Operation: Pacifica, Sunrise by DeadLock the Feral (NYAR!), deadlock@one.net [Place: Lyran Fortress] [Time: 2nd night on Pacifica] #music "In Your Room," Depeche Mode, Songs of Faith and Devotion Dark flickerings from stout, warped candles played around a half circle of crimson robed Lyrans. Behind them floated a deep purple shadow, almost ethereal in the wispy light except for two dull white points of illumination partially revealing the contours of an elaborately decorated mask. A sluggish flow of tepid wax dribbled through a fresh fissure in a near-spent candle, thunderous in contrast to the subtle hiss of burning wicks. None of the sorcerers moved, their meditations deeper by the moment. One by one the candles sputtered and died, each in turn giving up a gray curl of smoke as its own eulogy. Darkness fell, leaving silence to its own devices. The sorcerers stood motionless, lungs drawing the shallowest of breaths, their minds wrapped in on themselves. Time, if it passed at all, went without regard to those present. Two almond-shaped eyes opened to slits, their lavender light summoning other crescents. A black, twisted staff was raised to the air, seven others saluting a moment later. ... [Place: Jihaddi camp, edge of the desert] [Time: before dawn] "There's nothing going on tonight, Walters," complained Ensign Lucas. Lightning flashed, struck Lucas' armor dead center, and sent its liquefied remains to ride the thunder across the Jihaddi's camp. "Arh!" gasped Walters in surprise, a crimson robed Lyran teleporting in front of him. The alien's staff whistled through the air and struck the armored helmet. It collapsed in a tinkling shower of glass and steel. The wooden staff continued its path down into the man's chest, where it pulled free of the crushed Nemesis BattleArmor with a wet popping noise. ... "What the hell was that?!" exclaimed Trooper Arthur. He rolled out of his bunk, fellow Dobermensch hitting the floor shortly after him. A strong wind ripped the flaps from their tent, sucking cards, empty jolt cans, and several warm-weather blankets with it. A shot rang out, the bullet smashing to a disk ten feet from the dark purple robed Lyran at the tents entrance. Trooper Arthur's forearm exploded at a glance from the sorcerer, his bloodied hand bouncing from the canvas walls of the tent as his unconscious form slammed into the sand floor. "Kill him!" screamed Warrior Candide, leveling her pistol. The Lyran swung its staff at waist level through empty air. Dozens of Jihaddi screamed in pain, their abdomens torn open by invisible blades. The air stunk of fresh blood and bile as forty five men and women twitched their last on the cold floor. The Lyran moved to its next target a split second later. ... "Who the..." exclaimed Commander Dexter before the motor pool exploded in flames. Barrels of fuel shot to the sky like giant fireworks, rising on shafts of ignited gasoline. A man ran from the blaze, his flesh charring with every frantic step. A crimson robed Lyran made a gesture and flame lit the night sky as the man's ashes rained on the sand. ... Abtr'El, fearless, stepped from the shadows in front of several Chosen, TRES, and DE personnel. He laughed as the rapid replies of plasma bolts, grenades, and bullets flowed around his body like a river of quicksilver. The 8th Circle slammed the end of his staff into the sand. A moment later, he was rewarded with cries of alarm as Jihaddi were irresistibly pulled under the golden landscape. The grains swirled, giving up giant bubbles of air that emitted the dying screams of the mortals. Sick crunching noises sifted up to the surface, scarlet ooze following moments later. ... Throughout the Jihaddi camps, the scenes repeated themselves over and over: Lyran mages attacked and humans died with alarming predictability. Jihaddi and ran back and forth in a panic, quickly trying to find their enemies, only to die a split second after revelation of a trap. ... Sabine sniffed the air, smelling blood everywhere. Faint waves of magical force tremored in the cold night. She had no doubt what would be required for victory. Rear Admiral Yearnshaw hefted his XRifle[tm] beside her, his human senses not attuned to the subtleties of the battle unfolding in the camp below. "Do not follow me," Sabine commanded as she leapt from the rocks. Her natural vampiric ability allowed her a swift flight to the war zone. A few moments later she landed lightly in a debris strewn clearing. An overturned TARAV blazed brightly off to her left, dead Jihaddi strewn around it. Closer to her, canvas tents flapped in the breeze as flames consumed them from the inside. XRifles[tm] fired sporadically, punctuated by cries of dying men as the Lyrans attacked. An explosion several hundred feet from Sabine ripped skyward, tossing bodies aside with its fiery blooms. The vampiress smiled, fangs sliding across her ruby lips. She disappeared in a blur, moving faster than any human could towards her target. ... A TRES Marine fell to the earth, his chest ruptured from the mage's spell. The crimson robed alien stepped over the corpse with a snort of contempt and pondered his next target. 