The Abridged Blood and Gore Repository

The Lost Book

2009-10-21T06:35:00.000-07:00

..and it's literally LOST. XD I will try to retrieve it but I assure you, it was a stand alone version so, yes, it won't affect all the rest.

**Artwork by *drumroll* Alexei Kazansky. For the dialog on this picture, check this out.

The Briny Deep

2009-10-21T05:57:00.000-07:00

Blood and Gore
The Briny Deep
Book 3
Chapter List

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

**Artwork by Alexei Kazansky. More can be found here.

The Briny Deep, Chapter 8

2009-10-21T05:55:00.001-07:00

Chapter 8 – Help

Charnaiz woke up finding himself beside a campfire. He couldn’t move though – not even his head – and he soon discovered why. His entire body from the neck down was buried under the sand. He felt that his hands and ankles were also chained, and that there was something biting at him from below.
“Sand fleas.” he murmured groggily.
The team was all there – in the same situation as Charnaiz – some unluckier than others. They had all been found lying near the Peregrine when Bangsawan’s men blew a hole in it with a charge of explosives. Shruiken was a special case, though.
Datu Bangsawan abhorred the Japanese. He hated them because they were the ones responsible for competing with the activities of his men in waters outside the Philippine islands. They were also the ones who killed his parents – by crucifixion, nonetheless, because they were Christian – and he thought that it was appropriate to give the same treatment to Shruiken. Midori was excused – she was a woman, and women were highly respected in Bangsawan’s society.
The unconscious samurai had been stripped of his armor and had been tied to a large cross, with an inscription placed at the head which read, CONDENADO PARA EL ASESINATO or “Convicted for murder.” There were no nails in his hands or feet, but there was something else – a bucket of leeches. These would be placed on him and then he would die of blood loss – very slowly.
Kazansky looked up at Shruiken’s cross from his place in the sand.
“Poor dude. I wish I knew him better.”
“He cut your leg open, remember?” said Charnaiz.
“Yeah, but that was a long time ago.”
“It really is a shame for him to die.”
“Yeah. Wish there was something we could do to save him.”
“Yeah I – wait a minute, where’s Nicolette?”
“Nicolette? I thought you saw her.”
“No, I didn’t – that means there’s still hope!”
Oh, the Scorpion was very much alive – but there was a minor setback – she had lost contact with her entire mercenary team and had now run out of ammunition.
She stood on top of a cliff overlooking the pirate hideout. She could see the heads of Charnaiz, Kazansky, Natasha, Valeri and Kyurdin sticking out from the stand. The pirates had made the mistake of placing Natasha next to Kyurdin, and the watchmen could no longer stand the war of words they were waging against each other. They decided then and there to cover their mouths with banana-leaf gags and sit back.
Nicolette knew she could not do this alone, and set off into the jungle in search for help. The vines and trees were not exactly alien to her, but she did not feel comfortable walking around in them. Her strong desire to find civilization somehow led her to a little village in the middle of the jungle. Smoke rose from the bonfires lit near houses to ward off mosquitoes. The people walked around with scarcely any clothing at all – but they seemed contented nonetheless.
Nicolette made her way towards the village carefully, but was spotted by a village sentry, who immediately yelled out,
“Kastila! Kastila!”
Confused, the Scorpion decided to turn and run back into the jungle, only to encounter a hunting party just returning from the village, armed with bows and spears – while she herself had a submachine gun with no ammo, which was about as useful as a heavy stick in a swordfight.
The Frenchwoman raised her hands in the air and put her weapon on the ground, allowing the natives to crowd around her, brandishing their spears.
“C'est lui.” she said. “C'est où je meurs.”
She held her breath and closed her eyes, waiting for the final blow to strike, but it never came.
She opened her eyes to see a woman clothed in a Spanish Civil Guard uniform – but with a tribal red cape. She took Nicolette’s hand and helped her up, saying to her,
“I can help you and your friends.”

“We’re all going to die.” grumbled Rodion, his head sticking out of the sand. “And that poor sap on the cross is going to be the first one, too.”
“Keep your head up, dedushka.” said Kazansky. “We’re one member short. That Frenchwoman might still be alive.”
The admiral turned his head over to the man whom he now – albeit with extreme doubt – thought of as a distant relative.
“That was a bad pun, Alexei.”
“Izbineniya, dedushka.”
Suddenly, the pirates were running from the prisoners, towards the shoreline, grabbing their bows and rifles and any other weapon they could find. Rodion could sense what was wrong.
“They’re under attack. I can’t hear any gunfire, but I’m very sure of it.”
He was right. And it was no ordinary assailant that Bangsawan and his crew were up against – but the resurrected Sosulka itself – returned from its watery grave.
The distant roar of cannons could then be heard as the Sosulka approached Bangsawan’s cove, with its icy ammunition landing just meters away from the coast.
Bangsawan, thinking quickly, rounded up his own flotilla of kumpit and sampan warships and unfurled the sails of his own Buwaya – a medium-sized warship and a hybrid between a kumpit, sampan and a caracoa.
Most of Bangsawan’s fleet had now set out to see to engage the enemy, and the only thing that stopped the team of fighting men and women from leaving was a meager force of six guards.
Suddenly, a spear fell from up above, landing at the feet of one of the remaining guards. The guard looked up to see – much to his terror – a large group of heavily armed Negrito warriors, being led by a babaylan wearing the blue uniform of a Civil Guard accompanied by a Caucasian in a white uniform.
There was no engagement – the remaining pirates turned yellow and fled to the safety of the cave. The Negritos then ran down to the base of the cliffs and started to dig the team out of their sand-pits.
Hitteru Midori was the first to be released. She ran towards the cross where her brother hung and proceeded to undo his ropes. The samurai fell on the ground, unconscious. Midori helped him to his feet and slapped him in the face. His eyes opened slowly.
“What did I tell you about being foolish?” she scolded.
“Silence, sister – you speak like you are my mother. And what are these things on me?” he said, removing the leeches that had crawled out of the bucket and onto his legs.
“They are leeches, brother. They suck your blood.”
“I can see that.” he said, removing a fat, bloody leech from his thigh.
“Hurry and cleanse yourself. We have to be gone from this wretched place.” Midori said, taking a careful look around.
By this time, Nicolette had descended from the cliffs herself, brandishing a Filipino-made crossbow.
“Did you miss me, ma chienne?” she asked Charnaiz, grinning.
“Thanks… I guess.” said the king, slightly embarrassed.
“People – we don’t have a lot of time here!” Kazansky said, walking up to them and brushing off the sand from his uniform.
“The enemy is coming back.” said Kyurdin, rising from his sand-pit.
“And they’ve brought a friend!” continued Natasha.
“The spirit of the Sosulka has infected Bangsawan and his flotilla.” said Valeri. “We are now facing an army of ice demons – including Bangsawan himself – all under the command of Led-Krovin.”
“Well we have no time to waste.” said the babaylan, whose name was Kalapati. She produced a bowl and placed it in the middle of the group.
“Admiral Rodion,” she said, “this ritual will forever rid your family of the curse of the sea. You will be free to wander these oceans as long as your health permits – but you must…”
“Excuse me, madam.” said the admiral, “But how exactly did you know my name?”
“…you must drink blood from the four corners of the earth.” she continued, ignoring his question.
“How the devil will I do that?”
“I will conduct the ceremony. Take the swordsman, the Amazon and the blond woman with you to protect us whilst we do this.”
“And what about us?” asked Kazansky.
“The rest of you are part of the ceremony.”

Suddenly, the Buwaya and its accompanying flotilla hit the shore with an icy clash. Half-frozen pirates stepped off, their weapons shining with a frost-like tinge and their teeth and eyes glinting in the sunlight. The Sosulka moved ever closer, its sailors yelling and cursing at Admiral Kazansky.
While Kalapati and Valeri prepared the necessary formulas for the spell, Rodion, Kyurdin, Natasha and Midori were standing on the shore, facing a company of about six dozen of Bangsawan’s now frozen men. Natasha drew a knife, while Midori and Kyurdin drew their own blades. Rodion held his pistol in his left hand with his Cossack shashka in his right.
“Come and get us.” Midori said, with a blood-lusty twinkle in her eye. The pirates rushed forward at the Japanese samurai, and she drew her blade – a katana with an emerald green blade and a blue and red handle. She then started swinging controlled, skillful strikes and slashes at her foes, taking down two to three men with every swing.
Natasha Kalashnikova rushed up to her enemies, giving each man a swift stab in the stomach, making him bend over, then a stab in the back. She advanced and withdrew according to her perception of the situation.
Rodion raised his pepperbox pistol and aimed at the oncoming pirates. Six shots were fired in succession, each bullet hitting an opponent’s head. When he ran out of ammunition, he drew his sword and rushed into the mass of men, slashing at them at every step he took. He did not fight badly for someone his age.
Kyurdin whirled his own blade in his hand while watching the others. At the correct time, he produced a gravity grenade and threw it at the oncoming multitude of aggressors. They froze in their tracks, and he leapt in and began cutting them down to size.
Meanwhile, Kalapati was busy together with Blanchfleur, Kazansky, Shruiken and Charnaiz.
“You must all spill your blood into the bowl. I will then mix it and give it my blessing. Please, hurry!”
The four looked at each other, shrugged and began drawing blood. The blood was then poured into the clay bowl, after which the babaylan sprinkled some powder over it while mumbling a prayer in her language. She then told Kazansky,
“Get your grandfather. He must drink this.”
Major Kazansky, groaning, rose from his seat, ran to the shoreline amidst the gunfire and arrows, and called out for Rodion.
The admiral was pretty busy. Bangsawan’s men had him surrounded, and his pistol was out of ammunition. Kazansky, seeing him in this predicament, decided to charge in to battle himself and aid his grandfather. The major took a deadly VX grenade from his belt, and without a moments hesitation, threw it into the group of pirates. Immediately, the men started to faint, while Kazansky himself threw on his gas mask and dragged Rodion out of the cloud of colorless smoke.
Rodion wasn’t breathing well. His heart was beating rapidly, and his pupils were dilated. He had been hit by a little of the gas.
“My bad.” Kazansky said as he brought the admiral before Kalapati.
“Tell him to drink the blood.” the witch-doctor said. “It shall cure him of all his illnesses.”
“You heard her, dedushka – drink up!” Kazansky said.
Rodion didn’t respond.
“Uh oh.”
“Pour it into his mouth! Quickly!”
Kazansky did as he was told and poured the bloody mess into his grandfather’s mouth. He waited a while, and nothing seemed to change. The enemy was still charging at them, and the heroes that they had stationed at the beach were being outnumbered.
Suddenly, Rodion coughed – a sign of life. The pirates then mysteriously started melting away into the sand, and Bangsawan’s ship started crumbling away. The sands of time and space then started melting away, and dissolving into a blur. The sky imploded into itself and the waters seemed to swirl inside themselves in this grand illusion.
Major Kazansky woke up in his office, dazed. A puddle of drool lay on the desk, and Natasha stood over him. “Awake already? It’s about damn time. Listen – the Red Army decided to scratch the idea of using the generator as a tourist attraction. It’s a bit too risky. The implications are deadly. Sobakov finally relented. Happy day.” she said sarcastically.
“Hey… that’s great. How are things with you and Kyurdin?”
“Who the hell are you talking about?”
“Wh…what? But you two…”
“No, sir, comrade major.”
“So it was all a dream?”
“What was all a dream?”
“Nothing, lieutenant. Carry on.”
“Yes, comrade major.”

Kazansky rose from his chair and smoothed down his crumpled red uniform. “It all seemed so real…”
“You didn’t do so bad yourself!” said a voice from out of the shadows. Charnaiz stepped into view, and patted Kazansky on the back.
“What the hell?”
“Long story. I’ll tell you about it in your civilian-bar. Vodka for everyone – my treat.”

END

The Briny Deep, Chapter 7

2009-10-21T05:54:00.001-07:00

Chapter 7 – Cave of the Deaf

Meanwhile, in a cave a great distance away from the Peregrine, a large group of brown-skinned pirates sat hidden inside, preparing their boats for what their leader, a certain self-styled king who called himself “Datu Bangsawan” called the “heroic defense of the Negrense people from the eastern invaders.” Their spy, a former landowner named Don Napoleon, had set a trap for the Russian fleet that was sailing into Negros to recapture stolen Spanish gold and silver – which, according to the pirates – was theirs to begin with, but was taken from they by the Spanish in what Bangsawan called the “great rape of Negros.”
Soon the pirates could see Rodion and his strike fleet entered the cave – unwary and unsuspicious – perfect targets for an ambush. Bangsawan had his smaller and more agile boats hidden behind the rocks, and three hundred pairs of eyes watched the war frigate and the fleet behind it as it entered the darkness of the cave that was called lungib sang bungol – or in English, “the cave of the deaf.” It was so called because the rocks of the cave had very strange acoustics, making any sound made in the cave seeming to come from somewhere else.
“I don’t like it in here.” Natasha said, looking out towards the pitch-black darkness that lay ahead. “This place gives me the creeps.”
“Nothing to fear, mon ami.” said Nicolette, stepping out to the bow of the ship wearing night vision goggles. “No man is going to sneak up on me in this cave…” she said, the lenses of the goggles automatically zooming in and out.
Kazansky walked up behind them, and showed the Scorpion his rifle.
“Captain Blanchfleur – do you know anything about the—“
“Avtomat Kalashnikova 1947?” she interrupted, “Why naturellement, major. I’ve had experience with just about all of the fire arms known to modern man. Let me have a look see.” she said.
“Comrade major.” Natasha said, walking up to him, “my sidearm has run out of ammunition.”
“Well I have a problem with my own weapon, lieutenant. Although I doubt that there are any more 9mm cartridges on board, you could try asking Kyurdin.” Kazansky said, frowning.
“That creep?” said Natasha, wrinkling her nose. “I’d rather sleep with her! She said, pointing her thumb at the Scorpion.”
“Je vous demande pardon.” said Nicolette, disassembling the rifle. “Fish taco gives me the allergy, and sausages make me throw up. Go figure.”
Just then, a voice could be heard from the roof of the cave. It was rich and heavy, but spoke in another language:
“Kung sin-o da sa inyo ang gusto mag-kaon sang bala halin sa sulpak ko, sige ka da! Sulod ka lang sa lungib namon! Kung gusto mo, puli na lang kamo kag ma lagsanay lang kita sa dagat!”
“What was that?” Kazansky sad, looking up at the stalactite where the voice had come from.
“Well, I’m very sure it’s not a ghost, major.” said the Scorpion, looking up at the stalactite. “There’s no one up there – the sound’s deflecting from the walls of the cave! It’ll be impossible to trace the location of wherever the shots are coming from when they start shooting!”
“Comrade Major – I have a sinking feeling that we’re being watched…” Natasha said, peering out into the blackness.
Nicolette joined her in looking. Now she could see them – light green in the darkness, wielding all sorts of weapons from Muslim krises to model 1700 Spanish infantry muskets.
The enemy was silent – the whole lot of them staring at the oncoming vessel, with blood thirst in their eyes and tension in their hearts.
“You see them?” Kazansky whispered to the Scorpion.
“Oui, major. There appear to be several hundred of them behind those rocks there in the distance. Engagement would be foolhardy – nobody here except me can see them.”
“You’re forgetting that I hold the Eye of Belshazzar.” said a voice softly in the background.
“We don’t need you here! Go away!” whispered Nicolette.
Charnaiz crept out to them, holding Char Milvian in his hand, the blue iris glowing dimly. He looked into the Eye, and he saw several figures creeping around the vessel, piling up what looked like gunpowder on the other side – then the image vanished.
“Oh shit.” he said.
“What is it?” asked Kazansky.
“They’re going to sink us with a gunpowder barricade, up ahead.”
“Where? I don’t see it.” said the Scorpion.
“It’s some distance from here, I reckon.” Charnaiz said, peeking out over the railing.
“Why aren’t they shooting yet?” asked Natasha.
“I don’t know – they seem to be waiting for something.” said Charnaiz. “Something that we don’t know about.”
The sound of water could be heard from the ceiling – something like bodies emerging from the water.
“This could be bad.” said Natasha.
Suddenly they heard footsteps on wood, and then speech, seemingly from everywhere around them.
“They’re on the boat.” murmured Kazansky. “Nicolette – have you repaired my rifle?”
“You broke both your hammer springs! How did you do that?”
“I did what? Huh. I’ll have to use my sidearm then.”
“What about me?” asked Natasha.
“Run and hide.” replied Kazansky.
“With all due respect, comrade major – up yours.”
“There are some muskets down below in the armory, gentlemen.” said Charnaiz. “Natasha, arm yourself; Captain, watch your ammunition; Major Kazansky – don’t get killed. Hehehe.”
“Yeah – I’ll have to be around to protect you, right, your majesty? Hehehe.”
Suddenly, the sound of musket fire exploded in the cave. Marines rushed out to the railings of the Peregrine, as did the personnel of the other five ships. They could see nothing in the darkness, and they were picked off one by one by Bangsawan’s veteran snipers.
Little boats with outriggers on the sides then rowed up to the larger warships and began to reveal small clay pots. Don Napoleon, who was watching all of this, knew that it was now time to make his grand exit. Running from his cabin, he jumped over the side of the Peregrine’s railings and made his way to the banks.
Those little pots weren’t so frightening at first – but when they were being used – well, that was a different story altogether.
The pirates proceeded to smash the clay pots against the hulls of the warships – and lo and behold – fire! The pots contained some flammable material, possibly related to Greek fire, which exploded on impact!
Now all six of the ships were in peril of sinking – and Admiral Rodion had ran out of ideas.
“All hands abandon ship!” he shouted. Marines jumped from the ships, making splashing sounds all through the cave – which were followed by gunshots and screaming. Alexei approached his ancestor and yelled,
“What do you think you’re doing? You can’t die like this – against a little group of undisciplined pirates!”
“And who are you to say that I can’t?”
“I’m your great great great great grandson!”
“Don’t give me that horse piss, man!”
“Your father was a great Cossack! I’m sure he didn’t want you to waste your warrior skills at sea where you didn’t fit in!”
“How… how did you know my father?”
“I told you already! I—“
There was little time for chit-chat. The ship was turning to its side in the cave, and gravity was becoming everyone’s enemy. Charnaiz was trying as best as he could to fly down and collect as many people as he could, but he couldn’t save everyone. Valeri, Shruiken, Natasha and Kyurdin were hiding from the pirates on the bank of the river – but the Scorpion was nowhere to be found.
“Where could that bitch be?” Charnaiz murmured, flying through the torrents of gunfire and flame. He then decided to fly behind a rock on top of an elevation to look over the battle below. He was interrupted by a voice behind him:
“Psst. ‘migo.”
He turned to see a pirate holding a club – by then it was too late – he had been knocked unconscious.

The Briny Deep, Chapter 6

2009-10-21T05:53:00.003-07:00

Chapter 6: Don Napoleon

Back in the open sea, Rodion’s strike fleet had been assembled. Their respective captains were manning the ships, and Alexei had graced them by the introduction of a new device – what he introduced as the “magic talk box” was actually a set of Red Army walkie-talkies.
“Hey, Captain Lyubovko!” said Rodion into the walkie-talkie, grinning with a playful air, “Can you hear me?”
“Yes, yes! I can hear you!” the Captain of the Czarevitch responded.
Rodion turned and slapped Alexei on the back.
“This device is magnificent! My whole crew must be equipped with these magical talk boxes!”
“Um…” Alexei replied, a little regretful, “You took all my ‘magical talk boxes’, admiral.”
“Oh we did? Do you know how to manufacture them, then?”
“No.”
“Oh well – I guess these will have to do. Many thanks!”
“Yeah… welcome, I guess.”
The strike fleet was now nearing the coastline of the Philippine island of Buglas. They had avoided Spanish vessels along the northern coast for several weeks and chose instead to attack the Visayan Islands in the middle of the archipelago, which were much less defended and practically forgotten by Spanish authorities who had problems enough in the northern regions.
During their long travels, Rodion had revealed to them that they were on a request from the Czarina to take back gold that had been stolen from the Spanish garrison that had been stationed on Buglas. Rodion’s mission was to take it back from a certain native pirate by name of Bangsawan.
But that was a long way from where they were. Vodka and local fish had kept the crew happy during the entire voyage, and there was always a wide variety to catch from these seas. Seeing as they were about a day’s journey away from Buglas, the admiral decided that it was high time for some fishing.
Nicolette and Shruiken had already boarded the Peregrine. The Scorpion boarded because Major Kazansky refused to leave unless he could remove this so-called curse from his family and keep himself alive in the process.
Shruiken had joined the expedition upon the persistence of the prophetess Valeri that he was needed for the full effect of the counter-curse. Something to do with blood… but he obliged anyway, since he needed to “take care of his little sister.” Hitteru Midori was willing to go on the voyage, but ironically said that she went along to “prevent her older brother from hurting himself.”
In the meantime, the main concern was food. Rodion’s men were busy hauling nets into the sea and taking fish out by the school. Suddenly, the men saw something large adrift in the water – it looked like a body, wrapped in seaweed. Curious, they decided to take it out of the water. Putting it down on the deck, they removed the seaweed and uncovered the body of a man in a frilly pink suit and a nightcap pulled completely over his face. The men first looked at each other, then at the man. He was clearly alive, as he was snoring. He apparently slept like sea otters, all wrapped up in seaweed like a blanket. The first man poked him with a pole to get a reaction.
Suddenly, the man stretched, letting out a long yawn. Removing the nightcap, the two sailors could see that his face was dark-skinned. The man spoke,
“Aragay! Ka sakit sang ulo ko – . . . hulat lang anay, diin ko subong?”
The sailors stared at him, wide eyed.
“Tulok mo da?” asked the man.
The first sailor blinked and rubbed his eyes, and muttered, mouth quivering,
“N… ni… nigger.”
“Hambal mo?” asked the man, rubbing his own eyes.
“Nigger…”
“Nigger!” the second sailor joined in.
“Ga neeger-neeger kamo da haw?” asked the man, scratching his forehead.
“Nigger!” the first sailor yelled to the other crewmen.
Within seconds, marines and sailors darted out from their cabins and stared at the dark-skinned, pink-suited man, sitting up on the deck on a blanket of seaweed.
“A linte, damo-damo sa inyo ba.” said the man, getting to his feet.
The sailors were suddenly thrown aback as he rose, and then froze and stared at him like frightened animals. He was a tall man, about six feet tall – but that frilly pink suit was a major offset.
“Te ma tanga lang kamo da?” said the man, putting his arms on his hips.
A long pause.
Suddenly, the sailors erupted in a chorus of,
“Nigger! Nigger! Na sudne est’ cherniy chelovek! Nigger! Nigger!!”
“’nong gina wakal ‘nyo man…” said the man, scratching his head and walking towards them.
However, at his first step, the men ran from him and went to alert the admiral, who was dozing off in his cabin.
A marine burst into the admiral’s cabin and yelled,
“Comrade Admiral! There’s a nigger on the ship!”
Rodion, who had his hat tilted below his eyes, took a peek to see the marine and then said,
“Get that foreigner – ah, you know, Charnaiz. He probably speaks their language.”
The marine saluted and rushed to get the Gondwanan king.

Meanwhile, the man was surrounded by a twelve man semicircle of marines, all pointing their rifles at him while he sat on a chair in the middle, saying to the lot of them.
“Te, sin-o da sa inyo gusto ma-itot sa akon?”
The riflemen looked at each other, then back at the man, not understanding.
Then Charnaiz arrived, shouldering his way through the crowd.
“Out of the way, comrades, I need to see this for myself.” he said. “Well – look what we have here. It’s a… nigger…”
“Abaw ah…” said the man, “agi-AGI sang chura mo bala…”
Charnaiz frowned.
“That’s not a nigger – that’s a native! And he’s calling me a fruit! Well, I’ll show him!”
It is at this point that the storyteller does not wish to elaborate on the lengthy exchange of insults before the arrival of Major Kazansky.
“What the hell are you doing?” Kazansky said, breaking through the crowd of sailors gathered to watch the war of words. “This native could be of use to us!”
Charnaiz threw a final swear before crossing his arms and pouting.
“I need you to translate for me.” said the major.
“I’m not going to do it.”
“Ah! English-spokening kamo gali?” said the man. “Tingala man ko na daw ka law-ay sang Ilonggo mo!”
“Did he say English?” asked Charnaiz. “I’ll strangle him!”
“Wait, a wait okay?” said the man. “I did not yet ah… wala pa ko ka-pakilala sa imo. Ako gali si Don Napoleon.”
“He says his name is Don Napoleon.” murmured Charnaiz.
“Ask him if he knows where to land on Buglas.”
“I understanding you, sir.” said the Don, “I just bad English, okay? You don’t go to the baybay because there many pirata there.”
“Something about pirates on the beach.” said Charnaiz.
“Is there another way in?” asked Kazansky.
“Siempre naman. There big lungib. Ah… you know, keev?”
“He said cave.”
“All right. Ah – how do we get to the cave?”
“You ah… give me sex first yes.”
“He said—“
“I know what he said dammit. Why?”
“I want love yes. You know, ah… damo ko bayi sa una, pero nag… ah… ano – nag pigado ko, te nag halin sila sa akon, no? Te ari ko di subong, ga pangaluyag sa mga bayi kag kis-a sa mga laki man…”
“You don’t want to know what he said.” Charnaiz said, shaking his head.
“Okay – tell this pervert he can have Natasha after he shows us where the cave is.”
“You can’t be serious.” Charnaiz said with a raised eyebrow.
“My brosim ego za bort posle.” (We’ll throw him overboard after.) said Kazansky, grinning.
“Ahh… good plan.” nodded Charnaiz. He pointed to Natasha, who was leaning over the railings, and said to the Don,
“You can have her if you show us where the cave is.”

