Marc Farrimond

A hail of gun fire strafed across the sleek fuselage of the Archangel as it roared over the immense canyon. The craft side slipped the incoming fire with ease and began a series of twist and turns through the dangerous walls of the canyon. The two craft in hot pursuit were gaining rapidly on the sole vehicle as it made a hairpin turn at the end of a narrow section of the valley and doubled back in a half loop behind its pursuers. The hunted was now the hunter and in a blaze of blinding light the ship sent one of the craft into a burning inferno, crashing down to the floor hundreds of feet below. The other craft pulled up quickly, but not as fast as it should have and caught the edge of its tail on the lip of the jagged rock that rimmed the canyon. Sparks flew everywhere sending cascades of brilliant light and debris all around.

Looking from the tinted cockpit of his craft Michael watched as the other vehicle went spiralling to the floor and exploded in a blaze of color and flame. He wiped the back of his brow with a leather gloved hand and pulled the shinning craft up into a high climb. It was funny how things turned out. This was just a simple courier mission and had ended up with more than one dog fight with Michael and his craft ‘Ace of Tears’ coming out the victor. And ace he was! With more combat time and flying time than most of the other pilots twice his age; Michael was one of the Brotherhoods elite.

He glanced at the instruments on the smooth dash of the cockpit. A small red light was flashing constantly. He knew that the ship was badly damaged and pulling stunts like he had just done where only going to further complicate matters. He needed somewhere to land and fast. The smooth hull of the craft was beginning to buckle now under the immense speed and as Michael slowed the sleek craft and looked for a landing spot he gave a silent prayer to the Cardinal and put his faith in the Cardinals light.

The Archangel ploughed into the ground, its sharp slipstreamed sides slicing through the soil like a knife as it burrowed along leaving a deep fissure in the surface. Michael was braced for the impact and it only took him a few seconds to shake the haze from his head. Reaching down he grabbed at the gun that lay under his seat, if he had to fight his way home he would do. The area was crawling with Dark Legion troops and although they may be no match for his flying and his now crippled vessel, they more than made up for that in sheer numbers alone.

A few seconds later, Michael was out of the craft and was checking his flight compass. He started off at a sprint, using every piece of cover he could find. The diplomatic pouch slapped against his thigh as he ran and its weight reassured him that the forces of light were going to be triumphant over the dark damned legions.

A few hours later Michael was making his way across the front line and into Brotherhood territory. He was battered and bruised and his body ached from the conflict. More than once he had hidden from patrols only to be forced to fight his way out. He had used all his cunning to escape the troopers and as he stood now only yards away from his own lines he let out a long deep laugh.

Once again he had cheated death. In a couple of days he would be back on Luna and resting up before his next mission. He pulled out his access card and made his way still smiling towards the camp. Michael was one of the best of the pilots that the Brotherhood had in their ranks and as he smiled and thought about how he was going to be the talk of the camp that evening he failed to notice a circle of small green rings as it travelled up his legs, across his stomach and onto his torso.

A blinding white light filled his eyes, and he went to bring his right arm up to shield them from the glare. But his arm didn’t respond. Michael looked down in horror to see that the reason why. His right arm and most of his torso were now just a smoking hole.

The man fell forward and landed in a smouldering heap on the floor, his body twitching as if he were trying to run away. A clawed hand reached down and grabbed at the pouch at his side, yanking the ichor covered pouch away with ease. The creature turned and walked back into the mists of the night. For days the creature had tracked the human who had shot it out of the skies, and now with its mission completed it could return back to its own comrade’s and perhaps even brag to them about how good the quarry on this planet was!