'A hunter approaches,' whispered the mask in Y'oo'q's ear. He smiled, pulling a magical crystal from his pouch, as he detected the approaching enemy. His eyes went wide, the enemy closing faster than expected. "Huuwa," gulped the mage, a powerful blow from an unseen fist caving in his protruding stomach and sending him flying. Crystals bounced across the desert floor as his staff landed with a puff of dust. An icy cold claw locked around his throat, dragging him to his feet. Iron fingers gripped his jawbone, other digging into his shoulder. Powerful muscles pulled his neck taut, exposing arteries. Sabine extended her fangs full, then bit deeply into the Lyran's vulnerable flesh. She sucked greedily, draining the mage of blood and energy. Her eyes sparkled, the ecstasy of feeding forcing her to smile as the Lyran batted helplessly at her in a vain attempt to save himself. ... "We have a worthy adversary on the field," spoke the 7th Circle mage. "You jest," snorted Abtr'El. "Alert two 6th Circles: continue as planned. Let us deal with her." ... #music "Perfect Drug," Nine Inch Nails Sabine tossed the dead husk aside. It landed in a tangle of limbs, bounced over three times, its body askew in a position that robbed it of any claims of dignity. Her eyes glowed, magical energy crackling on her finger tips. Heartbeats approached, alien in their rhythms. She smiled, bottom and top fangs fully extended. What fine food the Lyrans made; she'd enjoy clearing the battlefield of them more than she'd enjoyed any previous feeding. ... A trio of 6th Circles advanced on the vampire. Locating such a powerful creature on killing fields littered with mortals proved nearly inconsequential; she might as well be carrying a blinking neon sign. Sabine leaned against the smoldering pole of a gutted tent, waiting. She could almost taste the hearts approaching, wanted their succulent juices. Her tongue played across lips, the sharp scrape against fangs reminding her this was not a safe hunger. ... Alarm rippled through the approaching Lyrans: their target, crystal clear a moment ago, was now fragmented and difficult to track. Magical wands, rings, and staves glowed brightly as they armed themselves, prepared to attack at the slightest provocation. A chill fog billowed from the north, covering fallen Jihaddi as it advanced. Mist folded around an invisible sphere, its chill touch kept from the mages' robes. The stars disappeared, smothered by the fog. A whirlwind erupted from the fingertips of a Lyran, tearing away the fog. Sabine lunged from the departing mist, only to be struck dead center by a bolt of lightning, her image dissipating instantly. A twin closed on another Lyran, only to be destroyed by a cone of fire. The third Lyran of the trio shrieked, blood spurting from his neck as the vampiress forcibly drug him into the mists. She sucked greedily, smiling from bloody lips as the survivors prepared to attack. Sharp light flickered as raw power erupted from the mages' fingers. Tendrils of destructive force coiled rapidly towards the feeding vampire. Her prisoner, helpless to control his fate, found himself thrown at the approaching attack. Alien shrieks echoed across the desert, the drained mage's body exploding in discrete chunks under the tendrils' caress. The Lyran's body ruptured, undone by the attacks of his brethren. Wet, smoldering clumps landed softly to collect a fine dusting of sand. "Grahhhh," moaned a 6th Circle. Ethereal darts streaked from Sabine's fingertips and stabbed into his side, arms, legs. Lavender blood soaked his robes around the wounds, sticking the cloth to him. His companion lashed out, mystical blades shimmering into being and whistling towards the vampiress. She raised her hands, eyes glowing with power, and released her counterattack. A vicious ice storm howled from her delicate hands. Sleet and wind sheer pounded the blades mercilessly, snapping them with the dull sparkle of dispelling. Sand tentacles sprouted from the desert at the mage's feet and quickly coiled about his body, holding him fast. "You'll not feed on me, leech!" The wounded Lyran raised his hands in defiance, summoning destructive powers. Sabine laughed in mockery, then