The Briny Deep, Chapter 5

2009-10-21T05:53:00.001-07:00

Chapter 5 – Wako

The enemy force was sizeable, but had poorly made vessels in the waters closer to shore. The only real threat was a large, black, probably German-made man-of-war that was heading in their direction. This was no doubt the flagship of the Wako (Japanese pirate) ringleader.
Rodion saw that the enemy vessel had a higher gun deck than his own ship, and that if it fired at him from up close, the shots could probably take down the masts – but there was an advantage – the Peregrine could actually sink the taller enemy ship in a single volley if it got close enough and fired the twenty-five guns on either of its sides into the bottom of the ship.
“Alright, comrades – here’s the plan.” Rodion said, putting down his spyglass, “The Peregrine will hide behind those rock formations off the coast, while we wait for the large, ugly Japanese ship to come into range. Once it is in range, we sail right next to it, hoping that it doesn’t see us – which is highly unlikely, since our sails are up and flying like large bull’s eyes – and fire into its hull. Am I clear?”
“Wow, dedushka.” whined Alexei, “You had a really good plan – except for the sailing right up to the sonofabitch and shooting him in the kneecaps part.”
“Do you have a better plan? And I thought I told you –“
“Yes, yes, stop calling you grandpappy. In fact, I do have a better plan. I suggest I take a team of your best men in a rowboat and plant an explosive on the hull. Huh? What do you think?”
“I think that would’ve been a good plan – if we had the element of surprise, comrade.”
“What do you mean?”
“Behind you.”
Major Kazansky turned around, to find that the Wako on the enemy ship (named the Hakaisha, or Destroyer) were already firing at them from a long distance away.
“Don’t worry.” said Rodion. “They might as well be shooting at the moon! Wait till they get closer…”
Rodion turned to his men and shouted,
“Unfurl the sails! We’re gonna try to outflank the bastards!”
As marines and sailors scrambled about on deck; the huge, white sails of the Peregrine were unfurled, and the ship started to sail alongside the Hakaisha.
But Admiral Rodion failed to notice something – several tiny boats from the shore – faster, more stealthy craft, had reached the hull of the Peregrine, and several Wako were already climbing on board, holding their swords or daggers in their teeth.
Nobody took any notice of them until one of them made the mistake of trying to kidnap Natasha.
The unwary Wako entered Natasha’s room, peering around in the dark, looking for the glint of gold or jewels – then suddenly, he heard a click. Slowly turning his head, he discovered, much to his great dismay – that Natasha was behind him, wearing her yellow, cleavage-exposing gown and petticoat ensemble – holding a Yarygin PYa pistol to his head and grinning devilishly.
Without another moment’s hesitation, she fired the weapon, causing the Wako’s brains to splatter on the cabinet behind him, staining it a deep red. His comrades heard the shot and rushed into Natasha’s cabin.
Surprised at the sudden rush of enemies, Natasha attempted to leap behind a table, but fell short and dropped her pistol as her large hoop skirt would not allow the big jump. The Wako behind her then hastily grabbed her legs and dragged her out of the cabin, with her clawing at the floor in a desperate attempt to save herself.
Screaming could be heard coming from Natasha’s cabin, and Kazansky ran over to check on her. She wasn’t inside. Peering over the railing, he noticed that there was a small Wako craft with a girl in yellow in one of them. She was causing the boat to rock by punching the boatmen, throwing a couple overboard and otherwise causing havoc. It took three men to tie her down.
The boat was heading towards the Hakaisha, no doubt attempting to get their prisoner on board. This was without a doubt Natasha, and Kazansky was left with no other choice but to board the Hakaisha and save her.
The major ran over to Kyurdin, who had just thrown a couple of Wako dead into the sea. By now, Rodion’s marines had their hands full shooting Wako that had already climbed on board and kicking off Wako that were still climbing the nettings.
“Hey, Kyurdin!” said Kazansky, “They’ve got Lt. Natasha! What do you say you and me head over to their ship and give them the once-over, huh?”
“Time to live dangerously.” he replied, grinning. “I’ll alert his majesty and the admiral.”
“Tell him to guard the Peregrine. I’ll go ahead – you can catch up, can’t you?”
“Sure thing.”
With that, Kazansky gave a nod and plunged into the water.

Meanwhile, somewhere on the coast, Shruiken and Nicolette sat hidden in the foliage, observing the Wako gang that was busy arming itself and hiding away the panicking Russian prisoners.
“I don’t see my sister.” said Shruiken.
“Be patient, mon ami, they probably have her on one of those two ships fighting each other in the distance.” Replied the Scorpion, looking through her binoculars.
Shruiken did not listen, and rushed straight through the bushes.
“Hé - idiot! Que faites-vous? Revenu ici! Le damner, ils nous ont vus!”
Shruiken did not listen nor understand the Frenchwoman, but slashed through the enemy in a mad rampage, looking for his sister whom the Wako had kidnapped from their village. Her name was Hitteru Midori, a warrior of the Lost Clan as Shruiken was, and one who had less physical strength but more cunning than her brother.
Nicolette could stand for this no longer, as members of Shruiken’s attack force were already following him through the bushes.
“Merde.” she swore and called to her men, “All right, cochons, these men look like they need our help! Corporal, take three men and provide cover fire from here; the rest of you - À la bataille!”
With that, the mercenaries rushed forward, firing into the surprised and confused Japanese Wako and blowing up a few barrels of their gunpowder.

Kazansky hoisted himself up on the netting on the Hakaisha’s stern.
“Thank God for AquaSafe.” he said, referring to the waterproofing chemical that he coated his AK-47 with.
Keeping his back to the walls, he crept around the ship, looking for whoever was in charge here – or whoever held Natasha. Entering a dim-lit chamber with two large birdcage-like structures in it, he found Natasha and another woman lying next to her. Both were bound and gagged, but only Natasha was conscious.
Taking a blowtorch from his pocket, he burned off the lock and un-gagged the squirming Natasha, who yelled suddenly,
“Behind you!”
Kazansky turned around to find a man with an absurdly large sword running at him. He jumped out of the way just before the sword crashed down on the wooden floor. If he was a second too late, he would’ve been killed.
“Do you like my Zanbattou?” the man asked in Japanese-accented English. Kazansky leapt up to see that he was wearing a pink and yellow woman’s kimono and had female kabuki makeup on his face. He spoke with a feminine tone, and his movements were lady-like.
“Oh my God it’s a Japanese kozel.” Kazansky groaned, arming his AK-47.
“It’s a good sword...” the man continued, raising it. The giant blade made a great whooshing sound as it went up. “You should be honored to be killed by me.” he continued, bringing his sword down on Kazansky again.
The major avoided the blade and rolled over to the side.
“Oh, where are my manners?” said the man, with a flirty smile on his face, “My name is Robatamishii. Tekisosen Robatamishii.”
“Yeah?” replied Kazansky, “They used call me ‘Alexei Kazansky: killer of fags’ back at the academy.”
With that, the major raised his rifle, took aim and fired. Tekisosen was quick to block the bullets and ran to the other side of the room.
Just then, Kyurdin appeared from the doorway and locked swords with Tekisosen. The two seemed to be evenly matched, and Kyurdin’s aggressive swordsmanship was repelled by Tekisosen’s flexibility. The latter crossed swords and drew nearer to Kyurdin, grinning. He said,
“Hey honey – you look pretty hot. How about we – “
“Shut the fuck up faggot!” Kyurdin said, kicking Tekisosen in the crotch.
“Hohohoho!” Tekisosen laughed, flinching slightly. “Nice try, sweetie, but I don’t have any.”
With that, Kyurdin rushed to Tekisosen to pound him into the ground.
Meanwhile, Kazansky had unbound Natasha, and had instructed her to,
“Get the hell off of this boat! I’ll handle faggedy-anne over here.”
“Why don’t we just shoot him?” asked Natasha.
“We tried that! He blocks the bulle—“
Kazansky couldn’t finish. Natasha had taken Kazansky’s rifle and had shot Tekisosen in the rib.
“So he was blocking last time! Lucky shot!” Kazansky said.
Tekisosen staggered when he realized that he was hit, and held onto a pillar for support. Kyurdin grinned over his dying opponent and raised his own sword.
“Suck cold steel, you queer son of a bitch!” Kyurdin said, just before bringing his sword down on Tekisosen’s neck, severing his head.
Just then, the ship was rocked by a cannonball volley striking its side.
“Great job, people – now let’s get the hell out of here. The way things are going, this ship could sink at any moment.” said Kazansky, grabbing his rifle back from Natasha.
“I’ll take care of the other prisoner.” said Kyurdin, melting the lock on the cage. “You make sure that the lieutenant gets back on the Peregrine.”
“I know what I’m doing, comrade. Just let me be.” Kazansky said, rolling his eyes.
Taking Natasha by the hand, he headed to one of the lifeboats and lowered it down. Nobody was paying any attention to him – the Wako were busy trying to shake off Rodion’s marines that now had the upper hand of the battle and were boarding the Hakaisha.

The beach, meanwhile, was a complete mess. Wako dead littered the ground, their blood reddening the sand and their screams and cries filling the air – drowned by gunfire. Some of the corpses were floating in the waves on the shoreline, gunned down by the Scorpion’s men or slashed to bits by Shruiken’s warriors.
Shruiken was cleaning the blood from his sword when he saw someone carrying a woman in Japanese armor aboard a war frigate. He immediately took a small Wako boat and began to sail towards the vessel. Nicolette ran up behind him.
“That’s one of ours, you idiot! Merde!” she said, stomping her foot.
Shruiken rowed furiously to within range of this possible kidnapper, and then discovered that there a Wako short bow and a single arrow hidden in the boat that he was in. He loaded the arrow, praying to his ancestors that he would hit his target – and then fired.
The arrow struck the man, sending him plummeting into the ocean, while dropping Hitteru on the gangplank which he was crossing.

“Man overboard!” shouted Kazansky.
Marines rushed to the side railings and saw a corpse sinking into the water – an arrow had struck him in the heart. There was no hope of saving this unlucky marine.
Charnaiz, descending from the crow’s nest, heard shouts of “banzai” in the distance. He recognized that voice – it was Shruiken. He scanned the waters and found that there was a samurai wielding a bow in a small boat not far from the Peregrine. He decided to fly down there and have a little talk with him.
“Shruiken!” he called as he flew down to the small boat.
“Ah! Ohio guzaymasu, Charnaiz-san! What are you doing here?” said Shruiken, a little confused to see the Gondwanan king in his land.
“You killed one of our men! What’s wrong with you?”
“One of your men? No, I don’t believe so – this was an enemy! I have never seen this uniform before.”
“Never mind. We’re sending in another man to pick up your sister.”
“You’ve kidnapped her? Traitor!”
“Wait, no!”
Charnaiz couldn’t finish – Shruiken had drawn his sword and had attacked the Gondwanan king, causing the two of them to fall overboard.
Kyurdin, vexed by the event, watched the waters for signs of his sovereign. Suddenly, his fears were quelled when Charnaiz bolted out of the water, holding Shruiken by the collar. Up in midair, the king spoke to the samurai,
“If you’ll only listen – then I can explain!”
“You try my patience!” said Shruiken, slashing Charnaiz’s hand with his sword, causing him to drop Shruiken into the ocean.
The samurai survived, his head bobbing just on top of the water.
“If you’ll just listen!”
“All you do is lie!”
Suddenly, a female voice called from the bow of the Peregrine – Hitteru Midori, Shruiken’s sister.
“Brother! I am not harmed! These good men rescued me!”
Shruiken floated in the water, his eyes depicting an expression between appreciation and shame.
“I told you to listen to me!” called Charnaiz from up above.
Now another slightly larger rowboat came up to the Peregrine, with the Scorpion at its head and her men doing the rowing.
“Hé, visage de broche!” the Scorpion called out, referring to Charnaiz.
“What the hell is she doing here?” murmured the king, eyes wide.
“We don’t need a mangeur de merde on this team! Haha! Just joking! It’s good to see you again, clown de cirque!” she said, waving at him.
Charnaiz, gnashing his teeth, said with a hateful tone,
“I hate that woman. What a night this is…”

Meanwhile, a few knots north of Hokkaido, some fishermen were feeling vibrations in the ocean. They suspected it to be a tsunami, so they hurriedly paddled their small fishing boats back towards shore.
Suddenly, from out of the waters with a rush of ice and tidal wave, the Sosulka surfaced from under the deep – straight from Davy Jones’s locker itself. Led-Krovin, with his eyes all red from fury, stood barking commands at the undead crew from the Bowsprit of the ghost ship. Admiral Moroz himself was steering the ship, and his eyes glowed blue with hate for the group that had dared to attack his ship.

The Briny Deep, Chapter 4

2009-10-21T05:52:00.003-07:00

Chapter 4: The Scorpion

Krasnorussia, 2025. Captain (formerly Lieutenant) Nicolette “the Scorpion” Blanchfleur strode into the test chamber together with her men. The former French Foreign Legionnaire was excited as ever, but she did not show it. She was steely eyed as she looked up towards the control tower, where Dr. Voronov watched over them.
“All right, captain – this should only take a minute. Just jump into the worm hole generator on my –“
“Oui, oui, oui, on n’est va! “
“Right… ah… stand by. The wind will be quite unsettling.”
Voronov covered the PA mic with his hand and slapped his forehead.
“They’re all gonna die!” he groaned.
The generator turned on, and the familiar black hole appeared in the middle of the machine.
“One moment, captain. I’ll have to set the correct place coordinates.” Voronov said, glancing into the chamber. But then he realized something.
“Captain? Captain Blanchfleur? Where’d you go?” the Chinese strike team – most probably on the Scorpion’s orders – had already jumped into the wormhole.
“Monkey shit.” swore Voronov, “Well, at least the date’s correct – but the location’s in Hokkaido, Japan. Well – this is no fault of mine! I tried to warn them!” He put his hands on his head, “Gee – hope they brought the beacon.”
Now, this “beacon” Voronov was talking about was a locator beacon that was supposed to transmit its exact coordinates to the wormhole generator computer back in 2025. Doing this would give Voronov the ability to bring back the team the same way they brought back Gen. Sobakov about a month ago – except that Gen. Sobakov’s delivery was a stroke of dumb luck.

Hokkaido Island, 1750. Captain Blanchfleur and her team fell violently into a soft patch of Japanese ferns, causing their weapons and equipment to fall out of their hands and onto the ground. These were Russian and German weapons – durable firearms, nothing to worry about there. But that thundering beat of galloping horses in the background and the near zero visibility in the darkness of the night – that was probably something to worry about.
Nicolette quickly got to her feet and grabbed her H & K MP5N submachine gun, while shouting to her men,
“Okay, gentlemen – grab your weapons and take cover behind anything that you can find! We’ve potential hostiles coming this way!”
The men sprung up, grabbed their weapons and positioned themselves behind some rocks; then they came – easily about two hundred samurai warriors on horseback, wielding their swords with their dark horses foaming at their mouths. The samurai’s masks were terrible to behold, some with gnashing teeth on ebony and others with demon-like features. It was a frightening sight altogether.
But this did not frighten the elite squad of international mercenaries hidden behind the forest rocks – especially when their squad leader enjoyed a good challenge.
Suddenly, an arrow struck one of the rocks which an African soldier was hiding behind. The man, in response, cocked his weapon – an XM1014 shotgun – and rose behind the boulder, only to be greeted by another arrow to the heart.
“Squad! Defensive positions! Fire at will!” shouted the Scorpion.
The sound of a dozen guns rapidly firing as one could be heard throughout the dense forest, but this did not frighten the samurai even the least bit – the madmen continued to charge; even though many of their number were hit and many more dead, they continued to charge; even though their horses were falling to the ground like flies, they continued to charge.
Suddenly one leapt from the saddle of his horse and landed like a bird of prey behind the rocks where they were hiding. In the confusion, a couple of the mercenaries ended up shooting themselves as the samurai landed in between them. Nicolette put a fresh magazine into her submachine gun and faced the samurai – who raised his sword at her, ready to bring it down – but he hesitated.
“Nandesuka?” said the warrior.
“Shruiken… Nobunaga Shruiken…” said Nicolette, eyes narrowed and smiling slightly.
The samurai halted their charge, and Nicolette’s men held their fire. The two stared at each other and lowered their weapons. Nicolette let out a “tch.” before saying that Shruiken was an idiot for attacking her with a force that would be wiped out by automatic weapons. Shruiken retorted that the Scorpion was the dumb one for attacking a samurai who was just practicing his target shooting.
Neither laughed, but the Frenchwoman managed a smile. It was no occasion for humor – several samurai lay dead on the forest floor, along with a number of mercenaries.
“I will pay for your loss myself after I get what I came here for.” said the Scorpion, wiping her nose.
“As will I, after I acquire what I seek.” replied Shruiken, tapping his hands on the hilt of his sword.
The two stared at each other in a kind of uneasy silence.

Meanwhile, the Peregrine was just off the coast of Hokkaido, and Admiral Rodion was observing the remnant of his privateer fleet through a spyglass. There were five ships in total – the others had probably been sunk. There were 2 galleons, 2 schooners, and a man-of-war, all tied up at the dock; their crews were being held in bamboo cages on the beach. Rodion remembered that these were the five best ships in his fleet – the Volk, the Medved, the Orel, the St. Dmitri, and the Czarinaevitch, respectively. It was a crying shame to see their crews being humiliated like this.

The Briny Deep, Chapter 3

2009-10-21T05:52:00.001-07:00

Chapter 3 – Accursed Waters

Charnaiz and Valeri were sitting together in the quarters of the king on board the Peregrine (the name of Rodion’s war frigate), discussing something that involved them but yet had nothing to do with them. The moon shone brightly over the vast expanse of ocean.
“We need to remain in this time because of a curse, placed upon Major Kazansky’s family by our most hated enemy, Arkadius Krovin.” said Valeri.
“Explain to me why we need to help his family?”
“Because he was an instrument of the Gondwanan prophecy – and if we do not help him now, he might never have been born – and the line of their family would have ended with this man, our host, the Admiral Rodion Kazansky.”
“Elaborate.”
“I have had visions of the curse while in deep meditation. Krovin’s Varangian army was defeated by the Tartars, fierce horsemen from the steppes and the ancestors of the Kazansky clan. Surviving the final battle, Krovin placed a curse upon the clan – that whosoever was to leave the saddle and swim in the waters was to be the last man of the Kazansky line.”
“This man – our host – is a seafarer. The first from the Kazansky family?”
“Most probably. Since he is still alive and well for now, he may very well be the one whom the curse speaks of.”
Suddenly, the two were interrupted by a sailor in a black uniform entering their cabin,
“The Admiral wishes to see you all in his cabin for dinner. We’ll be having shark for the main course.”
“Did you say shark?” asked Charnaiz.
“Yes, tiger shark.”
“You killed a shark?”
“Your Angliskiy is now very ah… slozhniy…” he said, closing the door.
“Ignorant Russian.” mumbled Charnaiz.
“Come, your majesty, let us prepare for the dinner.”

Krasnorussia, 2025. Voronov had called the Chinese high command and was getting from office to office through phrases from a little Mandarin phrase book that he kept just for this purpose. It took about a quarter-hour until the phone was finally given to Col. Wu Chou Fang – the Chinese officer who just so happened to save the butts of the Gondwanan “heroes” who were about to be turned into Swiss cheese by the Black Army; and this PLA officer spoke English.
“Wei?” said the Chou Fang over the phone.
“This is Dr. Voronov, comrade colonel. Krasnorussia needs your help!”
“If the People’s Republic isn’t involved, then I’m not interested.”
“Comrade Colonel, please hear me out!”
“You have five minutes until I hang up, you Krasnorussian pig-dog.”
“Major Kazansky’s been sucked into the wormhole generator!”
“So? How is that China’s concern? It’s your mess up!”
“Yes, I know, but—“
“But what? China is not a nation of janitors, major. We do not go around cleaning up the messes of our allies left and right.”
“You owe him a favor, and you know it, by God!”
A pause.
“I owe no one any favors. If anyone owes anyone a favor, he owes me!”
“The Gondwanan incident, comrade colonel? That was the defense of China! It could’ve been any other officer but the PLA chose you!”
Another pause.
“Touché, major.”
“Comrade colonel, do you remember the joint Krasnorussian-Chinese military exercises in Vietnam?”
“Yes… where’s your point?”
“You were commanding your unit through the dense jungle; you lost your footing and fell into a ravine.”
“How did you—“
“And then Major Kazansky separated from his Krasnorussian unit to help you out while your men panicked. You owe him for your life, colonel.”
“You get the Frenchwoman and her team – and that will be all.”
“That’ll be all we need, comrade. Now I owe you one.”

