Ragnarok: The Fate of Gods (37 page)

              A lone engineer stumbles through the Muselheim’s engine room.  He drinks from a bottle of whiskey.  Generators hum.  Steam shoots out from pipes.  The man drunkenly turns valves and flips switches. 

             
“Whole freakin’ planet is out there freezin’ and I gotta be in here sweatin’ balls,” he rants to himself.  “Why didn’t I think of runnin’ out with the rest of ‘em?  Every day with the orders.  ‘Prepare the engines!  God damn plate is fallin’!  Prepare the engines!  We’re bein’ attacked by monsters!  Prepare the engines!  We ran outta whiskey!”  He turns the bottle upside down.  Nothing comes out.  He throws it against the floor.  The glass shatters.  He moves on to the next control panel. 

             
A ghostly shape begins to rise out of the floor by the glass. 

             
The man doesn’t notice.  “I swear, one of these days I outta let the whole freakin’ generator fry.  Turn this whole bloody ship into a friggin microwave.” 

             
He runs his hand across the board, selecting the proper buttons.  Even after a half bottle of whiskey, the process is familiar to him.  He flips one last switch and the entire room begins humming rhythmically.  “There,” he says, smiling broadly.  “Another hard day’s work complete.  Where’d I put that bottle?” 

             
He turns, coming face to face with the malak. 

             
The monster grabs the man’s head with both hands. 

             
It pulls apart, splitting the engineer in half down the middle. 

              Daniel and Dumah shepherd people on board the Muselheim.  People rush inside, screaming.  They barely notice the men trying to help them. 

             
Lilith, of course, is already inside.  On the bridge. 

             
When the crowd thins, the militia captain pushes his way to Dumah.  “Sir, the malak are closing in on the Muselheim.  We can’t stay on the ground any longer.” 

             
“We haven’t evacuated the entire camp yet.”  He continues to pull people up on the ramp. 

             
“Sir, I’m sorry, but they’re lost.  They can’t reach the ship, and we can’t fight the malak.  If we don’t take off now, we’re dead.” 

             
Dumah stares out at the camp.  The malak swarm.  The straggling humans run madly, screaming.  Two people run up the ramp.  In the distance, three white shapes turn toward the ship. 

             
“Sir?” says the captain.  “Sir, will you please give the order to lift off?” 

             
He turns to look inside.  People huddle together in fear.  The Muselheim is not safe.  Not yet. 

             
Lilith’s voice booms over the PA system.  “Adam, get in here
now
if you want to save your own hide.” 

             
“I hate to say it, but she’s right,” calls Daniel from the other side of the ramp.  “We have to go.” 

             
“Fine.  Close the cargo doors, then lift off.” 

             
“Yes sir,” says the captain.  He runs inside.  Daniel follows.  Dumah takes a few steps backwards, watching the chaos.  The ramp begins to retract.  The doors start to close.  He turns and hurries inside as the Muselheim breaks free of the ground.

              On the bridge, Dumah watched the chaos fall away beneath him.  He felt guilty.  It was always the leaders who escaped safely.  Their families who were best protected.  Power, allegiance, and support from the people were ultimately used for self-preservation before all else.  He reminded himself that his death would not have helped anything.

But it didn
’t ease the guilt. 

             
Daniel puts a hand on his shoulder in silent understanding. 

             
The radio operator turned around in his chair.  “Sir, we’ve received counts from the other ships.  It sounds like we’ve evacuated a majority of the survivors.” 

             
His face didn’t change.  “That doesn’t change the fate of those we failed .”

             
“There he goes with the sentimental crap,” piped Lilith.  No one paid her much attention.

             
“Sir,” shouted the radar technician.  “I’m picking up an approaching ship.” 

             
“Do we have a visual?” asked Daniel. 

             
Another technician began twisting dials and flipping switches.  “Yes sir.  It appears to be a small cargo freighter.  The markings match one that took off from Nifelheim port just before the plate collapsed.”

             
“Quetzalcoalt,” Daniel said to himself. 

             
Dumah looked at him with interest.  “Quetzalcoatl?  Isn’t that . . .”

             
“Zeke.  I know it is.  Ready the hangar,” he ordered. 

             
The radar technician called back, “Sir, it’s not headed for the hangar.” 

             
“What?” 

             
“It’s landing.” 

              The frightened man runs hysterically.  All the ships have taken off.  There’s no place left to run.  He trips.  He rolls hard on the ground, then stops. 

When he opens his eyes, a winged malak looms over him. 

              A small ship appears.  It hovers in the sky above the monster.  A man stands at the open hatch, holding a sword with a glowing red blade. 

             
He leaps. 

             
He falls gracefully behind the malak, his sword piercing the monster.  It stumbles.  Zeke lifts his foot, ready to kick.  He places it on the malak. 

             
It holds.  His foot doesn’t pass through. 

             
He kicks the malak away, freeing his sword.  The monster disappears in a burst of white light. 

             
Zeke runs. 

             
Malak cluster ahead of him.  He readies his sword and leaps.  He lands on the angel’s back, burying the sword deep in the monster, leaping into the air just before it explodes in a burst of light.  He flips in the air and lands on his feet. 

