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Red Riders - Several Concerned Cricketers | |
| Verexi lay curled on the ground, arms wrapped around his head. The din of bike engines hammered his ears and the clouds of dust they whipped up choked him. He peered out between his elbows and flinched as yet another crimson bike flashed by inches from his prone form. A second huge bike bore down on him then, almost impossibly, pivoted through the half circle formed by the curl of his body and sped off. Verexi felt the warmth of urine soaking through his uniform trousers and whimpered. A nearby engine whined as it’s rider gunned it and Verexi heard a shrill scream cut through the engine noise. He curled himself into an even tighter ball, there couldn’t be many of his fellow trainee militiamen left, the red riders had been sporting with them for what seemed an eternity, slashing at them with heavy axes as they rode by or riding over them, crushing bones and rupturing internal organs. Verexi mewled as yet another bike flashed by, spraying dirt and spewing black fumes over him. Tears began to leak from his eyes, he didn’t want to die like this, he didn’t want to die at all, not even for the Emperor. A scream heralded the death of another trainee and Verexi’s whimpering became a wailing. The roar of engines and the screams of the other boys of his unit rolled over him time and time again, becoming nothing more than a background against which he heard his own hoarse cries. Gradually he became aware that the screams of his fellows had stopped and the deafening howl of bike engines had diminished to a dull roar. Opening his eyes he saw a huge figure in crimson astride a bike adorned with spikes, skulls and chains. With the twist of an armoured gauntlet the red rider killed his mount’s engine. The engine snarled and Verexi had the impression that it’s Machine Spirit was somehow reluctant to obey the command. The rider swung one huge leg back over the saddle and dismounted, the bike staying upright despite the lack of any stand or support and Verexi’s continuing scream died in his throat. The rider took a few awkward, bow-legged paces towards Verexi, seeming ill at ease out of the saddle, then flexed at the hips and walked forward more naturally. Verexi slowly uncurled and scrambled to his hands and knees, shuffling away from the red rider, looking over his shoulder more and more often as the huge figure quickened it’s pace. His left hand slipped in a pool of bile and blood and he slid forward, recoiling in horror as he came face to face with the disembodied head of Instructor-Corporal Majeqa. As he scrabbled away from Majeqa's head, amazed that the Corporal was smiling in death as in life, he felt a hand grasp his hair and lift him bodily to his feet. Yanking and tugging, the insistent grip on his hair forced him to turn around. Verexi’s legs failed him as he saw the red rider up close for the first time and only the vice like hold the armoured figure had on his hair kept him from slumping to the ground again. Jerking him to his feet again his yelp of pain as the red gauntlet tore chunks from his hair brought a guttural snort of laughter from the red rider. The rider held him up as if to inspect him, turning him first one way then the other. Up close he could smell the acrid exhaust fumes that coated the figure in an oily black film, and worse, the coppery tang of freshly spilled blood. The baroque armour was adorned with spikes and hooks, and surprisingly delicate brass scrollwork tinted green with age wound across the massive chestplate. Where the deep red paint was scratched and chipped he could see flashes of white beneath it. The rider grabbed him by the chin with his other gauntlet, this one still wet with gore and let go of his hair. Again, Verexi’s legs failed him and only the rider’s painful grip kept him on his feet. He began whimpering again as he saw the rider’s gauntlet return holding an intricate brass contraption covered with blades and studded with spikes. The grip on his chin tightened and Verexi could feel his teeth cracking and chipping as the rider forced his head back, exposing his throat. Verexi strained his eyes, trying to see below his chin, trying to anticipate the first touch of the blood encrusted blades and spikes. The rider’s horned helmet loomed over him and he heard another guttural, snorting laugh as the contraption touched his throat. Verexi screamed as the device scourged him with lightning, the stench of burnt flesh reached his nostrils and he retched as he realised it was his flesh he could smell. The lightning ceased as quickly as it had started and Verexi sobbed in relief, feeling his own vomitus dribble down his chin and start trickling down his throat. His tortured muscles had just begun to relax when lightning coursed through him again, lashing him repeatedly and his second scream lasted much longer than the first. Verexi’s limbs trembled as the red rider laughed again, raising the brass device high enough for him to see gobbets of blackened flesh hanging from some of the longer spikes. A second rider appeared behind the first, his armour even bloodier than Verexi’s torturer’s. His captor turned at some unheard word to face his rival, even Verexi could sense the building tension between the two as they stood face to face for what felt like an eternity. Finally the first rider nodded submissively and without bothering to look at him, flung Verexi to the earth. As he rolled across the blood-muddied earth he saw Majeqa’s severed head once more, now attached to the newcomer’s belt, the smile mysteriously gone, replaced by a look of horror. A low moan escaped him at the thought that soon it would be his head decorating a rider’s belt. Verexi lay curled on his side, his mind filled with images of his head swinging from a length of brass chain attached to a gore-splattered bike or as part of one of the pyramids of skulls that formed the backrest of some of the bikes. His mind's fevered imaginings were interrupted by an explosion of pain as the rider kicked him over onto his back, then knelt beside him. Verexi squirmed as a gore encrusted gauntlet pinned him to the ground. A torrent of prayer erupted from Verexi’s lips as the rider worked the controls of the brass machine with a surprising dexterity. The rider laughed again and pinned him more firmly to the ground, as Verexi screamed an incoherent mixture of obscenities and pleas at the huge figure at his side. A harsh, grating voice issued from the grille at the front of the horned helmet, “Don’t worry boy, you’re not going to die. Yet.” The rider placed the torture machine on Verexi’s upper chest and pressed a series of buttons. Pain shot through him as spikes shot into his chest and blades tore gaping holes in his throat, the rider pulled a thin wire from his armour and plugged it into the brass device, then looked at a readout attached to his arm. Nodding to himself the rider watched the machine do it’s work and listened with evident pleasure to Verexi’s growing screams. Pain wracked Verexi as awoke, he reached for his throat, expecting to find the slashes the machine had inflicted on him, to feel the last of his life’s blood pumping away. Instead he felt the flaky crustiness of dried blood and a scar tender to the touch running from under his chin to his collarbone. Sitting up he felt more dried blood flake off his chest and running his hands over his torso he found yet more scars, then stopped and moved his hand over his chest again. He opened his eyes and looked down, at first seeing little more than the almost black blood that covered him from head to toe and the pink of fresh scars. His eyes accustomed themselves to the light quickly though and he could see that not only was he scarred in ways he never had been before, but that he had grown. Standing up he held out his arms and was amazed at the muscles that rippled when he clenched his now massive fist. Verexi heard a snarling laugh behind him and spun to face it’s owner, he staggered backwards as he recognised the red rider who had tortured him. Next to the rider was a suit of red armour, emblazoned across the chest was an eight pointed star, picked out in brass and beside that one of the huge crimson bikes the red riders had all ridden. The rider tossed him a curved blade, filthy with blood and other less obvious stains. Again he heard the harsh voice pour from the helmet’s grille. “You’re one of us now boy…” | |
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