Plague Doctors: Beginning of the End-Chapter 15 - : The Second Dot

The snow crunched beneath their boots, a rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound that did little to ease the tension hanging heavy in the air. They'd travelled a day since the first tremor. Eli's eyes were fixed on the ground, his brow furrowed beneath the shadow of his plague mask. The group moved slowly, deliberately, their formation tight and calculated. Each step felt like an eternity, the anticipation of an unseen threat gnawing at their nerves.

"What are they waiting for?" Eli muttered, his voice low and gravelly, barely audible over the howling wind. His gloved hand gripped the small, clawed hand of the child orc beside him. The creature, though not human, felt oddly fragile in his grasp, its rough skin a stark contrast to the gentleness with which he held it. Eli hadn't even realized he'd taken the child's hand—it was instinct, a reflex born of some buried paternal impulse he rarely acknowledged. The child, for its part, seemed to sense the unspoken protection in Eli's touch. Despite the man's cold demeanor, the layers of his coat, and the ominous mask that hid his face, the child felt safe. Safer, at least, than it had any right to feel in this frozen wasteland.

To Eli's right, four meters away, Kira moved with the precision of a predator. Her gloved hands rested on the hilt of her katana, her fingers flexing slightly as if itching to draw the blade. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the ground beneath them, waiting for the slightest sign of movement. Beside her walked Lyra, the adult female elf, her posture tense and her gaze flickering repeatedly to the back of the group. Her concern was palpable, her eyes lingering on Neil, the resident who had once kicked Piku, the young elf now walking beside him. Lyra had suggested swapping places with Piku, but the formation couldn't be broken—not yet. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling of malice radiating from Neil, a quiet menace that made her skin crawl.

Neil, for his part, seemed oblivious to Lyra's scrutiny—or perhaps he simply didn't care. He walked with Piku, his expression unreadable beneath his own mask. The child elf clung to his side, nervous and afraid, but Neil offered no comfort. His focus was elsewhere, his body tense as if waiting for something—or someone—to strike. Behind him, Hano moved with the rigid discipline of a soldier, his presence commanding and unyielding. The second child elf walked beside him, her small frame trembling not from fear of Hano but from his harsh demeanor. When she stumbled, he didn't offer a hand to help her up; instead, he barked a command, his voice sharp and unrelenting. "Get on your feet. Now." It wasn't malice that drove him—Hano despised weakness in all its forms, and he would not coddle anyone, not even a child.

Four meters to Hano's left, Aleck walked with the second child orc. The young orc was fascinated by the mechanisms that whirred and clicked on Aleck's chest and arm—a steampunk marvel of gears, pistons, and glowing red lights. The child stared in awe, oblivious to the fact that Aleck had noticed his curiosity. The man's plague mask hid his face, but his focus was elsewhere, his fingers absently clicking the beads of a rosary as he murmured prayers under his breath. He prayed for forgiveness, for strength, for the salvation of his soul should death find him in this frozen hell. But even as he prayed, his mechanical arm shifted subtly, the gears within it whirring softly as it prepared for whatever lay ahead.

At the front of the formation, Micah walked beside Petra, the adult warrior orc. Petra limped heavily, her movements labored and pained. The young orcs were too far ahead and behind to offer her assistance, and she refused to ask for help. Micah, however, couldn't help but glance at her, his concern evident despite his attempts to be subtle. Petra noticed, of course—she was a warrior, trained to be aware of her surroundings. His attention irked her, but she bit back her frustration, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand. When Micah finally spoke, his voice was gentle, almost hesitant. "You know, I could help you walk."

Petra's response was immediate and sharp, her tone cutting through the cold air like a blade. "I do not need your help, boy." Her words were meant to deter him, to push him away, but Micah didn't falter. He simply nodded, his resolve unshaken.

The formation they had created was a six-pointed circle, each plague doctor positioned to protect the elves and orcs. They moved cautiously, their senses on high alert. The ground beneath them trembled occasionally, a subtle vibration that sent shivers down their spines. Each tremor was a reminder of the unseen threat lurking below, a predator biding its time. Eli couldn't shake the feeling of unease. Why hadn't it attacked yet? What was it waiting for? The questions gnawed at him, but there were no answers—only the endless white expanse and the growing sense of dread. They would walk a few metres and then a tremor would follow, the tremor an identify of what followed underneath.

