The Wild Beasts of Anthony Mannis
Chapter 22

Free Crossing is a notably impenetrable stronghold situated strategically along the coastline of the Vasse Bay. Throughout the years, it has been held by both OZM and Borges forces. It is the last stop for The Line, a railway system that is one of the few ways to journey to New Haven.

- Information Available to Borges Citizens, Pamphlet IX

“..And if you push the tree another way, it will fall on a house filled with people. What would you—”

“Push the tree on the house,” Munroe said without hesitation, “no question. What’s to debate?”

Anthony and Munroe sat in silence in their front yard, staring at their home afire, staring into the flames, seeing monsters. Their house had been split in half by a fallen tree.

#

He woke up when Hayley slid up next to them at their campfire.

“A very large encampment of PSOs, Spectre Squadrons, and hotshots,” the girl said gloomily, “a lot of Spectre Men, stalkers and skydrones. There are two SSI groups: One is led by a boy who wears a bulls-head helm. The other leader is a boy in blue stag-beetle armor. I also saw a fleet of sweepers, and some Dragonslayers.”

“Dragonslayers,” Philip muttered, “man, do you think we can get through that?”

“Yes.” said Hayley. She flopped down onto the ground and began to disassemble her quarterstaff.

“No,” said Anthony, “not on our own. Not without Darius. As much as I hate to say it, we need him as much as he needs us. Darius and his men will provide the cover we need to get through the camp unnoticed.”

“Unnoticed?” Philip burst, “he’s counting on you to make the first move. You think Darius is going to let his men be meat shields when a colossus could?”

Hayley glanced up from where she was tinkering with her signature weapon. “So Mister Magic makes a big ol’ monster, draws their attention, then unsummons it. Classic bait-and-switch. We can sneak through the camp and be at the gates while the stupid Borges rush to where the colossus just was—and the OZM will be waiting. Then you just boost us over the wall and we’re home free.”

“That’s not a bait and switch, it’s called misdirection.”

“Shut up, Philip. They’re the same.”

“Colossi,” Anthony thought aloud, tapping his chin, “I wonder what is keeping the SSI from summoning colossi and just smashing the walls of Free Crossing down.”

Hayley looked at them and grinned. “I was wondering the same thing. Give me a second to finish fixing this here weapon and I’ll show you something—”

She stopped suddenly, her ear twitching. She motioned for the boys to be silent and she grabbed the hunting knife strapped to her leg.

Pooh-weet, Pooh-weet.

“It’s Ikoa.” She relaxed and whistled the appropriate response.

“I found Darius,” Ikoa announced, as he stepped into view. The burly, red-headed man followed sheepishly behind him.

“Hello again.”

“Hi.”

There was a pause. Hayley twisted something into her quarterstaff with a snap. Darius shuffled his feet.

“Anthony, I must apologize for the way I acted earlier. It’s true I do not command ya, nor yer friends. If we are ta work together, it must be alongside each other.”

“I forgive you.”

Darius smiled. “Don’t be so flippant, I’m not stupid. I know ya need me in order for ya to get to The Line. But it is no matter, for I need yer help as well.”

Hayley made no attempt to hide her eye-rolling. What a ham.

She snapped a final attachment onto her staff and propped herself up. They all made as if to move, but stopped when Ikoa lifted his hand.

“My friends,” he spoke, “I hate to leave you on the eve of battle, but my place is with my people. I must help them with their relocation.”

Anthony reached up and patted his huge arm. “We understand.”

“Yes. You have already done more for us than we can possibly ask.” Philip shook his hand.

Hayley gave him a hug. “You’re gonna miss out on some real fun.”

Ikoa boomed his big laugh. “I am sure.”

He turned back to Anthony and placed a large hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“I did not forget our agreement. I will listen for any news of your brother. I will snatch him from the Borges hands if I see him again.”

Anthony nodded. “I will look for your son.”

Ikoa turned to the OZM captain.

“Darius,” he said sternly, “take care of them.”

“Ya have my word.” Darius saluted.

They watched the warrior lope off into the woods. Despite herself, Hayley set her jaw. “We coulda used him.”

“Hayley!” Philip scolded.

“It’s true though.”

“He is a warrior, not a soldier, and he owes us nothing.”

“He’s a friend. Friends don’t make other friends do things.” Anthony said, in a tone that ended the debate. Darius coughed.

They stood there quietly under the pines, each with their own thoughts.

