Blood Bats

The young man in the nondescript grey uniform alit in front of the headquarters of Roger's Bastards, the infamous commando unit. “Could you fellows tell my servant where to stow my luggage?” he asked the men lounging there. One of them told him exactly where his servant and he could both stuff his equipment. Surprisingly, the young man laughed and asked “Shouldn't you say, ‘permission to speak freely, sir' before telling an officer and a member of the royal family where he can stuff his equipment?”

He passed into the headquarters, and by the desk of the headquarters sergeant. The sergeant rose to stop him, then saw the skull and cross bones embroidered on the uniform and abruptly sat down again. “The colonel is in conference with his officers. Shall I announce you sir?”

“No need; I shall announce myself.” He opened the inner door and slouched into the office of the commander. “Major Breck Alpein of the royal necromancers, brevetted to your commando unit reporting, Colonel.”

Colonel Rogers, a massive man with a face ravaged by fire and wounds, simply pointed to an empty chair. “We have just now finished planning the expedition up into the Storm Breaker Mountains. Perhaps you could give us some insight into what sort of creatures we may be facing there. You have been sent for because something is flying or gliding down from those mountains to attack small villages and farms. They come by night and leave bloodless husks of men, women and children behind when they fly away”.

Breck nodded and spoke, “Any theories I have now could all be wrong. We should be flexible and expect the unexpected when we reach the summit of the mountains. Just let me point out that true vampires tend to feed off victims of the opposite sex and that feeding generally takes weeks to kill. Your traditional undead does not suck all the blood and soft tissue from its victim. Also, none of the people killed by these creatures have come back from the grave to plague the living. Ergo we could postulate that a flying creature that feeds on blood has been attacking our people. It is probably not an undead, or at least, not a type of undead familiar to our scholars in the school of necromancy at the capital. Other questions that need answers are, ‘Why is this happening now?' and ‘Are these creatures free willed or under the control of a necromancer who is our enemy?'”

“This is my first field assignment. I volunteered because none of the older, more experienced members of my unit could make the climb with you. I have done some climbing and have been trained to use the katana. So I hope not to slow you down too much, and can take care of myself in a fight.

Chapter two: Part way up the Storm Breakers:

Breck hung from his harness attached to pitons dug into the rock above him. He had long since given up on sleeping as he swayed back and forth like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Climbing the mountain was tiring, but he could keep up with the commandos who also had to hoist equipment up the cliff sides. Lack of sleep, though, was going to be a major problem. He might be too tired to memorize spells or to use the right ones. Tomorrow night before they reach the summit, he would drug himself to sleep.

“What's it like being a Prince?” another sleepless dangler asked.

“Well I can't tell you about being the crown prince,” he responded, “but being a minor prince is bloody boring. You hang around all day sucking up to the people with real power and the people with even less power suck up to you all day. Then there are the ugly daughters of very rich merchants whose parents want them to marry into royalty and are constantly trying to shove their daughters at you.

“The reason I joined the necromancy corps is that it scares people away. Nobody wants a necromancer for a son in law and even the rest of the royal family is a little scared of me now. I live with a beautiful young widow when I am at the capital and everyone leaves me pretty much alone.”

Upon reaching the top of the escarpment after three nights and days of climbing they found themselves in fog rising from the damp rock and blowing in from the snow fields ahead of them. All the mountain was grey, completely leeched of color. Breck leaned upon his staff as he tiredly followed Colonel Rogers. He was beginning to rethink the issue of whether or not their quarry was undead. Certainly this sunless environment would be perfect for a large coven of vampires.

Roger's Bastards spent most of that gray dismal day moving slowly forward through the fog, careful to avoid becoming separated and fearful of falling into some unseen crevice.

The sun peeked out of the mist for almost an hour that afternoon, then disappeared again into the winter twilight. The last few rays of the sun lit a fortress, bleak and run down, that lay ahead of them. Colonel Rogers told the men to take a ten minute rest, eat some rations and have a shot of whiskey. He summoned his officers to conference.

“Give your men an hour to rest after eating, then we are over the walls. My orders are to keep moving into the fortress whatever the cost. Kill everything within, no prisoners, no looting till the fighting is over. Nightfall is not the best time to assault a fortress filled with undead but it sure beats waiting here all night for the blood bats to find us. Any comments, Major?”

“You are correct of course,” Breck responded. “Nothing could be more demoralizing than spending the night in the fog waiting to be attacked. I agree we should attack. When we find whoever or whatever is leading this pack of blood suckers, I shall burn him out with spells, holy water and fire.” Breck was expressing the arrogance all necromancers need to function. Some might say that military commanders and wizards also need a certain arrogance, but not so much as necromancers.

