20 Scourge of the Land

"Who's there? By the grace of Divines, if you're in trouble down there, then come forth and seek some help!" Shouted Larkes.

This was the third time he thought he surely heard something-around 500 meters away from where he was standing. 'Such a peculiar occasion', so thought Larkes to himself. It was nearly midnight, well past 11 p.m. The ever-luminant sun had already, and completely, hid itself amidst the darkness that stretched across the sky. Around Larkes and his perimenter, there was barely a source of light except for the one coming out from the lamp, large enough for him to keep up with his work, that was hung a few meters above the site. Next to him, though with a little distance between them, stood his colleague named Gunnar, who was apparently enjoying his short break until he heard Larkes shouting.

"What's eating you up this time, ye sorry friend of no good at all? This is exactly the third time I hear your squeakin' sound, so drop it!" Complained Gunnar.

"Don't tell me you didn't hear someone out there-even for this time, will you? By the Divines, what's good with yer lousy ears if they couldn't hear the voices of angels, eh?"

"That's some fine talk coming out from those cowardly lips of yours. What, you now gonna run to your mother's bosoms and hang onto them like a crying baby? I did once, and it was like..."

"Beat it, and get your arse back to the post, lest you don't want to be whipped by the bishop himself."

With their arguing subsided, The two went back to their repair job. Three days ago, during the recent plunder on the church and its manor, the bandits had blown up the bridge so as to hold off the troops pursuing them. They had somehow managed to escape the scene, leaving some of their dead comrades behind. Yet it was also evident that, in the wake of such havoc, there now left only the works of peasants needed to be done for their masters' sake, including the one such as repairing the blown-off bridge; curse those bandit scums who had always made things miserable!

Larkes climbed onto the driver's seat of his rusted crane, an ancient machinery looking like as if it had existed on this very earth for several millennia. Meanwhile, Gunnar moved toward the broken bridge, where his steed made with steel and electric circuits lay upon nearby. Larkes then took his seat. He pull out an iron key from his baggy pocket, and inserted it into the keyhole. The machine's sensor then began reading out the micro-engravings on it. Shortly enough, the engine fired up, after recognizing the rider's identification. His mechanical steed trembled and clanked, as if it were too a living being with its own biorhythms.

Then however, amidst the crane's metallic howling, the voice was heard again-still faint, but this time much more vivid and recognizable. A human-like voice it was, as it had been so since Larkes had heard it for the first time early this evening. It sounded like some sort of someone's weeping-so long as he could ever tell about it, or pleading, if it were to be heard in a different manner. The sorrowful voice continued for a time being, and stopped. Whatsoever it would be, nevertheless, the voice gave him chills; he could not help but shudder, subtly but surely, down to his feet.

He could no longer just ignore it. Not only had the voice shaken him, both his body and soul alike, but he was now feeling uneasy about it; it might be just some kind of wind blowing, or even hallucination, but what if there was actually someone in trouble? He couldn't just take the risk ignoring someone in need. Everyone living on this barren, tormented land ought to be helping each other for sure-such had been one's way of living, a decent man and woman's creed in Gaia-Seven, since the ages of his fathers and ancestors. With these thoughts on mind, he decided to go there himself.

"Gunnar, I'm going down there for a little while. Be good and pray for my arse's safety, since I've got no idea if this is just a trickery of vile demon or not." Said Larkes through the crane's built-in radio.

"Whatever, ye old, foolish friend of mine. Make it quick and haul yourself over here fast." Gunnar grunted, answering back.

He halted the engine, and stepped outside the crane's cockpit. Larkes did not carry his gun, though, as he intended to lend a helping hand, not a killing blow in any of cases. Then, he set out into the dark wilderness ahead. While on his way, he turned on the flashlight, held it in his right hand and slowly wavered it side to side. He kept his eyes peeled, and his ears keen, in search of the source of voice. In such manner, Larkes moved his feet deeper into the shadows.