“My men are already formin’ up along the treeline,” Darius said finally. “Follow me.”

#

At the edge where the forest hit the farmland, Anthony glimpsed Free Crossing for the first time. It was a grand city, ringed by thick stone walls fifty feet high. Behind the walls were three towers, two of equal size and one gigantic one nearly double in height, with the green-and-white flags of Forest Zone rippling proudly in the breeze (and, Anthony noticed, no grey Borges flags alongside them).

Somewhere in there is the train to New Haven, the train that will take me to my mother.

On the left of Free Crossing were the unclimbable mountains of Genki’s Trust, and on the right were sheer cliffs that dropped into the ocean.

Anthony gasped. It was the first time he had seen so much water. It was the first time he had heard waves crashing against rock, the first time he had smelled the sea. He wanted to run right out to the cliff edge and absorb the entire view, to breathe in deep the briny air—but the Borges stood in the way. He surveyed their encampment and his stomach dropped.

Splayed out like creeping rot, the massive Borges encampment lay entrenched a safe distance from the gates of Free Crossing. Large tents were posted, barricades were raised, campfires were lit. Armored PSOs and Spectre Men milled about like shiny beetles. Skydrones buzzed in the air, stalkers were staked in neat rows like scarecrows, and far off on the other side of camp were groups of vehicles, indiscernible from each other as far as he could tell. He could see Spectre Men patrolling—in pairs, as always—and sweeper pilots prepping their ships.

Philip was right. How would they get through all these soldiers? There were too many men, and besides that, the skydrones would all too easily notice fugitives moving through the camp.

Darius squatted down and began diagramming in the dirt. “Here’s the plan. My men will fire first, drawing ‘em out. Y’all direct a colossus down their middle—flying wedge-like—and we’ll circle around to pinch their sides. Free Crossing will deploy a van from their end ta flank. The Borges are nothin’ but fish in a barrel.”

“They have two Special Service Invoker factions with them,” Philip pointed out. “The last time we tangled with SSI, Anthony barely survived. And he used sightseers.”

“They won’t be a problem.”

“Why is that?”

“Look along the ramparts of the city. What do you see?”

Philip and Anthony followed his gaze to the giant mounted turrets that were spaced out evenly along the extensive wall. “What are those?”

“Never seen ’em before, but most likely they’re heavy-duty versions of Spectre Men railguns,” Hayley said, “if the Borges move into their range, the SSI colossus will get toasted. Like shooting a deer with a cannon.”

Philip wrinkled his nose. “Gross.”

“Well then,” Anthony rubbed his hands together. “What’s stopping us from just rampaging through?”

“Thinking too much,” Hayley grinned, her eyes flashing.

Philip put his hand on her shoulder. “Wait a minute. If those wall-mounted guns activate, then they’ll be targeted by everything the Borges have—dragonslayers, colossi, sweepers, and more. If we run in, we will start a war.”

Hayley snorted impatiently. “Are you blind? The Borges are on their doorstep. The war has already begun. We can light a fire in the hearts of the OZM.”

Darius nodded. “We have the element of surprise. Already my men are positionin’ themselves ta disable the sweepers. I suggest gettin’ some rest. We will be moving at first light.” He turned and left, two OZM following.

“How cool would it be for the OZM to see me smash on the heads of the stupid Borges?” Anthony boasted.

Philip looked at him sideways. “Anthony, you’re not a little worried about the other SSI?”

“Of course not, why should I be?” he retorted, a little too defensively.

“What about you, Hayley? Any worries?”

She coughed and swished idly at the air with her knife. “I don’t like hotshots.”

“How come?”

“I just don’t like them, okay?” she snapped.

#

From the open flap in his tent, Raffick could see the first light of the new day. He rolled up the sheet of blockade schematics he had been poring over and took a moment to absorb the early morning. He had not slept all night, nor on the sweeper ride from Warden Tan’s compound.

Why am I here, merely as security, when I could be out there? I am a hunter, not a doorman. Raffick touched the scar on his face in with a gloved hand. That damn kid.

His legs were cramped from sitting at his desk all night so he stepped outside to stretch. He peered up at the skydrones buzzing above him. They really were fantastic pieces of technology, as commonplace as a comlink, yet so highly telling of the Borges ability.

“Ah, another early riser.”

Raffick saluted the man walking towards him. He was wearing armor similarly designed to Raffick’s, but with gilded edges and four stars on his right breast. A visored military cap sat atop brushed grey hair and a gold cape hung from his shoulders and lightly brushed the ground.