Rodion, Alexei, Natasha, Charnaiz, Kyurdin and Valeri were seated around a large oak table with the Admiral at the head of it. A spit-roasted shark lay in the center of the table, decorated with parsley garnishing and some seaweed here and there. There was also some other food, and it was about to fall off the table, since the shark occupied most of the space. There was some crab, caviar, slices of tuna and some fish sticks. Atypically, there was no rum to be found on the table or in the ship’s store rooms for that matter. These were Russian sailors, and they drank vodka.
The group was well into the dinner, and most had eaten their fill. They were now talking, with Alexei and Rodion doing most of the speaking, since the Admiral still did not believe he was related in any way to this strange man.
Everyone except Charnaiz was wearing different clothing, as their own uniforms and clothes were soaked and hung out to dry. The Major was wearing a privateer’s naval uniform, while Valeri was in a European-styled dress with a layered skirt; Natasha wore the same thing, which exposed her cleavage, leaving her eyeing Kyurdin from time to time. Kyurdin himself wore a blue naval uniform, while Charnaiz had dried his clothes by magic – of course, out of sight of the crew. By this time, Rodion was told that Charnaiz was a sort of mage-king-priest; that Valeri was a prophetess; and that Kyurdin was a warrior. He still did not believe, however, that he was related to Alexei Kazansky. Now Valeri spoke up,
“Admiral Rodion, there is something of a dire nature that I must tell you.”
The Admiral put his fingers together and said,
“Go on, prophetess, please tell all.”
“We are not from your time.”
A long pause.
“I don’t understand. Would you elaborate?”
“We are travelers from the distant future, come to warn you of a curse that will fall upon you…”
Rodion raised an eyebrow, took a swig of vodka, and raised his finger, saying softly,
“I think you’re all mad.”
“On the contrary, sir.” Valeri continued, “It is you who refuses to believe that you are in great danger.”
“Now who would want to place a curse upon me? I have wronged no one.”
“Not you, probably, but your ancestors…”
Rodion frowned, a little more receptive now.
“Keep going.” he said.
“Your ancestors are the Kazan Tartars, great horsemen, and raiders of the far north.”
“Yes…”
“Your ancestor once engaged in battle with a large tribe of Varangian warriors from the west – and won. They were led by an immortal, who still lives today. His hatred for your family fuels the curse that will befall the one who leaves the saddle and swims in the water.”
“Amusing tale, ‘prophetess’, but you forget one thing.”
“And what would that be, admiral?”
“I am here with you – safe, dry, and protected. Nothing has gone wrong since this morning.”
Suddenly, a sailor burst into the galley, panting.
“Admiral! Enemy ship sighted off the port bow! It’s flying a black flag!”
“Pirates? So soon? Well, this can’t possibly be the curse that lady Valeri here speaks of.” Rodion said, grabbing his pepperbox pistol. “The rest of you can either stay in your cabins or make yourself useful – if you think you can!”
As he said this, he walked out of the galley and onto the ship’s deck, shouting orders to his men as he went.
All of the guests then began looking at each other.
“Shall we?” asked Charnaiz.
“Let’s roll.” replied Major Kazansky with a smirk.
Kyurdin rose and drew his sword, walking readily after Charnaiz.
“I can help!” Natasha said, rising herself.
“Ohhh no you don’t.” said Kazansky playfully, “With what you’re wearing, darling, the only thing you’ll be able to do is give the enemy boners. That’s not going to help.”
Natasha sneered.
“Stay in your cabin, Krasnorussian.” Valeri said, staring seriously at her.
Natasha obliged, but gave the glorious and heroic finger to Major Kazansky before strutting away.
Meanwhile, on deck, Kazansky was shouting to Kyurdin and Charnaiz,
“Gentlemen! We’ve got these primitive bastards right where we want them! The plan is simple – Kyurdin, if you can, glue down the enemy ship with your gravity grenade. Charnaiz will cover us from the air while we board the ship. Do we have a plan?”
“We have a plan.” replied Kyurdin, tossing the gravity grenades in his hand.
“Enemy sighted!” a sailor announced.
The group went over to the side railing and beheld a monstrous sight. A gigantic blue ship approximately four hundred feet long sailed out of the mist, its colors – a skull and snowflake on a black field – flew on its main mast.
The odd thing about this ship was that it did not sail on the water – the water seemed to freeze wherever it sailed to – thus creating the impression that it was floating on a body of ice everywhere that it went.
“That’s not something you see everyday.” commented Kazansky.
“Indeed it isn’t, boy.” replied the admiral, stepping up beside him.
“How are you gonna deal with this?”
“I’m not sure – this ship looks… otherworldly, to say the least.”
“Aren’t you a bit scared?”
“Fear is something alien to me.”
“Good – ‘cause the last thing that I need is knowing that my great great great great granddad was a chicken.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Nothing.”
Suddenly, out of the mist, a deep voice called out – it sounded like the sound of a lion roaring,
“Kazansky! We finally meet! It was your family who cost me that great defeat on the Dnepr! And now, you yourself shall know how it feels to be drowned in frozen waters!”
“Who is that maniac?” asked the admiral.
“Some nut.” replied Kazansky, who knew full well that he was lying. This was Arkadius Krovin – the same evil entity who seemed to reappear after every defeat. The demon within him must have kept him strong through all of those ages.
“Excuse me, dedushka, but I need to get something – I’ll be right back.” said Kazansky, running back into his cabin.
“Don’t dawdle, boy! And never call me ‘grandpappy’ again!”
Charnaiz flew over the enemy ship and saw how insanely enormous it was. He had to be careful about this one – it would be considerably hard to take down a ship of this size.
Kyurdin was already working – he had thrown down enough gravity grenades to glue down a blue whale to the ocean floor. Strangely, though, none of them seemed to be working. He took his binoculars and examined the underbelly of the ship. To his astonishment, he found that,
“They’re being frozen! My gravity grenades are being frozen by the ship! Major? We need a new plan.”
A pause.
“Major? Where are you?” he said as he looked up from his binoculars. The major wasn’t there.
Suddenly, the Peregrine was rocked. The ship began to sway left and right, and Kyurdin had to hold on to the railing lest he lose his footing. The enemy ship had fired a cannonball into the side of the war frigate, and more were coming on their way.
A crewman rushed up from the gun deck, where the Peregrine was hit, and announced that they weren’t being hit by cannonballs at all – but by giant, fragmenting, explosive balls of ice!
“This is absurd!” said Charnaiz as he circled over the fight in the sky. Giant golems? Sure; time travel? No problem; bigass freak whose name spells “Dongon” backwards? Hell yeah; but ships firing snow cones? What gives, man?
Charnaiz swooped down like a falcon onto the deck of the enemy ship – his hands lit up with the power of the blue iris.
“Who wants a piece of this?” he said, arrogantly.
“I would prefer your heart, sir.” said a voice from behind him.
Charnaiz whirled around to find an old enemy – Arkadius Krovin – but he looked different – he actually looked older. White beard, silvery eyes, and blue armor. That was a first.
“You look… different…” murmured Charnaiz.
Krovin said nothing but raised his hands at Charnaiz, firing bolts of ice at him like nails from a nail gun.
The king dove out of the way just in time, a bit surprised, as Krovin never had any magical powers before.
“I didn’t know you could do that!” He said, astonished.
Krovin responded by extending his hands and firing a wave of ice at Charnaiz. It hit him and shattered against his body, bringing him to the ground.
“Congratulations, old man. You get the first hit!” Charnaiz said, leaping back up.
Krovin grinned and did nothing.
“What’s so funny?”
The former black knight pointed a finger, gesturing at Charnaiz to look behind him.
“Ohhh no, I’m not falling for that old trick.”
Suddenly, an ice cold, claw-like hand grabbed Charnaiz by the neck from behind. Instinctively, he took his opponent’s arm and attempted to throw him – except that – he only threw the arm onto the deck. He turned to face his aggressor, his expression one of confusion, and saw that a skull-faced Imperial Navy admiral stood before him.
“What circus did you come from?” he asked.
The undead admiral kicked him in the stomach, causing him to bend, and gave him an uppercut in the face with his left arm – the one that was still attached.
“I come from no circus, you ignorant foreigner.” he said, in a voice that sounded like the crackling of crushed ice, “I am Admiral Moroz – the scourge of the sea of Okhotsk and the rest of the seven seas – and this is my ship, the Sosulka.”
Charnaiz suddenly flipped back up and landed a kick in Moroz’s ribcage, causing him to fall sideways.
“Moroz – that means ‘frost’, doesn’t it? Well, it’s nice to beat you, Admiral Frost!” Charnaiz said, only to be answered by a discharge of ice particles from Krovin’s hands. They hit him in the back, and he fell, face down on the icy deck of the ship. Krovin ran up to him and stomped on one of the icicles in Charnaiz’s back, making it sink in deeper.
“A pleasure to meet you again, your majesty. My name as long as I am in this frigid form and the master of the admiral is to be Led-Krovin. I’m sure it’s a pleasure.” he said, stomping down again.
Suddenly, gunshots could be heard from the other side of the boat.
“Walk on the ice! Like duh!” said a familiar voice.
“I can’t believe you didn’t realize it sooner.” said a second, whose speech was followed by the sound of a sword swipe.
It was Kazansky and Kyurdin – and they had come on board by simply jumping down on the ice that Moroz’s ship made and climbing up onto the stern.
“Are there any more hostiles on this ship?” asked Kazansky, cocking his AK-47. The bodies of dead, scarf-wearing, fur-covered sailors littered the deck. Suddenly, they began to slowly get back up again.
“This could be… unfavorable.” said Kyurdin, backing up as the once-dead sailors now marched towards them. One of them had a loose scarf, and it fell, exposing his face – which wasn’t a face actually – but a skull! They were facing the undead!
“Oh this is so unfair.” Kazansky said, just before pumping a few more rounds into a few more sailors.
“There is still hope – look!” Kyurdin said, pointing to the deck of the Peregrine. Rodion and his marines had lined up along the side of the boat and were now aiming their muskets at the Sosulka, ready to fire along with the cannon batteries below.
While Charnaiz and Admiral Moroz were fighting, the Sosulka was being rocked back and forth by cannon fire from the Peregrine, which had temporarily succeeded in destroying the Sosulka’s gun batteries. Now Admiral Rodion was planning to release his own volley of cannon fire into the Sosulka in an attempt to sink it.
The cannon fire came, and it rocked the Sosulka violently, causing everyone on it to fall down or be thrown overboard – including, that is, Kyurdin and Kazansky. The two were thrown over the stern of the ship, into the icy cold water.
Charnaiz lay on the icy floor of the Sosulka’s deck, and gritted his teeth in agony as the spikes of ice pressed further into his back. But suddenly, the pain stopped! Charnaiz felt the weight of Led-Krovin’s foot disappear, and he turned over to see that the white-bearded antagonist was nowhere to be found.
He rose to his feet and looked over the side railing, where he could see Led-Krovin, sword in between his teeth, swimming violently towards the Peregrine. It was a miracle he could swim at all – that armor he was wearing was bound to weigh him down – but he was superhumanly strong, so this was probably nothing for him.
Suddenly, a little raft appeared from behind the Peregrine. A dark-skinned man dressed in a frilly pink suit was rowing it towards Led-Krovin. The monster ignored the little raft and kept swimming towards the war frigate, but the raft caught up with him.
The man on the raft then tugged at Led-Krovin’s arms and feet, trying to get him on board the raft. Led-Krovin responded by taking his sword and slashing at the man, who was quick to dodge his blows. It was hard for Led-Krovin to hit him anyway, since he was swimming in the water while swinging his sword at the same time.
The man was persistent, and apparently would not stop tugging at Led-Krovin until he was on the raft. The former black knight was annoyed – and he pierced the wooden raft with his sword, using it as a lever. He then boarded the craft, and to his astonishment, was received by a hug from the man in pink. The man hugged him so tightly however – and he was hugging his knees – that he promptly lost his balance and fell into the water, along with the man.
Charnaiz raised an eyebrow and muttered,
“That was weird…”
Just then, the ice began to melt on the ship, and the undead sailors behind him suddenly collapsed. Admiral Moroz himself was lying in a crumpled heap on the deck. Charnaiz then realized what was happening – the ship’s curse was being broken – since Led-Krovin was drowning! If this continued, the whole ship might actually sink!
Thinking quickly, he flew up in the air and made his way back to the Peregrine, where he saw Kyurdin and Kazansky safely climbing back on board. They were safe – at least that was good.
Kazansky tilted his head sideways and knocked the water out of his ears upon reaching the Peregrine’s deck.
“Dammit, dedushka, you don’t fire when you know when I’m on the ship!”
“I thought I told you not to call me grandpappy!” Rodion said, walking up to him and Kyurdin.
“Well, we showed him, didn’t we?” Kyurdin said, wringing his cloak.
“Yes we did.” Charnaiz replied, making a soft landing beside him.
“Are there any casualties, admiral?” asked Kazansky.
“A few are injured, but that is all. Zero casualties to report.” Rodion said with a smile. “They stopped firing at us.” he continued, “Why do you think they did that?”
“I can answer your question, admiral.” said Charnaiz.
“Please, tell all.”
“You see – I have found out that the enemy ship, the Sosulka, is under the control of a demon by the name of Led-Krovin. If severe bodily harm is caused to him, he will be forced to lose control of the ship and to spend the remainder of his energy on healing. The Sosulka, which is no more than a resurrected ghost ship, will have no other recourse but to terminate.”
“I see – and how do you know all this?”
“I fought against him – twice.”
“Ah, excellent. It’s nice to have an ally that knows our enemy well.” Rodion said, crossing his arms and smiling. “But we can’t stay here for much longer. That cannon fire must’ve been heard by other ships near here. If any of those ships are English or German, then we might be in serious trouble. We best return on course to Japan – to pick up my strike fleet.”
“Strike fleet? What strike fleet?” asked Kazansky.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m a privateer for the Czarina. What, did you think with this fancy dress that I could possibly be a member of the Imperial Navy?”
“But you said that you were from the Czarina’s Pacific Fleet!”
“Yes – I’m the head of his privateers.”
“Dammit!”
“Now, now, nothing to worry about. I’ll just drop you off in Japan and we’ll be going on the Philippine raid all by our onesies.”
“What did you say?”
“I said we’ll be going to the Philippine islands – on a raid.”
“No, no, not that – you said ‘onesies’. What the hell is a onesie?”
“You must be the stupid one of the lot – it means by ourselves, ergo, without you and without anyone to ruin the raid except us privateers!”
“Now hold on there –“
“We need to come with you.” interrupted Valeri.
“Why so?” asked Rodion, raising an eyebrow.
“Do you remember the curse I spoke of?” said the prophetess.
“Well, if you call that monster of a ship that attacked us the err… executor of the curse, then yes! But can’t you see? We’ve sunk it! It can be of no more harm to us than a dead wolf to a child!” said Rodion, proud of himself.
“That’s where you’re wrong – the man you thought drowned is an immortal. In hours he will be up again, and so will the Sosulka in all its ferocity.”
“So why do you need to go to the Philippine islands with us?”
“I know of a certain shaman there who can put a counter-spell on us and thus rid us of the curse.”
“And how did you know about this, woman?”
“We prophets keep in touch through ways of our own…”
“I… see…” Rodion said, frowning suspiciously. “But at any rate, you are aware that I will impress you into my crew, are you not?”
“I and my comrades have no problem with that.” she said with a slight nod.
“Excellent.” Rodion said, putting his hands together behind his back. “I’ll notify the quartermaster and we’ll set sail for Japan first. I’ll brief you on the way.”

The Briny Deep, Chapter 2

2009-10-21T05:39:00.000-07:00

Chapter 2 – Great great great great granddad

Meanwhile, back in the Krasnorussia of 2025, Maj. Voronov was worrying his head off. None of the program functions were working, and he was running out of ideas. Voronov decided that he was going to call the big bosses and see if they could do anything about his situation. He picked up the phone and dialed the number of the Red Army high command.
“Greetings, comrade.” an automated voice said over the phone, “You have reached the office of the glorious and heroic Red Army War Council. If you desire to place a call to a local number within the office, press 1 and dial your number.”
A pause.
“If you wish to contact the General of the Ground Forces…” the voice continued, “…press 2 now.”
Voronov pressed 2.
“You have chosen to contact the Secretary of Agriculture! Please hold while we patch you through.”
Voronov screamed a loud, “What the fuck!?” as the music of the Red Army played in a monotone.

Vladivostok, 1750. Alexei Kazansky climbed on board the war frigate, soaking from the water; Natasha followed after him. Kyurdin, Valeri and Charnaiz were already on board, being attended by the crew.
Charnaiz was talking to a crewman in Russian, and the masked sailor was shrugging at the king, as if he couldn’t make heads or tails of his queries. Kazansky walked up to them and heard what the sailor was saying, and grinned at Charnaiz.
“What?” asked the king.
“He doesn’t understand you.”
“I can see that! Maybe you can help me translate? I’m speaking perfect Russian to this buffoon and he only grasps a few words!”
“That’s because you’re speaking my Russian – Modern Russian. This man speaks Imperial Russian. It’s a dead language which was—“
“Enough of the history lesson, just translate!”
“There’ll be no need for that.” replied a deep voice in Russian-accented English from the officer’s cabin.
A man in a red navy coat and a cavalier’s hat with a white feather in it stepped out into view. His long hair and beard were neatly trimmed, and his eyes were narrow and fierce. If it wasn’t for the beard and all the frilly clothing, you could almost say he looked like,
“Kazansky – Admiral Rodion Ivanovich Kazansky, of the Czarina’s Pacific Fleet – at your service, mesdames et messieurs.”
“Wait, did you say Kazansky? As in Alexei Mikhailovich Kazansky?” asked Charnaiz, albeit a bit confused.
“What? No, of course not.” replied the Admiral, “I know no such relative of mine. He must be a fake.”
“A fake, huh?” interrupted Alexei, “I assure you, dedushka, I am no fake.”
“You incorrectly approximate my age to be relative to that of your grandfather, comrade… uh… I did not have the pleasure…”
“Kazansky – Alexei Mikhailovich Kazansky, of the 1ST Red Chemical Warfare Battalion – at your service, sir.”
“I see – so you are from where?” inquired the Admiral.
“Vladivostok, comrade Admiral.”
“I see… intriguing…”
“Excuse me,” Charnaiz interrupted, “But it seems to me we’ll have to have this little family reunion after we break up this ‘lover’s quarrel’.” he said, pointing over to Natasha and Kyurdin.
The two were “happily” rolling around on deck, Natasha throwing punches at Kyurdin’s head while stomping on his gonads; and since the latter had left his sword some distance away, he had no active means to defend himself. They actually seemed like they would roll overboard in the commotion. Natasha screamed at the top of her lungs,
“You never touch me again! You sick, perverted, ZHOPA!! Ti liubeesh papeenu pees'ku sassat'!!”
Suddenly, the sound of gunfire was heard in the air. Natasha stopped punching and instinctively looked over at Kazansky – it was usually him who was shooting into the air. He shrugged and mumbled, “It wasn’t me.” Instead pointing with his thumb to Admiral Rodion, who was frowning and holding what looked like a smoking pepperbox pistol in his right hand.
“No fighting on my ship.” said the Admiral, with a stern look on his face. “It’s either we all get along or I throw your ungrateful hides overboard into the merciless ocean deep!”
He holstered his pistol and crossed his arms, saying,
“Now – where is it that you all were going to, so I can drop you off?”
“Uh… um…” Kazansky said, wondering how he could explain how they got there. He was about to offer the truth before Valeri spoke,
“Japan – the island of Hokkaido.”
“That is very far away!” the Admiral said, smiling slightly, “However, it’s on my course, and we were due to stop there anyhow.”
Kyurdin got up from the floor and stared wide-eyed at Valeri, mouthing those famous words,
“What the fuck?”
Valeri raised her hand to him in a gesture to calm him down and said to Charnaiz, “We’ll find a friend in Japan. You remember Shruiken? He’s from this time. He should be able to help us. Besides, we’re staying here for a reason. I’ll tell you why later, your majesty.”
“It better be a good one, prophetess.” Charnaiz mumbled, “For your sake.”

Krasnorussia, 2025. The automated voice continued to pester Voronov. It was getting so bad that the major wanted to take a 90 meter long coil of steel cable and shove it up the telephone operator’s ass – if that automated voice had an ass. The voice droned on,
“If you wish to contact the OMSN SpetsNaz, dial 13742 now.”
“Fuck you, man, fuck you.” Voronov mumbled as he entered the digits.
“You have chosen to contact the National Sports Commission! Please hold while we patch you through.” the music played for the nth time. Voronov slammed the phone down and groaned.
“This is going nowhere…” Voronov said, hanging up. His ear was aching and the “hold” song, “Katyusha” by the Red Army Choir, was playing over and over in his head. He slammed his head on the table, picked up the phone again and dialed another number.
“If you wish to contact the Department of Fishery, dial 13743 now.”
“Fishery? Well what the hell, I’ll pester them for a little tuna. I’m hungry anyway.”
He dialed 13743 and received an unexpected reply,
“You have chosen to contact the Chairman of the Chiefs of Staff! Please hold while we patch you through.”
Voronov could scarcely believe his luck. He stared into space blankly, muttering, “This has to be fake…” over and over again as the music of the Red Army played, the lyrics already tattooed on Voronov’s mind. “Rastsvetali yabloni i grushi, poplyli tumany nad rekoy; vykhodila na bereg Katyusha, na vysokiy bereg, na krutoy...”
Suddenly, the song stopped. Someone actually picked up the phone!
“Wait a moment, Grigori, I have a call.” said the voice on the other end of the line. It was the voice of Chairman Nikolai Sobakov, the acting head-of-state of Krasnorussia, and a man who would be dead had it not have been for the efforts of the team from the Gondwanan incident.
“Yes, hello?” said the chairman.
“Hello, comrade chairman! It’s an honor to speak to you!” said Voronov, sounding a bit fan boy-ish.
“Who are you, a Red Army groupie? I have no time for idle banter!”
“No, no, sir. This is Cap – I mean Major Dr. Voronov, of the Red Army’s 1ST Electronic Warfare Battalion?”
“Oh yes, that one from the Gondwanan incident. What can I do you for?”
“Yes, well, ah – do you remember a Major Alexei Kazansky?”
The chairman thought for a moment.
“Yes, I believe I do. He reported to me that he could not arm the SSRMa-18 because he had a better idea? Is that the man?”
“Yes, comrade chairman.”
“I see. What is it about him?”
“He got sucked into the wormhole generator.”
“I see…”
A long pause.
“Aren’t you going to do anything about it?”
“Why should I?”
“He’s an officer!”
“It’s not worth it – possibly risking an entire squad of the best of our men just for the sake of one officer? He can be replaced, you know.”
“But, but…”
“I’ll inform the Chiefs of Staff. Thank you for the information. The new leader of the 1ST Chemical Warfare Battalion will be in service by next week. Thanks again, and goodbye!”
A busy tone.
“You pompous sons of bitches!” Voronov shouted, “Fine, if you don’t give me any help, then I’ll find someone who can!”
He slammed down the phone, picked it up again and dialed “86”, the country code for the People’s Republic of China.

The Briny Deep, Chapter 1

2009-10-21T05:37:00.000-07:00

Chapter 1 – Tourists?

A letter to the administrator of the 1ST Electronic Warfare unit in Vladivostok proper:

October 12, 2025

Dear Administrator,

Your device, the so-called “Wormhole Generator” has been of great assistance during last month’s Gondwanan incident. We are eternally grateful to you for engineering the idea for the device and to Major Alexei Mikhailovich Kazansky for overseeing the project and reporting to us. As a token for your efforts, the glorious Krasnorussian government has decided to grant additional funding to your research in the form of руб2,125,000.00 (Two million one hundred twenty-five thousand Krasnorussian Rubles.)
In return, the glorious Krasnorussian government would require you to lease your “Wormhole Generator” to the public for use as an entertainment device/time machine for leisure. The proceeds from users will go to the funding of our glorious and heroic Red Army.z
Your cooperation is expected, comrade. If you do not do as your glorious government requires, we will appropriate your funds for use in the glorious and heroic Red Army. We await your reply, comrade.

Yours truly,
Adm-Fl. O. D. Rimsky
Fleet Admiral of the Red Navy

“Those sons of bitches…” muttered Maj. (formerly Capt.) Dr. Voronov, the administrator of Vladivostok’s 1ST Electronic Warfare Battalion. “These bureaucrats are always looking for more ways to make money. I know what I’ll do – I’ll just march up to this… this… Admiral Rimsky and tell him where to shove it!”
He crumpled the note and threw it away into a trash can, setting it on fire with a lighter. He then stood up and stormed out of his office into the corridors of the Red Army technology center where he resided. He grumbled absentmindedly while looking at his feet, when he suddenly bumped into someone.
Voronov fell on the ground, while the one he bumped into dropped a folder he was carrying. Voronov shook his head and said out loud, “Watch where you’re going you stupid o—oh shit.”
He looked up to see a man in a red parade uniform staring down at him. It was Maj. Alexei Kazansky, his former military supervisor and correspondent to the Vladivostok Chiefs of Staff during the Gondwanan incident.
“Watch where I’m going indeed.” He said to Voronov, arms crossed.
“I apologize for my clumsiness, comrade Majo—hey, wait a minute… I’m a Major too! So what should I call you?”
“Just comrade. Now help me pick up my stuff.”
“Yes, comrade.”
“Ew. That sounds like something from that retro game – y’know, Red Alert 3? The one where—“
“Yes, comrade.”
“Shut up.”
“Ye—“
“One more word out of you and I’ll have you shot in the ass!”
“… okay, comrade…”
“Zippit.”
Voronov picked up Kazansky’s folder and arranged the papers inside. He took a look at one of them and read the header, “Krasnorussian National Department for Tourism.” Scribbled in red ink below that in Kazansky’s penmanship was, “National Department for the Amusement of Rubbernecks.”
“What’s this?” asked Voronov.
“Surprise! The Red Army assigned me to take the maiden voyage of the Wormhole Generator – to Vladivostok harbor… in the 18TH century!”
“What the hell do they think they’re doing?!” shouted Voronov.
“Do you have any objections, comrade?” asked Kazansky with a smirk.
“Objections? Objections? This is a highly unstable wormhole generator, comrade! Plus, it’s not even true to its namesake! It’s a wormhole locator, not a wormhole generator! The path you’re looking for might not even exist!”
“Calm down, comrade. I’m sure there’s bound to be a wormhole like that somewhere in outer space.”
“But consider this – what if you won’t come back? What if you’ll be lost forever?”
“Nonsense. It’ll be your responsibility to bring guests back home. After all, you’re the park manager.”
“Park? What park?”
“They’re erecting a new time travel theme park near the base, comrade. They plan to showcase the 750 year old history of the city! Perhaps when we get the bugs fixed, we can take them to other places as well!”
“Is the Red Army mad?! Do they know that they’re tampering with the fine fabric of history itself?!”
“Of course, we’ve taken the necessary precautions…”
“Pray tell.”
“You know the new NT-01 Stealth Tank?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re using its cloaking technology to make the tourists invisible!”
“What if some little kid shouts in the middle of the tour?”
“Oh… I guess we’ll have to shoot him then.”
“See? You people are obviously unprepared.”
Voronov walked down the hall, away from Kazansky. The chem trooper caught up with him and said,
“Wait, wait, wait. We’re still in the experimental stage. There are bound to be a few bugs. You have to let me test it for the maiden voyage. If I’m unsatisfied, the whole project will be cancelled, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”
Voronov froze in his tracks when he heard the word “cancelled”. He then turned to face Kazansky, a big grin spread across his face,
“Well, no comrade, I wouldn’t want that at all.”

Gondwana dimension, 2007. The prophetess Valeri marched down the halls of King Charnaiz dir Castillon’s royal palace. She had an important message for the king, and it concerned another world.
The Adrianic royal guardsmen saluted as she passed them by, and watched her as she entered the audience hall of the king.
“Your Majesty…” she said, “the Krasnorussians are at it again!”
“At what again, prophetess?” replied Charnaiz, balancing a blue jewel on his fingertip.
“They are attempting to alter the space-time continuum!”
“How so?” the king asked, still outwardly dissatisfied.
“It’s the wormhole generator, sire – they’re using it for leisure!”
Charnaiz fumbled with the jewel for a moment, and caught it with his foot before it dropped to the floor. “Those idiots! I need Kyurdin. We have to stop those fools before another catastrophe befalls our dimension!”
“Yes your majesty – I will fetch him at once!”

Krasnorussia, 2025. Voronov sat high up in the control booth of a steel-walled hangar, a makeshift teleportation chamber. As Electronic Warfare crews scrambled to their safety bunkers, Voronov said over the PA system, “All right, Major Kazansky, this will only take a minute. Please be advised that while we set up the system, you are not to enter the portal until I give the ‘go’ signal. If you do, however, I assure you it will be the most unpleasant experience in your life – or it may even kill you in worst case scenario.”
“I understand, Major Voronov!” said Kazansky, feeling a little awkward calling this man who used to be under him by the same rank as his.
“Beginning phase 1… Control Team A stand by…” Voronov said.
Kazansky was behind a fiberglass safety bunker together with a blond woman of medium height. This was Lt. Natasha Kalashnikova, his adjutant and personal secretary.
“Well, are you excited?” he said, nudging her with his elbow.
“Whatever, comrade major.” she muttered.
“Oh come on, woman, where’s your gusto?”
“In San Francisco, together with my heart.” she replied, snorting.
“Um… okay…” Kazansky said, rolling his eyes.
Suddenly, the lights turned red and Voronov spoke through the PA system, “Okay, comrade – you may now enter the portal. But please take note – be prepared to experience extreme pain as your molecules will be disassembled during transit.”
The fiberglass shell opened, and Kazansky saw that the whole room was filled with the sound of roaring wind. The portal was sucking everything in! Kazansky took his pack and his rifle, while Natasha sauntered after him. The two got close to the portal, but suddenly, another portal opened parallel to it!
Charnaiz, Valeri and a man in blue armor carrying a large backpack and a long sword were thrown out of it. Charnaiz screamed to Kazansky,
“Close the portal!” Before being sucked into the wormhole generator’s portal himself, with Valeri clinging onto his cassock. The man in blue, Kyurdin, was desperately trying to grab a hold of something to prevent being sucked inside, but instead grabbed onto Kazansky’s collar and Natasha’s breast instead… That being said, the other three were sucked into the portal, right before it shut down and closed.
Back up in the tower, Voronov held his mouth open in shock. “This is not good.” He said, scratching his head. “But then again, maybe it is! If Alexei Mikhailovich isn’t satisfied, he’ll allow me to bring him back! Wait… uh oh. Do I know how to bring him back? Shit! I designed a car without brakes! What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?”
As he said this, Voronov was in a state of panic, flicking off switches and punching buttons in the control room, trying to figure out a way to bring the group back.

