Wargames of the Everworld Read online

  Wargames of the Everworld

  Copyright © 2019 Andrew McGregor

  All rights reserved.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  PROLOGUE

  Jean clenched the reigns of his otherworldly horse and listened to the voices in his ears. The voices issued orders to red skinned warriors arrayed in front of him. Arrows flew over his head towards the host of blue-skinned warriors marching towards him.

  Pikes and horsemen would soon clash against shields and swords but, for a moment, all Jean could do was sit on his demonic charger and watch. He stared at the opposing red and blue armies, then tracked his eyes upwards towards the impossible floating platform that held one of his friends. Heavenly images were conjured in the air all around the platform as its occupant interacted with tactical overlays. Higher in the sky, floating fortresses a thousand paces long were mere dots to his eyes. Giant starships crossed the heavens beyond his vision.

  Soon enough, he would be up there, leading starships in a battle in the heavens.

  "Jean, order your troops!" The general of Earth team's forces called to him.

  Jean shook his head, feeling dizzy. "I apologise, Akbar; I shall encircle the enemy’s left flank immediately."

  With the flick of his wrists he guided his red horse towards the right of the Terran pikemen. "Follow me," he ordered his squadron of red knights. They moved in a wide arc around the blue host's flanks. Several blue skirmishers, thin-limbed and fat-bellied, tried to slow them down, but the red knights ran over the heathens with contempt for their efforts. He felt like saying a prayer but smiled instead. "Onwards, for Earth!" he yelled. Jean officially entered himself into the war game before crashing into the rear ranks of the blue host. He stabbed a blue skinned monster in the neck and shouted with glee, surrounded as he was by red knights and blue blood.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jessica Stanner dropped her pen while staring at the kaleidoscopically-coloured spherical intruder. The pen clattered loudly on the hard wood floor while the half-metre-wide orb floated inside the kitchen door. It wafted up to her eye level. "Do you agree to the terms?" Its words tasted like chocolate to the ear, its soft colours candy to her eyes.

  "The papers…" her voice faltered; her mind was full of challenge, opportunity, danger. Her students’ assignments were lost in the flood of the alien orb’s stunning words. "Where… where will you take me?" She gasped and sat down before her legs weakened any further.

  "The where does not matter so much, I assure you. You will be returned in due course to this world once the games are complete."

  "The games..." She had to concentrate hard not to stammer. A pot of vegetables started steaming on the stove, the sound cut against the orb’s soft melodies.

  "You should not die," it replied, its lights dimmed, casting rays of red, blue and green. "The transition from this world to the games and back again may come with some memory loss, but we will do what we can to remedy that. This opportunity will never come again. Do you accept?"

  "I… yes. Yes, of course, I accept!"

  "Stand by," it announced, breaking its spell over her.

  "Wait, what?" She looked around at the messy kitchen as if waking from a pleasant dream.

  "Stand by," it repeated for her. In an instant it grew substantially larger. It stopped glowing different colours and edged sharply to red. The orb engulfed her with fingers of fire.

  “They do not appear to be admirable specimens to me.”

  “They are within acceptable limits. We’re lucky to have them at all. Can they be trained? The alliance is restless, we have days to prepare.”

  “I’ll do what I can...”

  “Who’s Jean?” Jessica asked. The dream faded as she tried to open her eyes.

  "Welcome aboard the Inveigled Ambassador." She heard the words but was having a hard time unscrambling them in her fuzzy mind.

  "Inv…?" she managed, hardened saliva stuck to the back of her throat.

  "The Inveigled Ambassador," the man replied, his buzz-saw voice moving her to wakefulness.

  "Oh." She managed to open her eyelids. She brushed sleep out of her eyes and focussed on the white padded room. Her arms and legs felt numb. She noticed three men in the room, two of whom were dressed in the same blood-red jumpsuit as she was. Like her, they were struggling to wake up. Jessica and the two red-suited men were spread equidistantly around the room with their feet pointed toward the middle. The third man, who wore little more than a brown sash across his waist, stood in the centre of their small triangle.

  "I am Ammon, my speech may sound a little strange to you, as it is being translated for your convenience from my natural language," the near-naked man told them. He stood a little hunched, his back beaten upon by time. Deep grooves branded his aged skin and crisscrossed his bald head almost like a chessboard. Powerful muscles wrapped his wizened form. "Do you remember why you are here?"

  One of the other men, a cinderblock with a short pony tail of white hair, coughed once and staggered to his feet. "Yes, sir, I believe so." His soft-spoken words stood in contrast to his frame. "We were brought here to play some sort of games." As soon as he said it, his expression changed from a sure-faced construction to a crumble of confusion.

  "What games?" Jessica asked. "All I remember is some sort of glowing orb and then—"

  "Games of strategy, tactics, and strength," Ammon explained. "You," he said, pointing at Jessica, "are Jessica Stanner, a teacher of ancient wars.” Then he pointed at the large pony-tailed man, and announced, "You are Georgy Alatort, commander of warriors—"

  "Retired," Georgy interrupted. "Many years ago, I was an officer in the Russian Navy. I… have not commanded anyone for quite some time, unless you count my dogs." He smiled as he spoke of them.