Then, without warning, the ground shook violently, the minor tremors originating from a far escalating into a full-blown earthquake. As if new creatures, extras from the ones already stalking them had joined the party. The snow around them shifted and cracked, the sound echoing like thunder. Eli's grip on the child orc tightened as he braced himself, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of movement. And then it happened.

The attack came swiftly and without mercy. Four massive driders burst from the ground, their grotesque forms towering over the group. Each was the size of a small house, their spindly legs slicing through the snow like blades. They were accompanied by smaller minions, six-foot-tall spiders that skittered across the ground with terrifying speed.

Two of the giant driders charged at Eli, their chelicerae clicking menacingly. He reacted instantly, pulling the child orc close and diving to the side. He twisted mid-air, shielding the child with his own body as they hit the ground. The impact barely doing anything to him, but the child was unharmed, cushioned by Eli's body.

Kira was already in motion, her katana flashing as she intercepted two of the smaller driders. She swung the blade in a diagonal arc, slicing through one creature's chest before spinning to block an attack aimed at Lyra. The elf woman stood her ground, her eyes wide with fear but her stance firm.

Neil, meanwhile, was less composed. He fumbled with his gun, firing off shots that mostly missed their mark. One bullet grazed a drider, but it was enough to draw its attention. Neil screamed as the creature lunged at him, his focus entirely on saving himself. Piku, the child elf he was supposed to protect, was left to fend for himself, his small frame trembling as he backed away from the chaos.

Hano faced one of the giant driders, his massive blade already in hand. He shoved the child elf aside, his movements precise and calculated. The drider focused on him, its multiple eyes glinting with malice as it lunged. Hano met the attack head-on, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision.

Aleck, meanwhile, had his hands full with another giant drider. He grabbed the child orc by the collar, yanking him out of harm's way as he leaped back. His mechanical arm shifted, the gears whirring as it transformed into a shotgun. He fired, the blast echoing through the frozen landscape.

At the front of the formation, Micah stepped in front of Petra, his broad frame shielding her from one smaller drider. Petra stared down at him, her expression a mix of irritation and disbelief. "What is wrong with you, boy?" she muttered, though there was a flicker of something else in her eyes—gratitude, perhaps, though she would never admit it.

The battle raged on, but even as they struggled, one question lingered in Eli's mind: Why had the driders waited so long to attack? And what else was out there, watching, waiting? And how comes the magnitude of the tremors shifted as if more appeared?

Hano's muscles burned as he braced against the massive drider's assault, his blade trembling under the sheer force of the creature's chelicerae. The impact sent shockwaves through his arms, but he held firm, his boots digging into the snow as he was pushed back. The drider's size was staggering—its body loomed over him like a living fortress, its multiple eyes glinting with a predatory hunger. Hano gritted his teeth, his mind racing. Pushing the child orc out of the way had cost him precious seconds, and now he was on the defensive, his movements constrained by protecting the young one.

He couldn't risk an attack—not yet. The drider was too fast, too powerful. One wrong move, and he'd be crushed. So he held his ground, his heavy blade angled to deflect the creature's strikes. Each clash of metal against chitin sent sparks flying, the sound echoing like a thunderclap in the frozen air. Hano's breath came in short, sharp bursts, his body coiled like a spring, waiting for an opening.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eli.

Eli, who was facing not one but two driders of the same monstrous size. The sight ignited something primal in Hano—a seething, white-hot rage. Why had the creatures chosen to attack Eli with such ferocity while only one had come for him? Did they think he was weaker? Less of a threat? The thought was unbearable. Hano's pride, his very sense of self, was tied to his strength, his ability to dominate any foe. And now, these creatures had the audacity to dismiss him.

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The rage surged through him, a torrent of raw energy that drowned out the pain in his arms and the fatigue in his legs. With a guttural roar, Hano leaped back, creating just enough distance to reposition himself. His left hand joined his right on the hilt of his massive blade, the 120-kilogram weapon feeling almost weightless in his grip. He swung the blade in a wide, devastating arc, the edge slicing through the drider's front legs with a sickening crunch. The creature shrieked, its mandibles snapping wildly as it stumbled.

