Lilith's Blessing

8.

A man in a black uniform sprinted, sliding into the trench. His eyes, wide, from shock. He stared toward the city as two other figures emerged. One struggled with a serve injury while the other helped him walk. Medics lept from their station, while the line commander demanded an explanation. His deep raspy voice, only interrupted by their horrified expressions.

“They're all dead.” Rage filled the surviving corporal as he lifted a lieutenant by the collar. “You abandoned your men!” Forming a fist, he unleashed a volley of punches before his comrades grabbed the corporal. “Corporal Percival Marsh!” The line commander dragged the corporal away. Once the commander snatched the corporal, he cracked under the pressure. He shrieked about a demon, scaring his comrades. They looked at the lieutenant for answers.

The lieutenant had to gather his thoughts. His brain raced, recanting the events. He shrunk into the trench as his own shame prevented him from looking at his comrades. They were elite soldiers trained to hunt witches. Their armor spread manatech weapons away from vital areas. Not designed for ancient weapons, rendering their armor useless.

“He appeared in a flash, separating us.” The lieutenant paused as his eyes drifted toward the city. He covered his mouth as he relived the carnage, then pulled out his canteen. His hands shook.

“Coward, you should’ve fought back.”

The Lt. grasped his rifle attached to his harness. He pulled the mag, showing the empty cartridge to the gunner. “I emptied my entire cache. He didn’t block like the witches. He moved faster than I could track. The damn thing took Commander Charles’ head. Holding it up, asking for more challengers.”

Silence fell over the trench as the sun dipped behind the city. The second in command assured, they were the Popal King’s finest, with the latest weaponry. “They trained for this!” The defensive erupted in synchronized chants, renewing their vigor for a fight.

They readied themselves for the night, switching their scopes to nightvision, scanning the trees for movement. One, scanning his sector, noticed branches moving in the distance. He pulled back, peering into the darkness. No wind. He looked through his scope again. The area was still. A crack of gunfire to his left.

Far away from the breach within the trench network. Bullets whizzed by the corporal and his mate. They ducked for cover. The bursts ended, and the pair stood up.

Pain surged through the corporal. He clutched his stomach as his entrails flowed from within. “Wha..?” His mate next to him eyes rolled back when the blade entered his neck. His head detached from his body, dropped to the ground.

"RETREAT!" The remaining squads peeled back, covering the other while they moved. Trevor caught up to the trail man, thrusting his sword through his torso, twisting it as he pulled it out. The blood flowed down his blade, his red eyes glowing in the darkness. "Good luck." Trevor swooped away from them, using the moonless night to his advantage.

Further back in the command tent, the field general looked over a map of the city. He held a small radio, expecting an update. Worry set in as gun fire crept closer and closer. A panicked voice clicked on over the radio. His words were inaudible while he unloaded his weapon. He choked “de-mon.”

Silence, the night became still as the gunfire ceased. Sudden bursts of machine gun fire blurted out 150 meters southeast of the command center. A sense of dread washed over the general. Things had not been this bad since Millet Bay. But they pulled through there. He believed they could again. The general gathered every available man and pushed toward the cannons.

The crackle of gunfire ended before reinforcements arrived. Trevor stalked the new arrivals as they used every ounce of their knowledge to engage their attacker. He ruffled some bushes, testing their reaction. They pointed their battle rifles toward the commotion and converged on the location from multiple directions. Trevor circled the group, preying on two men furthest from the group.

Their heads fell to the ground before their bodies. One squeezed the trigger, alerting the others. The men turned in unison, converging on the spot. Two fired while others covered. But when they attempted to reload, Trevor pounced. With a lightning quick swing of his sword, the last two men lost their heads.

"Coward! Zeus’s judgment is upon you." Unloading his magazine into the night. Out of the darkness, Trevor appeared before the field general. He reloaded his gun, cocked it back, releasing a volley of .45 caliber rounds into Trevor’s chest. Purple steam emanated from the entry wounds, pushing the bullets from his flesh.

Trevor examined his weapon, then looked at the dead. “I killed them.” His deep voice sent a chill up the man's spine as his red eyes seemed distant. Like they looked through him.

"The demon speaks."

“I'm a demon?”