blurred into motion. Words died in a wet gurgle, the ruined clumps of the mage's throat flicked from her right claw. The remaining Lyran thrashed wildly in the bonds of his prison, desperate to escape the constricting sand, to use his magic to defend himself. His torso bucked wildly, the vampiress' claw punched a hole through his rib cage with a wet crunch and clawed upwards. The Lyran went limp, consciousness lost, as Sabine pulled his steaming heart into the chill night air. She bit into the organ, delighting in its rich taste. Glowing spears hissed from a darkness and struck Sabine. Blood surged from her stomach, neatly impaled on the length of magical weapon. Another buried itself deeply in her left thigh, causing her to topple to the earth. Sabine lay on her side, moaning in pain, her claws clutching at the hardwood shafts. A lavender robed figure emerged from the shadows, the air shimmering around him. Another clad in deep purple chanted a brief word, and silver chains snaked from his sleeves to bind Sabine's wrists and ankles together. Two crimson robed sorcerers completed the circle, laughing at the vampiress' cries as the silver burned into her flesh. "Such undisciplined hunger," mocked Abtr'El. He held his hands high about his head, a vortex crackling to life. "NO!" Yearnshaw swung his XRifle[tm] as a club, the broadside of it catching Abtr'El in the temple. The mage wilted to the desert floor, mask cracked in several place. "Jim... no..." pleaded Sabine. But it was too late. The 7th Circle, Abtr'El's assistant, thrust his hands at the human. Electrical force slammed into Yearnshaw's body, literally throwing him thirty feet before landing in a smoking, bone-crunching heap. The 7th Circle closed on him, eyes blazing in fury. Sabine snarled, broke the silver chains on her wrists at the cost of several ounces of flesh, and grabbed the spear impaling her. Spirits erupted from the 7th Circle's mask, enveloped Yearnshaw and lifted his unconscious body into the air. He moved about randomly, the dead playing with his warm flesh as they pleased. The spears in Sabine's body disappeared as she muttered a spell. Before she could move, the combined astral forces from the two 6th Circles cacooned her body, smashing her limbs roughly against her sides. "Perhaps the human should be awake," muttered Abtr'El, picking himself up from the ground. He snapped his finger, darkness lancing Yearnshaw's side. Consciousness blazed in his pupils, eyelids snapping back. An inhuman wail erupted from his throat, every nerve sending its strongest pain signal in unison. "No, please, no..." begged Sabine, tears forming in her eyes. Her love for Jim came to the surface, rubbed her raw in contrast to what she witnessed. "Love .... how quaint," bit out Abtr'El, his speech a tad awkward from where he'd bit his tongue. "It's a good thing your tongue is used only for speech," retorted Sabine, "it'd have to suck to be immortal and live with the mockery of disappointed lovers for eternity." Abtr'El's eyes flashed a deep blue as he regarded the vampiress. He squeezed his fingers together. Yearnshaw's screams changed slightly, his skin rupturing in places as though piercing by daggers. Drops of his blood fell listlessly, quickly clumped with the loose earth. "Stop! Please.." sobbed Sabine. "I'll make this simple for you." Abtr'El gloated, enjoying the power he held over these Jihaddi. "Combat in a place of my choosing. Battle to the death. If you agree, the mortal goes free." Silence fell. Her regent had told her the first rule of magical combat: "Never fight on someone else's terms. Never." If she obeyed this rule, her love was dead. If she broke it, she probably wouldn't live to see another day. "Fine. Set him free." sighed Sabine, swallowing hard. Yearnshaw slammed into the sand with a dull thud, all life gone save for a faint, shallow rasping breath. The world rippled around her, folded in on itself, and faded from sight. ... Sabine and Abtr'El materialized on a perfectly flat, black plane stretching in all directions. The Lyran clapped his hands and the magical binds disappeared. She lunged, snarling in rage. Claws rent an empty robe as it closed about her head. She tore at the fabric, but it seemed to have a will of its own. Fiery bolts stabbed her flesh, the force carrying her from her feet. The cloth caught fire, burning quickly from the heat. Sabine beat at the flames, a vampire's bane, as it blistered her flesh. Her eyes flashed a deep, menacing red as she tore the flaming cloth from her face. Claws snapped downward in a tight V, whirling flames streaking from the space created towards the Lyran. The flames sprang up, many times