Gardens of Destruction

Exhausted, Mark longed to sit down and rest, even if just for a moment. The battle was doomed. He knew it, even though he wished to believe otherwise. Creatures of unknown kinds attacked from all sides, and the D’kra took advantage of their numerical superiority, skillfully slaughtering the transformed humans and animals who accepted their fate without complaint but with bravery.

At that moment, the image of Jana appeared in Mark’s mind. Was she waiting somewhere out there, staring into the void, wondering if Valentina had managed to escape the massacre? He would give her the time to do so, he would fight to the end. He felt genuinely happy at that moment. He knew he was dying with dignity, a rarity many could not claim now. Everyone had fled, fearing for their pathetic lives.

Blood streamed down his body, yet he continued to wield his bizarre double-edged weapon with measured strikes. He reveled in its use. He didn’t know what chemicals it pumped into his blood to induce such euphoria, but he immensely enjoyed it. It made him feel alive and real. Like a knight fighting to protect the holy lands, all tattered. Like a beggar, dirtied, like a peasant in the field and drenched in blood, like a butcher.

“Come, I am your retribution!” he screamed from his feverish, half-conscious state.

But there was no response. There never would be. They were alien; they didn’t belong to this Earth.

“What do you want, you bastards! Go back to where you came from! We don’t need you here, this is our home!” Mark continued to scream hoarsely.

Then he abruptly realized the futility of his actions. Oh, how he wished to rest a while. To sit down and let others do as they wished with him. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing had any significance.

Suddenly feeling a surge of strength, he lifted his momentarily faltered weapon again.

“No, you won’t catch me, I won’t become a monster like you! You only die once, why not today!” his cries continued.

“You don’t answer, do you? You’re afraid, I know!”

He felt the piercing of another blade. He no longer paid them any mind. The pain seemed not his own, as if someone else was absorbing it. His weapon, exactly. It had embedded itself in his nerves and was taking it all in. The threads piercing his hand spread throughout his body, giving him the strength and courage to overcome the wounds and the sight of so many grotesque beings, dead or alive, he no longer knew the difference.

The blood dripping from his forehead increasingly obstructed his vision. His movements began to slow and become cumbersome. Even his weapon was no longer of any help; it seemed to have exhausted itself. Now he wanted to rest, Mark told himself again. It made no more sense; he couldn’t go on. At that moment, a tentacle from some creature reached his leg and severed it below the knee. The captain fell to the ground, and everything around him began to happen as if in slow motion.

He saw the aliens rushing to tear him apart, but he wished to do nothing. He just sat on the ground, leaning on his weapon, watching. He saw his selfless guard fighting to protect the one who was precious to their goddess.

“Just like that, boys, just a little longer, and I’m coming too!” he whispered.

“You are the ones who stayed to save humanity, all the others hid like mice! You will be the heroes one day when this is over. It doesn’t matter that you’re hideous, people will talk about this battle for a long time! The cowards won’t be remembered! All those who ran to hide their precious behinds will not be forgiven!”

Mark laughed genuinely at the tirade he delivered. Why was he wasting his last strength instead of resting? Soon, he would surrender to the long-desired peace. Death was bringing its final kiss. He awaited it eagerly. Smiling, he stood there amid so many enemies as if they didn’t exist.

Explosions echoed through the battlefield. Mark, devoid of the strength to even look around, collapsed. The sounds of helicopter blades and human voices were all that resonated in his mind. Slowly emerging from the fog of battle, he managed to focus on the figure standing before him.

“Captain, get up! Now’s not the time for rest! We’ve got a lot of work to do!” He saw the grinning visage of Andrey, attempting a smile that couldn’t hide his worry.

Then, as if in a cinematic sequence, he watched the colossal Russian rise and swing his sword-weapon, bisecting an enemy. The sight was magnificent. Andrey, bare-chested, wielded the fearsome blade with such precision that a single strike was enough to cleave those daring to approach. A fire seemed to burn within him; if possible, he would incinerate them all. The Russian’s adept handling of the weapon ensured that soon no one dared come near. Oddly, they avoided him, sensing perhaps that an encounter would spell their doom.

“Come on, comrade. Break’s over!” he shouted. “It’s always good to die beside a true warrior. Shame you didn’t warn me; looks like we missed a grand battle.”

Mark rose, leaning on his spear. At that moment, he lacked the energy to ponder where the Russian had come from. Was he really there, or was it all in his dying mind?

He saw they were not alone. About a dozen soldiers watched Andrey with immense admiration. They had armed themselves with weapons like the Russian’s and joined the fray with fervor. Others knelt to tend his wounds.

“Where’s the child?” asked the Russian.

Mark thought to answer that he didn’t know before witnessing an astonishing scene. A massive, transformed bison was charging towards them. Valentina clung to its back, distributing blows with her scepter. The walking death in the guise of a little girl was speeding their way, crushing everything in her path. Her merciless scepter reaped those who dared oppose. An army of spiky Furies rolled beside her, dispersing all beings.

Yet Mark noticed Valentina was wounded. He worried for her, though he suspected the frail body harbored unimaginable strength and capabilities. He had already witnessed it.

At that moment, all remaining transformed beings rushed to protect their queen. Soon, the formed cordon approached them, it seemed Valentina had noticed them and directed the small group of humans towards her. She didn’t seem surprised to see them, rather they were astounded by the sight of the child-warrior.

With her in their ranks, the tide significantly changed. She screamed something in the strange, hissing, metallic language, and the attackers froze in place.

“Warned them not to follow us!” she declared to the astonished humans.

She issued a retreat order, simultaneously reinforcing her warning with sweeps of her scepter, bringing endless pain and suffering to the enemy camp.

Seemingly understanding that they were withdrawing, the invaders’ army chose not to pursue. As if nothing had happened, they quietly began to retreat back to their home – the Garden.

Mark finally remembered to ask the Russian how they had ended up on the battlefield.

“Not now! Be quiet!” he scolded his wounded comrade and pulled out a radio from his pants pocket.

“General, it’s safe to land, these are with us!” he said, gesturing towards the transformed beings forming a cordon around them.

Valentina knelt beside the wounded captain, her presence a stark contrast to the chaos that had just ensued. Mark was beginning to feel the pain in full force, his spear having ceased its miraculous effects. To his astonishment, the child unwound the bandage from his leg and took up her scepter. Standing with closed eyes, she whispered an almost melodic incantation — was this a lingering effect of his weapon’s chemistry?

She brought her scepter close to his severed leg. Thin strands began to emerge from the metallic rod, burrowing into his flesh. Mark screamed in agony, and Valentina grasped his hand for comfort. The strands intertwined, weaving a complex tapestry that soon took the form of a human leg. Before long, the new structure was complete. Mark tentatively stepped on his new leg, tears streaming down his face.

Soon after, two helicopters emerged from the horizon, touching down on the makeshift landing pad created by the people.

“Get on board!” The stern visage of Patterson commanded.

Mark wondered if Valentina would choose to board the helicopter. To his relief, the child-warrior silently leaped into one of the vacant seats within the combat vehicle. Only when they had put some distance between themselves and the colossal Garden did the captain allow himself to breathe a sigh of relief.

After tending to his most severe wounds, Mark turned his attention to Val. He was met with her sorrowful gaze. She returned his look, her warm eyes conveying a desperation that words could hardly capture.

“I want my mom,” she whispered softly.