon, more commonly referred to as Wit by the team, lay a few feet away snoring. Loudly. While members of the Host did not need sleep, it was an enjoyable experience for most, some a bit more than others. It was the team’s belief that Wit not only enjoyed it but also reveled in the added perk of annoying his squad members. That said, he wasn’t exactly quiet when he was awake, either. As the team’s radio and communications expert, it was not surprising that he enjoyed speaking…frequently and at absurd volumes. He was also the team’s trickster and overall clown, hence the nickname.

“Wit - stop pretending and start reading,” Titus yelled without even as much of a glance towards the private.

“How did you know, Commander?” Wit called out as he shot up with a bemused look on his face.

“You actually snore louder when you are asleep.”

“I do?” Wit replied with barely contained glee.

“Stop pestering Marcus and help, or you’ll have next with John in the ring.”

“Yes, sir! Right away, sir!” Wit yelped as he came over and grabbed a few scrolls off the top of the pile.

Marcus gave him a quick smirk, and Wit elbowed him in return.

While the smaller framed Wit would likely not enjoy a bout with John, or any other brother for that matter, the truth was that any one of them could hold their own in the ring against any opponent, at least for a time. The Creator saw fit to make them experts in warfare. Each one of them was unique in most ways, but they typically were grouped together within a skill set that made them valuable to the mission. The simple and undeniable fact was - they were warriors. Their entire existence was encapsulated by two things: serve their King and win wars, in that order.

Physically, his brothers and sisters within the clan all had the same teal-colored skin and eyes that shined like fire with orange and red hues. Additionally, the Creator’s energy was constantly running throughout each of their bodies. His energy sustained them and caused them to glow slightly, with flashes of light periodically showing in their veins. The visual made each of them appear as though they were barely containing a lightning storm just beneath the surface. Observant eyes would notice that this is where their physical similarities ended. Some were tall and thin, whereas others were short or wider. Titus himself would be considered average among his peers, with only his brown curly hair and perfectly trimmed beard to set himself apart, but even those characteristics were not rare among the clan. What set him apart was being a Leader.

Leaders were given a small measure of extra strength at creation and a unique brain capable of taking in all information around them to come up with battle strategies within a single heartbeat. While they couldn’t actually control time, as creation and control of time was a power held by only the King Himself, their perception of time seemed to slow as their brains raced to add information and decide on tactics.

Titus and his fellow Leaders were rare within the clan as each one typically had a minimum of five brothers or sisters under them, with the average being closer to twenty. As they fought and some members took the blue, others were shifted around to ensure each team was capable of completing missions assigned to them. Since no new members had ever been created, they were slowly becoming a smaller force, and team leads were similarly growing scarce. While each loss was painful, the clan understood that this was a temporary status. Once they take the blue, each member would sleep as an indestructible, statuesque blue form until the Creator decreed it was time to finish His work and unite all realms under His single banner. When the final battle horn sounded and the King took his place on the battlefield, the Clan’s sleeping brothers and sisters would awake with renewed energy once more. They would fulfill both of their purposes in serving their Creator by cleaning the realms of the filth that has infested it.

Even as uncommon as team leaders were, there was one other group that was rarer yet with such unique skills and talents that they instantly stood out from all others. Members of the Scout and Long-Range Termination, or SALT group, were so highly skilled with their ranged gifts that it was as if they were actually their primary. Titus felt truly blessed by the Maker to have his second be a member of such an elite group.

Lieutenant Shay was the epitome of professionalism and warrior mindset. Shay knew how to take charge in any situation but would defer to Titus’s decisions immediately. Titus knew that he depended upon his second a bit more than what would be considered appropriate in other teams, but he also knew that it would be folly to ignore such a resource.

Currently, the SALT team member was honing his impressive skill just to the right of the combat ring. Titus looked on as Shay lay quietly among simulated grass. His tunic was set for camouflage, so his rifle and clothes blended in with the surroundings so perfectly that it appeared as though grass was growing out of the prone warrior.

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