Vladivostok, Russian Empire, 1750. Kazansky, Natasha, King Charnaiz, Valeri and Kyurdin fell into the ice cold water some distance away from Vladivostok harbor.
“This is so cold!!” Charnaiz said, flying out of the water and landing on a sheet of ice.
“This isn’t so bad…” Kazansky muttered. He was used to this kind of water. He was from this city, after all. Natasha was feeling the same way, while the Gondwanans, not used to this extreme ocean cold, slowly climbed out of the frigid waters.
Suddenly, a ship pulled up to them – a 225 foot long Imperial War Frigate, with an intricately carved Peregrine Falcon as the ship’s figurehead.
Ropes were let down from the sides of the boat, and the crewmen, wearing black headscarves which covered their faces from the scalps down to the nose, looked down on them with a curious air. They then began coaxing them up the ropes in Russian. The group started to climb, a bit alienated, and a little cautious at the same time. Charnaiz didn’t want to fly to the boat – the cold had sapped him of some of his energy, and he didn’t want to make a scene. Major Alexei Kazansky felt something familiar about this boat and who owned it…

Dateline: Gondwana

2009-10-21T05:04:00.000-07:00

Blood and Gore
Dateline: Gondwana
Book 2
Chapter List

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Dateline: Gondwana, Epilogue

2009-10-21T05:01:00.001-07:00

Epilogue

Kyurdin rushed up to Primrose and Valeri, taking one of his healing potions with him. He poured it over the wound, and the bullet popped out. He took it into his hand. “You can take care of it from here, prophetess.” He said. Valeri waved her hands over the wound and healed it. Primrose managed a weak smile, and Valeri foretold,
“Your Majesty, it is a man-child.”
Charnaiz approached them and smiled. He was accompanied by Kazansky, Murad, and Shruiken.
“Thank God for this wonderful day.” he said. “And thank you – all of you, for helping me defeat the World Destroyer.”
“We had to protect our national interests, your Majesty.” Kazansky said, tilting his helmet. “And now, if you’ll excuse me – I think there’s someone I ought to wake up.” With that, he headed over to Natasha.
“It was a pleasure fighting with you, Charnaiz-san.” Shruiken said, with a low Japanese bow, placing his fist on his palm.
“I feel the same way, sahib.” Murad said, nodding his head slightly. “But now the ordeal is over – and we must return to our respective times. This century is one of greatness – but I fear I am not ready for it. I must return to my time.”
“As I must.” said Shruiken.
“Farewell then, brave warriors – I will remember you both.”
“Sayonara.”
“Salam alai’kum, sahib.”
“Alaikum al’salam to you too, Murad, and good fortune to you, noble Shruiken.” said Charnaiz with a smile.
The two walked off to Voronov, where they were both sucked into the wormhole, one by one, to their respective times.
Kazansky came to Charnaiz, holding a weakened but still very much alive Natasha in his arms.
“It was fun, Charny.” said the Krasnorussian, smiling beneath his gas mask. “If you’re ever in my world again…” he laughed, “Give me a call.”
“And I will. It has been good fighting alongside a soldier such as you.” said Charnaiz, placing his hand on Kazansky’s shoulder.
Natasha’s eyes fluttered open, and she saw Charnaiz for the first time, “Hey…” she said weakly, “You’re… pretty hot… for a kozel…”
“She called me a goat?”
“It’s Russian prison slang. You wouldn’t understand.” Kazansky said, grinning.
Nicolette walked up to them, glaring at Charnaiz. “Hey, putain.” she said to the Gondwanan king.
“Yeah?” said Charnaiz, glaring back.
“You… you… you make a good combat buddy. Put her there.” She said, extending her hand. Charnaiz took it and received a vice-like grip.
“I don’t want to see you in France or in China. They’re not ready for you there, you batarde.” she said, laughing as she went away to Colonel Fang’s men.
“I guess this is your goodbye, huh?” Kazansky said to Charnaiz.
“I guess it is. So long.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing fancy?”
“No.”
“Um… okay.”
“Oh yes, before I go, one last thing – here.” Charnaiz handed a small purple balloon shaped medallion to Kazansky.
“What’s this?”
“The Gondwanan Order of the Juju Bomber.”
“The… uh… what?”
“Goodbye, major. It was fun.” With that, he walked off towards the wormhole, and Voronov clocked him back to Gondwana. Valeri and Primrose had their own goodbyes, while Kyurdin and Richard left without scarcely a word.

Some time later, on the return trip via tank trip to Vladivostok, Kazansky sat with Dym, who was recuperating in a cryo tank. He had his gas mask and helmet removed, and was relaxing on his seat inside the roomy T-120 “Nerushmiy” Demolition Tank. He examined the little medal, and squeezed it. Suddenly, a foul odor filled the inside of the tank. It smelled like – “Urine! The whole vehicle is filling with essence of human urine!!”
“Thank God I have no sense of smell.” laughed Dym.
In the ensuing chaos, nobody bothered to read the inscription on the opened medal – “To Major Kazansky: This is the essence of the Chark Shark, one of the great deities of Gondwana. I hope you enjoy it – your interdimensional pal, King Charnaiz dir Castillon.”

END

Dateline: Gondwana, Chapter 12

2009-10-21T05:00:00.003-07:00

Chapter 12: TARFUN

As opposed to SNAFU, TARFUN is an acronym meaning, “Things Are Really Fucked Up Now.” This was the perfect description for the situation that the rag-tag group of fighters was in right now. As Aquilifon’s true form started walking out of the building, and as the Black Guards marched in, their guns pointed at the group; the situation seemed hopeless.
Charnaiz was having problems of his own – his pregnant wife lay with the prophetess Valeri, dying from a gunshot wound, and his objective was a lost cause as Aquilifon had completed his true form.
Shruiken was without a weapon, as Krovin had flung his weapon some thirty feet up – on the back of a stone Gargoyle. Without his katana, he was only as good as his martial arts skills were – and those weren’t going to do him much good against an army of Black Guards who were armed to the teeth – not to mention the tank.
Dym was torn in half, lamenting over the loss of his legs and that other part… which was useless if he was RI anyway, but still worth lamenting. His vitals continued to drop, albeit very slowly, and he was at death’s door for the second time, so to speak.
Murad al’Khefar’s hands were soaked with sweat, and straining from the blows he had to block from Krovin’s sword. The black knight hated him with an intense burning heat – and Murad remembered why – he was the very first human being to ever inflict defeat on Krovin – in 1191.
Nicolette Blanchfleur was trying to stop herself from instinctively laying down her arms and surrendering to this large band of Black Guards who crept up on them, with easily a hundred guns trained on her and her squad. She would not surrender – she would die proud, like the descendant of the noble French warriors that she was.
Major Alexei Kazansky was in a pickle. He had no idea how to get himself and his crew out of this dire situation, but he was sure going to try. He took a deadly VX gas grenade from his belt, and gripped it tightly, contemplating the consequences. He put his finger on the pin, but something interrupted him.
“Attention you Black Army terrorist bastards!! This is Colonel Wu Chou Fang of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army!! Surrender your arms now or face death at the hands of the glorious and heroic soldiers of China!!”
The liberating voice came from the propaganda speaker mounted on a Chinese Type 100 battle tank. It was accompanied by hundreds of others, along with Krasnorussian troops. Kazansky’s chemical warfare battalion, under the leadership of their officers, was riding on the dozens of Red Army tanks that had now surrounded the bunker.
Prior to the reinforcement, Colonel Wu Chou Fang had noticed that Black Army troops where moving dangerously close to China’s neighbor, North Korea, and that China would be in grave danger if they ever crossed the border. Moving quickly, he assembled a division of Chinese armor and picked up some of Krasnorussia’s remaining defense forces, in an attempt to stop the putsch.
The Black Guards scrambled out of the bunker and ran away into the snow, pursued by chem troopers toting their own AKM rifles. The Chinese tank groups then raised their turrets and began to open fire on the giant black-matter spider that was now somewhere in the distance. The spider turned, feeling their fire, and slowly walked towards them, the ground shaking with every step.
“Thank God for the PLA – but I still think we’re in a TARFUN-type situation.” mumbled Major Kazansky.
Then, who should show up from the back of the Krasnorussian troops but Voronov with Kyurdin and Richard! Charnaiz caught sight of his two friends and hailed them with a royal salute. They were riding on something that looked like a wormhole generator mounted on a tank. “Your Majesty!” Shouted Richard, “We have found a way to vanquish the Destroyer! We’ve repaired the wormhole generator!”
Meanwhile, Murad continued to fight on with Krovin. The Varangian was unrelenting and tireless, being fuelled by constant and fiery rage that was as hot as the fires of hell itself, appropriately. He took another swing at the twin scimitars of Murad and shattered the one in his left hand. Murad whirled backwards, in his style reminiscent of Turkish dervish-dances, and then jumped at him, kicking him in the head before landing back down. Krovin managed to catch one of his legs and throw him across the floor, causing him to hit a pillar.
“How fitting…” Krovin mumbled, “That I will crush you with a pillar in the same way that you crushed me those many centuries ago…”
Murad could not reply, and assumed that his end was near. Panting, he prayed to Allah for redemption, closed his eyes, and waited for the stone pillar to come crashing down on him. He waited an eternity – almost too long, and then opened his eyes to see that the Varangian was frozen in his tracks!
Kyurdin had used a Gondwanan device called the “gravity grenade” to lock Krovin to the ground, enabling Murad to strike him. The Turk got to his feet and did so, slashing Krovin’s heart open.
Suddenly, the giant black-matter spider began to fall apart – it seemed to melt as if something had broken within it.
Richard yelled to Voronov, “Activate the wormhole! Now!”
As the black space of the wormhole started spinning, the black-matter washed off of Aquilifon and dissolved into the ground, and Croak dropped from the Destroyer’s back. Suddenly, the wormhole was locked on Aquilifon, and he was sucked into it, along with Krovin’s remains, which seemed to scream curses of vengeance. Voronov then flipped a large switch witch shut the portal down.
“Hey! You fixed it!” Kazansky said joyously.
“Yes I did, Comrade Major. I’m a genius – that’s what they say.” Voronov said, grinning.
The men cheered – Krasnorussia and China were safe from destruction now, thanks to the efforts of these valiant heroes.

Dateline: Gondwana, Chapter 11

2009-10-21T05:00:00.001-07:00

Chapter 11: Encounter

Krovin paced back and forth inside the underground bunker in Khasan. “Where is that White Snake? He should be here by now…”
A face then flashed on his display screen; it was one of his Black Guards. “Sir, the visitor has arrived.”
“Excellent. Send him in.”
Croak entered the bunker, with several Black Guards escorting him. Krovin tilted his head, “Something seems very wrong here… Croak, did you take care of the major?”
Croak did not respond.
“Croak? Can you hear me?”
Nothing.
“Surprise, Arkady.” said one of the Black Guards.
“That voice… that annoying American accent… Alexei Mikhailovich!”
“Right you are – and I’ve brought friends.”
The Black Guards surrounding Croak took off their masks to reveal their faces –Charnaiz, Primrose, Valeri, and Nicolette pointed their stolen AK-47s and Uzis at Krovin’s face.
Krovin glared, “How foolish for you to have come – so few of you in number, against an entire regiment of Black Guards!”
“That’s been taken care of.” grinned Charnaiz.
Suddenly, a body of a dead Black Guard was thrown down the stairs behind them. Dym, Shruiken and Murad appeared behind it, their weapons bloodied.
Upon seeing the Turk, Krovin’s eyes grew mad and wolf-like. He shouted at the top of his lungs, “Murad al’Khefar!” Just then, a mass of black matter engulfed him and sank into the floor.
“Where’d he go?” asked the Scorpion.
Suddenly, the black matter engulfed Croak as well and dissolved into the walls, leaving them without a ransom.
“This is bad.” said Kazansky. “First thing’s first people – we need to find Natasha and get her out of here.”
“Those are your priorities, major.” said Charnaiz. “My only priority is to prevent Aquilifon from achieving his true form! I don’t know about you – but that’s where I’m going.”
“You can’t abandon us at this stage in the operation! God, I knew I should’ve brought my men.”
“My mercenaries are at your service, major.” said the Scorpion, “Besides, your men would have been too conspicuous. A small squad is a stealthy squad, major.”
“Fine. Scorpion, you and your boys follow me – we’re going after Natasha. Shruiken, accompany King Charnaiz and his bitches.”
“Hey!” protested Primrose.
“My apologies, your Majesty. Dym, Murad – you people come with me. Squads, move out!”

Charnaiz sprinted through plain-walled concrete hallways, trying to find evidence that would lead him to Aquilifon. Kazansky went a separate way with his slightly larger group.
Suddenly, Charnaiz approached a large, steel door. Shruiken slashed it open and found their target – Aquilifon the Destroyer, holding Natasha unconscious in his hand – together with a being of dark matter and Croak inside a large, spacious cement room with a structure reminiscent of a roofless Roman forum in the center.
“Welcome, your Majesty.” Krovin said, mockingly. “You’re just in time for the final merger ceremony. The black creature you see in front of you is a Romanian strigoi-mort, a demon of the damned and a powerful foe. You may try to reach us, but the strigoi-mort has put up a powerful barrier that will only disappear once he has combined fully with the White Snake and the Destroyer. I must say, your Majesty, it was nice knowing you.”
“You lie! My blue Iris can get through that barrier!”
“Most probably – but I have planned ahead, your Majesty, and have placed a null-mana spell over this room. The strigoi-mort uses no mana, and is thus excluded from the spell’s effects.“
“Damn you, Krovin!”
“I already have been.” He said with a deep laugh.
“Charnaiz, listen to me.” Valeri said, as if she knew what to do. “I have a spell that can lift the protective curtain of the strigoi-mort. It’s mana-less, but very weak.”
“It’s worth a try, prophetess.”
“It’ll require a lot of energy, so I need a share of your power and Primrose’s as well. Shruiken can guard us while we concentrate.”
“Hai. I will make sure nothing happens while you prepare your spell.” the ninja said, slashing the blood off of his katana.
Suddenly, a group of Black Guards entered from the gate behind them. Krovin began chanting in an arcane tongue, something sounding like a cross between German and Latin – Gothic.
As Shruiken fended off the oncoming Black Guards, the trio from Gondwana concentrated and began to lift the curtain very slightly. Shadow, the strigoi-mort, began to absorb Croak, who went along with it all; soon, the new being was a mess of black matter and entangled electrical wiring, and it began to expand and engulf the thirty-foot-high mass of Aquilifon’s body. Aquilifon dropped Natasha to the ground, where she remained unconscious. The curtain was lifting too slowly, and Aquilifon was becoming larger – forty feet, fifty feet, eighty feet… until he reached a height of over one hundred feet. Now the new being no longer resembled the pseudo-humanoid form of Aquilifon but rather a shapeless blob.
Finally the curtain was opened just enough for Charnaiz to slide through. Shruiken killed the last of the Black Guards and slid through after him.
“It’s too late now, warrior, your Majesty… the transformation is in its final stages. It is irreversible.” Krovin said with an evil smirk.
Charnaiz stared up at the mass of black matter, now sparkling with electricity – it started sprouting legs – arachnid in type, like a giant spider.
But as Charnaiz looked down, he noticed that Krovin had drawn twin PP-19 Bison submachine guns. As soon as the latter started firing, Charnaiz dove for a pillar to hide behind as the Bison’s 9mm rounds shredded the flooring where he previously was.
Shruiken ran towards Krovin, sword raised, but was readily received with a sharp kick to the stomach. Shruiken was thrown back with a thud.
Suddenly, Shadow’s curtain went down – along with the null-mana spell – and Primrose and Valeri ran towards Krovin. The black knight turned to face them and sprayed them with bullets, just before Charnaiz hit him with an energy blast to the head.
Primrose cried out in pain. Valeri knelt over her and examined her with her ancient desert magic – only to discover, “Charnaiz! Your wife has been hit near the lung! And she’s pregnant!”
“She’s what?” Charnaiz yelled back, surprised, just before Krovin landed a blow on his cheek with the grip of his submachine gun.
Shruiken flipped back on his feet after the initial shock and rushed towards Krovin, who, to his surprise, threw the twin submachine guns at his face, which he promptly slashed in half, only to be met by Krovin’s own Varangian long sword. Charnaiz then ran to aid Shruiken by attempting to strike Krovin from behind, but Krovin grabbed Shruiken by the collar and threw him onto Charnaiz.
Charnaiz shouted out to Valeri, “Protect Primrose!” right before Shruiken fell on him.
The Varangian raised his long sword and prepared for the final blow, when Shruiken thrust his sword upward and drove it through Krovin’s torso. The Varangian, seemingly unaffected, eyeballed the ninja, swung his own sword and hit Shruiken on the hand, making him release his sword. Krovin stepped backward, removed the sword from his torso and threw it upwards.
Suddenly, an explosive charge went off from another entrance. Out of the smoke stepped Alexei Kazansky, Dym, the Scorpion and her men, and Murad al’Khefar.
“Holy shit, look at the size of that thing!” Kazansky remarked at the sight of Aquilifon.
“That’s Aquilifon’s true form!” shouted Charnaiz.
“You figure out a way to stop it before it reaches the capital! We’ll handle the antichrist and his –” before Kazansky could finish, Krovin had leapt into their group from seemingly out of nowhere and had crossed blades with Murad al’Khefar.
“Shoot him!” yelled Kazansky.
“Êtes-vous fou?” asked Nicolette. “We’ll kill him if we open fire! They’re too close!”
“Do you have any other suggestions, Lieutenant Blanchfleur?”
“No, major – but I am confident in the Moor’s abilities…”
“That’s it – I’m joining this game.” Dym said, leaping into the air.
“Hey, what the – are you disobeying orders, defender?” shouted Kazansky, frowning.
Dym did not reply, already drawing his quarterstaff and smashing it on Krovin’s head. The black knight, in response, kicked Murad down and slashed Dym’s body in half with one rage-filled sweep. He then turned back to Murad and brought his sword down on the Turk’s twin scimitars
Dym’s torso fell from his waist and dropped to the ground. The head spoke, “Um… I’m okay… I think. Vitals are going down… waaay down, but I feel fine!” Just then, the giant black-matter spider began moving, creating a hole in the cement wall of the large chamber.
“Oh this is so TARFUN.” said Kazansky.
“TARFUN, major?” asked the Scorpion.
“You wouldn’t understand.” He said as he watched the giant black-matter spider walk out into the snow, letting a large contingent of Black Guards and a stolen Red Army T-90 battle tank roll into the chamber.

Dateline: Gondwana, Chapter 10

2009-10-21T04:59:00.001-07:00

Chapter 10: Unwanted Visitors

The deserts of the Gondwana dimension, 2007 – a couple of horsemen sped up to the entrance of the unreceptive cave which was once the Citadel of Aquilifon the Destroyer. Now, the place was reduced to an inglorious pile of rubble and ashes.
One of the horsemen looked like a mage, with a long, flowing red robe and a hat shaped like a tack; the other was wearing a type of light armor decorated with black spirals on blue armor plates and armed with a decorated sword. These were Richard and Kyurdin, members of King Charnaiz’s “Elite Eight” group, who had come looking for their leader.
The latter of the two dismounted at the entrance of the large ashen cave and went in. Richard followed, cautiously whirling his large wind-staff as he walked.
“This is the place, but I don’t see how his Majesty could still be here.” Kyurdin said, sounding a bit worried.
“Charnaiz is a cautious individual, Kyurdin. I’m sure he’d have survived this… massacre… quite easily. He’s either hiding somewhere or secured behind a strong energy shield.” replied Richard.
“He better be – the nation will be in chaos if they find out that his Majesty is missing.”
Just then, the two stumbled upon the large gaping hole that was the entrance to the wormhole.
“That… doesn’t look normal.” Kyurdin said.
“It’s a wormhole – and if my analysis is correct, it leads to outside Gondwana. This is probably where he went, either to hide or to chase after Aquilifon. I prefer to believe my latter hypothesis.”
“You’re suggesting that we go after him?”
“Unless you can offer an alternative course of action, then yes.”
“I can’t think of anything.”
“Well then, seeing as we have no other choice – it’s go-time.”
And with that, the mage and the swordsman jumped into the wormhole, and were sucked into the space-time rift that carried them to Krasnorussia, 2025.

Krasnorussia, 2025 – Dr. Voronov continued to monitor the inflow/outflow of the unstable wormhole generator, and was dismayed to find out that two more people had stumbled into the facility.
“You’re in the wrong dimension, people. It’s my duty as administrator of this facility to order you back out to where you came from.” he said over the PA system.
Kyurdin shouted back up to the control tower, “Fuck you, twat!” and drew his sword.
“There’s no need for profanity, Mr. Kyurdin.” Richard said, touching his wind staff on Kyurdin’s sword. He then shouted up to the control tower himself, “We’re looking for his Majesty Charnaiz dir Castillon! We’re sure he went this way! We’ll find him and take him out of your hair!”
Voronov put his hand to his chin. He’d remembered that Kazansky had mentioned that name before, but had no idea who he was talking about; Charnaiz and he had never met before.
“He’s not here. You can try to find him if you like, but I’m not allowing you into the city!” Voronov said.
“That won’t be a problem!” Richard said. “Thank you for your consideration!” He then turned to Kyurdin and said, “See? No need for bloodshed.”

Meanwhile, Murad, Kazansky, Charnaiz, Shruiken, Valeri, Primrose, Dym and elements of the Yekaterinburg 3RD SpetsNaz Battalion surrounded Croak, who was nailed down on a board by his hands and feet, his head quickly darting from each individual to the next, cursing at each of them.
“The Scorpion should be here any minute now, and we’ll need everyone present for the information this RI guy is gonna give us… we’ll also be needing a second torturer.” Kazansky announced.
“Eat me, Krasnorussian pig! I feel no pain!” Croak shouted, defiantly.
“He’s right, you know. It’s that nerve-removal procedure we invented. He can’t even feel it when you burn him. I don’t understand how we’re going to go through with this, comrade Major.” said Dym.
The doors slid open as Nicolette entered the room.
“Well, gentlemen, I’m he – sacrebleu!” Nicolette said, when she saw Croak nailed to a board on the wall.
“Shut up, you overseas whore!” Croak retorted.
“Putain d'outre-mer? C'est toi qui sera ma chienne après que je sois fait!” She said, gnashing her teeth.
“Vy klyanets’ kak vnutrennyaya svin’ya! V Rossiy, my ispol’zuem lyudei kak Vy kak advokat’!” Croak shouted back at her.
“Nicolette, I need your help.” Kazansky interrupted before the Scorpion could insert another French profanity.
“You’re getting what you deserve.” murmured Charnaiz.
“Yes, Major?” the Scorpion said, coughing a “TWLC” at Charnaiz.
“I need to figure out a way to torture this guy – he doesn’t feel pain, and all my main torture techniques involve well… something painful.”
“Well, I’m not sure if I can…”
“Make use of the five senses, Alexei-san.” Shruiken interrupted, “it is one of the greatest and most potent forms of torture.”
“He’s a genius!” said Kazansky, nodding. “Primrose, could you please stand beside Croak? Place your mouth next to his ear? Like that – yes, perfect.” Kazansky rubbed his hands together. “Everyone get the hell outta this room. We’re gonna start bombing his senses.”
The group then filed out of the room, leaving Primrose alone with Croak, the former wearing an evil grin.
“Everyone get behind the bulletproof glass.” Kazansky said. “This is gonna be loud, people, capital L.” He then knocked on the glass and gave the thumbs up to Primrose.
Primrose then screamed in Croak’s face, at a level that was just bearable enough so that the cement and metal in the room did not crumble away. She screamed for a full fifteen seconds, and the bulletproof glass in the opposite room began to crack. Sensitive alarms were triggered by the pitch of her voice, the war dog units outside began barking and whimpering, and then the screaming came to an abrupt stop.
The group stepped out of the soundproof room and went back to Croak. The RI hung there on the wall, his head gyrating from the dizziness.
Nicolette walked up to him and snapped her fingers at his face, “Hey – chienne, can you hear me? It’s rude to ignore people.”
Croak looked up at her and then hung his head back down.
Nicolette grabbed him by the chin and said, “Listen to me you piece of Russian merde!” but Croak just tilted his head, as if he didn’t understand.
Kazansky interrupted, “I think that last note made him deaf.”
“How are we going to get a confession out of a deaf man?” asked the Scorpion.
“I need a piece of paper.” said Charnaiz.
“No, no, that won’t work.” said Kazansky, “He can’t read English – his optical implants are written in Cyrillic. I’ll have to do it.”
Taking a notepad, Kazansky wrote, СКАЖИТЕ НАМ, ГДЕ ВАШ БОСС ЯВЛЯЕТСЯ, ИЛИ МЫ СДЕЛАЕМ ЕЕ КРИК СНОВА. (TELL US WHERE YOUR BOSS IS, OR WE WILL MAKE HER SCREAM AGAIN.)
Croak spoke, albeit slowly and drearily, “He’s… not at the Soviet Fortress… the place has been occupied by Black Army troops, and you were to be ambushed there. He’s in the settlement of Khasan, south of Vladivostok, nearing the North Korean border, hiding in a giant camouflaged bunker – awaiting my arrival to fulfill the prophecy.”
“What prophecy?” asked Valeri.
“My memory banks are obscured – I was only told about a prophecy over videophone, but not given any details.”
“Did it mention a being called Aquilifon?”
“Not to my knowledge…”
“You’re coming with us.” Charnaiz said, “If you’re lying, I will cut off your head with Char Milvian myself.”
Croak shook his head and groaned.

Dateline: Gondwana, Chapter 9

2009-10-21T04:58:00.002-07:00

Chapter 9: Hostage Situation

Natasha Kalashnikova brooded over her computer in the Red Army’s 1ST Chemical Warfare Battalion. She was bored, bored as bored could be. She had viewed and reviewed every page on the secure Red Army network, and had found dirt on most of the officers in her unit except for Major Kazansky, whose file was harder to find than a black man in the Red Army. She sat on her desk, twirling a pencil on the table while resting her head on a stack of books. Suddenly, she heard a whisper coming in from another room.
“Nice try, gefreitor; I’ve seen that movie a million times – and no mere imitation is going to scare me now.” The doors in the office complex around her slammed shut and locked themselves, not before the lights turned off.
“Very funny, comrade gefreitor! I’ll have your head for this!”
The whisper grew louder.
“Okay, okay, you’re scaring me! Stop it!”
Black matter crept down the walls from the cracks in the ceiling; it was like the room was being flooded with a sort of misty tar.
“It’s not funny anymore! Stop!”
Before she could say any more, a wave of black matter, with bloody fangs, rose as tall as she was and swallowed her out of her desk. The black matter then immediately disappeared.
A gefreitor walked into the room, looking around. “Comrade Leytenant? Comrade Leytenant? Where’d you go?”

