S P A S M
Here it came. Bang. It was everywhere.
Something cracked in his mouth and a shard of tooth hit the wall. He leaned over and picked up the modified shotgun.
The tech nodded. Ready, slipgate stabilised. See you on the nearside. Sarcen acknowledged by leaping into the swirling vortex.
He dropped and rolled on landing, repeated bursts from the weapon shredding guardian creatures.
A fast paced blaze of fury, he sprinted from the slipgate chamber. Something spoke from inside, telling him to keep moving upwards.
The room was splattered with gore. The medieval armour was useless against modern weaponry.
The Shambler smashed a huge paw into the ornate light fitting, catching the edge of the shotgun. It spun away, hitting the window ledge and dropping into the nether.
Too easy. The wounds had slowed it but it should still have been stronger. He wrenched the axe from the base of its neck, turning casually to bury it in the face of an approaching foot soldier.
Hand to hand. Meat meeting metal. He reached the pinnacle.
Swaying the human stood, smeared with blood, most of it not his own. One forearm shattered. One eye gouged, the orb ruptured. The priest looked down. Something was wrong.
The broken bones in the creature's arm cracked of their own accord, sinews of muscle moving like worms, splintering the humerus and forcing what was left back into place. The blood underneath the humans skin bunched and boiled around the eye, causing a pink foam to drip forth from the open socket.
The man roared, raising the axe over his head, charging the priest. A thrown spell ricocheted away to blast a hole in the tower wall. A second knocked the axe from the demon's hand.
And then it was on him.
Knotted hands found the priests throat. He struggled weakly, like a kitten, as the human snapped his neck and then ripped off his head. He was aware of movement, saw his corpse thrown to the plains below through the hole he had blasted in the tower. Then was raised to the world as the human roared in triumph before pitching the head after its body.
Then...nothing.
"Another close call I see. You're a weirdo, buddy, don't mind saying. You're lucky they don't charge for equipment replacement in the exploratory service."
Sarcen ignored the prattle.
"How the hell did you manage to get the armour ripped up like this - med team said you only needed stitches and a new eyeball. Here's a new full kit - makes it easier for me just to send the docket off for a full set instead of pissing about with wotnots. Be seeing you. Soon."
The Sergeant watched the tall figure go, then flipped on the terminal. A grim face stared from it.
"Yes Sir, just what's suspected."
"Rogue time prediction ?" asked the officer.
"Let's just say I'm taking my leave right now, Sir", he replied.
"This fucker is ready to hit the fan any minute. Suggest clearing out of all critical personnel and removal of all classified information from the local database immediately."
The officer nodded.
"Understood. Leave granted."
The screen went black.
"What do you think?"
"Well, he's got nano trackers in both thighs and the skull. His equipment's set with sat relay. But I don't think that'll help us track him. So we let it happen? Why not? We nuke the base now and clear up any problem instantly, or we let him do his thing while we monitor the fallout."
"The statisticians say he'll be headed for enemy territory. The enemy of my enemy, so to speak."
"Good. What about the base?"
"Fucked. There's only thirty or so recruits or dipshits out there, everything's clean, information-wise."
"Ok. One thing though, activate the time degeneration explosives in the nano-trackers right now. This Sarcen goes to the other side and dies or dies in bed, one or the other."