Sabine's height, a fiery tornado. Globs of flame flew from the funnel, sizzling at the 8th Circle in clusters. The first volley exploded against an invisible shield, outlining its contours. Formation after formation of fireballs slammed against the ever-shrinking globe, draining it of power. Abtr'El's defenses collapsed without warning, flames liquefying the ground beneath his feet. Sabine's smile died on her lips, her motion blurring to the left. A giant stone block, easily twenty feet on all sides, landed with a deafening boom. She deftly landed on her feet, only to dance defensively as amorphous hunks of stone the size of her head ripped from the block and whistled towards her. Given a moment's reprise, she muttered a spell and the block crumbled to gravel. Abtr'El chanted a spell, caught unexpectantly without cover. Sabine used her clear shot. Her spell slammed into his chest, sending him flying until he landed face-down. The Lyran picked himself up, chest smoldering, eyes glowing a fearsome yellow. "ENOUGH!" his voice thundered. He pulled a stone from his pouch. The bloodstone crackled to life and teleported, attaching itself solidily to Sabine's chest. She fell to her knees, the blood flow through her heart -- the fundamental source of a vampire's power -- held immobile. She clutched weakly at the stone, trembling fingers scraping across the smooth surface as it burrowed into her flesh. The world darkened, deep torpor approaching with gleeful bounds with every millimeter the stone penetrated. A moment later, her skin closed over the stone, obscuring it from view. She fell face-first onto the perfectly flat, featureless black surface. ... [Place: Eastern cliffs of Pacifica, half mile elevation] [Time: shortly before sunrise] Sabine shook her head groggily. Dimly, she could sense her body bound and stretched to something inflexible. She looked across the shimmering waters of the Pacifica Ocean, dimly remembering the beautiful colors of a sunrise. She snapped fully awake. No. This can't happen! She tugged futilely on her restraints to find herself splayed on a large X, bound in a form of crucifixion. The restraints squealed as she pulled with all her strength, cords standing out on her arms. "It's no use, leech," smiled Abtr'El, "You're trapped." As if to prove his point, the bloodstone in her chest thumped to life, sapping all strength from her limbs. An alien hand stroked her cheek. A finger played with a coil of her hair. "Beg me to spare you, pledge your loyalty to me, and you will live." Silence. The eastern horizon lightened some more, the small patch of golden light swelling from northeast to southeast. Sabine muttered something in her weakened state, impossible to understand at the distance Abtr'El stood from her. Seagulls squeaked around them, taking flight in the pre-dawn world. Her lips mouthed words again, impossible to comprehend. The 8th Circle grabbed her chin, pulling her limp neck up to look him. "What was your answer?" A large wad of saliva flew from Sabine's lips, bullseyed the mask's left eye hole, and splashed against the mage's naked eye. He howled in surprise, his eye paining him as the world blurred. "Up yours, you filthy excuse for an immortal," Sabine bit out, resigned to her fate. Abtr'El cleared his eye, hissing in rage. He pulled a small dagger from his belt, forced Sabine's head backwards, and lay the blade against her throat. He held it there, the blade indenting her skin, but not breaking it. A slow smile spread across his slips as he lowered the blade. "No, you'll not escape that way." ... Sabine felt the burning light coming, that which all vampires feared, that which would destroy them. The horizon had become heinously bright, burning her retinas, threatening to blind her. Resignation to her fate seized her, calmed her fear. She raised her head to the horizon, opened her eyes wide, and smiled as the Sun poked above the horizon. A fond memory of a long-past childhood came to her unbidden, of she and her parents on vacation and taking an early breakfast. She'd been happy then. It was the last thought in her mind. Rays of the morning struck her body, burning it horribly. No noise escaped her mouth and throat as they turned to ash. Within seconds, the fragile, ashen body of a woman hung crucified on the wooden X. Abtr'El flicked the form with his index finger and watched the ashes rain to the rocky floor. The mage opened a small pouch, its magics gathering the grey powder inside its velvety darkness. Drawstrings closed with a neat, final snap. Abtr'El stepped through the doorway leading from the alcove and was gone. - DLtF(NYAR!) Copyright, Pyrokinetic Productions, Inc. (1997)