A couple of days later, Charnaiz, Kazansky and Shruiken were meeting at a conference table in the Red Army science facility back in Vladivostok when Krovin’s face appeared on the large video display screen that hung overhead. Upon seeing his face, Kazansky immediately rushed out of his seat and ran into another room. Charnaiz was dumbfounded at the apparent cowardice of the major, and Shruiken was disgusted at his lack of honor in the face of his enemy, but they were the ones who would have to listen to Arkady Krovin.
“It seems your friend has ran out on you.” Krovin said, mockingly.
“What do you want, Krovin?” Charnaiz asked, sneering.
“I wish to relay information to you, my good king.” He said, laughing softly.
“About what?” asked Shruiken.
“Be patient, Yaponiskii, I will tell all if you let me finish.” He said, his fingers drumming the table in the video screen. “You have something that belongs to me.” he continued, “He is known as the white snake – now don’t play dumb with me, I know you have him – I have heard it myself.”
“What are you talking about?” Charnaiz asked.
“I have no time for these games.” Krovin said, frowning. The view of the camera changed to Aquilifon, causing Charnaiz to glare at the screen, and then it moved downwards, towards his hands, one of which was holding something human-like, with blonde hair and a torn red uniform.
“Natasha… is that her?” Charnaiz said.
“Indeed. I see you can familiarize yourself with people that are not from your world. People such as I and my friend here.” He said, grinning, as a pair of red eyes opened from the black wall behind him. Shruiken crossed his arms and said,
“It’s a good trick, but it doesn’t scare me…”
“You are an arrogant one, aren’t you?” Krovin said, annoyed. “But let me get down to the point here – although I’m sure you understand already. Return the white snake to me, and you will get your friend back. Dead? Alive? I don’t know. That’s all up to him.” he said, pointing to Aquilifon, who, in turn, waved tauntingly at Charnaiz, which caused him to bang his fist on the table.
“You have one week to give the white snake to us – we will make the exchange at the old abandoned Soviet fortress outside Vladivostok.” Then, the video screen shut off.
Kazansky, as if on queue, decided to enter the room. “Okay, I’ve got it.” He announced.
“Got what?” asked Charnaiz.
“His location.”
“I’m sorry? I do not understand.” asked Shruiken.
“That video was live. Me and the electronic warfare boys were tracing his location during the entire length of the transmission.”
“You had a good backup plan.” Charnaiz said.
“You’ll never guess where it was – it was inside the town, several blocks away from here! He was taping in an old safe house – he’s insane! We’ve already sent in Nicolette and her boys to retrieve Natasha. We should be hearing from them in a little while.” suddenly, Kazansky received a radio transmission; it was the Scorpion.
“Ah, major – this is Lieutenant Blanchfleur. We found something, but, uh, it’s not what you’d expect… qu’est que c’est…”
“What is it, lieutenant?” Kazansky asked.
“There’s nothing here but this merde television set facing a video camera!”
“What the…”
Suddenly, the television screen at the old house came to life. Krovin’s ugly face reappeared, laughing.
“Major Kazansky – you’ve done as I had anticipated. You still follow the book after all these years. You should learn to be more flexible.” he said. “The house that your mercenary team broke into is rigged. The doors are now locked, and the second I am done speaking, the room where they are in will be filled with deadly VX gas. Don’t try to find any more loopholes in this situation, major. I’ll be watching you.”
Immediately, white clouds of smoke were released from the pipes below the television set, but the former French legionnaire and her comrades were long gone. They had blown a hole in the nearest exit when Nicolette had sensed something wrong, and were now safely out of the building.
Furious, the Scorpion shouted to Kazansky over the radio, “Votre ami a juste essayé de nous tuer avec le gaz!” (Your friend just tried to kill us with gas!)
“The merc said what?” Kazansky asked, frowning.
“She says that Krovin gave her massive bunda.”
“What the hell is bunda?”
“It’s a Portuguese dish made of tartar sauce on pig rump.”
“…I see no point in that whatsoever.”
“The French are pointless, my friend.”
“Hey!” Nicolette interrupted, “I heard that, you fils d'une chienne!”
“Say what?” asked Kazansky.
“More pointless gab.” Charnaiz coughed, “Putain de grenouille.”
“We better get them out of that hot zone – the gas might still get them.” Kazansky said, a bit concerned – not over the gas per se, but over Charnaiz and Nicolette.
Murad burst into the room just in time. “Salam alaikum, major, warrior, your majesty.”
Kazansky turned to him and asked, “Yes, what is it?”
“They have brought a man in white.”
“Oh, good. That’d be our man.” Kazansky said, walking out of the room towards the main hall.

Dateline: Gondwana, Chapter 8

2009-10-21T04:58:00.001-07:00

Chapter 8: The White Snake

A white-clothed figure sat on the roof of a train car of a Russian TEM7A locomotive, on its way from Moscow to the military checkpoint in Yekaterinburg. This was the White Russian Trans-Siberian railway. The rest of the network had been shut down following the secession of Siberia and all the provinces east of the Urals.
Croak was his call-sign. His real name had been hidden in the White Army’s files, and he himself had long since forgotten. But he didn’t care about that anymore. Croak was his identity – the skull-like helmet on his head was his new face. His true one had been burned off. He forgot the sensation of pain, and the coldness of the Russian wind. He was quite literally unfeeling, and to him, being as cliché as it was, it was both a blessing and a curse.
Croak had night vision and thermal sensors embedded in his helmet, along with a bionic titanium endoskeleton. This allowed him to perform superhuman acts of strength and agility, and also provided for a second bulletproof layer. His uniform consisted of a tight fireproof suit and an ammunition belt on his waist. His titanium staff hung from a strap on his back, and a Makarov pistol was secured in a holster on his right thigh.
He was a member of White Russia’s most powerful secret weapon against the Krasnorussians – the highly controversial Resurrected Infantry Unit – dead soldiers being recycled for post-mortem service. Of course, the members of the Resurrected Infantry Unit were very few in number. They were once under the command of a Captain Gerhardt, himself a victim of a gunshot wound; until the captain went missing; now the unit was leaderless. Not that it was anything to worry about – the unit was only a three man fire squad. Croak was the only active member, as the other two were still in cryo-stasis.
The Resurrected Infantry Unit took its members from the bodies of the dead that nobody could identify – thus, it was a unit of “John Does” who didn’t even remember their own identities when they “woke up.” This is the reason for the mass protests of the citizens of the empire opposing the Resurrected Infantry’s very existence.
But that’s about enough of what Croak was. Now we go to the interesting part – his so-called twin brother.
Croak looked around with his thermal sensors into the snow. Nothing but a mass of blue, indicating low temperature. He assumed that he was safe; however he reminded himself that he could never be safe for long, as long as his virtual double was trailing him.
The soft clanking of metal could be heard a few cars behind him. Croak whirled around and rapidly scanned the roof of the car adjacent to his own – blue. He tilted his head, as if suspicious, and then decided to investigate for himself.
Jumping from car to car with catlike deftness and superhuman agility, he investigated each car very carefully, as if he knew what he was looking for. The yellow lenses of his mask shone in the Russian sun.
Suddenly, he could hear the cocking of a pistol – it was close, dangerously close. He reached for his own weapon, but it was immediately shot out of his titanium-clawed hand.
“Reach for the sky, White scum.” A robotic and grainy voice (with a remotely human character) said from behind him.
It was his double – Dym. He was the Krasnorussian’s own version of Resurrected Infantry – exactly as efficient, and with exactly the same capabilities. And aside from the Krasnorussian black and red opposed to the Imperial white and blue color scheme, exactly the same uniform. They looked almost like brothers, and the fact that they were always fighting only strengthened that.
Croak turned around slowly, his hands raised. Dym was standing on the train behind him, pointing a Yarygin PYa at his head.
“That’s it, comrade. Slowly now – come quietly so that we can place you under arrest.” said Dym, his featureless face mask devoid of any expression.
A soft, gruff laughter came from Croak, as he lowered his head, arms still raised. Dym knew he was planning something.
“What’s so funny?” asked the Krasnorussian.
Suddenly, without warning, the branch of a forest tree knocked Dym down onto the cold, hard roof of the train car; not that it mattered to Dym that it was cold and hard, because he could feel nothing. It did matter, however, that he had lost a potential prisoner.
Croak leapt to his feet and jumped on top of Dym’s back, trying to kick him off the train, or at best under the tracks to be crushed. The latter rolled over, causing Croak to fall as well. Both men were still safe on the roof of the train, but it was an intense competition to see who would be pushed off first.
Their bionic endoskeletons were really helping – they could endure an amazing amount of inhuman punishment and still function normally – but it was for a limited time only, as the skeletons needed to be periodically charged, like one’s mobile phone.
Croak was planning to use this to his advantage – if he could find a source of electricity on the train, he could charge up and easily overpower Dym – unless the latter could somehow manage to stop him first.
Dym gave a sharp head butt to Croak, damaging his sensors a bit, and leapt to his feet, extending a titanium quarterstaff.
“Stand down, comrade.” He said, as he shifted into combat stance.
“Go to hell.” replied Croak.
Without another word, Dym jumped into the air and landed a blow of his staff on Croak’s skull, who fell back a little. The White Russian hit himself in the head in an attempt to correct his sensory equipment, and then charged at Dym, who was quick to somersault over him and kick him in the back, causing him to tumble over.
Then, without warning, metal cords tipped with razor sharp hooks shot out from Croak’s hands, and impaled Dym through the ribs. Croak laughed, satisfied, but Dym quickly pulled both the cords out and pulled them towards him, causing Croak to fly along with them. When the White Russian got close enough, Dym gave him a quick uppercut in the jaw with his titanium knuckles, causing him to fly up into the air and land back down on the roof of the train car with a loud thud. Dym then fired metal cords of his own into both the hands of Croak and pinned him to the car.
“Pawned.” Dym said with an air of humor.
“Stfu.” replied Croak.
A voice interrupted over the radio, “Dym? Do you read me? This is Major Kazansky. Do you have the target?”
“That’s a big ten four, major.”
“Excellent. Troops will be waiting to take the target off your hands in Yekaterinburg. Good work. You really do deserve the title, ‘Defender of the Motherland.’” Kazansky said with a laugh.
“Thank you, sir. Dym out.”

Krovin was awakened by the sound of a whisper – a whisper so loud that it filled the whole room with an echo. He rose from his bed to follow the whisper to its source.
A frightening being floated in the hallway, standing taller than Krovin was; its face a dark void that sucked in all light around it, with two large, bright, glowing eyes staring down at Krovin. It wore something that looked like a robe made of tattered dark matter instead of cloth, and it spoke in a voice like the squeal of a warthog,
“There hassss been… a problem, masssster…” it said, gesturing with its claw-like hands.
Krovin crossed his arms and asked, “What sort of problem? If there has been an interruption in the bringing about of the true form of the Destroyer, then please, tell me now.”
“The white ssssnake – it has been taken by the enemy…”
Krovin glared at the being, and cracked his knuckles. “What else can you tell me?” He said.
The being remained silent and stared him down.
“You are a useless strigoi-mort… the demon within me gives me more physical torment than you ever will.”
Suddenly, the room became black, from the black matter of the being’s cloak, and only its eyes could be seen. Krovin could hear various noises around the room, such as the clashing of swords, the laughter of children, the screaming of women, the battle chants of his people, gunshots, religious chant, drums, and other noises that confused the mind. Gradually, the noises were toned down, and one noise could be heard above all the others – that of a radio transmission
“Dym? Do you read me? This is Major Kazansky. Do you have the target?”
“That’s a big ten four, major.”
“Excellent. Troops will be waiting to take the target off your hands in Yekaterinburg. Good work. You really do deserve the title, ‘Defender of the Motherland.’”
“Thank you, sir. Dym out.”
Then, as suddenly as it had rose, the black matter washed back down like water and was once again reabsorbed into the robe of the being. Krovin nodded his head, seeming to understand.
“Very well – the Krasnorussians have our man. Come, Shadow, I have a plan. I may finally have some use for you after all.”

Dateline: Gondwana, Chapter 7

2009-10-21T04:57:00.001-07:00

Chapter 7: Coalition

Aquilifon stepped inside Krovin’s dark, depressing lair. “Arkadius Krovin. How long has it been since you have waited for this day?” he said.
“Long enough, Destroyer. And my name is no longer ‘Arkadius’. I have modernized myself through these hundreds of years, and I am now called by the name ‘Arkady Chernenko’ although my enemies still call me by the name of Krovin. You must be wondering why I have brought you here.”
“Of course not. You are insinuating that I am not an analyst myself, Al’Iblis?”
“Don’t call me by that name!” Krovin shouted.
“I know that you have remembered your defeat by that upstart Charnaiz, and I know that you seek vengeance on him.” Aquilifon continued. “And in your fury, you sought to ally with me to bring him down together, as common enemies. Am I correct?”
“To a certain point, yes. But that’s only half the reason. The other reason, that you might not be aware of, Destroyer, is that I seek to materialize your true form and to rid you of that sad, golem body.”
“Why do you do this?”
“The destruction of Vladivostok and the prevalence of unchecked, uncontrolled anarchy is my purpose here.”
Aquilifon remained silent and relaxed on the cement floor.
“The power plant would not have brought about your true form, Destroyer.” Krovin continued. “It would have only irradiated you and made you quite ill. However, I know for a fact that this dimension, also, has a prophecy that will bring about the revelation of your true form; and it is simpler to achieve than the one of Gondwana, I assure you. It only requires the merger of two beings – the white snake and the black snake, and that is all.”
“How do you know of this?” asked Aquilifon, casually.
“I have the black snake in my possession. It is he who has told me.”
“Congratulations, dark knight. And what about the second instrument of prophecy? Where is it?”
“It is on its way – from Kaliningrad.”

Valeri awoke from her bed, in a cold sweat. She threw off her blanket and rushed to the room of Charnaiz, who lay there with his wife. “Your majesty! I have seen a vision of great distress!” She said.
Charnaiz sat up and stared at her, saying, “What is it, woman? Why do you disturb me?”
“We are not safe from the Destroyer’s true form even in this world! His allies bring forth the twin shade snakes, which, in this world, will cause his true form to appear!”
“How long do we have?”
“Not long, sire, the white snake, the further of the two, is coming soon. The black snake is already here.”
“We must inform Major Kazansky and the others. This is their world, after all, that we are trying to save.”

Dateline: Gondwana, Chapter 6

2009-10-21T04:53:00.002-07:00

Chapter 6: All Squads, Move Out!

General Nikolai Sobakov woke up seeing stars. He had slipped and fallen during the journey back, and was wondering what he was doing away from the Sugar Factory, where he was supposed to meet with the Vladivostok Worker’s Committee Supervisor. The trip was a rush of pain for him, and his body couldn’t take much more abuse. He was fifty five years old – not the young and powerful SpetsNaz operative he used to be. He sat up, feeling his head. He wasn’t bleeding, at least, but he felt like he had been hit by a truck, or a battering ram – or maybe even a truck with a battering ram for a hood ornament.
Kazansky’s voice came to him as a faint echo. “Glorious Comrade Chairman! Glorious Comrade Chairman! Are you all right?”
“Gemmeouttahere…” was all he could mumble. Chem troopers and medics had surrounded the Chairman, and were now trying to get him safely to a hospital or a medical bay – despite reports from security that a big, orange rock-like thing had escaped from the facility. None of the Army’s “glorious and heroic” defense groups had mobilized yet, partly because the Chairman wasn’t around to issue orders to his Chiefs of Staff. The other reason was because the entire Red Army was SNAFU.
When Sobakov awoke, he found himself in a medical bay inside the facility, with soldiers standing guard outside his room and medics checking on his vitals. Major Kazansky walked up to him, saluted the highest holder of power in all Krasnorussia, and said, “Permission to speak, Glorious Comrade Chairman.” The Chairman raised a hand and said, “Enough with the ‘glorious’. It’s enough torture that I have to hear that everyday. Comrade Chairman will do for now – or better yet, Comrade General.” The Chairman of the Armed Forces of Krasnorussia was feeling a little more than a slight headache today, and the reduction in the formalities helped ease the pain. He didn’t want to think that he was still in his office – with all the paperwork and the jittery officers telling him what went wrong – it was a psychologist’s textbook definition of a “stressful environment.”
“Alright, Comrade General – as you wish. We hate to bother you in your present condition, but I’m afraid this is a matter of national security.” Kazansky said, in his most formal tone. “Captain Doctor Voronov here will explain.”
Voronov looked up from a clipboard he was reading and said, “Comrade General, you were about to be the victim of an assassination, and we pulled you out of the hostile zone just before the assassin’s bullet struck, but in doing so, we have brought others back with you.”
“Spare me the details, captain.” said the Chairman. “Get down to business – what’s the real problem?”
“We may have a thirty-foot-high monster loose on Vladivostok.”
A long pause followed.
"A thirty-foot-high monster? What is this, some sort of joke?" the Chairman said in a half-jovial tone.
"This is no joke, Comrade General. It broke out of the wormhole, and it's coming through the Pervaya Reshka area."
"If this is no joke then... Do we have anything that can stop it?
"Nothing that's guaranteed to work. Most of our men are fighting the White Russians - several hundreds of miles from here."
"Then we must use our last resort..."
"You mean the SSRMa-05 ICBM's, Comrade General? With all due respect, we'll be blowing ourselves to hell..."
“We have no other choice, major. We can move the civilians into the old bomb shelters downtown. These men here will find a shelter for. Major Kazansky – you’re in charge of the operation. Godspeed, major.”
“It will be an honor to serve you, sir.” Kazansky said with a salute.

Meanwhile, Murad al’Khefar lay sprawled amidst the rubble on the cement floor of the test chamber. No one had come to give him medical aid, as they were more concerned over the health of General Sobakov – the ‘glorious and heroic leader’ of their country. But now, as he awoke, he found himself completely healed and feeling only but a slight pain in his forehead. He opened his eyes to see the blurry figure of a desert woman, much like himself, wearing a black cloak resembling those worn by the Bedouin. “Nur?” He said, slightly dazed. Nur was the name of his bride-to-be, but she was taken away from him “most violently”, according to his opinion, by an Irish crusader.
The cloaked woman turned away from Murad and spoke to a man in a red cassock nearby. “He is hallucinating, your Majesty. I may apply an anti-hallucinogen, but it may damage his senses.
“It’s worth the risk, Valeri.” said Charnaiz.
Valeri took a tiny vial from her belt and held it under his nose. He coughed violently and shook his head. He then scrambled to his feet, seeing all these faces around him, and grabbed his twin scimitars. The event was startling for him. Charnaiz raised his right hand, making the old Latin peace symbol, and said to him in Turkish, “biz burada -e doğru el uzatmak sen. biz sokulgan. -si olmak sen büyük portakal hayvan gelmek yanında burada?” (We are here to aid you. We are friends. Have you seen a great orange beast come by here?)
Murad sneered, “I assume you have only treated me to extract information from me.” But then he relaxed, “However, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
“Good to hear that.” Charnaiz said, smiling. “Lead us to him, friend.”
With that, Murad rose and coaxed them to follow him through the vehicle exit, where Aquilifon had trampled through the tanks in the garage.

“All right, gentlemen, listen up.” said Kazansky to a band of weary chem troopers, “We have a whopping pain in the ass that is probably en route to the capital building. The Chairman of the Chiefs of Staff himself has given me orders to lead all of you to the nuclear storage facility to launch a miniature nuclear missile. It’ll be my job to activate and launch the device, so try to lay down some cover for me if we ever get there.” The chem troopers responded with stiff salutes and headed for vehicle bay 2, where the BTR-102 APCs lay in the garage.

It was foggy outside, but one could still see that Aquilifon was wreaking indescribable havoc throughout the streets of Vladivostok. Bodies littered the streets, and the sidewalks were pink with blood on the snow. The great Destroyer kept moving onwards towards the city’s new nuclear power plant, hoping to draw some sort of energy from it – why? It was a mystery.
Suddenly, four BTR-102s pulled up dangerously close to the feet of Aquilifon. The people who were left alive rejoiced – the Red Army had finally come to their aid; but their rejoicing was cut short. Aquilifon stopped where he was and crouched to face them. “Please, gentlemen,” he said, “You are wasting your time here. You cannot stop me or interfere with my progress. It is not humanly possible.”
The soldiers responded with gunfire to Aquilifon’s head. The Destroyer furrowed his rocky brow and swept them all away with a great swing of his arm.
Just then, out of the mist, a blast of blue energy came from a rooftop. A man in a red cassock and an orange stole was firing energy beams from the palms of his hands! He was accompanied by a blonde woman who shouted at the top of her lungs, which shattered stone; a Japanese warrior who took hit-and-run slashes at the beast; a mysterious cloaked figure who stood praying over them in the background; and Murad al’Khefar.
“Hey, Voronov.” Kazansky said through his radio.
“Yes, Comrade Major?” replied the captain, who was doing some repairs back at the facility.
“I think I know what happened to that Turkish guy.”
“Yes, sir, I see it too – through your video feed.”
“Wasn’t he supposed to be dead?”
“Badly beaten, sir.”
“Never mind, we might need his assistance anyway.”

Charnaiz, seeing the APCs, flew downwards towards the large green vehicles to greet them. He stopped in front of Major Kazansky’s APC and said, “Major Alexei Mikhailovich! Zdravstvuyitye!”
Kazansky was somewhat confused, and asked the strangely dressed individual, “Who are you – and how do you know my name?”
“We fought together in Gondwana! Ah! The wormhole Aquilifon created must have brought you back to your time! Have you suffered memory loss during your ordeal?”
“What the hell is he talking about?” Kazansky mumbled.
“Never mind, no time for this now – we must vanquish the Destroyer for the safety of this world and all the others!” With that, he flew up once more to Aquilifon.
Kazansky shook his head, “All squads, provide cover for the new arrivals. I think they’re old friends.”
“Roger that sir.” a chem trooper responded, “But uh, please be advised that the target is moving towards the new nuclear power plant. We’re trying our best to hinder his progress, but nothing seems to be working as planned… SNAFU, sir.”
Kazansky groaned and said to himself, “If I hear that word one more time today, I’m gonna explode.”
As Aquilifon ripped through the power lines and kicked around automobiles on his way to the power plant, the sound of a chopper could be heard overhead. It was a Nighthawk-class US Air Force helicopter, and it was firing its machineguns relentlessly at Aquilifon’s face. Several dark figures could be seen rappelling out of the chopper just before Aquilifon swatted it down with an energy blast.
“Attention, members of the glorious and heroic Red Army!” a tinny voice came over the APC radio. It had a heavy Chinese accent.
“Turn on visuals, driver. I wanna get a look at this guy.” Kazansky said. As the monitor was displayed, the face of a Chinese PLA officer appeared on it. “This is Colonel Wu Chou Fang of the glorious and heroic People’s Liberation Army! China is under threat from the animal that you have released from your facility! We are sending in a mercenary group to keep it in check, as our regular army has no jurisdiction here! We will assess your loyalty as an ally after we quell this quandary! Chou Fang out.”
“Well how about that.” Kazansky said, “The Chinese are sending in reinforcements, but they’re gonna kick our butts in the People’s Court later. I hate bureaucracy.”
Another transmission followed. Chou Fang’s face was replaced by that of a Caucasian female in a white French officer’s cap, “Bonjour, major.” She spoke with a slight French accent, “Je suis Lieutenant Nicolette Blanchefleur, former French foreign legion. They call me, “Le Scorpion”, major. I will be leading my strike team according to your orders.”
“Welcome aboard, lieutenant. I believe you can see the problem we have here. Your objective is to prevent the target – the large, orange golem, from reaching the nuclear power plant. Do you understand?”
There was no response. The Scorpion and her men were already on their way towards Aquilifon.
Kazansky shook his head and said over the radio, “Okay people – we’ve received additional reinforcements. Pummel it with everything we’ve got!”
But suddenly, before anyone could respond, the fog became thicker, so thick nobody could see anything! It was smoke – smoke being expelled from seemingly nowhere was covering the streets and brought visibility to zero.
“This is Gefreitor Koshkov to anyone – if you can read me, then please be informed that we have a prob—auughh!” The transmission was caught short by the sound of gunfire.
“What’s going on? Can anyone see anything out there? Anyone?” No answers. The display screen was static, and only more gunfire and a little sword activity could be heard from outside. Then, from the static, a face emerged on the display screen. It had a beard and long, unkempt hair. “Greetings, members of the Red Army.” said the raspy voice. “You have all heard of me on the news – the leader of the Black Army… and now, I am once again in your hair.”
“Arkady Krovin…” Kazansky said. “You’re interfering with an affair of national security. Remove whatever forces you have hidden around here, or prepare to be fired upon.”
“Major Kazansky. It’s good to see you again – so you are the leader of this rag-tag group of fighters?”
“You have twenty seconds before we – “
“Before you what, major? It seems to me that you are not the ones who are capable of calling the shots here. Look around you, major. You can see nothing. My men, however, can see all of you. My snipers can pick your chem troopers off one by one as you hear their screams over the radio. I suggest that you stand down while we relieve this… problem of yours…”
“What, you’re helping us?”
“Goodbye, major.”
As he said this, the display screen went back to static, and the smoke cleared. Aquilifon was gone, though. The chem troopers on the ground and the warriors and mercenaries on the roof stood there, more or less unscathed.
“What the hell was that?” Kazansky said through the radio as he climbed outside to examine the damage.
“We don’t know, sir. Visibility was zero through all that smoke.”
Charnaiz jumped down once again from a rooftop, followed by Valeri, Primrose and Shruiken. “I saw what happened.” He said.
“Yeah right, that’s impossible. Visibility was zero and all our equipment was chaffed. How’d you see anything?”
“The Eye of Balthazar, major. It’s a jewel embedded in my sword, Char Milvian. It can see anything clearly, albeit for a brief period of time.”
“I don’t believe you.”
The Gondwanan king held up the jewel on the sword to his face, and images swirled through it. The jewel depicted Krovin talking with Aquilifon amidst the smoke, and then running off together, after which the image faded away.
“That’s amazing! How’d you do that?”
“Through the magic of the blue iris, major.”
The Scorpion rappelled down from another building together with her men, and reported to Kazansky, “We couldn’t catch him. We could see nothing in the smoke and fog.”
“These guys apparently could.” Kazansky replied, gesturing over to Charnaiz.
“Who are they? They look like a group of circus performers.”
“How dare you talk like that to the king?” Primrose said, unnaturally angry.
“King? I see no king – only a man without a crown in a clown costume!”
“Let her go, my love.” Charnaiz said to Primrose, trying to calm her down.
The Scorpion laughed, saying, “S'il est le roi, alors qui êtes-vous? Sa chienne royale?”
Charnaiz, being a linguist, understood this, and he knew that the Scorpion had just called Primrose the “royal bitch”. He put his hand on the hilt of Char Milvian and prepared to strike, but was stopped by Kazansky.
“That woman is a PLA mercenary. If you touch her, we will regard you as an enemy and will then be required by Krasnorussian law to attack and kill you.”
Charnaiz moved his hand away and glared at Nicolette.
The Frenchwoman put her hand to her mouth and laughed, “Ha ha ha! Clown de cirque.”
Charnaiz’s eye twitched, but he tried to take no more notice of the annoying woman. “I suggest we follow them. They may be planning to aid each other. It is a known fact that when one’s enemies unite, it spells almost certain doom.” He said as he turned to Kazansky.
“We can do that after we formulate a plan on how to do it. But remember that my boys will be keeping an eye on you. I don’t know who you are – but I have a pretty good idea where you came from. You just had to enter that wormhole, didn’t you.”
“I follow my quarry – it’s a rule of the hunt.”
“Uh huh. Yeah, whatever, your majesty.” said the Russian with an air of revulsion. He then climbed back inside the APC and suggested that everyone else come with them back to base for medical treatment and rest. Thinking that this apparent expert had a better idea, he called off the nuke armament.

