”Oh my… How wonderfully intoxicating!” The rumble of a myriad of gunfire and explosions overwhelmed the beat of his heart. A lustful sensation drew to the very tips of his fingers. His shoulders wriggled in a giddy fashion, before he hugged his chest to contain the feelings within. Only his eyes could escape the illustrious orchestra of madness, and peer above into the ashy night sky.
”Denizens of Ásgarðr,” A manner of spite twisted the tongue, which voiced his commands.
“Be wary.” It was the very epitome of an insult, and warning, to the otherworldly beings who claimed a higher throne.
“Proxies, I trust most of you have kept a surviving distance from the tactics of these aggressors?” The inquiry dispersed electronically to the canals of several ears. With the scope of an eagle, smiling eyes ogled the blazing ground in search of the enigmas.
In a general sense, the word ‘proxy’ refers to someone or something, which is a reliable substitute to act on another someone or something’s behalf. To act, one must be able to react; a reasonable number of the proxies, as they were defined, had escaped the confines of the destruction caused by the erratic soldiers. Meanwhile, everyone else wrestled with their grip on life, and the rebellion they so vigorously showed in the beginning.
Masked faces and hooded figures charged the streets with guns and bats in hand. They screamed as if it was their last moment to live. Soon blurred vision, and an infallible ringing from the explosions caused them to recognize the bodies of their comrades being blown across the street, and splattered onto the sidewalk. Some of the rioters cringed away, while others threatened any oncoming zomborgs with a spray of bullets. Several threw ‘Molotov cocktails’ at the hordes of zombies; the cocktails had been simple jars of gasoline with a flaming cloth at the end. The first to surrender his life to the cause was the speaker of the mob. His megaphone lay somewhere underneath the clashing scores of human and zomborg.
Countless bodies of the rioters had all but evaporated in the ignorant mayhem of missiles, gunfire, and supernatural fury of the so-called “protectors” of this city. One being, of whom stood amidst the grand scheme, had long realized an undeniable truth of humanity. He had taken part in this claim several times. What was it? What did all humans desire so much? It was something, in the purest sense of the word, ephemeral. This drive in every man, woman, and child; it builds kingdoms, it destroys nations, and it inspires every living human to create a new life.
“We all knew what this conflict would bring. Well… maybe not all of us.”Any one survivor’s eyes would reflect the Aschen Reverence, and bare a spiteful glare toward their fallible approach; after the ungodly blue column of light struck down on the masses of zomborgs a wicked ringing had invaded every conscious human’s ear. The scattered horde of civilians had been assisted by what they truly feared and hated: The Aschen. Out of the ‘Thousand Core’ riot, over two-thirds had perished in the uproar of battle. Hundreds more were injured, and on their way to being mauled. All former predictions of how these people were destined for death the moment they made their choice had, in fact, been proven right. Perhaps, the enemy of thine enemy is
not thine friend?
“And, so I see they make their appearance. Oh, what did I say, Mammon? They’ve never known how to keep their noses clean.”The proxies hid in the shadows of the buildings, and fought each encounter of rabid zomborg on their own, or simply ran away to another crevasse of Main Street; shops, bars, alleyways. Many retained their own unique prowess of how to deal with such things. Each one was subtle. Some were mutated animals or humanoids, others were shifters. Some were even the everyday prospect of an average human being. The variations of these proxies did not falter under any means of scrutiny.
”Tom-Bear, gather your team. It’s time to infiltrate the buildings. Secure the ground level, if you can, but I want a body to set up a fifty degree perimeter of c4 on the interior mid-level of each structure. Ping back, if you need any assistance.” ----------------------------------------------------------
Three figures traveled south of the blockade, while keeping their distance from the main fight. A large figure, who seemed more burly and fit to head the vanguard, had kept to its post of snuggling a half-mile away from the edge of combat. Two of the figures, men, lagged behind the larger leader of their pack. Vicious zomborgs, which lay ahead of the men, were left shredded by bullets. However, a few of the undead had limbs ripped off, or their bowels gutted. By first glance, it would appear their bodies were mauled by something with more animosity than themselves.
As the beam of light had literally paved the way, the small party came upon an alleyway, which led to
the intersection. “
Damn, man…” A hooded man panted restlessly, as he skid to a stop behind his bulky companion. Another masked man followed behind, and all but collapsed for a breath of air. They were both hunched over with palms on their knees, as their hearts vibrated in their chests. “God… You’re faster than you look.”
“I’m a mutant, you dumbass.” A distinguishable male voice reverberated in the alleyway. Every articulated syllable uttered by the deep tone of this thing’s voice caused the men’s backs to arch with fear.
“Yeah, but you’re… a pan-“ The hooded man had begun a stuttered reply.
“Shut up, and follow me inside. Damn sacks of meat and metal will fist pump your sorry ass holes, without me, so do as you’re told.” The enormous body huddled alongside the wall of the alley, and stepped out in the open corner of the intersection. A pair of round, black ears twitched at the roars of the zomborgs ahead of them. Then, with the vexation of a spotlight,
the golden flash caused the figures to flinch away, and shade their eyes. A giant, black paw commanded the men to stay still. There they stood on the very edge of the alleyway, nearly fifteen yards away from the group.
Without a glance to the men, the fur ridden proxy directed his stubby claw for them to march toward the building across the street.
“Don’t stop.” He growled in a low whisper; his upper lip curled to convey his certain authority over the humans. It would only be a couple minutes, before they reached the other side. With each step they took, their toes curled with tension. They were armed, but lugging explosive materials was one route for a good sweat. These individuals desired no interaction. As they crossed to a half-way point of the street within a minute, the large, ebony and ivory mass of a beast began to shuffle from the edge of the alleyway. He trotted along, as if he were as small and hairless as his subordinates, as if his feet carried no such tons of body weight.