Without his partner working the crane, Gunnar had nothing to do for a moment. The entire work was being delayed for every second passing, and he knew the bishop would never like it. The last time Gunnar had done something wrong to him, the bishop had then taken out his electric whip and beaten him like a mule; that still remained as one of the thing he would avoid no matter the cost. Yet, if it were just a matter of an hour or two getting late, he could always find some excuses for it, as he had done so many times before. Once, he was worrying over his back and butt getting whipped alike.

As he came to think of it, nevertheless, this would be his extra recess time, away from the arduous work. Gunnar could always use that, since, to the peasants like himself, every single day on this land meant hard labor, if it were not the wartime. Should it be the case, then, every day and night would become a struggle of preserving his or her own life. Were it to be any sort of trouble for him later on, he could always blame it all on his halfwit colleague, who had left his post without permission in the first place.

With such a firm plan within his mind, he lay back on his seat, putting his relaxed feet next to the handle. Half an hour was passing, and he started to become worried. Larkes, that damned fool, was getting late for sure. Over an entire hour passing by, however, he could possibly no longer kick back and relax. Five minutes later, he found himself out of his vehicle, standing on the ground with his plasma-bolt.

Like his friend had done earlier, he too flicked on the switch of his flashlight. Gunnar then held it in the other hand, while firmly holding the plasma-bolt on his right. He could not possibly shake off his bad feeling about this; he well knew that he was moving into the depth of darkness alone. Indeed, the priests had in fact told them that any possible threats near the site, including ferocious beasts and chimeras, had recently been vanquished for good by the hands of imperial tech-knights. Nevertheless, without anyone to watch his six, this mere knowledge could not help him, even a bit, not to be terrified. He did not know why he was letting himself dragged into the dark, inch by inch.

Was his friend, dumb as a mule, so much of a value to him that he was putting himself in harm's way? Gunnar had known him for ages since his childhood. They had been raised together like siblings; they used to play with each other, fight one another over some silly arguments, learn how to work on the corn fields, and they had even served altogether in the same regiment for years. They were, for sure, old friends as such. But, would all these be the valid reasons he should be risking his own life? By the time even he was setting his feet onward, step by step, he knew by his guts that something was wrong down there-terribly, so to put it in a word. There was certainly a threat ahead, be it some kind of an abomination or evil spirit, a possible danger lurking to devour him as a whole.

He shouldn't be doing this-so thought Gunnar by himself; what good his friend would ever be if his soul already left his body on earth? Larkes had been his friend long enough, but was he truly more precious than his own life? At this point, Gunnar was even cursing him, wishing that he hadn't been born into Gaia-Seven from the very beginning, that he had not known him at all in the first place. Yet, he could not help himself but asking this-would this be the same for Larkes as well, who had been left there alone in the dark just as he was now at present?

Ironically, not so long afterwards, Gunnar finally located his friend. Down the mound he was standing on, there was Larkes. As he cast a light upon him, things became clearly visible. First, his head, face, torso, left hand and arm were there to be seen. Gunnar moved his flashlight further downward, and saw that his other limbs were missing. Someone, or something was holding in its hand the remaining part of a human body that had been Larkes. With one of its giant, bloated fingers it slowly caressed the body. While at it, the monster was weeping, bloody tears coming down from its eyes, which were relatively small compared to its huge body size. Again, it then moved its finger and touched Larkes' body lightly once more.

"O' my father, who had met his tragic end by the hands of men and women tiny as such, yet cruel like no others on this planet we were born into. I consume his flesh, my dear father, and drink the remaining blood within his veins in memory of you; though you had abandoned me ever since my humble beginning, depriving me of warmth and care I had direly craved from you..."

Soon, its eyes met Gunnar's, now trembling at such gory sight he was seeing. Its mourning stopped. The sorrow engraved on its face deepened. Then, it shrieked at him with a terrible voice coming out of its throat.

Alas, woe to Gunnar, for the two friends finally joined one another on their way to eternal oblivion!