Dateline: Gondwana, Chapter 5

2009-10-21T04:53:00.001-07:00

Chapter 5: Follow the Leader

Charnaiz stared at the big, gaping black hole that swirled in midair. He knew what it was – a wormhole. Controlled rifts were used by his people’s mages as a form of transportation – but this one looked extremely unstable, and did not look like it was created by any Gondwanan magic. His wife walked up to him, panting from the exhaustion of the previous battle.
“My love, are we safe? Has the monster been rid of us by this wormhole?”
Charnaiz thought for a moment and walked in circles around the entity. “For now, dear, yes. But it appears that this wormhole leads to another dimension. If we can follow Aquilifon to that dimension and find him there, we can be assured of his destruction.”
Shruiken jumped down from a perch and sheathed his katana. “Charnaiz-san, I would very much like to join you on this hunt for the Destroyer, to avenge the death of my comrades.” He said, as he stared at the bodies of those who lay dead around him. He had witnessed the sucking in of Major Kazansky and Natasha into a wormhole, and they were the lucky ones. The others were killed, and among the corpses lay a mass of entangled purple fur.
“We lost all hope of defeating him once he crushed Mookie.” Charnaiz muttered. “Such a loss.” He picked up a handful of bloody purple fur and clenched it in his fist. “For vengeance.” He said.
Footsteps came from across the room. A hooded woman, heavily tanned from the heat of the Gondwanan desert sun, came into view out of the shadows. This was Valeri, a Gondwanan tribeswoman and local prophetess. “It would be wise for his Majesty to follow after the Destroyer, for the instruments of the prophecy in this world have clearly failed at their appointed task. Perhaps there is new hope to be found in another.”
Charnaiz nodded at the prophetess’ statement and said, “Come, Valeri, you must lead us in finding the Destroyer. None here who is alive knows as much about our adversary as you.”
“Very well, your Majesty. I will do as you wish.” The prophetess bowed and summoned them to her to jump into the worm hole.
“Shruiken, do you remember when you were brought to this world with the wormhole of the prophecy?”
“Hai, Charnaiz-san.”
“Then you will therefore remember how unsettling it feels.”
“It is like the four elements themselves are lashing against you and ripping you apart.”
“Exactly.”
Then, without further hesitation, the four of them jumped in. The rocky chamber around them was then as silent as death.

Dateline: Gondwana, Chapter 4

2009-10-21T04:52:00.003-07:00

Chapter 4 – Enter the Destroyer

Gondwana Dimension, 2007. A gigantic, orange figure with a rock-like body towered over a small consortium of unlikely heroes, and laughed tauntingly. This was Aquilifon – the legendary Destroyer of Worlds that was both feared and respected by those few that chose not to ally with him. The Sovereign of Gondwana, Charnaiz dir Castillon and his wife Primrose Marie Gadlene lay helpless before the monster, with the bodies of their comrades sprawled dead or dying around them. Many seemed out of place and time, and others seemed to belong in the distant future.
Suddenly, right behind the giant, a Japanese ninja from the Middle Ages leapt from out of his hiding place to attack the creature. This was Shruiken, a great mercenary from his time, but an unknown figure here in Gondwana. The ninja soared in the air, sword raised, ready to strike – but Aquilifon saw him coming, turned to face him, and was about to blast him with powerful heat waves from his hands when, as if on queue, a black hole opened up behind Aquilifon and immediately sucked the World Destroyer inside.

Vladivostok, Krasnorussia, 2025. Members of the Red Electronic Warfare Division were trying desperately to shut down the wormhole before it flooded the entire chamber with inglorious debris. Then, suddenly, a large orange hand appeared through the wormhole.
“What in the name of General Semen Timoshenko is that!?” shouted Kazansky. He stared as the rest of whatever was on the other side came into view. The large, fishlike head, the granite-like torso and shoulders, and finally the feet with strange, ancient-looking markings on them came into view. It was out.
“Oh my…” Voronov murmured. He could’ve been saying this because of the monster, but he was actually saying it because of the error message that appeared on the display screen: CRITICAL ERROR – PLACE AND TIME COORDINATES LOCKED. SHUTDOWN MAY RESULT IN PERMANENTLY OPEN ENTITY.
“Well, this sucks.” He muttered.
“What’s going on, captain?”
“We can’t change the date and place, and uh… if we shut the machine down, the portal’s going to stay open for a pretty long time because of machine error, Comrade Major.”
“We’ve got bigger problems, captain. Look up from the screen.”
Voronov looked up, and his mouth dropped open. Aquilifon, the Destroyer himself, a thirty-foot-tall abomination, was staring right at them in their place in the tower.
Murad al’Khefar, who was still in the tower, looked upon the intruder defiantly and drew his blades, shouting, “You come here to die at the hands of Murad al’Khefar! You have chosen your demise well!”
Aquilifon laughed, the terrifying sound filling the whole room; and said, “On the contrary, Murad bin Abdulhasib bin Mahmoud al’Khefar… it is you that will meet your end this day.” The giant’s voice didn’t seem to fit him – it was clear, and almost gentle in a way – something like a voice one would hear from a salesperson trying to deliver a pitch, but with a great echo.
Murad, undaunted, replied, “We will see which one of us speaks the truth! Allahu akhbar!” And with that, he leapt out of the tower, breaking the glass windows, and landed on Aquilifon’s head, slashing at his eyes. The giant grunted, but quickly grabbed Murad and threw him to the ground. The Muslim was like a cat, and landed on his feet.
“You pester me so, human. I have yet to acquire my true form before bothering any more with the likes of you.” Aquilifon said, somewhat annoyed. He then started walking towards the large vehicle exit.
Russian chemical troopers rushed up behind him and began opening fire with their AKM rifles, but Aquilifon took no notice of this. Murad continued to harass the great being and leapt once more onto him, this time, climbing him like a mountain. Aquilifon grew impatient and grabbed the Turk with his right hand, extended it towards a wall, and then, with the warrior still clinging on to his fingers, released a tremendous energy blast which shot the body of Murad like a rag doll into the concrete infrastructure. Murad hit the wall with a loud crash of cement and bone, and fell to the floor below.
Aquilifon turned then to the chem troopers who were still firing at him. He let loose a great heat wave that fried the lot of them, chemical suits and all, to ashes. He then proceeded to walk through the vehicle exit, virtually unopposed.

As they watched him stomp out into the city, Kazansky and Voronov reappeared from under their hiding places. Being unarmed at the time, they could not fight. Voronov breathed a sigh of relief.
“Voronov…” murmured Kazansky.
“Yes, Comrade Major?”
“You cannot begin to fathom the depth of the shit that you are in right now. The Chairman is gonna have your head – provided that he hasn’t lost his in the fight.”
“SNAFU, sir?”
“Mega-SNAFU, captain.”
Voronov hung his head in despair.
Kazansky shook him and said, “Go check on the Chairman. If he’s dead then the whole thing was for nothing.

Dateline: Gondwana, Chapter 3

2009-10-21T04:52:00.001-07:00

Chapter 3 – SNAFU

Snafu is an acronym in popular culture meaning, “Situation Normal: All Fucked Up.” This phrase should be the motto of the Krasnorussian Army, as the device was seen to have the same bug problem as it did before; but at least, no living thing was being thrown out of the portal this time.
As Voronov watched the random objects being blown out of the portal, he concentrated on the whirring symbols on the date and place indicator. He decided to do something radical – annoy the computer with repeated input of the correct place and time. He proceeded to do this, as Kazansky shook his head, already reloading his pistol.
Then, something amazing happened. The place and time froze on the correct input! The machine stopped throwing up random objects and threw a man in an officer’s uniform and an officer’s cap out onto the tunnel’s cement floor.
“Attention all squads, we’ve found the Chairman!” Kazansky said joyously over his walkie-talkie. The cheers of the men were tinny over the receiver. Suddenly, the date and place display started changing again.
“Control Team A, prepare to secure the Chairman. There might be more debris heading out of that tunnel.”
“Roger that, Comrade Major. We’re sending out a fire team.”
A group of five men dashed out of a safety bunker and grabbed the Chairman, just before a large rock was thrown out of the wormhole.
“Mission accomplished, gentlemen. Let’s turn this thing off and get the Chairman back to –“ Kazansky was cut short by a great roaring sound coming from the other side of the wormhole.

Dateline: Gondwana, Chapter 2

2009-10-21T04:50:00.000-07:00

Chapter 2 – Murad al’Khefar

The Turk knelt down and looked towards the machine, feeling quite dejected at the lockdown of the portal which provided his only chance for return to Ramallah. Chem troopers peeked out of their bunkers nervously. The Turk, seeing these strange beings – more or less demonic creatures in his eyes because of the gas masks – picked up his twin scimitars and began shouting at them in Turkish.
The chem troopers looked at each other, then back at the Turk, like dumb forest creatures. One of them then picked up a walkie-talkie and said to Kazansky, “Comrade Major – the new arrival seems a bit… hostile.”
Kazansky was quick to reply, “Don’t shoot; just try to pacify him. Try talking him down.”
“Roger that, Comrade Major.”
The soldier shrugged at the orders, took a few of his comrades with him, and crept up, albeit reluctantly, behind the strange-clad “visitor.” The Turk heard them coming, turned around with a whirl of his cape and twirled his scimitars in both hands, his brown eyes darting like a cornered jackal from one soldier to the next, scrutinizing them.
Left with no choice, the chem troopers decided to rush at the Turk, barehanded.
The green-clad Muslim leapt in the air, raised the scimitar in his right hand and came back down, splitting the head of the first soldier in two. The others shouted in panic and tried to run, but the warrior leapt like a quick green monkey from one soldier to another, slashing their throats. When the whole team was dead, his eyes turned skywards, and saw two men in uniform sitting in a large tower overlooking the tunnel.
“This sucks.” Kazansky blurted.
“Indeed, Comrade Major.” replied Voronov, stressed.
Kazansky observed the situation and had an idea. “I need a Kazakh soldier. Get down to the safety bunkers and fetch one. Don’t use the PA system.”
“But whatever for, sir?”
“Do it.”
Voronov ran out the door and down the stairs, wondering what Kazansky planned to do. Hurrying back up with a rather confused Kazakh guard, Kazansky turned to him, took the guard by the shoulder and showed him to the PA system, while mumbling to Voronov, “What took you so long?” He then turned to the Kazakh, saying, “Do you speak Arabic, comrade?”
“Why, yes sir, but uh…”
“Very good. Translate what I say through the PA system.”

By this time, the Turk was kneeling on the floor, praying to Allah to deliver him from this place. Suddenly, a voice boomed throughout the room, seeming to come from everywhere. “Rise, warrior.” The Turk, astonished, rose to his feet, trembling, and hid his face. “Allahu akhbar!”
“What is your name, warrior?”
“Murad bin Abdulhasib bin Mahmoud al’Khefar.”

“What was that?” asked Kazansky in the control room.
“That was his name, Comrade Major.”
“Ah, crap.”

“Ah, crap.” said the voice of Allah.
“Forgive me for the sinful lineage of my family, most gracious and merciful Allah.” he said, with tears in his eyes.

“Why did you just translate what I said?” asked Kazansky, calmly.
“Because that’s what you told me to do, Comrade Major.” replied the Kazakh soldier, grimacing.
“Listen to what I say, verify the meaning, and think before you act, comrade. I know you can do this – you have a very large forehead.”

The voice of Allah continued, “I have seen fit to transport you, Murad al’Khefar, to the city of Vladivostok, in the country of the Rus, in the year two thousand twenty five.” Murad’s eyes widened.

The Kazakh soldier interrupted, “Sir – they use a different calendar. 2025 to them is about 2586 AD.”
“Well, isn’t that interesting? Well I just don’t give a horse’s ass, soldier. As long as we’re as far away from what they believe as “normal”, we’re okay. Now keep translating.”

“Murad, the people here were sent by me. They are here to help you. Be kind to them and treat them as you would have them treat you.”
“Yes, my glorious Creator.”
“I am sending another group back in. They will not harm you. Drop your weapons on the floor.”
Murad did as he was told, and another group of cautious chemical troopers entered through the main door. They stood by him and coaxed him to follow them – in Russian. Murad, not understanding, raised his eyes to the ceiling and pleaded, “Please, tremendous and powerful Allah, make them understand what I say, if it be your will.”

“Now we’re in trouble.” Kazansky muttered.
“Now we –“ the translator mimicked.
“Stop!” Kazansky thought for a moment. “Talk to them in Russian.” He told the translator. The Kazakh shrugged and said to the men, “Alright comrades, I’m going to translate what the Turk says to you, and you better listen well. Major Kazansky’s going to shoot me in the butt if you don’t do this correctly. My ghost will haunt you in your sleep if you screw up!”

“Doesn’t he mean the ghost of his ass?” murmured one trooper. The others chuckled. Murad wondered why they were laughing, and spoke to them in Arabic; the Kazakh translated.
“The Turk asks why you laugh at me. He tells you to respect the great Allah your creator.”
One of the chem troopers guffawed and shouted to the tower, “Serik? Allah? HA! You can’t even –“ he was cut short by a bullet to his head. Major Kazansky had shot him. The other chem troopers chorused an “uh-oh” while Murad fell prostrate to the ground.
“Take him to the exit before the next one dies, comrades.” Serik said through the PA. The chem troopers took Murad by the shoulders and hurriedly took him to the exit, sweating.

Kazansky patted Serik on the shoulder, “Good job, comrade. You’re getting a promotion for that one.” Serik saluted a thank you as Kazansky walked out the door, followed by Voronov.
“Great thinking, Comrade Major. But aren’t you going to take Serik with you to translate for you?”
Kazansky was annoyed by his own stupidity and would not admit it by going back and getting Serik. He was going to wing it – and bad things happened when Alexei Mikhailovich Kazansky winged it. “Nonsense.” he said. “I can do this. I happen to speak a little Turkish...” naturally, the major was lying, but he couldn’t think of what else to say. Voronov knew this, based on obvious analysis, but said nothing.
Kazansky entered the main hall where Murad was, flanked by two chem troopers, too afraid to touch him again. “Iyi günler, Murad al’Khefar.” said Kazansky. By saying that phrase, he knowingly exhausted his entire vocabulary of the Turkish language. But to his surprise, Murad had a relieving answer.
“How do you do, sir?” he said with a slight Turkish accent.
Kazansky raised an eyebrow. “You… speak English.”
“Yes.”
Kazansky slapped his forehead, feeling foolish. “God!”
“You do not use the name of Allah in that way.”
Kazansky looked up and said to Murad, “I want to straighten things out here, Murad.”
“Go ahead.”
“The voice you heard was not the voice of Allah.”
“You lie.”
“Nope, I’ll prove it to you.” Kazansky said, picking up his walkie-talkie. “Serik, are you still in the tower?”
“Yes, Comrade Major.” the Kazakh replied.
“Sing a number over the PA, will you?”
“Yes, Comrade Major.”
Then, the great “voice of Allah” began singing the “Macarena”, and the vile and horrific singing voice of Serik could be heard throughout the installation. Even Murad was cringing.
“See? Does Allah sing like that?” Kazansky said, shaking his head.
Murad hung his head, in despair. He then murmured, “You have toyed with my beliefs, why?”
“You were killing my men, that’s why. We had to get you out of that room without hurting anyone.”
“Does anyone believe in Allah anymore?”
“You’d be surprised. Every freaking mujahedeen in all the ‘stans is Muslim. It’s annoying – we can’t fight them properly.”
Murad smiled, but then lowered his head again. “Why have you brought me here?”
“Now here’s the thing,” explained Kazansky. “We didn’t bring you here. That wormhole did.”
“You mean the great tunnel?”
“Yes, whatever you want to call it. The black hole ripping through the very fabric of reality – that thing.”
“How do I get back?”
“I don’t know. See – you’re here because something went wrong. We controlled the wormhole, and something got… out of hand. Now we need to return you to your time and need to get who we need to get out of trouble.”
“Who is this who is in danger?”
“Oh – our uh… sultan, if you will.”
“What has happened?”
“He was assassinated.”
“My condolences, friend.”
“Thank you.”
“I am willing to help you search for a new one.”
“Can’t do that – all of the qualified people are at the front line.”
“You are at war? With whom?”
“Um… ourselves. Well, our ‘brothers’, something like that.”
“Brothers should not raise swords against each other – it is an evil practice that should be stopped.”
“Um… yeah. But we’re not looking for a new leader anyway. We’re bringing the old one back.”
“You speak insanity.”
“Ah – no. That’s how you got in. See, this wormhole – it uh, brings things from other places and times and brings them out here. This place is like point B, and you were from point A.”
“I understand. Simple mathematics.”
“Yeah, you should know. You people invented mathematics… Arabic bastards.”
“I heard that – and I am not Arabic – I am Turkish.”
“Oh, sorry. But my point being, you need to get back to your time – you’re not needed here.”
“As I desire also, sir.”
“Great. Everyone’s happy! Now we need to find a way to fix the machine… Doc Voronov?” Kazansky said, turning to face the doctor, who had been silent all this time.
“I have sent a repair team up to the control center to rewire the circuits damaged by your uh…”
“Go ahead, you can say it.”
“Carelessly fired projectile. They are about finished now.”
Suddenly, a technician descended from the tower exit and announced that he had repaired the controls, and that Major Kazansky should be more careful. He held the bullet in his hand.
Kazansky smiled and said, “Voronov, is there any way we can take Murad here back into his time?”
“Reverse all the functions. It’s not going to be easy.”
Kazansky sighed, “All right, fine. We won’t put him back in right now. We find the Chairman first and then reverse functions.”
“I agree to this plan.” said Murad.
“Good. Let’s head back up to the control room and do this all over again.”
“Yes, Comrade Major.”
“Murad, you’re coming with us.”

The group climbed up the stairs and walked into the control room, where it looked as good as new, except for the tiny trace of the bullet hole.
“Control Teams get to positions, we’re going to go through this again.” said Voronov over the PA. Kazansky sat down while Murad stared at the view below him in awe.
The process went well, but when they reached the final stage, everyone became tense. “I’m setting the correct date and place again, and I want nothing wrong to happen.” He placed his hand on the PA system mic and said to Kazansky, “I hope those guys pulled out the bugs.”

Dateline: Gondwana, Chapter 1

2009-10-21T04:47:00.000-07:00

Chapter 1 – Generator

It circulated through the news faster than wildfire – one of the Chiefs of Staff of the Krasnorussian Armed Forces, the governing body of the Autonomous State of Red Russia, or Krasnorussia, had been assassinated. The people were in a state of extreme panic, and with the White Imperialist enemy taking advantage of the chaos by launching a new offensive, things were not turning out for the better.
The remaining four members grieved at the loss of their fallen comrade, General Nikolai Sobakov of the Red Army, the Chairman of the Chiefs of Staff – but while they grieved, they planned as well. They planned to bring him back.
No military leader in the Red Army at the time was qualified to be elected to the position of Chairman, since the vast majority of the Armed Forces was now being called out to the front to defend the motherland against the Whites, who hadn’t been out in full force since several years ago. However, the one division that was available twenty-four-seven and inside the capital city at all times was the one that would be needed for this radical operation – the 1ST Red Electronic Warfare Division would be in charge of creating a device that would allow for either resurrection of the body (which could already be done, albeit with major disadvantageous side effects, by the Osiris Device.), or retrieval of the General through a time portal before the unfortunate assassination.
In charge of the project was a Dr. Vladimir Voronov, a senior member and an officer holding the rank of Captain in the Electronic Warfare Division, aside from his title of “doctor.” Voronov was a surprisingly rugged man for a scientist, having a rather robust body with dark red facial hair and thick-framed glasses. He looked more like an adventurous archaeologist than the computer geek that he actually was. Monitoring his progress would be Major Alexei Kazansky of the 1ST Red Chemical Warfare Battalion.
Voronov walked through the plain white hall, holding what looked like a little black box – which was actually a component vital to the operation of the device, called the “wormhole generator”. When Voronov approached a large steel door, he placed his free hand on the palm sensor, and waited for it to finish scanning. It gave a pleasant beeping sound and opened the door. Voronov continued walking at a brisk pace, as he was impatient to try out his device. This black box was the final piece of the device, and it could therefore be tested for the first time after its installation.
Voronov walked into the final room, a large control booth which was flashing with red and green lights on its dashboards. Major Kazansky was already inside, waiting for him.
“Good morning, doctor.” said the Major. “Glad to see you could make it on time. Will we be beginning the test?”
“Yes, Comrade Major. I just need to install the power source and then we can start running the device in the controlled environment.”
“Captain.”
“Yes, Major?”
“It’s just a tunnel. Nothing’s ‘controlled’ about a tunnel with a door in it.”
“Would you rather have it tested out in the open? Without the safety of the control room?”
“Touché, captain.”
“I’ll begin installation now. You may sit back and observe the test, Comrade Major.”
Kazansky grabbed a swivel chair and put his elbows on the arm rests. Voronov now sent down the black box through a chute that led to the equipment bay. The box would travel downwards, land in a padded containment cell, be removed by one of Kazansky’s chem troopers, and then be installed in the large device on the further end of the tunnel manually.
Once installed, the chem trooper gave the “ok” signal to Voronov via radio. Voronov in turn turned on the PA system and said, “All military and electronic warfare personnel, please vacate the test tunnel and move to your respective protection zones. The device will be activated shortly.”
Kazansky interrupted, “It better work, captain; for your sake.”
“I am confident of my own work, comrade major. I’m sure it will work with either little or no problems at all.”
Kazansky nodded, and looked towards the device – a very large machine with four robotic arm extensions radiating out from the center, with a disc-like attachment on each one’s hand.
Voronov continued, “Beginning phase one – arms in position. Control team A stand by.” Voronov then flipped a switch, and red lights on the sides of the machine were activated, while the robotic arms extended further outwards.
“Control team A here.” said a voice over the communication line. “No malfunctions to report, sir; continue with the operation.”
“Thank you, soldier.” Voronov mumbled, and continued with the procedure. “Initiating phase 2 – Control team B stand by… routing power to wormhole generator… power route successful. Control team B, activate the device, if you please.”
“Control team B here. Affirmative, comrade captain. Switching device status to active; bracing for impact.”
Suddenly, the room was filled with a loud buzzing noise, and the light inside the four robotic arms bent to form a black vortex which seemed to rip through the very fabric of reality itself.
“We’re good to go, comrade captain. We will continue to stand by for your orders.”
“Roger, Control team B. I’m setting the coordinates and the time before the assassination. Be ready to retrieve the chairman.”
“Roger that.”
“June 12, 2025 5:25pm… inputting coordinates of the Sugar Factory, Vladivostok, Primorsky Krai, Autonomous State of Krasnorussia… activating.”
A powerful blast of wind blew from the wormhole, throwing up forklifts and barrels into the air as if they were children’s toys. Then, something unexpected happened. First, it started with the date – June 12 became June 11, then June 10. The location was now being changed also; and then the year. The digital display was changing into random numbers and place names. Voronov broke into a cold sweat.
“Captain Voronov! What the hell is going on?” shouted Kazansky.
“I don’t know! It must be a technical error! Nothing major, Major Kazansky. I can fix it! I swear!”
“For your sake, you better!”
Then suddenly, something was hurled out of the gaping wormhole – but it wasn’t the chairman. A huge boulder came shooting out of the wormhole and crashed into the other end of the tunnel, creating a large dent.
“What the…” Kazansky trailed off, mouth hanging open in disbelief. It wasn’t the boulder, but the wide array of other objects that were being flung in after it. A prehistoric pine tree, a Roman column, a Viking oar, a medieval sword, some arrows, a human foot, some bones, and many other random objects kept shooting out of the wormhole in rapid succession.
“Voronov…” Kazansky said, mumbling.
“Yes, comrade major?”
“Get this fixed! Now!” He shouted.
“Yes, comrade major! I’m trying my best! All we need to do is get a fix on one location! If the computer keeps processing, it’ll –“
“Spare me the details, Voronov. Just do your job.”
The machine stopped briefly in the year 1198, in Ramallah, Israel. “I think I’ve fixed it!” Voronov said with glee. But the doctor apparently spoke too soon – because something else flew out of the wormhole, and the numbers and names started rolling again. It was a medieval Turk, dressed in green robes and bronze armor, with a green sand mask over his face. He was also armed, with two scimitars – Arabian swords, used for slashing. He tumbled onto the ground, but quickly got to his feet. He was understandably alienated at the sight around him. A black portal was behind him, and in his eyes, it looked as if the gates of hell itself were pushing him out into this other world, made of cold iron and steel with strange markings on the walls.
“Oh this just keeps on getting better and better.” Kazansky said with a marked sarcasm.
“Indeed it does, major! Do you have any idea how valuable a specimen like this would be to the Krasnorussian scientific community? No – the world?!”
“Captain, just close the damn wormhole. We’ll figure out what to do with this guy once it’s closed. He might actually attempt to jump back in!”
But the man could not. The force of the wind coming out of the wormhole was stronger than the winds of the brutal Sahara itself – a desert whose winds he was used to. He inched with his curled boots towards the whole, meaning to return back to where he came to, but the winds blew him down and across the tunnel. He lost his footing and, quite literally, flew head over heels towards the back end of the tunnel.
“Voronov!”
“Please, sir! Stop pressuring me! I can do this!”
“You’re taking too damn long!” barked Kazansky. He then frowned and said, “Do I have to do this the hard way?”
The only word that Voronov could say was, “What?” before Kazansky whipped out his PYa Yarygin pistol and shot the control board. The vortex immediately closed, and the robotic arms short circuited and fizzed out.
“There we go. See? Nothing to it.” said Kazansky proudly, blowing the smoke from the barrel of his pistol.
“What have you done?” Murmured Voronov as he watched the ancient man get up, looking rather dazed, to shake his head.

