Chp 8: The Hunting Fields

Location: '…The Hunting Fields Duh' (Realm of Brass and Blood)

Date: Error 4 (1 week after 3rd-degree ear burn incident)

As one can imagine trudging through the great track marks of cities or the football field size footsteps of chaos god engines, is not a particularly relaxing endeavour. 

Adam was figuratively shitting himself. 

The day before he had replaced his clothes from the legless Ork nob he had managed to take unawares, which had begun to fall off days into being apart from Kaldor, days spent crawling from hole to hole; like a rat, slowly moving across the hunting fields towards the brass citadel in the distance, moving from foxhole to foxhole, burying himself every time he heard a rumble in the distance or the roar of a roaming warband and the thunder of guns in the distance. 

Gasping across a muddy puddle he drank ravenously, despite its unapatising appearance.

Minutes later after having had all he could keep down he looked into the water, drowning.

The muddied face looking back was almost unrecognisable new scars littering his face and neck, only letting out a small smile as he made eye contact with the glowing emerald green eyes of his reflection.

At least one thing is consistent.

'I'm going to make it' he said voice hoarse as he scrambled up the sheer muddy face of the deep fifty-metre-wide tread groove he found himself as he moved towards the ever-louder clamour of eternal combat within the inner circle of Khorne's realm.

TIMESKIP

Location: Earth, Wiltshire, Savernake Forest (Arse-end)

Date: October 31st, 1990 'The National Weekend Satanists Society'

Sat around a figure clothed in black, were 10 geezers all on a mismatch of rainbow-coloured sun-bleached fold-out deck chairs, all similarly garbed in black clothes and hoods. 

Garry: 'My friends we gather today to commune with Satan himself' said the man clothed in black robes arms spread wide.

In the back whispering to each other. 'This guy Greg, I swear he gets worse every month 'Steve let Garry have his fun, he's been trying for months, it's honestly endearing, also what else would we be doing to entertain ourselves this weekend', 'Fair enough better than listening to the wife natter on about the show she's been watching, parenthood, something or other I still don't get why she finds it interesting'. 

Drawing out a pentagram with lit candles set at the corners the cultists formed a loose circle.

Garry raised his hands. The men around him lowering their heads. Then sneakily reaching back he lowered the tone arm of his record player onto the record player he had brought with him.

~ Requiem, K. 626 III Sequentia ~

Then in Latin he slowly began to chant.

'Nocte clamo daemones, vocamus caput, hic hac nocte convenimus ante astra caduca te duce quaerendo vires et ductus'.

Chanting together they replied back.

'Lucifer hear us .....'

'Beelzebub hear us ....'

'Abaddon hear us...'

'Mammon hear us ..'

'Belphegor hear us .'

'Asmodeus hear us'

Silence whistled through the group night finally fully upon them, after 20 seconds Garry sighed 'Better luck next time guys. Thank you, everyone, for coming, next week then aye' 

'Aye,' they all replied back.

But suddenly a thought, a name as if out of nowhere popped into Greg's head. 

…-SKARBRAND-…

It couldn't hurt anyway, none of it is real thought Greg.

'Wait guys one last one for the road', the men who had begun to turn away, turned back around shuffling back but nonetheless groaned to advertise their annoyance at Greg being a prick, having already mentally transitioned to being nice and warm at home.

'Skarbrand hear us.' Greg whispered the name seeming to hang in the air much longer than was natural.

Nothing.

'WHOOOSH'

The candles went out, then the record player screeched to a halt. 

A sudden gale flew through the clearing, the candle's embers sparkling with the passing wind. In milliseconds, the last memory of light disappeared from the men's retinas plunging them into black, which swallowed their unadjusted eyes. All the men straining to see even their hands in front of their faces.

No light spilt from the waxing moon that night, obscured by thick clouds and the dense treetops above.

'Come on Greg what did you do, nice prank…' said Garry trying to keep a light tone in his voice.

'Who's Scary Band,' said Barry quizically.