Roger's Bastards moved silently toward the fortress, grapnels ready to cast over the walls. The lead scouts signaled for a halt and to take cover. Upon the wall a dozen winged creatures had appeared. They were tall, cadaverous shapes, an inky black against a grey sky. One after another, they spread wings like membranes and glided towards the escarpment and the farms and villages below. The last one circled briefly above the commandos then flew on. Warning the fortress that it was under attack seemed a low priority to the creatures. Breck wondered whether that was a good sign.

No one was defending the walls, but deep within the fortress a bell or gong began to toll. The undead who came to oppose them may have been human at one time. Skeletons with bits of rag and flesh clinging to their bones formed barriers in halls and doorways. Rusted iron weapons swung slowly but with tremendous power at men trying to force a passage. Weird spectral creatures only partly corporeal dropped from the ceiling upon the commandos. Whenever they seized a man, that man screamed and his flesh began to putrefy and slough off.

Breck used his staff as a focus for fire spells. The specters burned quite well. He left the skeletons for the commandos, who used their grapnels to pull the undead out into the open where they were smashed to bits with war hammers and the flats of axes. Breck splashed holy water upon the decaying bodies of the dead commandos. No comrade should endure the shame and horror of coming back as an undead minion of whatever evil ruled in this place! The battle was going well. Men died horribly, but many more of their opponents were being destroyed. The only problem was that Breck was using up his fire spells and holy water in the fight with these undead minions. What would he have left when the commandos finally confronted the evil that ruled this place?

Breck was beginning to suspect the manner of horror that reigned here. The rot that immediately corrupted bodies hinted that their adversary was not a King Vampyre, but an arch demon of corruption. Perhaps they would confront the Lord of Ghouls himself or one of his chief demons. Zujnathar, God of the Hungry Dead, would be a dangerous opponent for a dozen high priests armed with holy talismans. Breck was not equipped to fight such a creature.

Something ponderous was approaching from deeper within the fortress. The floor moved like a series of ripples spreading out across a pond. Small chunks of wall and ceiling came crashing down. But what appeared first was a portal in reality. The commandos gazed into an immense cellar lit only by tapers. Each man could see himself and his friends lying upon a dirty floor infested with rats and vermin. A nurse was saying to the attending doctor “What is keeping them alive? The black plague kills within three days, but these men just get sicker and sicker. The buboes under their skin fill with puss and expand, but never burst. Doctor, in the name of God we must end their suffering.”

The commandos could hear their friends muttering endlessly “Kill me. In the name of mercy kill me. I can't stand this pain and corruption.”

Breck knew now that what they faced was a Plague Demon that had partially entered our world to feed on blood. As it ingested blood, the demon could force its way further into our reality. As humans crave Ambrosia, the drink of the gods, so demons crave blood.

“Ordinary weapons are useless against this demon,” he told Colonel Rogers. “Only fire or sun light can destroy it. That is why it hides from the sun and from Lucifer, the morning star, in the heavy fog that blankets the tops of the Storm Breakers. It waits safe inside this fortress while its minions bring it human blood.”

Colonel Rogers carried in one hand an immense axe, hooked on the reverse side. Breck doubted he could even lift the weapon above his head with both hands, forget about actually swinging it. Breck cast all his remaining fire spells onto the axe.

Colonel Rogers then ordered the commandos to take up positions on the fortress walls. Their task was simply to destroy the bats as they returned from feeding. If they could cut off the demon's blood supply, it would weaken and likely depart on its own.

Only the sun could burn away the corruption in this fortress, but the perpetual fogs kept the sunlight out. Breck knew of one entity who might, for his own reasons help. Lucifer, the Morning Star, hated demons. Devils and demons hate each other and fight a war that is many times older than the world. He instructed the commandos to think of the Morning Star and ask for its help to destroy the demon. The church taught that Lucifer was evil, a fallen angel, but Breck knew it was not true. An entity such as Lucifer was far above such concepts as good and evil and cared as little for human prayers as humans would care for the prayers of a cockroach. Still there was no harm in asking for the Morning Star to burn away the fogs and mist and let in the cleansing sun.

Colonel Rogers commanded the youngest officer to take the best climbers and descend the cliffs. The army had to receive the intelligence that they faced a powerful plague Lord. “You will survive to make your report Ensign. That is a direct order. Do not let me find you in the afterlife with your mission unfulfilled!”

Colonel Rogers took up a strong defensive position under an arch where he enjoyed plenty of room to swing his axe, yet could not be flanked or attacked from the rear. “What are you still doing here, Major Alpein? Go back with the others and defend the walls. The men need you and I wish to have this one final combat all to myself.”

“Sorry to pull Princely rank and disobey,” Breck responded. “I may have no offensive spells left, but I have an amulet of healing attuned to myself alone. The amulet will protect us both from the rotting plague that would kill you at first contact with the demon.

Also, the demon will be hesitant to attack, since entering the aura of the healing amulet will be painful to the creature.