  "Nevertheless, the Inveigled Ambassador’s probe has chosen Georgy to represent humanity in the intermediate stage of the games.” Ammon pointed at the last man, a middle-aged man of East Indian bearing whose well-kept shoulder-length hair made him appear younger than his grey-streaked beard indicated. "You are Peter Dorn, man of knowledge and learning."

  "Uh, yeah, I’m a theoretical physicist," Peter replied for Jessica and Georgy's benefit. "I also enjoy mini-golf and rock-climbing. Was that in your file on me?"

  Ammon gestured for them all to stay quiet. "Mmm, the games are a serious matter; all aspects of your lives were taken into account when you were chosen. Yes, Peter Dorn, part of the reason you were chosen was for your extracurricular activities."

  “Wait a minute,” Jessica said raising one arm as if she were back in school. "Ammon, where are we? What exactly are these games?"

  Ammon clasped his hands together and turned, then left the centre of their triangle and started walking between Jessica and Georgy. A smooth red-rimmed door frame, not noticed by Jessica until now, appeared to be his destination. "Come," he told them. "Better that you meet your pieces; it will help you understand."

  "Pieces?" Jessica mouthed to the other two. Peter, the Indian physicist, shrugged. Georgy, the Russian veteran, raised an eyebrow at her, not understanding her silent question. They followed the rather short, well-muscled man through the red-rimmed door to a short white balcony overlooking a large chamber that must have been two hundred metres long and fifty metres wide. The walls glowed blue and the ceiling and floor were blood-red, matching Jessica’s clothing.

  "Whoa," Jessica
almost slipped, but held onto the balcony's soft wall. Peter gasped, while Georgy stood still. The floor wasn't red, in fact it wasn't a floor. Thousands of living, breathing, things, stood in parade formations, their yellow and white eyes paying attention to the humans' every move. "Oh, oh... what...?" Jessica felt the urge to run back into the room with the red-rimmed door frame.

  Georgy licked lips that had lost any hint of moisture. "What are these... demons?" he asked as his face went pale. Jessica saw them then, the horns. The red things all had a small crown of horns.

  "The pieces," Ammon said, waving an arm across the demons, "for you to use in the games."

  "Pieces, like chess?" Peter asked, his forehead creased in thought.

  Jessica looked, gulping down a surge of anxiety as she did so. They had claws on hands and feet, sinewy arms and legs, pointed noses, leather skin. Their bodies were built as if they were living weapons.

  "Pieces, soldiers, yes," Ammon said, "for games."

  "What sort of games?" Jessica ventured.

  "Wargames," Georgy said, with his jaw set and his voice merely a whisper. The others nevertheless heard him over the steady breathing of the hellish host below.

  Ammon regarded Georgy, judging him before nodding. "You three are to command them. We must meet them, so that you may have a demonstration. Then you can sleep and eat and think. Then your training will begin; we have little time to waste. Follow me." He walked back into the room where they had woken up. They followed and where there had once been a floor, a large spiralling staircase occupied the centre. The staircase headed both up and down. Ammon started down, towards the sea of red demons.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "You may call me ‘demon’ if you wish," the red creature in front of them said with a guttural clicking in its deep voice. "We are your soldiers; do with us as you must."

  "Yes," Ammon agreed, "a demonstration, little demon, for your new masters?"

  The demon grinned, revealing surprisingly white, straight teeth rather than the pointy black blades Jessica expected. "A demonstration for the masters!" It called out to the front row of demons in the large open hall. "Command us," it demanded as the entire front row unfolded crossed arms and displayed sharp claws. Five of them stepped forward. The speaker joined the five that had stepped forward and stood beside them. A metallic smell seemed to accompany their every breath, Jessica wondered if they must be robots. Their identical features and precision unnerved her.

  "Choose weapons," Ammon said. The walls along the edges of the large room faded from soft blue to a bright white. Underneath the blue cushion of light, stacked against the walls were weapons, countless weapons of various sizes, shapes and functions. Spears, swords, bows, rifles, every weapon Jessica had ever known and more that she hadn't.

  "Spears," Peter quickly called out.

  "You two," Ammon pointed at the nearest two, "spears and wait."

  "Spears, wait," the demons replied before purposefully turning to one of the walls and striding towards it. They each picked a two-metre-long spear, then returned. They stopped and faced each other several paces apart, dropped to a combat stance, then waited. "Peter, give the command."

  Wide-eyed, Peter lifted a shaky arm then dropped it as if chopping the air.

  Nothing happened.

  "They are unused to such a command and are focussed each on the other, you must command with voice, song, or sound. A simple word of intent will suffice."

  "What happens if I tell them to build a house?" Peter joked with a grin. Ammon seemed to ignore him, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Okay... just, attack."

  The moment the last syllable left Peter's mouth, the demons lunged at each other. Jessica wasn't sure what happened. She blinked or held her eyes shut. She heard a clatter of movement, and when she opened her eyes, one demon was on the ground, its head loosely held to its neck by a thread of red skin. The other demon had dropped its spear to try and hold in its stomach, or what passed for organs in that area. The blood that seeped onto the floor was sucked down into tiny holes.