Hano didn't stop. He surged forward, his boot connecting with the drider's cephalothorax with enough force to cave in the hardened exoskeleton. The sound of cracking chitin was music to his ears. The drider collapsed, its legs twitching as it tried to rise, but Hano was already bringing his blade down in a final, crushing blow. The weapon cleaved through the creature's head, ending its life in an instant as the blade almost cut through to the snow.

Breathing heavily, Hano turned, his eyes scanning the battlefield for Eli. He expected to see the man struggling, perhaps even overwhelmed by the two driders. But what he saw instead made his blood boil.

Eli was standing over the carcass of one drider, his long sword dripping with hemolymph. The second drider lay nearby, its abdomen ripped open, its lifeblood steaming as it pooled in the snow. Eli had moved with a fluid grace, his shotgun in one hand and his blade in the other, his movements precise and efficient. He had killed both driders—both after they clashed, the crunch of chitin against chitin echoed as the two driders, locked in their accidental collision, lurched to their feet. Eli, clutching the small orc, hissed, "Ten strides back. Wait for me." The orc, sensing the shift in the air, scrambled away. The driders surged forward, pincers clicking, mandibles snapping. Eli met their charge, the longsword singing from its sheath, the shotgun leaping from its holster. A blast roared, the recoil a mere tremor in Eli's frame, his body honed to a razor's edge. The backlash stabilized with just one arm and relative ease, his momentum unchanged. The left drider's foreleg exploded in a shower of ichor, the creature crashing to the snow with a shriek. Eli was on it in an instant, using the fallen drider as a springboard to launch himself at the second. He landed on its leg, a fleeting pressure, before arcing over its monstrous body, the longsword plunging deep into its cephalothorax. The drider went wild, a frenzied dance of eight legs, but Eli held on, using its momentum to flip himself upright, now standing over its face, the blade still buried. A gunshot, point-blank, and the drider's eye erupted, guts splattering the snow. The first drider, still alive, lunged, but Eli was already a blur, sliding beneath the corpse of his second kill, the longsword ripping upwards in a gruesome dissection of the drider's underside. As the creature crashed into its dead comrade, Eli whirled, the shotgun barking once more. The blast tore into the drider's abdomen, a geyser of steaming hemolymph painting the snow crimson. Silence fell. The two driders lay still, their reign of terror ended. All this ending a moment before Hano claimed his kill.

Hano's jaw clenched so tightly it felt like his teeth might shatter. His hands tightened around the hilt of his blade, his knuckles turning white. How? How could Eli, that arrogant showoff, have bested him so thoroughly? Hano had trained for years, honed his body and mind to perfection, and yet here was Eli, making it look effortless.

The rage burned hotter, a fire that threatened to consume him. He wanted to scream, to charge at Eli and demand an explanation. But no. The battle was far from over, and the others were still fighting for their lives. Hano forced himself to take a deep breath, to push the anger down, at least for now. But the seed had long been planted, and it would always fester.

As he turned back to the fray, his eyes met Eli's lenses for the briefest of moments. There was no gloating in Eli's gaze, no smugness—just the cold, detached focus of a man who had seen too much death to care about anything else. And that, more than anything, infuriated Hano.

He would prove himself. He would show Eli, and everyone else, that he was the stronger one. No matter what it took.

Meanwhile, one of the smaller driders, fixated on Piku, lunged. Lyra, a blur of motion, darted towards the elf, a cry escaping her lips. It was a fatal error. The drider, closer to Lyra, intercepted her, slamming her to the ground. Chelicerae, dripping venom, opened in a gruesome parody of a smile, ready to pierce her flesh. But in its brutal haste, the drider had made its own mistake. Its attack had presented Kira with a sliver of an opening. It was a chance that demanded absolute precision. Her katana, a whisper of steel, flashed. A vertical slash, so swift it was almost invisible, sliced through the drider's neck. The blade stopped, an inch from Lyra's face, the creature's severed head thudding to the snow beside her. Lyra's eyes, wide with terror, now reflected pure shock. For a heartbeat, she'd believed Kira's strike would claim her as well. But this was the legacy of Hano's training. Kira, his protégé, had learned to sculpt her movements with ruthless precision, each strike a calculated equation, each outcome flawless. No wasted motion, no collateral damage. Only the clean, decisive cut.