When the fight is over and we are still alive you can court martial me for disobeying an order. But the chance of us surviving is somewhere between fat and nonexistent.”

“The blood bat are returning, Captain.” Senior captain Davilan called for archers to man the walls and axe men to defend the entrances to the fortress itself. Of course, the bats might simply fly into the fortress through the upper windows, but there was nothing he could do about that. He needed to keep his men together. “He who defends everything defends nothing” is a proven axiom of the doctrine of defense.

Suddenly the night air was filled with flying creatures attempting to land in the courtyard of the fortress. War arrows slashed through the tough membrane that served as their stomach. Fresh blood poured down upon the waiting infantrymen. Whenever a bat lost its cargo of blood, the creature went insane and savagely attacked the archers upon the walls. The others swerved away, flying toward the upper windows. The imperative commands of the demon to deliver their cargos of blood safely kept them out of the fight.

Squads of commandos were ordered back into the fortress to hunt down the bats. Fighting raged throughout the fortress. The bats were armed only with claws, weapon enough to kill peasants and their families, but hardy a match for the axes and swords of Roger's Bastards. A few men received horrible wounds but there were no more deaths among the commandos. Deep within the fortress, the demon screamed its rage as its minions were destroyed and its blood supply cut off.

Preceded by a stench like a gangrenous wound but a thousand times stronger, the plague demon lumbered into the chamber. Fat and bulbous, the creature displayed a tear in its stomach from which intestines dangled. From within the buboes covering its face, yellow eyes glared at the two fighters who dared oppose it. In each of its four hands the creature carried a chain several feet long ending in a spiked ball larger than a bowling ball. It lurched forward swinging the spiked balls, but colonel Rogers was much faster. The Commando stepped forward and drove his axe into the demon's groin. One of the chains wrapped about his arm, snapping it like a twig and ripping away his shield.

So began the dance of death that raged around the chamber. The chamber floor near the arch grew slippery with the pus that served the creature for blood. The colonel was bleeding freely from superficial wounds but neither the warrior nor the demon could land a killing blow.

Breck took the amulet of healing from his neck and tied it around his katana, casting a minor spell of binding to hold it securely in place. Then he drove the sword into the tear in the demon's stomach, up to the hilt and beyond. Only when his arm was a foot into the demon's body did he stop pushing and roll away.

“Welcome to our plane of reality,” he told the demon. “Keep this amulet within you forever as a memory of what Colonel Rogers and Prince Breck Alpein have done to you. Have a nice day back in the abyss.”

The demon screamed in terror and pain, clawing and ripping at itself in its desperation to seize the katana and remove it from his body. Colonel Roger's massive axe removed the creature's arms. The demon was biting at itself now, seeking to grasp the katana with its teeth. The hook on the reverse of the axe head drove into the back of the demon's head, crushing the magical jewel that serves such creatures as a brain. There was a final scream that seemed to come from an immeasurable distance away and then the creature was gone, dead on our plane, but still alive in the abyss.

Colonel Rogers part fell and part sat down in the pus and blood. Both he and Breck were drenched head to toe with the demon's disgusting bodily fluids. “That amulet was not solely attuned to you!” he roared at Breck. “You could have left it with me and gone to aid my men as I commanded.”

“I guess that makes me a liar,” Breck laughed. “But, I loved watching you fight even if you are getting old and slow. That amulet will lose its power in a day; a day in our reality that is. There is no time in the abyss. Perhaps the amulet will try to heal the demon forever. How about I help you up and we get the hell out of here? We could both use a bath, a drink and around twenty-four hours of sleep.”

Lucifer, the Morning Star, appeared minutes after the battle concluded. Starlight burned away the fog and collapsed the top levels of the fortress. Sunlight came two hours later, burning the corruption of the banished plague demon from the fortress.

The end of the story, however for those who may care let us tie up a few loose ends:

Upon returning to base, colonel Rogers did bring Prince Breck Alpein up on charges of disobeying a direct order. There is well established law that a Prince must obey the orders of his commander, just like anyone else. Breck, through his attorneys, claimed he was only temporarily assigned to Roger's bastards and remained an officer in the royal necromancy corps. Thus Colonel Rogers had no authority to interfere with his primary orders to destroy whatever menace lurked atop the Storm Breaker Mountains. The case has not yet been resolved.

Colonel Rogers died suddenly of a heart attack two months after completion of the mission. He left no kin except for some cousins, farm workers he had never met. The commandos were his only family. A mural depicting his fight with the demon has been commissioned for the Imperial War Museum. He would have liked that.

A petition to the college of priests to add Lucifer to the pantheon of gods was rejected. A former commando who resigned to become the first priest of Lucifer was arrested for heresy. He may well have been burned had Prince Breck not intervened and convinced the college of priests to treat the petition as a sick joke and the would-be priest as a victim of combat fatigue. The former commando is now confined to a hospital for the insane, but will be released back to the army soon.