The Underworld : Haunted Shores (Part IV)

[Spike]

As the final wave of heat subsided, Hendry carefully eased his head around the corner of the vertical crack in the rock face - just in time to see the monstrous Cyberdemon crash to the ground, its cybernetic skeletal frame shattering under the impact and spreading steel and gore in all directions. Kalliope stepped out from behind him, regarding the demonic corpse only briefly before scanning the horizon - and finding their companions.
Private Peter Wilson sat on his knees, the depleted BFG-9000 cradled in his arms. It's dead, he spoke inwardly. I killed a demon. A devil....
Looking up towards the unearthly sky, he began muttering muted prayers to the God that he hoped was watching from above.
Rising from the crimson coast like a bloody phoenix, Colonel Alexander McMillan strode across the beach towards Wilson's stunned form.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" McMillan called as he came within earshot. "Righteous?"
Wilson lowered his gaze and met the Colonel's steeley eyes, jerking his head fractionally in agreement. Looking back down upon the bulky weapon in his grasp, he stroked his hands across it before reaching for his crucifix, pulling it out from beneath his fatigues and kissing it gently.
"Is God with us?", he asked softly.
McMillan came to a rest at the Private's side, easing himself down on one knee, though he stuggled for balance with the loss of his limb.
"It's open for debate", the Colonel replied. "If He is, then it ain't doing us much good." Wiping blood from his eyes, he drew himself back up to his full height and offered Wilson his hand. "Whether he's helping out or not, we've gotta keep on going."
The Private accepted his help, drawing himself to his full height and regarding his superior."I felt God's touch", Wilson muttered. "He was with me, he was helping me." His eyes beginning to fill with tears once more, he looked skywards again. "He spoke to me. Told me to fell the demon. The unholy beast; I did his work..."
The Colonel rolled his eyes without a second thought, turning away from his collegue. "It wasn't that righteous, Private", he spat. "The last thing we need right now is religious bias. We've got enough of that coming from Kalliope - and i don't see Zeus hanging round and wageing on our success".
Wilson shook his head absently, tucking his cross back into his fatigues and scanning the horizon. "I don't pretend to be a good man," He spoke up, "But I believe I was left alive for a reason. This is that reason. To rid this world - and ours - of Satan's touch."
McMillan was already making his way back towards the cliff face to meet up with Hendry and Kalliope.
"Do what you will, holy man. I don't give a shit what you believe in as long as you take out as many of those fuckers as you can. We're a team, and that's all there is to it.
Wilson ignored him, scanning the beach for the scattered fragments of the Cyberdemon. A few moments later, his eyes came to rest on the disembodied form of the hell-beast's rocket launcher...

"Nice job, guys", Hendry shouted. "Where now?"
"Up", McMillan called back, scratching absently at his limbless shoulder. "We need to get onto those cliffs; at least then we'll have some idea of where we're headed."
"Still want to rock-shimmy?" Kalliope asked. "Because we're not doing anything like that until we re-attach your arm."
The Colonel came to a rest beside his companions. "Fine. How long will it take?"
Kalliope studied the missing limb as Hendry passed it to her. "Not too long. Fit it into the socket, secure the safety latches and remotely patch together the synapses. An hour, at most."
"You were lucky the creature didn't tear out the shoulder moorings", Kalliope commented as she wiped flecks of blood from the silvery panels that jutted from the shoulder joint of the artificial limb. "If they had, we wouldn't stand a chance of repairing you."
"Repairing the arm," McMillan growled. "The arm's mechanical, not me."
"Regardless, you would have bled to death long before now." She looked about at the scattered boulders that had so recently been part of the cliff face. "Sit yourself down over there. Hendry, there's not much you can do."
The Corporal began to speak up about the chain of command - and thought better of it. He'd said it himself, back at Athens Base.
Fuck the chain of command! He suddenly felt like a child for the way he had acted. In case you hadn't noticed Colonel, we just got fucked up the arse big time! Ain't no-one here gonna listen to you. What you gonna do?
"No problem," he replied. "I'll go check on Wilson."

Hendry headed over to the coast to find Wilson hunched over, closely examining a gory fragment of the fallen Cyberdemon; a fusion of bronzed skin and sinewy muscle with polished steel and pneumatic wiring.
"Nice pet you got there, mate," the Corporal commented.
Wilson barely glanced at his friend before continuing with his work. "I'm busy", he muttered.
"No shit", Hendry sighed. Giving the crimson coastline another once-over, he looked back down on the Private. "Busy doing what?"
"God's work", came his hushed reply. As he moved to one side, Hendry saw his companion sliding his hand into the fleshy maze of arteries and tubing that fed from the beast's arm directly into the rocket-launcher prosthetic.
"Pete, are you ok?" Hendry asked, feeling more worried by the second. Wilson's parents were devout Catholics - but had perished during a skirmish with Protestants in Northern Ireland. Not long after, the orphaned teenager was admitted to a mental hospital after attacking churchgoers with a machete; a verdict of manslaughter was passed in light of his 'questionable' state of mind. With nowhere else to go, the young Wilson readily accepted service with the Marine Corps, a responsibility that had steadily bought him back to a sociable level of mental health.
And all that work had been shattered in a heartbeat. Hendry knew, probably better than anyone else, how potentially dangerous Wilson could be. The Colonel had to know.
"I am well, Corporal."
Corporal. He never called him 'Corporal'.
Wilson's wriggling fist came to a rest against a long strip of tendon several inches from the launcher barrel. Bearing the organs weight with his free arm, he hefted it up to chest level.
"Stand back, sir."
Hendry didn't even hesitate as the Private tugged at the tendon.
The force of the blazing rocket threatened to topple Wilson to the ground; Hendry stepped in, catching his friend beneath the arms before looking up again. The rocket screamed into the already-crumbling cliff, exploding on impact and tearing open the rock as vast plumes of smoke billowed skywards. Wilson did a double take, looking down at his friend with an expression of awe.
"God's work", he repeated. "And God's Will. With this as our weapon, we cannot fail."

[dsm]

Hahahaha, this one's funny, nice work there matey.
"God's work, blahdebahdeblah"

[Spike]

Once more : Thanks for the comments mate :)

It's gonna get interesting from now on - McMillan ('Doomguy' to anyone who's not familiar with the story) is surrounded by a motley crew : a psychotic Catholic zealot, a follower of the Greek gods and a poor bastard who's been resurrected by an Arch-Vile.

Interesting indeed ;)

[dsm]

Spike said:

McMillan ('Doomguy' to anyone who's not familiar with the story) is surrounded by a motley crew : a psychotic Catholic zealot, a follower of the Greek gods and a poor bastard who's been resurrected by an Arch-Vile.

Interesting indeed ;)

Sounds like an explosive cocktail...

[Spike]

That's the idea. It's one thing to have the enemy that you know; the enemy that you don't... well, that's a different story innit? :)

[Wildman]

Just keeps getting better. Looking forward to the rest.

[Spike]

Thanks dude; i'll do my best to keep up the quality.