Steve poked Greg in the ribs causing him to jump away in the pitch dark.

Greg shook his head nervously, 'I didn't do anything, it's not a prank, I don't know, the name just popped into my head'.

Unbeknownst to the men none of whom were looking up, a purple light began to pulse over the tops of the trees, which were arched over the holloway the men found themselves in. 

Then ten seconds later the whispers started. The awful whispers. They seemed to dance from next to them, to miles away, now behind, above, below resonating in their very skulls. Causing their breath to catch in their throats.

 'Oh god' said one of them, 'Let's get out of here,' said another.

 'Calm down' said Garry 'Don't panic Greg here just thinks he's funny'. The sheer uncertainty in his voice, however, only made everyone more tense. 

Then the whispers stopped, the sudden silence seeming to agitate them even more, 'I just heard something said Greg, 'Ssshh Stay quiet, it sounds like something's coming towards us'.

'You didn't hear shit Greg' said Ted, 'Shush' Greg shot back, voice sounding tense through gritted teeth. 

'Boom, whoomph, Boom. Whoomph, whoomph, boom.'

The noises drew closee as if a giant was storming towards them or a great dragon's wings were beating the air. 

Seconds passed, all of them holding their breath, but eventually, the tension grew too much, one man breaking like a snapping elastic band.

He turned and ran as fast as he could dashing away towards the the woods exit and like a chain reaction all the men followed screaming, grunting, and tripping over each other desperate to have more people between them and whatever was coming after them their breath loud and heart beats echoing in their skulls. 

Garry's POV 

Fuck, fuck, fuck he thought running as a howling cacophony of screams carried through the wind into his ear as if right beside him. His heart rate overtaking the ever-shortening time between booms above and beyond them just outside their sight.

'Whooomph, BOOM'

'Whooomph'

'Whoomph'

'WHOMPH'

Crack

 A tree came down behind them, wood screaming as it splintered in half.

I'm fucked Garry thought starting to break down sobbing through gasping breaths as he hyperventilated. Suddenly Greg running just ahead, went down hard, not seeing a gnarled root taking his legs from under him. A bone in his ankle breaking audibly over the panicked noises of their compatriots ahead.

'Crunch'

Eyes torn in guilt, pausing for a moment in indecision Garry ran past.

'I'm sorry Greg'.

' aaaarrggghhh help me, you bastard, anyone … STEVE help me.'

Fear guiding Greg he turned 90 degrees to the left running, away from the rest of the main group down a different path. 

Running some more Garry finally ran out of breath, lactic acid burning in his limbs. Nine to five in offices for 30 years quickly catching up with him, as his double chin jiggling comically. 

Looking around he saw 50 metres behind him Greg trying desperately to crawl towards the rest of the group who were just beginning to move out of his line of sight, terror burning clearly in Greg's eyes.

 Suddenly Greg screamed 'Spare me take them, I summoned you'.

But Greg only got to be terrified for a moment as a massive mass struck down like a meteor to the ground, cloaked in fire, crushing Greg's pleading head like a watermelon, and forcing the air out of his lungs, producing a sound akin to a hauntingly short Aztec death whistle. 

'Fwwwwwoooorrrrrrggh' cut short.

A secondater the thing, veiled in black acrid smoke, kicked the dirt, appearing in the next moment ahead of the rest of the group.

Its afterimage a second later, to Garry's bugging eyes, tore the woods into a charnel house, entrails cast across branches, limbs sprawled across the ground, heads still drawing breath as they span in parabolas through the air still believing they were alive within the warm embrace of a spiralling blood mist. 

Garry, dived down behind a tree trunk curling between roots, screaming inside, pls God, any God help me, fuck, fuck I'm sorry.

Hearing silence moments later after the body parts fell to the ground and hoping the beast had moved away he peaked round, only in time to see the thing's head swivelled around like an owl with a snap. Its malevolent inferno-filled smile running from ear to ear, smiling as it roared rancid air passing over Garry causing him to faint in the next moment as his brain short-circuited feeling it's hot putrid breath.