“General Collier. Good morning sir.”

“At ease, officer. What caused you to wake so early?”

“It is more what caused me to not sleep all night.”

“I know how you feel. When I was a soldier, I could not sleep the nights before battle. When I was an officer, I slept like a baby. Now as a general, I again cannot sleep the nights before battle.”

General Collier soberly watched a skydrone burble along its patrol route.

“You came here highly recommended by Warden Tan.”

Raffick snorted. “Warden Tan hates every fiber of my being and this assignment is mockery. Security is beneath me.”

General Collier’s eyes narrowed. “The politics behind the move are known to me and yet…I do not care. All I require is that you do your job and do it well,” he said with a tone that could cut through steel. The gold cape swirled about him as he turned away.

Raffick stood at attention until General Collier rounded a corner, then grimaced in frustration. Everyone knew he had failed three missions in a row, so no officer would take him seriously even if he outranked them. And what if soldiers doubt my lead?

Raffick rubbed his face and watched the skydrone hover above. He almost envied it: it never had to deal with any rejection, humiliation, or drama. How simple life would be. But I am no drone…am I? How could he redeem himself in the wake of his failure? He stared out of the good side of his visor as he wandered in thought, watching a pair of hotshots walk past some PSOs.

“Out of the way, chumps,” the orange-clad soldiers sneered as they shouldered past the PSOs roughly.

“Damn hotshots,” grumbled the PSO to his partner after the soldiers left, “they think they’re so tough because of their firetorches. Definitely something off about ’em.”

“It doesn’t matter if they’re the Borges Black’s asylum test subjects, or the Project Warcry washouts. Both kinds are dodgy,” said his partner.

“Yea, you gotta be a bit touched in the head to walk around with that bomb on your back and fire in your hands. Take away that weapon and whadda they got though?”

“Genetically-enhanced super-strength and criminally-insane minds with a penchant for ultraviolence?” offered the other helpfully, “Ow!” she winced, smacked on the head, “I’m just sayin’.”

Idiots. Still frowning, Raffick turned his attention back to the puttering skydrones. There was a quiet zing and the one immediately above him sparked electrically and came to a stuttered crash at his feet. It let out a pitiful whine, a bullet embedded in its mechanical red eye. Curious more than anything, Raffick bent down, turned the skydrone over in his hands, and dug the round out with his fingers—a slight zap of static. Electric bore, he thought. The shot came from the treeline so it could not be the defenders at Free Crossing; the specialized bullets meant it was not the Tzolkhan. The OZM? They would be fools to launch an attack on such a fortified position. He watched the other skydrones beeline towards the origin of the bullet in standard recovery procedure. The two PSOs who were nearby sleepily watched the skydrones break patrol route. They woke up when they saw the skydrones explode.

The scarred side of Raffick’s face twitched involuntarily. He opened the chamber on his revolver and spun it, feeling the adrenaline rush as the attack alarm sounded throughout camp. They were all awake now—PSOs pulled on their boots, Spectre Men checked their weapons. Raffick could hear stalkers booting up and could see sweeper pilots throwing on their coats and lining up. He was about to snap some orders to the Public Safety Officers rushing by and was surprised when instead they gave an order to him.

“General says to march on the treeline,” one barked, “OZM are reportedly dug in. We’ve got hotshots though; ain’t nobody going to hide in there for long. ”

Raffick scowled, but went back to his tent to grab his railgun and some array clips, stepping forward before a heavy hand stopped him.

“Not you, scarface,” said a Spectre Man clad in dark green, “You’re on guard duty. Head of Management Affairs, eh boyo?” Raffick could hear his grin underneath his visor as he stepped past him. “The Wolf.”

Gritting his teeth, Raffick stood at his post and watched the camp move without him. Do your job and do it well. General Collier’s voice echoed in his head. Angrily, he kicked at the dirt. He stared down at the scuff on his black boot and moved apologetically to clean it.

“No one around but you little bastards, huh?” he spoke aloud to the scanner skydrones. They didn’t answer.

“I am,” a silky voice droned from the darkness.

“I am not talking to you.” Raffick loaded and primed his railgun.

“Moving to the front are we? Disobeying direct orders?”

“You going to rat on me, Deadman? Are we going to have a disagreement?”

“Not now. On the contrary, I highly encourage you to partake in this battle. It will be amusing. Though I must say—I cannot be sure you will come to a good end.”

