Grunt's Ghost

Prologue to Grunts Ghost

The sky was burning. No, not burning, glowing red from the sun's ray, like the blood of a fresh cut on ones finger. A storm was brewing but not of this reality, devouring the universe. You could see silent lightning strobes in the distance. Grunt turned towards it and the rain plastered him in the face, he winced at the sight. Hesitation lingered in the black air. Grunt pulls his storm coat over his head as he leaves the tent, partly to fend off the rain, and partly to cover his weapons. The edge of the skyline flicks on and off with the unnerving lightning strikes, far away, like a malfunctioning lamp filament that refuses to stay lit. Men have gathered around the cook tents, hunkered down with their backs turned against the weather. They half-watch him approach, shrouded, hooded, some supping from mess cans. They watch him approach, a few gestured vaguely. Grunt’s Ghosts. Someone had come up with that within a few days of their first deployment. As he clamber down the slope, tongues of streaks rush down through the blackened clouds, hissing and sighing.

A howl rips through the air, stopping him, it echos across dark-shrouded mountain peaks. Crouching, a sword in each hand. It was the cry of a beast, a large one by the sound of it. Something moves on the next dramatic outcry, a monstrous shape, coiling through the clouds. Someone bellows a war cry, deep and savage, almost as bestial as the howl that preceded it. There’s a flash of light and clang of metal hitting stone. There’s another deafening howl and an answering battle cry, followed by the sound of smashing rocks. Peering into the dark clouds, there’s something big moving in there. The figures are shuddering like they’re in the grip of a storm. I look up at the jagged edges, moving towards the sound of the fighting. All the troops power combined wasn't enough to stop the power locked inside the storm. Everyone stopped, huddled at the entrance to the command tent. Hardly a breath was heard. Instead, they stared in speechless dread at an unexpected sight. A cratonic form stretches across the sky, you think: That can’t be right. You haven’t even seen the creatures yet, and already they’re running rings around you.

Looking around me, I see disturbing forms taking shape. It wasn’t until the branches of the oak trees blackened against the flaming horizon that I pushed myself to get to the source of the sounds. I found my focus point as a torrent of flames showered down upon me, slowing my progress. It reached the camp and began turning everything to ash. Blocking it completely from my sight were two vast wings forming a shadow on the ground in front of me. My trance was broken by another roar. Time was impossible to keep track of, so I didn’t know how often it had happened. It took a lot of energy to kill something with nothing but sheer brutality. Despite my reaction to all that was happening in the campsite, my feet were nailed to the ground. Somewhere in the unknowable depths of my mind, a thought occurs. Its echo told me that I should be attacking them, but an unseen force compelled me to do nothing more than stare at the sky as they drew nearer. I saw the creatures as they decended from the huge black clouds hanging low in the sky. I knew their name, but it was to late to inform any of my men. It seems they’re getting closer to what they’re looking for.