Trevor’s head bobbed back and forth, contemplating the role. The general saw an opportunity. After reloading, he squeezed the trigger. “I am a missionary of the veritable god, Zeus!” Trevor vanished into the darkness. The general looked left; the wind swept through the trees. Sticks crackled behind him. Before he swung around, Trevor sliced the back of his thigh.

“Damn, that was your hammy.”

The general dropped his gun, clutching his thigh. He gritted his teeth to not show weakness in front of his enemy. “Zeus will punish you.” Trevor kicked the gun away. His eyes drifted toward the man’s harness. A wooden handle stuck out between magazine pockets. Trevor took it, inspecting its craftsmanship. The defeated man’s eyes lowered and his face beet red. Anger fumed as Trevor pointed his own weapon at him.

“Do you like to gamble? You probably have another gun. But can you pull it before I stick you with this knife?”

He hacked up phlegm, spitting it toward Trevor. In a swift motion, Trevor injected the knife into the man’s right shoulder, breaking off the handle.

“That’s punishment for disrespect. Now, what would happen if I visited your village?”

The man turned beet red and veins throbbed from his forehead. Trevor knew he struck a nerve. “If anything happens to my family.”

"Fuck you gon do bout it?"

The general fell back on his training. “I am Lieutenant General Mitchell Hitchings. First expeditionary force.”

Trevor waited to see if he’d add any more. But he just repeated himself. Trevor glared at the general with intense disdain.

“What are you?”

Trevor shrugged, changing his pose. He held his sword like a bat. “The gods will sort you out.”

Fisa, Bulala, Fisa, Bulala. The words repeated in Trevor’s head until he swung for Mitchell’s neck, sending his head across the pathway. Quiet. The words ceased.

He looked at the sky in relief. The tightness in his chest disappeared as purple steam emanated from his being.

Surveying the area, the realization of his actions washed over him. He wanted to panic, but didn’t feel the need. He killed with little effort and felt relief. That scared him. “I can’t go back.”

John surveyed the carnage: bullet holes and explosive scars ravaged the once beautiful city, as General Samia's battalion tallied the deceased.

Kira worried when Trevor did not return, wanting her platoon to go after him. Her mother stopped her, placing her faith in Trevor to pull through. “Plus, if the Zuveans could attack, they would.”

Once General Samia and her battalion tallied the dead and collected the limbs and bodies of dead Zuveans, they separated citizens from the enemy. One of John’s battalion squads created a massive pit downwind from the city. They tossed in invaders’ bodies and equipment, lit it ablaze while Ishtar priests prayed for their souls.

Since the gunfire ceased and the Zuveans did not attack again at dawn. John collected volunteers. Kira and her platoon were the first to jump on the opportunity. Many others joined as Trevor saved many of them.

They set out for the enemy camp, finding the first line. Dead Zuveans everywhere. These men had terrified facial expressions as they died, with fear stiffening their bodies. Their irises rolled back in severed heads and some bled out from fatal wounds.

Looking east, John stopped and picked up a spent cartridge. He examined it and determined their path as the enemy retreated. They followed the trail of bullet casings, broken branches, and the dead to the main camp. As they approached, more bodies littered the ground, distorted from their original form. Inside the tent, John located a map with coordinates on it. He studied it and recognized the area where the Zuveans deployed their cannons.

Kira and the group approached the clearing and more dead lay next to the cannons. Trevor stood toward the sun with his eyes closed amongst the dead. With his chin up, contemplating his next move.

Kira latched onto his back before he could run. “Don’t.”

Trevor ruminated. Should he go? Where? What was out there? Though it might be better than being looked at like a monster.

Would John, Meredith, Kira, and the citizens of Sioux Falls accept him? He pushed her away. Kira's eyes welled. She feared he would leave if she let go.

Kira broke through Trevor’s defenses, latching onto him again. “No.” As she buried her face into his chest. He tried to push her away, but lacked the will power. She was warm. He looked at John, intent on leaving.

Trevor pointed to the headless body of the general. “He’s right. I am a demon.”

This disappointed John, as he did not understand. Trevor saved them. The city would welcome him. Why did he feel that way? John clasped Trevor’s forearm. “No, brother, you're coming home.”

The world changed. He didn't. He still ran from his problems, because being alone was easier than building relationships with people.

Kira pulled back and smiled at Trevor. He wiped away the tears from her face as their eyes locked. She glowed with exuberance. How could he leave her?