Raffick snorted. As he stood up, he watched four squads march towards the forest, led by Spectre Men, stalkers, and hotshots. The stalkers discharged cans of quicksmoke so the OZM would have no line of sight; hotshots blazed the way with their firetorches.

Not bad, Raffick thought, this should end quickly.

A huge shadow loomed in the fire and smoke. It towered over the stalkers, a muscular equine frame and horned head horrendously outlined in some apocalyptic tale. There was a lion-like roar and the figure reared up on two hind legs.

Raffick flicked the safety off his railgun. “It’s the boy!” he shouted, “It’s the invoker!” He ran towards the edge of camp. He watched as the colossus charged straight through two of the squadrons, scattering the soldiers like leaves in a storm. It was plated in some sort of chitinous armor and had gigantic pincers as arms, the beast a chimeric mix between a praying mantis and a cobra. Pulse rifle fire pinged harmlessly off it. Where do these kids get these ideas? He charged his railgun and put it to his shoulder.

#

Philip placed his hand on Anthony’s shoulder.

“How you holding up?”

“Very tired. I can barely see what I’m doing because of the smoke. It’s very draining, but I can do it.”

He wiped sweat away from his forehead, a vein pulsing above his left eye. The colossus swung a giant arm and sent a stalker crashing to the ground.

“I hope so.”

“I hope so, too.” Darius said, “Spectre Men primin’ railguns at our eleven an’ one. Luckily the smoke hides us as well as them.”

“Yea, except we don’t want that, do we?” Hayley loosed an arrow, taking out a skydrone that had foolishly bumbled through the smoke into range. A blast of purple lightning crackled and glanced off of the colossus’ shoulder. Spurts of fire could be seen and bursts of gunfire heard. The air burned sulphuric. “We are the diversion, remember? We want them to see us.”

“Well then, let them.” Anthony waved with his arms and his beast let out a lion’s roar. The curtain of smoke parted momentarily—enough for Anthony to see a Spectre Man suited in all black fire a beam of lightning straight at his colossus.

“Oh, oh, ow.”

“Anthony!” Hayley screamed, as the boy fell to the ground. The colossus bellowed in pain as multiple railgun beams struck it from different angles. She rushed forward, dove into a roll, popped up, and began cracking the heads of the advancing soldiers with her staff. Rifle fire splintered past but never touched her.

“Let’s go, idiots!” she screamed to Philip, her quarterstaff bouncing off a PSO’s head with a resounding crack. “They’re coming!”

“Yes ma’am,” Philip mumbled. He ran to where Anthony lay on the ground and grabbed him under the arms.

#

Raffick smirked as the colossus shriveled away, but grinned even wider when he saw the straw-jacketed girl fly out of the smoke to make Collier’s elite troops look like a bunch of punk flatfoots. Serves them right. He slung his railgun on his shoulder and set his visor to night-vision. Cracked as it was, the infrared intensifiers still worked and the image of a boy crouching over a collapsed figure came up through the smoke. Bingo. Raffick ran towards them, unholstering his revolver. He was the fastest draw of the Forest Zone Spectre Men—proven many a time—and his gun was up and aiming before the invoker or his spectacled friend could react.

The straw-jacketed girl, however, turned immediately, and her quarterstaff shot out of her hands like a snake-strike. It cracked Raffick on his wrist and he dropped his gun, his hand throbbing in pain. One of his fingers was dislocated. He grabbed the quarterstaff and tossed it aside. By then she had closed the distance, grabbing at his damaged wrist with two hands in order to throw him. Raffick squinted and she matched his gaze with sunken eagle eyes.

“Little girl,” he grunted. He reached around her waist with his free hand and counter-threw her. She landed lightly on three points a few feet away. He smiled. I like her. She fights fiercely and resourcefully; an honorable feat—few more years, and she will be a worthy opponent. He popped his finger back in its socket. “It is a shame I do not have time for this. I am only interested in the boy.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Anthony said, brushing back his hair in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“Anthony Mannis. It seems we are destined to be at odds,” Raffick growled, touching his scar with a gloved thumb.

Four more Spectre Men came running in with railguns and electric batons. Hayley narrowed her eyes—there was something familiar about the way they looked…

“You two, get the girl. You two, prepare your railguns for the smaller boy. He is an invoker.” Raffick ordered. None of the four men moved.