The drider that attacked Aleck had been giving him so much trouble he kept leaping away, his left arm taking too long like it was stalling. He saw Hano staring, he could tell Hano was itching to join in and show off his skills, he felt Hano's eyes of judgement upon him, like he was weak and struggled against a single drider, he felt ineffucient. He groaned to enter a state of focus, the drider attacking once more but this time, he was ready. His left arm, a marvel yet a seemingly a mess of engineering, shot upwards in a brutal uppercut. The strike landed with bone-jarring force, chitin shattering, chelicerae snapping. The drider, momentarily facing up, its vulnerable cephalothorax exposed, was now at Aleck's mercy. With a hiss of escaping steam, the mechanical arm finally morphed, its form shifting from bludgeoning weapon to grenade launcher. A single grenade roared from the launcher, a projectile of pure destruction that slammed into the drider's cephalothorax with sickening finality. The explosion that followed was concise, devastating. Where moments before the drider had been, there was now only a smoking crater, a gaping hole in the creature's once-imposing form.

Lyra, scrambling to her feet, shoved the drider's corpse aside. Her gaze darted, searching frantically for Neil. She found him just as he finished off a drider, his next move a chilling yet an almost expected betrayal. With a callous disregard for the child's life, he hurled Piku at the remaining drider, a desperate gambit to save his own skin.

"No!" Lyra's scream ripped through the air. She surged forward, white flames erupting around her, propelling her towards Piku and the drider with desperate speed. But she was too late. The drider's chelicerae snapped shut, sinking deep into Piku's neck. The sickening crunch of bone marked the moment the child elf's spine gave way. Venom, swift and lethal, coursed through his small body. Lyra arrived just as the drider prepared to feast on its helpless prey.

"Ahhh!" she shrieked, unleashing a torrent of white flames. The searing blast engulfed the drider's head, incinerating it in an instant. The creature crashed to the ground, its lifeless weight falling onto Piku's broken body. Lyra, her heart a leaden weight, reached for the child elf, her fingers brushing against his still form. The young elf barely made a soujd, his mouth twitching as tears built up in his eyes. Finally the dam broke, tears breaking free just like his soul.

Two driders, had flank Micah and Petra, one before, one behind, created a deadly pincer. Petra spun, and they stood back to back, a united front against the monstrous threat.The metal casings near his elbows split, revealing gleaming brass cufflinks that transformed his fists into brutal metallic exo-gauntlets.

"Can you handle it?" Micah asked.

"I am a warrior," Petra retorted, her voice edged with steel. "You worry about yourself."

Micah grunted, then exploded into action. A powerful cross punch sent the drider before him reeling, its chelicerae shattered and useless. He pressed his advantage, lunging as the creature struggled to regain its footing. Sensing his approach, the drider tried to leap away, but Micah was faster, seizing it mid-air and slamming it into the snow with bone-jarring force.

Meanwhile, Petra, facing her own drider, danced between its snapping pincers. But a misstep, a sudden pressure on her injured leg, brought a sharp cry of pain. She stumbled back, leaving herself vulnerable.

Micah, hearing her gasp, hesitated in his attack.He whirled just in time to see the drider capitalize on Petra's pain, its leg stabbing into her other leg, the crunch of bone echoing through the air as she let out something close to a fusion between a small scream and a grunt . Rage surged through Micah. He grabbed the drider he'd just subdued and, with a roar, swung it like a baseball, smashing it into the drider that had attacked Petra. The sickening crunch of chitin on chitin filled the air.

He rushed to Petra's side, his face etched with worry. "Are you alright? Did it bite you?"

Petra met his gaze, her expression grim.

"No, I'm not bitten, but my leg's broken."

"Mmh," Micah hissed, his voice hardening with fury.

He turned back to the driders, which were just regaining their footing. He charged, a whirlwind of brutal force. His fist slammed into the first drider, burying itself in its chitin. He ripped his hand free, then swung a backhanded blow that shattered the creature's head. The second drider lunged, only to be met by Micah's forearm, the impact sending it flipping over end before crashing to the snow. With a final, savage stomp, he crushed its skull, ending its life.

He returned to Petra, his movements now swift and purposeful. From his pack, he produced bandages and vials of chemicals, his movements practiced and efficient as he began to tend to her broken leg. She stared at him with both awe and admiration, still wondering why he cared as much as he seemed to while also wondering how a human had such strength.

Across the battlefield, Eli, his eyes scanning the scene, heard a heart-wrenching scream. It came from Neil's direction, the anguished cry of Lyra mourning the death of Piku.