Chronicles of Gondwana

2009-10-20T06:53:00.000-07:00

Blood and Gore
Chronicles of Gondwana
Book 1
Chapter List

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chronicles of Gondwana - Chapter 12

2009-10-20T06:45:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 12-THE RETURN

“All right,” Kazansky said. “I think I have a lot of questions.”

“Shruiken, he was the chosen one,” Reynold said breathlessly.

Charnaiz breathed a sigh of relief. “The sign, I did not know what the sign was.”

“It was that quake, my Lord,” Valeri the prophetess replied. “That quake was the sign. And now, we are victorious.”

Natasha Kalashnikova turned her back and began to walk away. “It’s over. Comrade Major, let’s go.” Kazansky then followed her down. And soon, all of them descended into the valley.

Nightfall. In the ground beneath Aquilifon’s now-burning citadel, Valeri and the remnants of her tribe had gathered around the instruments of the fulfilled prophecy. A portal, glowing red, was gaping wide open in front of them. Valeri had opened it hours ago through incantations.

Reynold grabbed the squirming Mookie and said, “I guess this would be the first one to go.” And saying nothing more, he flung the furball into the glowing portal.

Shruiken, the prophecy’s Chosen One and the Slayer of the Beast, faced them all. He clasped his clenched fist and open palm together in a sign of gratitude. “Arigato gozaimasu,” he said, and he bowed to them all. Then he turned his back to them and walked through the portal.

Reynold came up to Charnaiz. “I guess I have to go, Santi Charny,” he said. “This is my greatest honor, to have met the Progenitor and to have fought alongside him.” Charnaiz nodded. “Take care of the future, Reynold.” And he embraced the Azurenian. After a few moments, there was a bright flash as Reynold crossed worlds.

And now, Charnaiz went over to Kazansky. “It was fun,” he said, clasping the Russian’s hand in respect. “You were good, Charnaiz dir Castillon. I admit, this was something unique.”

“Indeed. Be well, major. Do svedanya,” Charnaiz said.

“Da. Sig-ye,” Kazansky replied as he and Natasha walked through the wormhole and disappeared in seconds.

“I guess it’s our turn, love. How much must we have missed things in Gondwana,” Charnaiz said to Primrose beside him.

“Yeah,” Primrose said, laying her head on his shoulder. And they too, walked towards the portal and home. Just before they were warped off, the king gave a farewell nod to Valeri and her tribe, who were still watching them.

Darkness and silence then fell on the desert sand as the portal closed.

Chronicles of Gondwana - Chapter 11

2009-10-20T06:43:00.001-07:00

CHAPTER 11-ENDGAME

Valeri the prophetess hovered a few feet above the ground. Her eyes were closed, and she was murmuring in a rumbling groan that was barely audible. She opened her eyes and suddenly, behind her; appeared Charnaiz’ wife Primrose and the furry genetic hybrid, Mookie.

“Now, all is here,” she said in her ominous accent. “Stand your ground, all of you, and face the Destroyer, who is now coming.” They all stared at the prophetess and then they all noticed some kind of vortex appearing behind Valeri.

“How true, prophetess. Couldn’t have said it better myself.” They all heard the rich voice that Charnaiz knew all too well and was sick of hearing. Then Aquilifon emerged from the vortex, and it closed behind him. He then turned to the hooded little prophetess. “I guess I have you to thank, woman. You foolishly have gathered all the instruments of the prophecy in this place. Now, I will cast off this body and re-emerge in a new one, more powerful, more complete, and more perfect.”

“Aye, Destroyer. But among these specimens, one will tear you apart limb from limb.”

“If they can, prophetess,” replied Aquilifon. Then without warning, Aquilifon hurled balls of luminous green light at the group. They split up in different directions as the balls started to hit. And the space where they were standing a few moments ago blew up ferociously, sending rocks, dirt and sand wildly into the air. The Destroyer continued his deadly barrage. Charnaiz had sprouted his wings and was holding aloft Primrose, who carried Mookie, who was squirming in her hands. Valeri was also floating in the air, at times retaliating at Aquilifon with her own power blasts. On the ground, Kazansky, Natasha and Shruiken were all hitting at Aquilifon’s feet with their various attacks, to no avail. Shruiken leaped backwards. The samurai then took out a vial of some sort. It was filled with water. He then poured out the liquid on his blade, as if to bless it. He then went back into his fighting stance, and prepared to charge at the Destroyer again. Reynold was also cutting loose with his own Blue Iris energy at Aquilifon’s rear. Yet, now of these assaults seemed to even faze the hulking golem, who continued hurling his balls of energy at them. Up above, Charnaiz called out to Valeri. “All of us have thrown everything we have at him—and nothing’s happening. There must be some mistake.”

“No mistake, my Lord. One of the instruments can indeed kill him. However, the prophecy also says that first a sign must appear before his slayer may be empowered. And that sign has not yet come to pass. Even I don’t know the sign.”

“You should have told me that earlier,” Charnaiz replied. “Well then, he said, fixing his eyes on Aquilifon below. “We’ll just have to do the best we can for now.” He flew over to a high ledge and unloaded Primrose and Mookie. “Make sure that thing doesn’t escape,” he hurriedly instructed his wife. Then he flew back down into the depths of the canyon. He spotted Kazansky and Natasha, who had taken cover behind a huge rock formation. Natasha gestured to her boss. “We’re almost out of ammo, sir.” Kazansky nodded. They both then felt slight tremors in the ground as Aquilifon paced towards then once more.

Charnaiz descended down behind the two Russians and retracted his wings. “Having fun yet?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Kazansky replied sarcastically.

“What do we do now, sir?” Natasha asked, and she pointed upward. Aquilifon the Destroyer was directly in front of them now and he was holding something—or someone rather, in his hands. It was a man in khaki uniform.

“ Feodor!” Kazansky exclaimed when he saw who Aquilifon was holding in his massive hands. “He’s Feodor Borodin, one of my chem troopers. How in hell did he get here?”

“Oh, just one of my many contingency plans I prepared before I sent you all here. It’s just to add spice to the fight. Go ahead, save him,” taunted Aquilifon.

“Do whatever you want with him,” Kazansky replied in a voice so lifeless that startled even Natasha. “In fact, I’ll even help you.” He raised his AK-47, aimed and pulled the trigger. Feodor’s body then hung limply from Aquilifon’s hand.

“Oh well, should’ve known better than to dramatize with Russians,” Aquilifon said, throwing the carcass aside. His eyes then glowed, and suddenly beams shot from them, directed at Charnaiz and the Russians. The king was able to set up a force field, but the pressure exerted was tremendous, and his knees began to buckle. He pushed back against the beams, and with a tremendous effort, repelled the energy, hurling it back at Aquilifon. The Destroyer deflected the blast with a swing of his arm.

“This is going nowhere,” said Kazansky. He turned to Natasha, then to Charnaiz. “Take her out of here, and leave me.” And he grinned. Charnaiz, being a telepath, instantly understood what it was Kazansky had in mind. He then gripped Natasha’s hand firmly and concentrated hard, for he had only done this a few times before. Finally, he painstakingly teleported him and Natasha away.

An evil hiss then sounded through the canyons. Within seconds, bright-green mists appeared, quickly spreading across the landscape. Kazansky had finally utilized a VX gas grenade. A short distance away, watching the chemical demonstration, Valeri, primrose, Reynold, Shruiken and Mookie stood on a canyon’s peak. A moment later, Charnaiz appeared with Natasha behind him.

“You probably made a wrong move, Charny. As of this moment, still none of us can destroy Aquilifon. If one of us dies, all will fail. Now, are you telling me you left Kazansky down there, groping in the middle of the gas, at Aquilifon’s mercy? I know he’s got a gas mask, but…”

“A chem trooper only needs to throw the grenade, Primrose,” Charnaiz interrupted her. “He doesn’t need to stay there.” And they all then saw Alexei Kazansky step out from behind the Gondwanan king. He removed his gas mask, took a deep breath, and remarked, “Good show, wasn’t it?”
Charnaiz then quipped, “I just had to bring him along.” He then smiled wryly.

“What now?” Natasha asked Valeri. “That golem’s still wading through the mist right now coming for us.”

Just then, all of them were thrown off their feet as a voluptuous tremor suddenly, violently rocked the ground. The quake levelled off weak parts of several nearby canyons. The strong shaking continued for a few moments, and then just as suddenly resided down.

“What the?” Kazansky said as he picked himself up slowly. The others were also getting up as well. But they had no time to lick their wounds, for in front of them a dark shape had already loomed. The Destroyer stood over the ledge, alight with a luminous azure haze enveloping his entire body. He did not move an inch, but he all looked down on them with murderous consternation.

Charnaiz stared at his ancient foe, all luminous in blue light. He knew then, that Aquilifon was already morphing, transforming into a demi-god that would be even more a terror to the universe then before. And he also knew that it was his and his companions’ presence that was causing this.

Suddenly, he saw his wife Primrose darting past him, carrying the failed genetic playmate, Mookie. She was running towards the tip of the ledge, facing the morphing golem Aquilifon.

“What are you doing?!” Charnaiz shouted out to her, and he began running towards her. The others began running as well. “He’s the only one who hasn’t attacked the Destroyer, my love,” Primrose said quietly. “And I’m pretty sure he would be the key.” Then she raised Mookie above her head. “No!” Charnaiz screamed, speeding as fast as his body allowed. He could have flown, but he was out of energy, and he knew he would be too late. And he was. Primrose hurled the shrieking Mookie straight at Aquilifon’s face. “Damn it!” Charnaiz said, catching up finally with his wife and cursing with sheer frustration at the foolish thing she had done.

Aquilifon had caught Mookie in his palm. “Now that the transformation is underway, I don’t need any of you,” he said in a rumbling voice. Now, the prophecy ends, for I will kill this one now.”

“Not so,” a voice was heard. Aquilifon slightly turned his head and he saw Shruiken atop the highest ledge. Kyuretsukiryu gleamed in his hand. With a high-pitched war cry, he leapt all the way down and slashed at the Destroyer, his sword striking at the head and going all the way down his body. The samurai then landed on the sand. A line appeared in the middle of Aquilifon’s large body. Suddenly, its shape went distorted, one half sliding against another. Then, cataclysmically, the golem’s body split in two and fell in opposite directions. The sand blew upward as the two halves fell with a tremendous crash into the valley floor.

Valeri the prophetess spoke. “It is done. And now, all has been accomplished. All is complete. My task is complete.”

The game had ended. Aquilifon the Destroyer had ended up on the wrong side of the checkmate, and had been thrust into oblivion.

Chronicles of Gondwana - Chapter 10

2009-10-20T06:42:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 10-RECKONING

Aquilifon stood atop a high ledge overlooking the valley. Beneath, his long-gathered army, though superior in number, was faring badly against the determined forces of Valeri the prophetess. He just continued to watch, still amused, yet observing his special specimens carefully.

In the midst of the thick pitched battled, Krovin waded calmly through the gory mess. He wantonly fired his crossbow again and again, and bolt after bolt flew in every direction. He did not care whether he hit ally or foe. A tribesman rushed up at him with his spear. Krovin struck his arms with the crossbow, disarming him. Clutching the hapless man by the neck in a vice-like grip, he bit ravenously into the man’s neck. As he gorged on the man, an armoured figure and a golden-haired man caught up with him. Krovin spotted them and threw his victim down on the ground. His bloody mouth opened, showing his serrated teeth. Then he charged at Shruiken and Charnaiz.

The king of Gondwana and the samurai looked at each other. It seemed they would have to trust each other for now. They nodded, as if a psychic link had transpired between their minds. They both rushed forward, meeting their cannibal foe. To Charnaiz, it was the first time he had ever known that samurai would fight alongside another one not from his own clan, and acknowledging his aid.

Char Milvian and Shruiken’s Kyuretsukiryu brushed against Krovin’s longsword. The two showered the Varangian with quick, fierce sword thrusts. Krovin, however, stood his ground, countering every thrust the two could throw against him. They continued like that for some time, each one occasionally seeing an opening, but could not capitalize, as either side’s defense was too efficient. Finally, as Charnaiz and Krovin locked swords again, the king saw behind his growling foe the Russian lieutenant, Natasha wielding Kazansky’s AK-47 and already setting her sights on Krovin. Charnaiz lunged backwards, and Natasha cut loose with the weapon, her bullets striking the nape of Krovin’s neck. The Varangian screamed in agony. Charnaiz expected him to fall dead, but instead only saw Krovin drop to one knee. Krovin’s pain was immobilizing, but he didn’t have time to grope, he saw Shruiken bursting towards him, seemingly to deliver the final blow.

Blood showered as Kyuretsukiryu smashed into Krovin’s hauberk. Krovin clutched his chest and grunted, but his eyes widened as he saw Charnaiz stretch out his hand towards him. The space where he was standing was then vaporized in a huge explosion. Charnaiz’ blast sent up a huge pall of smoke.

“It’s over,” Natasha said, posing dramatically over the smouldering mine-crater in the ground. Shruiken spat out a gob of bloody spit then looked at Charnaiz and Natasha and bowed deeply to both of them in a gesture of profound Japanese respect. Charny returned the bow, and then glanced down at his own armor. There were several dents all around. Krovin had gotten through some hits, after all.

Meanwhile, Gerhardt and Kazansky were continuing their own pitched battle a short distance away. Earlier, Kazansky had struck at the back of the German’s neck, loosening the hinges that held his air mask intact. The Russian, now entrenching himself on a shallow chasm, anticipated the German’s shots. Sand splashed above him as bullets rained. He sharply got up, and returned fire---and then a shot caught him in the shoulder. He plopped down, his gun flinging out of his hands.

Next thing Kazansky knew, Gerhardt was standing over him, his cavalry sword raised with both hands over his head. As he brought it down, Kazansky managed to roll out of the way. Gerhardt advanced again on his wounded foe, and Kazansky kept him at bay with a desperate kick. The German retaliated with a kick of his own to Kazansky’s ribs. He then grabbed the Russian by the collar and his other hand holding his epee inclined backward, preparing for a fatal stab.

Suddenly, Kazansky’s hands sprang out, taking hold of the air mask on Gerhardt’s face. He tugged at it wildly and desperately, tying to force it off with raw strength alone. Gerhardt punched Kazansky’s face repeatedly, trying to make the Russian release his hold. But Kazansky’s hands held; he continued tugging, and finally, as if by sheer force of will, he pried Gerhardt’s mask off, and with a final weak effort, Kazansky hurled it away.

Gerhardt clutched at his throat, gasping for air. For a short while, he writhed and gagged before ultimately dropping to the ground, his body twitching convulsively. Kazansky stared at the suffocated carcass, and then tended his heavily bleeding shoulder. He then picked up his Yarygin pistol and set out to search for his comrades.

Up above, Aquilifon was pleased. He had been entertained enough. Now, it was time for the endgame to begin.

Chronicles of Gondwana - Chapter 9

2009-10-20T06:41:00.002-07:00

CHAPTER 9-SCRIMMAGE

Another figure stepped out from between two large rocks. It was the samurai, Shruiken. “I’m not done yet,” he said to no one in particular.

It was Gerhardt, the white-eyed German who struck first. He opened fire with his Makarov on Kazansky and Natasha. They soon retaliated, sparking off a free-for-all shootout with the German on the causeways around. Charnaiz was left facing Krovin and there was Shruiken behind him. He decided to take on the Varangian first, for he sensed an unspeakable darkness in him, even darker than his Red Iris. But his concentration was suddenly interrupted by a sudden impulse of concern for his wife. He looked around and saw Valeri the prophetess, aloft in the air, holding astride Primrose. He nodded his head in gratitude.

Krovin spoke, or rather barked. “So, you are the first of my challengers to die, golden-haired one. Let me tell you of the last time I faced one with the same hair color. I pierced his heart and his lover’s as well, and sent them both to burning hell, just as I will do the same to you and your cowering wife over there!” Shruiken spoke behind Charnaiz. “This warrior is mine to kill. His blood is mine. The honor is mine.”

“Not so, Shruiken,” Charnaiz heard Aquilifon’s voice suddenly come up. Next, he saw the ground beneath Shruiken explode, and the samurai flinging through the air. It dawned then on Charnaiz that Aquilifon was trying to assault them all in the chance he might kill the one who had the power to destroy him. But he could not allow himself to be distracted, and he rushed at Krovin, Char Milvian gleaming in his hands.

Char Milvian made contact with Krovin’s longsword, and the two weapons locked. The two pushed against each other, and Charnaiz felt the cannibal’s brute strength, barely able to maintain his grip on Char Milvian. Krovin looked into his eyes. And Charnaiz for an instant was sure he was fighting Satan himself, come to earth in the body of this knight with a voracious appetite for human flesh.

The two continued to push against each other with their blades. Charnaiz, seeing an opening beneath, kicked Krovin off. With an upward stroke, he flung the longsword off the Varangian’s hands, and with a third thrust to the midsection, cut through his opponent’s hauberk, and drew blood. Then Charnaiz leaped back, and smugly grinned.

Krovin got up after a few moments, like there was no gaping wound in his side. He looked at Charnaiz tentatively, searching his memory for the last time when that had been done to him. Only very few had accomplished in actually wounding or disarming him, and now they were all dead. This one would be no exception, Krovin thought. He picked up his weapon and prepared to attack again.

Charnaiz also positioned himself again. “Just come then,” he said, feeling quite cocky. The Varangian then rushed at him with such ferocity he edged backward when their swords locked. He swung Char Milvian, he missed; it was costly for next the butt of Krovin’s longsword slammed with crushing force into his shoulder. He edged backward some more, in a defensive stance. And he actually felt like the area of impact was swelling like a grapefruit inside his armor. Krovin smiled again, blood trickling from his mouth.

Meanwhile, Shruiken’s feet were constantly saving his life, as he evaded Aquilifon’s energy pulses. The Destroyer was not truly missing, he was only toying with the samurai. But Shruiken was determined to strike back. Somehow. Someway.

At the thick of the battle, Reynold was bashing skulls and levelling entire groups of enemy tribesmen with his Iris skills. But more and more kept coming, and he dreaded the time when he would make a mistake.

The battle was fierce. But as always, fierce battles tend to get fiercer.

Chronicles of Gondwana - Chapter 8

2009-10-20T06:41:00.001-07:00

CHAPTER 8-THE BATTLE

Not so far away now, in Aquilifon’s dark citadel, the Destroyer was still sprawled in his dais, tapping his fingers. Then he turned his humongous head at the other figure in the room.

“I’m impatient,” Krovin snarled his crossbow in hand.

“Your wait is ended, my friend. By tomorrow the ones who will kill you will arrive at this citadel. And I promise you, you will have a fight like you’ve never had before.”

Krovin’s face contorted into an evil grin and he smirked sardonically.

Valeri’s army had fully camped out in the canyons. The valley where Aquilifon had has lair was already in sight down below. Bright, lighted bonfires were all around the camp. Around such one bonfire sat the prophetess, Primrose and Kazansky.

“Tomorrow, the valley below will be filled with noble blood, the blood of my tribe, the blood of heroes,” the prophetess said ominously. “I wonder where Charny scurried off to. It’s getting too late in the night,” Primrose said, looking worried.

“As a matter of fact, your Majesty, here he comes now,” Kazansky said, pointing. The three all turned their heads to where the Russian was pointing. Indeed, Charnaiz had returned—and he had company.

“Comrade Major!” Natasha exclaimed when she saw who Charnaiz had brought her to. Primrose came over to where Charnaiz stood. “You do know I was worried, Charny,” she said sternly. “Everything’s fine,” he said, kissing her on the forehead and embracing her.

“Boshe noi! Now what is that thing doing here?!” Kazansky asked Natasha, pointing at Mookie who was still trapped in the force field.

“For some reason, sir, that blue guy over there and I felt that we just had to bring him along.”

Reynold still did not take his eyes off Charnaiz. The blonde king felt quite elated and awkward at the same time. Yet, he knew that the reason for it was so mysterious even he would not fathom it. Valeri now stepped forward. “Now the instruments of the prophecy are complete.” She turned to Charnaiz and Primrose. “The Couple of Destiny.” Then she faced Kazansky and Natasha. “The Couple of Fate.” Finally, she fixed her gaze on Reynold and Mookie. “The Blue Wolf and the Velvet Fur.”

Primrose then said, “Now, only the Lost One is left to be found, right?”

“We already know who that is,” Charnaiz answered her quickly. “It’s that samurai who attacked us, Shruiken.”

“Aye. It is as you have said, my Lord,” Valeri said. Then she turned to Reynold. “Now, you and the king must come with me, Blue Wolf. It is to reveal to you who one is to the other.” Then the prophetess led the two of them across a rock gulley, apart from the rest of the camp. “Now, my Lords, it is my task to reveal all that you need to know. Charnaiz, this is your son, Reynold of the Azurenians.”

“My son?!” repeated Charnaiz. “Then this is the one Primrose and I will have in the future?”

“Nay, my Lord. I would explain more, but I must make haste for the battle draws near. And now, I need the two of you to kneel down.” They knelt, and Valeri placed her hands on their heads. And the prophetess closed her eyes.

Charnaiz, though his eyes were also closed, saw in his mind’s eye a flashing array of images. He did not know if Reynold was also seeing the same things. Then Charnaiz saw all he needed to know. He saw into his nation’s future. He saw how he would die, and the Iris depart from his body and possess many people. Ha also saw how this young man, Reynold, would champion the Blue Iris and take the effort to unite Adrior once more. Charnaiz was amazed at all he had learned, and he wanted more. But Valeri suddenly opened her eyes, and the images stopped. He opened his eyes, looking elated, and judged from Reynold’s face that the Azurenian must also have been pleased with his own revelation about Charnaiz. He then turned to Reynold and bowed deeply to him. “My son,” he said. The Azurenian then made reverence to the king all idolized in his own world and time. “Santi Charny,” he replied, returning the bow. And they went back together to the camp. All of them did not sleep at all that night. Instead, they conversed with each other, knowing more about the other’s world and time, and vice-versa.

And nearby, the samurai assassin, Shruiken crouched behind the rocks. He was not done with them yet. The wounds they inflicted on him had started to itch, and he cursed them for it. He would finish the battle, and reclaim his honor.

The next morning. Before dawn, Valeri had already started moving her forces down into the valley below. She had left Charnaiz, Primrose, Kazansky, Natasha and Mookie up above. They already knew what their role would be. By sunrise, Valeri’s cavalry forces were already rushing towards aquilifon’s citadel. In front of them in the distance, barring their way was a massive force of men, outnumbering them at least three to one. These were Aquilifon’s enslaved tribes.

Atop the canyon, Charnaiz was impatient. “Let’s start it. The first casualties,” he remarked. He couldn’t wait for the two armies to crash into each other. He raised his hand, clenched it, and it came on fire. A fireball rose up from it. It split into two, then four, and multiplied quickly. And when he felt that he had enough, Charnaiz hurled them at the bulk of Aquilifon’s army. Screams and cries of pain soon followed, and confusion and panic shortly afterwards.

“Impressive. Very impressive,” they all heard a voice that to Charnaiz already sounded so familiar. The disembodied voice continued, “Now that you are all here, my rebirth can begin in earnest.”

Then they all felt a strange sensation. The next instant, they all found themselves in the thick of the fighting. The two armies had already caught up on each other. Charnaiz ripped off his cassock to reveal his black and red armor beneath. Primrose unleashed her siren blast on the surrounding foes. And Kazansky and Natasha, covering each other’s back, brandished their weaponry.

In the sky above, Aquilifon the Destroyer himself appeared solidly, his gigantic frame enveloping the sunlight. “What was I thinking?” he said mockingly. “I need you people alive, after all. And I want some entertainment.”

They all felt the warping sensation again. And next, they dropped into hard sand, about a mile away from the heavy fighting. Kazansky, slowly getting up, noticed two figures walking towards them. He recognized them instantly.

“Gerhardt!” And behind him was the mafia boss in his world whose face he hoped never to see again. “Krovin,” he muttered, although the Krovin he knew did not wear a knight’s medieval armor. “You mangy bastard!”

Charnaiz quickly raced to his side, just as Natasha also flanked her boss. “Let’s rock," was all Gondwana’s king could say.

Chronicles of Gondwana - Chapter 7

2009-10-20T06:31:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 7-THE GATHERING

By the next day, the entire breadth of the oasis was filled with hundreds of stern-faced warriors on horseback. The horses looked as hardy as their masters. All day long, across the sand dunes, wave after wave of cavalry appeared. Charnaiz and Primrose rode beside each other and Kazansky was in front. He looked better on the horse than on the camel. Charnaiz rode on forward, catching up with the major.

“Feels different, doesn’t it? Riding on a horse, I mean. At the head of an army,” Charnaiz said to his Russian companion.

“Just not the same as riding in a Red Army UAZ 4wd,” Kazansky replied. “Plus, I’m starting to miss all our chem-war operations against the Whites. Feels like so long since I last saw a man’s mouth foaming as he claws at the ground, dying. And why’d you ask anyway? No one is really ever interested in Krasnorussia except Krasnorussians.”

“I am always curious when I hear about a world where Adrior and Gondwana don’t exist,” replied Charnaiz.