“You’re not our commanding officer, Raffick,” boomed the largest Spectre Man in a deep voice. It was the insolent dark green one from earlier. He was taller than Raffick, and broader as well. His face was hidden behind the intimidating helmet, but the grin could be heard. “We don’t take orders from you.”

Anthony whistled. “Dang Raffy, you gonna let them treat you like that? Ain’t you in charge here?”

“He is not, boy, but that is none of your concern,” said the big Spectre Man, “This should be, though.”

He stepped towards Anthony with a baton crackling electrically.

“No,” Anthony said, “this should be.”

A glowing green man-frog rose up between them and punched the big Spectre Man with an anvil-sized fist. There was a sound like an iron bar smashing a wooden board and the big Spectre Man went bowling backwards down a hill. There was a series of loud bangs and another Spectre Man went flying backwards. Raffick turned, cursing again. He had forgotten about the bookish-looking boy, who was currently holding a smoking revolver. The Spectre Man who had been shot staggered to his feet—the armor had saved his life—right before Anthony’s command knocked him down the hill as well. Raffick and the other two Spectre Men began firing their railguns at it, multi-colored sparks erupting past it. It disappeared croakily, Anthony’s minotaur taking its place. It blocked a baton strike from the nearest Spectre Man with a small glowing buckler, and struck back with the warclub in its other hand.

“Philip!” Hayley shouted, pointing at some armed PSOs that were charging towards them, “Hold them off.”

He nodded and aimed the gun at them, the soldiers ducking for cover as a shot from the revolver exploded the ground next to them.

Are these children mad, or just stupid? Raffick thought as he primed his railgun again, Thinking they can just waltz through a Borges battlefield and emerge unscathed.

His mind raced furiously as he tried to figure out their motive. They need to get to Free Crossing urgently and unnoticed, but are allowing themselves to become surrounded. They are no siege buster. Where is their backup? Are there even reinforcements for them?

“No OZM coming to your rescue this time, boy,” Raffick sneered at Anthony through his invocation. “What did you do to anger them?”

He jabbed at the beast with his electric baton and it roared in pain. He stepped back as it swung clumsily at him in retaliation.

“On the contrary, Raffick,” Anthony grinned tiredly, “we just got here early.”

“Unlikely.”

He watched the straw-jacketed girl deliver a flying knee to the chin of a grey-armored Spectre Man—the only unprotected part of his face. As she landed, she struck him in the throat with her thumb and forefinger, and he dropped to the ground, gagging. Fool, he thought.

“You are attempting to get to OZM territory, no?” Raffick questioned, deflecting another blow from the command, “Without the backup of the OZM forces in Oaktown… I do not know why.”

Two children, wearing undertaker black, stepped into the clearing. Both their faces were obscured by their helms: one was wearing a bulls-head, the other one with two large stag beetle antlers. Between them was a tall man whose white armor was gilded with gold, on his right breastplate were four stars. Raffick smiled at the sight.

“But I do know that you will not make it.”

The gold-armored man then spoke, his hands clasped behind his back. He had immaculate posture.

“Anthony Mannis, my name is General Collier. This is where your journey ends, invoker, for you and your friends. Officer Raffick has been lenient with you—and may I say, a misrepresentation of the Borges true military might.”

Anthony stared curiously at the two young boys across from him, a smirk barely hiding the intense internal dizziness and whelming fatigue.

“I suppose these are your special agents, like the Nosferat back at Oaktown? That worked out well for you.”

Collier laughed. “Comparably amateurs, poorly led. These…these are the elite. And you are tired. You think I cannot see it, but it is in your eyes. I did not spend twenty years training SSI to not know when an invoker was tired, boy.”

The ground underneath the bull-helmed boy cracked as he set his feet solidly in a summoning stance. A glowing red minotaur in plated armor and armed with a giant axe rose up in front of him—an evil version of Anthony’s brown and black minotaur—growing and growing until it was near the size of the Nightmare Munroe had summoned.

“Asterion, leader of the Tartarian.”

The boy with the stag beetle helm squatted to the dirt, slapped it with both hands, and raised his arms above his head with great effort, as if he were uprooting a tree stump. Hundreds upon hundreds of glowing carrion beetles wriggled out of the ground until the earth could not be seen.

“And Shino, leader of the Myrmidons.”

Raffick grinned wickedly and his scar crinkled horrendously underneath his cracked helm. Hayley involuntarily shivered.

“The Son of the Forest,” General Collier continued, “shall meet his doom.”