Fiction: Death on Dark Wings p12

Sorry, i posted 10 twice in the subject, but that second one was eleven..
anyway, to continue...


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"Bionoid" stated Korgesh.



            The elves voice came out as the insectoid mouth moved, replying
"yes, the one reason my wife and I never conceived.  In fourty years of
marriage, we never made love once, for fear of begetting another like me.
My shame will now take you to your death scro, and then I will use it to
slay every last one of your crew until I cease to breathe".



            He came at korgesh in a rush, his clawed right hand clenching
for a punch that sent the admiral flying as the elf had done when kicked,
expect almost thrice the distance, but still into a wall.  Korgesh slid to
the floor, only one foot flat, the otherleg concealing his hand as he
reached below himself, breathing heavily while saying "all bets are off" in
scro.  The bionoid meanwhile took it as some sort of a prayer or curse, not
understanding the foreign language, and advanced towards the admiral again.



            Korgesh spun up, pain shooting through the shoulder he had
impacted the wall with as a staff he had found upon the floor.  A heavy fist
likely mean for his torso or head slammed into it, the wood buckling but not
breaking under the powerful force.  The bionoid reacted quickly, bringing a
sharp-pointed knee up to try and gorge the scro's stomach out, but Korgesh
also reacted quickly, pushing on the wall behind him and flipping over the
bionoid, continuing the movement and using the inertia of the binoids kick
to then flip the large insect several feat away - this time the staff
breaking from the strain.  Korgesh flew with a snarl at his enemy, who
quickly leapt to his feet, the scro blocking a slash from large spines on
the creatures elbows with a shard length of staff in either hand, his foot
kicking the beast in the chin and dazing it for a moment while he leapt
aside.  Having moved around the room enough his hands found his axes and he
grasped their handles as he rolled past, most of his weight on his good
shoulder, and came to a crouch again.  He soon found himself leaping aside
as with one hand the bionoid threw the shaft halves like spears at him, and
then again as a fireball leapt out of a cavity in its chest, the two plates
covering its pectoral muscles having swung open like a door.



            Fireballs Korgesh could accept, a bionoid he could not.  Rolling
but five feet forward to escape the center of the spell he flung his axes at
the beast as the spell detonated scorching his back.  An elven scream of
pain mixed with that of a dying beast filled the air, the blast throwing the
scro onto the beast's chest and knocking them onto the ground.  Realizing
its death was imminent, the axes having pierced its one weak point, the
beast began to choke Korgesh, whom luckily also responded quickly and slowly
brought the iron-grip of the claws away from his neck.  The scro's feet
holding the spikes of each of the creatures knee's from moving, and his
hands both taken up holding its death grip at bay, he had but one option
left, and began headbutting the insects face.  Chitin bent and gave way,
sending green blood spurting across each opponents face, mixed with the red
blood of Korgesh as he cut himself while smashing.  Over and over the scro
headbutted the bionoid, the creature drawing some strength from the hope it
would kill him before it died itself, and slowly pushing its claws back in.
With one heavy thwack from a headbutt Korgesh smashed one of his tusks on
the gem on the creatures forehead, breaking off the upper part of the tooth,
yet almost immediately knocking the creature into unconsciousness.



With a heave the admiral rolled himself off the beast, moving his hand to
wipe the green blood and remove the chitin shards from his face and muzzle,
but wincing in pain and lowering it again.  For a minute or two he sat
motionless except for his breathing, no healing potions left to close his
wounds, yet unwilling to risk any more damage to his already burning
shoulder, likely dislocated or worse.    Eventually, with the effort he saw
as his duty, he slid himself over to his armour and gear, pulling a flare
pistol from the belt, firing it with his good arm out the window of the
armada, to signal the all clear.  The pistol dropped from his weak hand as
he felt his shoulder, wincing in pain as he touched it all over.  For the
most part it seemed more muscle damage than anything, yet it was dislocated,
and he wrapped his hand in a careful position to push it back into place, so
the marines no doubt about to enter the atmosphere would not hear his roar.





Tilaurin
tilaurin@?????????????????.com
http://www.planetbaldursgate.com/atreus/index.html
"Dying Swans/Twisted Wings,
Bring This Savage Back Home"
- Brave New World, Iron Maiden