  Peter gagged, trying to keep whatever meal he'd last had from exiting his throat. Both Georgy and Jessica stared.

  "Good, clean up," Ammon gestured to a couple of demons who dutifully carried their dead and injured comrades away. "Another demonstration if you will, choose weapons," he glanced at Georgy and Jessica as if to say it was their turns now.

  "These things are alive?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "But... that one just died!"

  "It is a demonstration of skill, talent. You must observe their strengths if you are to lead them in the games," Ammon said as he scratched at his nose. "It is necessary, but short."

  "Okay," Georgy nodded towards one of the walls, "I see something that looks like an old-style Thompson, can they use that? I mean, can they shoot from one side of the room to the other?"

  "Of course. You two, the weapons that master Alatort indicated, retrieve and wait."

  "Retrieve and wait," they repeated before grabbing a couple of the guns that looked like old Thompson submachine guns.

  "Command when ready," Ammon said.

  "No, they don't need to die for a fucking demonstration,” Jessica said before Georgy could speak, "what if they hit us too?"

  "They will not hit us; we are protected from harm," Ammon said.

  "You two, when I tell you to attack, try to avoid being hit," Georgy told the demons.

  "Yes, master," they replied in unison.

  Georgy looked both ways, studying each of the identical demons as they held the guns up to their eyes, ready to carve small round holes in each other's bodies. Georgy shook his head before giving the command in that quiet voice of his, "Go."

  For a whole two seconds the demons weaved, dodged and fired across the large room's expansive width. The demons in the front rows barely moved as the bullets flew mere metres, or centimetres in front of them. A spatter of small metallic shards embedded themselves in the opposite walls where they seemed to stick as if in soft gel. Blood accompanied many of the bullets.

  With a dull thud, one of the combatants fell to the ground, two small craters gracing its horned skull.

  Both combatants were removed from the demonstration area and Ammon turned his old eyes on Jessica. "I don't want any more to die," she told him.

  "The demonstration must continue; you will learn."

  "But what are these creatures? They don't seem to feel pain or care if they die. Are they brainwashed?"

  "Calm, child," Ammon held up an open hand to settle her. "You have questions. I have answers; these will come. The soldiers are not robots. They have been... conditioned, and shaped. Grown for the games."

  "Do they enjoy death?"

  "They long for combat and for service to their masters; this is their purpose."

  "Then they don't need to die."

  "They will if they demonstrate, and demonstrate they must. Your qualms are unfounded. For the pieces, death is to life as ice is to water; they can be restored."

  She shook her head. "Still, there are other ways of demonstrating. Let me fight one of them instead."

  "That... mmm," Ammon seemed to think over the request, "that may be acceptable. You will learn hands-on experience; it is agreed."

  "You have combat experience?" Georgy asked her. Peter was too busy trying to keep his food down to say anything but looked horrified at what she'd proposed.

  "No. Before I became a lecturer, I used to fight at medieval re-enactments. Uh, I need a sword or an axe."

  Ammon sent several demons to collect bits and pieces of armour and a long-sword and dagger. The demons engulfed her in hands and armour as they strapped it on. She realised then just how short they were. Jessica was less than average height, but the demons were half a head shorter again. "You said before that we are protected from harm," she said as the demons tied the last of the pieces of armour to her.

  "You are protected from mortal injuries. Some safeties will need to be deactivated for you to fi
ght. Do not fear, child; if injury should occur, you will not be in pain, and you shall be healed."

  "Oh, good," she didn’t know what else to say to that, but she was glad that she wouldn’t die. Her chosen opponent took up a position near her with identical armour and weapons. "Georgy, can you please give the attack command?"

  "Yes," he replied. Her breathing increased in tune with her heart, and she took a stance, mirroring the armoured demon from several paces away. "Attack," came the call.

  Blades carved and slid, probing armour and cutting skin. The demon was fast, but she found she could keep up with its furious blows, even managing to land a couple in return. With a flick of its long sword and a parry from its knife, she was disarmed and forced to the ground. The demon pinned her down. Hot breath bathed her face and blood poured from a neck wound she had inflicted between helmet and armour, spattering her face. She blinked from the falling blood and meaty breath. Her left arm felt numb.

  She'd been cut, deeply.

  "Not to fear, Jessica," Ammon told her as several demons helped her to her feet. "As I said, you will be healed." One of the demons produced a vial of blue gel, then cracked and emptied it onto her wound. The gel morphed, matching the wound's contours before setting hard in and around it. The armour came off and she breathed a shallow sigh, shocked at her injury, but relieved it didn’t hurt. "Now, to food."

  Peter groaned.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Trustee watched while Ammon showed the humans how to command the pieces. They clumsily waved their hands and shouted commands while the pieces tore bloody shreds from each other. The female surprised him by challenging a piece to personal combat using swords. She proved a capable warrior but was cut by the piece’s sword. Ammon called a halt for food and healing.

  The wasp-man at the Trustee’s side stirred, “You must enter your humans into the games now. The alliance grows weary and the Plinth are moving to block our efforts. We cannot wait any longer.”