“Oh, and does Russia exist in your world, then?”

“Of course, it does. Only then, where I came from, it was still a rigidly unified state under Vladimir Putin.”

“He’s long dead in our time. Few even remember him. All of us in the Red Army have only one goal now: to eradicate White Russia and once more unify the motherland.”

Charnaiz looked up. “Wars like that can last decades, yet sometimes be finished in months. Sometimes, all it takes is one good visionary leader and a really lucky big break of a battle.”

“Visionary? In your world, I guess that would be you, right?”

Charnaiz smiled. “At first everyone thought that, even me. It took them six long years of war to find out that I wasn’t as perfect as they thought me to be. But then again, I always thought of myself as the only option for victory.”

“Ha! Maybe you’d like to come back with me when all of this is done to Russia. You’d take over Krasnorussia, overrun the Whites, and conquer the rest of the world,” Kazansky said, half-joking.

“I’ve never wanted to rule the world. I already have enough problems in Adrior and Gondwana alone. And I don’t really care much about the rest of the planet, or in this case, the rest of the alternate timelines and dimensions.”

Just then, Valeri came riding up to them on a chestnut-colored roan, which was comparatively small to Charnaiz and Kazansky’s stallions. “Are you ready, my Lords?” she asked. “Aquilifon’s lair is a long way off, and the army is restless for battle.”
“Let’s move, then,” Charnaiz suggested.

Charnaiz felt nothing much during the next few hours. He only focused on the sand ahead. The war-cries of the army behind him and the thundering of the horses’ hooves reminded him of the times he had led countless campaigns in his own world. As for Kazansky, he was trying hard not to doze off in the middle of the ride and topple off his horse. By nightfall, the desert had ended, and large, rocky canyons greeted the greeted the army. “We shall camp here for the night, my Lord,” Valeri said. Charnaiz nodded in agreement. He assisted primrose off her horse, escorted her to a tent being set up, and took a walk across the canyons, scanning the horizon.

Natasha’s mouth had probably been sealed shut forever from not talking for hours. Here she was, at nightfall, with a totally weird stranger in blue state-of-the-art armor. She had been forced to carry Mookie, whom Reynold had trapped in a portable force field. Still, the purple furball continued to spew out shrill curses at the Russian lieutenant, who seemed to have had just enough. She was just about to drop the force field and give Mookie a well-deserved kick, when she was interrupted by Reynold’s rich voice. “Stop.” Someone else is with us. Look up.”

Natasha turned and saw a silhouette of a man crouching on the ledge above them. The shadow then leapt off the ledge, and his face came into full illumination in the moonlight. The man’s hair was golden, and he wore a red cassock. Natasha and Mookie were totally unprepared for what they saw next.

“S-Santi Charny…” gasped Reynold. And he bowed to the golden-haired stranger, so low that his face touched the ground.

Chronicles of Gondwana - Chapter 6

2009-10-20T06:30:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 6-VALERI THE PROPHETESS

Valeri’s tribe was stoic in their heavy losses they suffered at the hands of Shruiken. While the rest of the tribe had gathered the dead, Valeri had taken Charnaiz and Kazansky to her hut, a serene dwelling at the border of their village. “The time has arrived, my noble lords, to know the purpose for your being here,’ said the young prophetess, holding a bright torch in her hand. She opened the drapes of her hut and led the two men inside. She motioned for them to be seated on a bench and then disappeared into an inner room. Moments later, she returned, holding a thick scroll, dusty and yellowing with age.

“This is the book of our Prophecy. Our entire race has entrusted our destiny to the words of this book, which reveals all the truth. It foretold Aquilifon’s coming, and it also foretells his destruction. He himself knows these words, and he dreads this time, for he knows his slayer has arrived.”

“I hate to interrupt, but how can you be so sure that we are indeed the so-called instruments of your prophecy?” Kazansky dubiously said.

“It is all explained here in the scroll, my lord Kazansky. It has been said that the Beast of the Chasm will bring forth the Couple of Destiny, the Couple of Fate, the Blue Wolf, the Lost One and the Velvet Fur. The Beast will be destroyed by only one of them, but if even only one fails to be there at the appointed hour, then all shall fail. And if the Beast can overcome the instruments of the prophecy, then their presence will bring forth the revealing of his real form.”

“Pizdets’. That was even weirder. Did you get anything, Charnaiz?” Kazansky asked the blonde king beside him.

“Uh, a little. Remember that Shruiken said that he was of the Lost Clan? I think it fits in.”

“Aye, my Lord. The one who attacked us is also an instrument of the prophecy.”

“What?! That murderous son of a bitch??” exclaimed Kazansky.

“Aye,” replied Valeri. “And you must find him and bring him with you to Aquilifon at the appointed hour. If not, then all will fail.”

“That complicates things,” Charnaiz said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t see how we could convince a bloodthirsty samurai to accompany us, especially since we were trying our best to murder him a few hours ago.”

“You must find a way, my lord Charnaiz,” the prophetess said. “If not, Aquilifon might not be killed and we would be enslaved still.”

“I really don’t care,” Kazansky remarked. “All I care is about leaving this blasted world and returning to Krasnaya Russia.”

“And how would you plan to accomplish that, Major?” Charnaiz said. “What if the only way for you to return to your time and world is by destroying Aquilifon himself?”

“Then of course I’ll have no choice.”

“But I still have questions,” added Charnaiz, turning to face Valeri. “Who’s this Couple of Destiny and Couple of Fate?”

“The Couple of Destiny, my Lord, is already revealed to be you and your wife, Primrose. The Couple of Fate is for you to find out. My vision cannot interpret it as of now. Also, there is still the Blue Wolf and the Velvet Fur for you to seek as well.”

“And when is this so-called appointed time to meet Aquilifon?”

“It will be on the moon of Migdas when the Well of Ruri is full, my Lord.”

“Just cut straight to the chase, Valeri. When exactly is it?”

Valeri gave him a somewhat bemused look. “Two days from now, in your terms. And worry not, my Lord,” she added. “I have already arranged for our neighbouring tribes who like us also oppose Aquilifon to join us in our battle. We will gather all our fighting forces and accompany you to Aquilifon’s fortress, far way from here. There will all our destines be decided.”

“Army warfare. Now, there’s something to look forward to,” Charnaiz said. And he grinned. Kazansky was also smiling.

“However, know that Aquilifon will also pit his minions against you—all of the other tribes in this world that he enslaved. And they greatly outnumber us.”

“Never fear,” Charnaiz reassured her, the fire of excitement dancing in his eyes. “I’ve always liked being on the side of the underdogs.” He then raised Char Milvian in his right hand. It was his most prized possession, and had killed far more people than he ever thought he could kill.

Kazansky got up. “Well, that was a good talk. Now, I have to go. I have to prepare something important.”

“What?” asked Charnaiz.

“Oh. Just my Glorious and Heroic AK-47, your Majesty.”

Chronicles of Gondwana - Chapter 5

2009-10-20T06:29:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 5-AGENTS OF PROPHECY

In the oasis, the scene was a bedlam of confusion, panic and blood. The mysterious samurai assassin had laid out dozens of tribesmen already and he was now struggling toe-to-toe with Charnaiz, who was covered with gunfire from Kazansky’s PYA. Primrose came darting out of her tent, staring at the gore that greeted her as she went outside. “Stay inside!” Charnaiz hotly yelled at her. But the distraction cost him; Shruiken’s blade came searing through his upper left arm, and the thrust could have severed his torso from his legs, if he had been a less agile man.

Charnaiz stepped back, pressure in his arm causing more blood to spurt out from the wound. He charged again, locked swords, did a spinning side step and managed an axe kick on his opponent’s back. Shruiken turned and lashed out at the space behind him, only then he was about a second too late. Now Charnaiz was in front of him again. Shruiken was extremely agile; he blocked the sword thrust. Charnaiz wondered if he would have to cheat in order to stave off this skilful foe. He then spotted Kazansky aiming at Shruiken. The samurai spotted him too. Now, Charnaiz knew that samurai would now flee from bullets; he knew that for a fact. However, he might gain a distraction from it, and he gathered what little Iris energy he had saved in his body for a short energy blast.

Shruiken continued advancing on Kazansky, evading most of the bullets. However, two or three struck him, and he spat blood. But soon, he retaliated, splitting Kazansky’s left leg open. The Russian major cried out in agony. “That was just a test, warrior. Now, you die!” Shruiken’s look was murderous, and he raised his sword high above his head, ready to bring it down---only to be blasted several yards backward. Shruiken felt the air knocked out of him and he saw that the rear of his armor had been shattered. Charnaiz knew that this was not enough. Discharging the energy blast had further increased the pressure, and more blood spurted from his arm, drenching his cassock. Shruiken got up and licked the blood on his sword. Then he grinned. “Kuruze!” he yelled, charging at Charnaiz again.

Kazansky briefly nursed his torn left leg. It was bleeding profusely, and he gritted his teeth due to the excruciating pain. He reached out and took something from his belt. A VX gas grenade. He then pulled out his GP-5\B gas mask. He considered using it. The gas would then kill Shruiken, but also the tribesmen who had been so hospitable, and Charnaiz who had proven a formidable ally. But then again, Charnaiz might turn on him, and Kazansky might not be able to return to Russia. He paused, frozen with indecision. Finally, he relaxed his grip on the grenade. But he did not take off his gas mask.

A woman appeared beside him suddenly. It was Valeri, their guide. “You have done quite well, warrior,” she gently said. She placed her hand on Kazansky’s leg. The hand glowed, and then he felt no pain, as if all his nerves had evaporated away. He then stared at the young woman. “Too bad she’s also not normal,” he thought to himself.

Charnaiz and Shruiken still continued their pitched battle on the edge of the oasis’ waterhole. Charnaiz had been flung into the water and it stained red. Just then, the young prophetess Valeri emerged from between two palms just as the two locked swords again.
“Enough, my Lord. I must now stop you, for I have now fully received the revelation reveal it to you.” Valeri then turned her eyes at Shruiken. A white light suddenly bathed the entire oasis. And then Charnaiz and Kazansky had realized that their brutish opponent was now gone.
Kazansky stared at the piles of dead bodies scattered around, and then at Valeri. ‘Good show,” was all he could muster to say. He was drained. Charnaiz plopped down on a sitting position on the ground, bleeding and out of breath. The young prophetess eyed them and said, “The time is now.”

Meanwhile, on the canyons, Natasha was sitting on a high peak. She started incuriously at the man who called himself the Azurenian, Reynold. He had destroyed all her weapons, yet had refused to take advantage and kill her. And definitely she would not attack him; she had seen what he had done to the rocks, and she could only imagine what more he was capable of. That made her even more frustrated. He finally spoke. “Let’s go,” he lifelessly said.
“To where?” she angrily questioned.
“Just follow me,” the blue-clad Azurenian replied.

Something then caught his attention. A purplish ball bounced off on the rocks nearby. Reynold took a closer glance. It was alive, it was furry, and it’s eyes were fixed on him. It opened it’s mouth to reveal it’s teeth, drawn together.

Natasha’s jaw also dropped. “Mookie,” she exclaimed.

Chronicles of Gondwana - Chapter 4

2009-10-20T06:24:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 4-IN THE LAIR OF THE DESTROYER

Aquilifon the Destroyer lay sprawled on a humongous dais tat could have seated a hundred men. He was inside his citadel, a dark, foreboding structure in the mountain ranges, so distant from the deserts in which the objects of his wrath were now bickering against each other.

Aquilifon was amused. Although he had enslaved the dimension and caused it’s inhabitants to display a drama of bloodshed, he still felt quite bored, and now he had set into motion his time-travel experiment. He had watched his subjects from different worlds for quite some time now. And how he hated them. But he needed them also to bring out his true form, since he was already tired of dwelling in his golem body. But he also was wary, since one of them possessed the power of the Prophecy that could end his life.

Two of the guards in his extremely spacious chamber gestured to him that someone was outside, waiting for an audience. He gave an approving sign, and the chamber’s massive iron doors creaked open.

“My newest slave. What brings you here to my benevolent presence?” the Destroyer spoke with a light, conversational voice. It was truly his genuine tone; strangely he never rasped or growled when talking to others.

“I came here to ask when would I be used for your glory, Destroyer,” spoke the figure in white before him. He was in military uniform. His eyes were completely white, and an air mask covered his nose and mouth. A cavalry sword he had in his right hand. This was Gerhardt, also from Kazansky’s world, one of his deadly enemies, in fact, and for now Aquilifon had taken control of his mind and soul.

“Be patient, servant of mine. The hour draws near in which we might rout those who plan on killing me, and in which I might have my true form. Be patient, and wait.”

“It will be as you say,” Gerhardt said and he awkwardly bowed to the Destroyer.

“You enslave this man easily, but I am different,” a rough voice growled out of one of the dark corners of the room.

“Ah, my other servant. Come forth, come forth.”

“Hardly your servant, monster. No one enslaves me,” the voice replied. Then a huge figure stepped out of the shadows. The man had long, unkempt hair and a similarly unkempt beard. He had dark, steely, eyes. He wore a thick hauberk on his upper torso and the rest of his body was also inlaid with a knight’s steel armor.

“ “Whether or not your mind belongs to me is of no object. You are in my world now, and you will obey me, Arkadius Krovin. I can satisfy even your pleasures and fulfil your wishes.”

“Then you are a fool!” Krovin barked. “You truly do not know me, much less force me to do your will. I do things because I want to.”
Aquilifon remained calm. ‘Well, it’s always been your style, hasn’t it, Krovin? Or should I say, Al’Iblis?” Krovin was startled to hear someone say his true identity for the first time.
Aquilifon spoke again. “I know more about you than you could ever fathom, Krovin. I know how many lives you have destroyed, how many hearts you made bleed---and how much human flesh you have eaten. I could tell you a whole lot more than that.”

Krovin laughed, showing his gnarled teeth. “You have amazed me, Destroyer. Never have I met one before who could actually see through me. But yes, for now I will play along with you---for a while only. You promised me challengers that would conquer me. Well, I’m out to prove you wrong. I am imperishable and unbeatable, Aquilifon.”

“We’ll see about that then, Arkadius Krovin.” Aquilifon eyes began to flicker with an intense red light. Then he too, began to laugh. And his whimsical laughter echoed throughout the desolate citadel. Krovin just growled, mumbled something incoherently, turned his back, walked past Gerhardt and was enveloped again in the darkness.

Chronicles of Gondwana - Chapter 3

2009-10-20T06:22:00.001-07:00

CHAPTER 3-THE LOST ONE

Meanwhile, Charnaiz’ party had already arrived at the oasis that belonged to Valeri’s tribe. It was indeed a relief for them, as there was abundant water and nourishment, and of course, their much-needed rest. It was nightfall when they arrived. Charnaiz first made sure that Primrose was secure and comfortable inside her tent, then he walked up to Valeri, the prophetess.

“Much thanks tribeswoman. We would have wandered forever in the desert had it not been for your aid.”

“Think nothing of it, your Majesty,” said the hooded woman. “It was our duty to meet and see to the needs of the ones who will slay Aquilifon.”

“You know Aquilifon?” Charnaiz said with a look of surprise in his face.

“Aye, my Lord. I told you that when you first came here, didn’t I? All this desert, as well as this entire world is totally under his malevolent power. He has enslaved the tribes in this desert, and only we are left opposing him. He wreaks evil against us, and we have no choice but to fend for ourselves, hoping that one day the instruments of prophecy might arrive to deliver us from him. And now, it has come to pass.”

“Ah…Would you care to elaborate more on that, my lady? My head is quite fuzzy from all the shocks I have received for the past few weeks.”

“I would, my Lord. But I think you have pretty much been sapped for today. I beseech you, get some rest. And I would advise the same for your wife and your companion with the red garb. I will have our tribe’s seers explain to you the fullness of the prophecy first thing in the morning.” Valeri then removed her cloak and Charnaiz stared at her pretty face. She was barely as old as he was, and he was 23. but the seriousness of her marble-white face revealed all too much the vital task placed on her very early in her life, probably since birth.

“I agree, Valeri. And thank you again,” he finally said.

Valeri stood up, bowed and left him without saying anything more. After a few more minutes of admiring the tall palms of the oasis in the moonlight, he proceeded to enter the tent he and Primrose shared. But first, he passed by the tent the tribes people had set up for Kazansky, who although he also must have been very tired, was still sitting outside, not quite deciding to sleep yet.

“Well?” Kazansky said when he saw him.

“Nothing much. They said they would explain more to us, but that’s all.” Charnaiz paused, then sat down beside the Russian. “This is all coming too fast for you, isn’t it? Your relative scepticism must be torn apart from all sides,” Charnaiz told him softly.

“Not really that, your Majesty. It’s just that I grew up in a world where it’s not an everyday sight to see someone produce a pillar of fire out of his hand, much less sprout bat-like wings from his back and fly into the clouds.”

Charnaiz chuckled to hear Kazansky describe his abilities so factually. “You saw Aquilifon, right?” he asked.

“Only briefly.”

“Now, do you believe?”

“Got no choice. I saw what I saw. But you can’t blame me for being like this. What do you think, Charnaiz?”

“I think we’ve all seen too much for one day. Go to sleep my friend. Good night.” And standing up, the king of Adrior left,

“Sleep. Now, there’s a relaxing idea.” Kazansky thought to himself.

Charnaiz woke up in a cold sweat. He did not know the time, although he was sure dawn had not quite come yet. Primrose was still dozing off, cuddled close beside him. He got up from bed swiftly, a sense of dread keeping him sweating. It was that jolt in his brain he had felt so many times before; the Iris always alerted him to danger when it neared. He quickly grabbed Char Milvian nearby and sleekly ambled out of the tent.

Several local sentries were nearby. They were armed with spears and each had a sword tucked under their belts. “These people are not exactly that primitive,” Charnaiz thought. “But they are eons away from the technology of our world.”

Several of the sentries spotted him and came rushing over to him. They all asked repeatedly why he had dashed out of his tent so hurriedly in the middle of the night, brandishing his strange-looking sword. At first, Charnaiz was annoyed as they all pressed up on him, but he soon realized that they were genuinely concerned for his safety.

A sharp cry suddenly rang out over the entire oasis. Charnaiz and the sentries drew their eyes towards a tall palm tree, where underneath it, lay one of the tribe’s own, dead. Standing over him was a figure in dark red body armour, ornately decorated. His mask and helmet were frightening to behold. Charnaiz took a good look at the attacker. He recognized the assassin’s armour as that of Japanese samurai in the feudal age. He had only seen it before in literature and depictions, and now he was seeing a genuine article. Some of the spear-wielding tribesmen rushed at the samurai and were felled in a matter of about twenty seconds.

“Who are you??” Charnaiz demanded in Japanese. As a linguist, he always had found it suit to speak in the native language of his foes.

“Shruiken, warrior. And I crave for blood. Fight me, and see for yourself the strength of one of the Lost Clan!

‘What’s going on here??” Kazansky exclaimed, bursting out from his tent. He already had his PYA in hand. Charnaiz paced his breathing, and he gripped Char Milvian more tightly.

Chronicles of Gondwana - Chapter 2

2009-10-20T06:13:00.001-07:00

CHAPTER 2-THE RUSSIAN AND THE AZURENIAN

A few dozen miles from where Valeri was guiding Charnaiz, Primrose and Kazansky to her tribe’s stronghold, the land was marked by massive canyons. They were deep, and their sides were steep and etched with jagged rocks.

On one gorge, a young woman in a red military uniform perched precariously. One false move might result in a fatal fall. The woman was blonde and carried a weapon exactly like Maj. Kazansky’s—a Yarygin PYA double action pistol. The woman’s name was Natasha Ivanovna Kalashnikova. Like Kazansky, she also came from Russia in the year 2025. She was his secretary and personal adjutant, in fact. And today was the weirdest day in her life. A few hours ago, she had been inside a Red Army base in Vladivostok, Russia, when then she had noticed something: that Maj. Kazansky had mysteriously disappeared inside his office. When he had investigated the room, an unknown force had sucked her into some kind of vortex into the sands of the desert. The heat was blazing, but not as blazing as her head.

“Where am I?!”, she asked herself for the thousandth time. She gripped her PYA more tightly and clambered up into a safer position up on the canyon’s peak. She could see nothing else as far as the scenery stretched. She wondered how she could ever get out from this sandy contraption.

Just then, she spotted another figure just a few yards off from where she stood. Several huge rocks obscured her from the stranger’s view. Now, being naturally ruthless, plus the hot weather put her in a hostile mood, Natasha slowly measured the unmoving figure. Taking careful aim, she then fired several rounds at him. She was then startled at what she saw next.

The stranger turned, apparently unaffected by the bullets that should’ve ripped apart his chest cavity. She was able to make out more clearly his features. He was young, with short, cropped-up hair. He wore what looked like to Natasha full mesh armour. It was black and blue in color all over. Natasha wondered if the stranger was a super militant bred by the enemies of Mother Russia.

Then the stranger’s steely eyes turned on her. They were proud, and they seemed to burn right through her soul. Natasha, however was not taken aback; she raised her pistol and prepared to fire again. She did not have the opportunity to pull the trigger. In a matter of a few seconds, the stranger had raised his hand, pointing it at her. It had glowed incandescently with an intense blue light. Then, without warning, the rock in front of here exploded into millions of tiny shards and sharp fragments. She was agile, she had ducked out of the pathway of most of the flying debris. But there was not enough space; a few pieces of shrapnel cut her face. And her landing was wrong; she flopped painfully down on the sand.

The stranger then walked calmly to where she lay. She was not able to immediately get up. Her Yarygin was too far way to reach. He looked down on her with a cold stare. “I am Reynold, an Azurenian,” he spoke in a deep, clear voice. “Identify yourself, woman. Since you are garbed in red and have assaulted me, I assume you are a Terranergis warrior.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Natasha retorted back, as she got up slowly. “I am of the Russian Red Army.”

“Russia?” Reynold was momentarily taken aback at Natasha’s statement. Then for no particular reason at all, he asked, “What year?”

“2025,” replied Natasha quickly.

Reynold’s eyes grew even wider at that.

Chronicles of Gondwana - Chapter 1

2009-10-20T06:11:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 1-CROSSOVER ALLIES

The desert sun lashed out it’s heat with all it’s vehemence at the lifeless ocean of sand below that stretched out for hundreds, maybe thousands of miles. Each mile only brought sand, and the next, more sand.

Yet, in the midst of this entire conflagration, was a group of people-human beings who at first sight looked ordinary-but on closer inspection were VERY far from ordinary. There were five of them in the group, wearing hoods against the unforgiving heat. They all rode on camels.

The group was composed of Charnaiz dir Castillon, and his wife Primrose Marie Gadlene. The two were the rulers of Gondwana, a continent that existed in an ethereal world men can hardly speak of. Behind them, riding his camel quite awkwardly was Maj. Alexei Kazansky. At 25 tears old, he was an officer of the Red Army in futuristic Russia, a Russia torn apart between imperialistic Whites and militaristic Reds. And ahead of them all, rode two others, their local guide Valeri, and her unnamed aide.

It wasn’t always this way with this peculiar group. Barely a day before, they had been in their respective worlds—and respective timelines. But out of nowhere---a being called Aquilifon—whom Kazansky still thought of as “a really big guy with a fish head”---had appeared and transported them to this dimension, which was totally enshrouded by his power. He was Charnaiz’ staunchest foe, and had Charny been able to muster enough of his Iris energy, the fight would have been confined to their world. But as it turned out, he just happened to be nursing a slight fever at the time, brought about by too much indoor activity with his queen, whom he had doted on so much. As a result, both he and his wife had been flung into this hellish desert, where he had met up with Kazansky, who apparently had the same experience as well.

Now, it was at that point that a local tribeswoman, Valeri, had appeared. She spoke all manners of gibberish, saying that all of them were the instruments of destiny, come to bring about the demise of Aquilifon. The otherworldly visitors had then scorned the local, believing nothing of her speech. But when she had offered them food and drink and a place to stay, the visitors quite implicitly had lowered their scepticism a bit.

“Charny?” the voice of his wife suddenly brought Charnaiz out from his thoughts. They had been riding for several hours now, and he had lost himself in his thinking.

“Yes, dear?”

“Feeling better now?”

“Quite fine, Primrose..” he replied. He turned back to face the Russian major that was riding behind him.

“Hey, Alexei.”

“Wha?” The expression on Kazansky’s face was devoid of any emotion. Charnaiz guessed that the young officer could only either be bored to death or frustrated at being forced to submit to Valeri’s demands.

“You okay, man?”

“Fine. Just fine, your Majesty. However, this camel’s giving me the creeps. Feels like she’s eventually going to break my behind into pieces.”

“Well, either that or try walking in this damned sand, Major,” he said to the red-uniformed man.

“Yeah, yeah I know.” Kazansky somewhat grumbled.

Charnaiz then turned to the pack that was firmly attached at the side of his camel. Inside it contained his precious sword, Char Milvian. He hadn’t even remembered clutching it when Aquilifon had flung him into this dimension, but he had been all too startled when he found it in his hand the moment he and Primrose dropped into the sand. He also glanced at Alexei Kazansky’s packs behind him. He knew that Kazansky was also armed—with Yarygin PYA pistols and VX gas grenades at that. He shuddered at the thought that Aquilifon had probably sent them all here to play with them or make them kill each other.

Kazansky then called out to their guide, Valeri. “Woman! How much longer till we get to some establishment around here?”

“Just within five minutes to go, my good man,” their cloaked guide replied.

“Strange people, strange desert, damned world,” mumbled the Russian.

“Ha, you don’t know the half of it, Alexei. Try living in Gondwana for five minutes, and you’d be one of us,” quoted Charnaiz.

“Now, will you please stop calling me Alexei, your Majesty?”

“Just a touch to drop the formalities, my dear Major,” said Charnaiz in a bemused tone. “I’ve been in war too long, and I’ve grown quite tired---no, I’m actually sick of addressing people as admiral, general, captain or whatever. Hope you understand.”

“Just let him be, my love.” quipped Primrose beside him. Kazansky just shook his head and said nothing.

And the group rode on, not noticing the shadowy figure trailing them on the cliffs above.