             
Two giant malak approach from either side. 
Good,
he thinks,
I’m starting to catch their attention.
He lunges at one malak, burying the sword deep in its chest.  Without pausing, he pulls the sword out.  Changing direction in a fluid movement, he swings the sword around, cutting off the second malak’s head. 

             
Light bursts.  Both demons vanish. 

              “Sir, you have got to see this,” says an excited technician. 

             
Dumah and Daniel rush over and examine the monitor.  They see a figure with a sword, swinging wildly.  The screen periodically goes blank.  When the image comes back, there’s always one less malak. 

             
Both men stare in amazement.  “He’s fighting them.”

             
“And he’s winning.” 

              Zeke runs toward a malak.  He swings the sword, cutting the monster in half.  It explodes with light. 

             
He doesn’t stop. 

             
A horned malak steps forward, blocking his path.  He brings his sword down over its head.  Twice.  The malak falls, then explodes.  Zeke runs through the burst of light.  A gigantic malak attacks him almost before he opened them again. 

             
A large arm swings downward.  The fighter hits the ground, rolling.  He stands up behind the malak, stabbing backwards, without looking.  A brief shadow cast on the ground tells him the angel is dead. 

             
He runs again. 

             
A reptilian-looking malak gives chase, dashing to intercept him.  It holds a tail out behind it for balance.  It flaps small wings as it bounds. 

             
It’s fast.  It closes quickly.  It lunges, reaching out white scaly hands to grab the swordsman as their paths cross.  But Zeke skids to a stop.  The monster passes harmlessly in front of him. 

             
Zeke attacks, swinging at the monster’s torso.  It leaps high into the air, dodging the blow.  There is a small
thud
behind him.  He spins to face the monster.  The malak jumps again.  It lands a short distance away. 

             
Zeke feints a lunge.  The angel takes to the air again.  He follows, leaping after it.  The monster falls as he rises.  The sword connects with it in the air.  The malak explodes before it hits the ground. 

             
Zeke lands and scans for more malak.  Instead, he hears a young girl scream.  He darts toward the sound.  After a moment, he closes in on the girl’s pursuer, a monstrous beast of a malak.  He leaps, landing on the pursuing malak.  It falls.  Zeke pins it to the ground with his sword.  The monster snarls.  The girl runs away. 

             
Light explodes, and Zeke plus his blade out of the earth. 

             
He looks up to find himself surrounded by several malak.  Instinctively, he buries his sword deep into the closest one.  It flashes and disappears.  He turns quickly and stabs an approaching monster.  The blade sticks in its chest.  A third malak bounds in from behind.  Using his sword as a grip, he flips himself over the top of the second malak.  The blade follows his trajectory, tearing the demon apart.  He lands as it explodes.  The third malak is left confused.  Zeke takes the moment to slice of its head. 

             
Another flash, and then two more run at him.  He dashes to meet them. 

             
The attack is faster than even the malak eyes can see.  They stop dead in their tracks.  Zeke stands behind them.  They barely have a moment to acknowledge their injuries before the flash into oblivion. 

             
Another malak stalks him from behind.  It moves quickly, but silently.  But Zeke knows it’s there. 

             
It leaps. 

             
The fighter spins the sword to point backward, under his arm.  A heavy weight hits it.  The blade jerks once.  He sees his shadow cast on the ground, then nothing.  The weight is gone. 

              “Can we get a count?”  Dumah shouts excitedly.  “How many are left?” 

             
The radar technician answers first.  “Only three, by my count.  I’m checking for more.” 

             
“Looks like he’s distracted them all.  Most of the survivors are getting away,” another reports. 

             
Dumah feels a wave of relief and a surge of loyalty for Zeke.  “Send some of the ships to the surface to pick them up,” he orders. 

             
“Yes sir.” 

              Zeke walks slowly through the abandoned camp.  Scanning the horizon.  Looking for movement.  Distinguishing dying fires and the starlight from anything else. 

             
Hunting. 

             
A clever malak, tall and powerful, slowly rises out of the ground behind him.  It hopes to catch him by surprise, before the fighter can sense the angel’s presence. 

             
It closes in, slowly.  Quietly. 

             
Then as it materializes to hit its opponent, it knocks over a pile of empty bottles. 

             
Zeke spins quickly in alarm.  The malak attacks quickly.  It hits him in the chest.  He falls, dropping his sword, which lands two meters away.  The angel dives for him.  He rolls toward his sword, barely avoiding the malak. 

             
The angel hits the ground as Zeke stands.  He plunges his sword down into his opponent.  It vanishes and two more leap out of the shadows on either side. 

             
He stabs at one.  It is thick, burly.  It swings a strong arm out to block.  The sword pierces the forearm.  The monster pulls its arm back, wrenching the sword from Zeke’s hands.  The malak behind him grabs his arm with a massive hand.

It lifts.

              He dangles in the air, but he sees the angel’s hands. 
Human
hands.  Something he can fight.  With his free hand, he bears down hard on the malak’s thumb, bending it backwards.  The malak loses his grip and Zeke falls, landing on his feet. 

             
He turns back to the burly malak, waiting for an attack.  The demon swings its arms.  He dodges, waiting for a chance to grab his sword, still stuck in the malak’s arm.