FIC: Alien End-Game (13/?)
Opaca marched back and forth, some instinct making his skin prickle uneasily. He was bathed in the shadows of once-towering buildings, now brought low by their gods' wrath. This was once a business centre for infidels, where they traded goods and services.
Now though, he looked around, ash still rising from the collapsed buildings, charred rubble lying everywhere, they lay as silent testimony to their gods' wrath. Finally the scourge of the Tau'ri had been laid low-.
He turned at the sound of low growling, eyes narrowing. Over the past few days, packs of scavenger dogs had become a problem. Freed from their dead owners, some had begun to attack passer-bys. It was part of their duty to hunt them down, and it was more than a little sport too.
But the snarling was louder than he was used to.
Opaca glanced over his shoulder to his fellow Jaffa. "You three, with me! You three, stay behind!"
They travelled through the rubble, the arid stench clogging in their throats. And then stopped when they were confronted by a quartet of black-furred monsters, the size of donkeys or ponies, but far more sleekly and powerfully muscled than either beast. Blazing red eyes glared fiercely at them, salvia dripping from their teeth as they growled their hate.
Gathering himself, he let out a yell. "Level your staff weapons! Fire!"
Energy coursed out of their weapons, many of their shots hitting the charging beasts. Smoke wafted up from the beasts' hides, but they still galloped on, undeterred by their attack, and then the beasts were leaping at them, fangs bared.
Lancelot waited until the four Jaffa had strode off, rising out of the pile of rubble he'd hidden behind. He looked towards his three fellow Round Table knights, Sir Bedivere, Sir Tor, Sir Caradoc. "It is time to send these devils to god's judgement."
The four of them crept towards the remaining Jaffas, keeping to the shadows, careful to give them no warning of their approach. Eventually they turned the corner, the trio of aliens spinning to face them.
Lancelot sprang forward as the three Jaffa spun to face them, buckler crashing into the nearest alien's face. Lancelot bared his teeth as the man stumbled backwards, to show weakness against him was to welcome death. His sword flashed out, taking the man's head from his shoulders, blood foutaining out as his corpse slumped against the wall and slid down to the ground. Lancelot looked around, relaxing as he saw his fellow knights had dealt with the other transgressors.
Lancelot stared balefully at the four Barghest, unfazed by their snarling and hate-filled glares. "Come," he crouched and wiped his sword off on one of the corpses' capes. "There are more Jaffa to send to judgement."
"For England and Arthur!" Roger gasped at the power in Galahad's shout even as the knight lunged forward, attacking the guards at the front of what had once been Wembley, but now served as a prison for any and all military personnel rounded up by the aliens.
Tristam, Lucan, and Kay were with their brother knight, the chain-mailed warriors thudding into the Jaffa as they attempted to bring their weapons to bear. Galahad ducked under a swung staff, sword flashing up to rip through the alien's warrior's throat. Even as blood spurted out, Galahad was ripping his sword out, flesh giving way before cold steel, the warrior moving on like quicksilver. A foot swung up, catching a Jaffa in the gut, doubling him up, his blade slicing down and through the back of the alien's neck. Before the head or body hit the ground, Galahad was moving onto the next. The Jaffa gasped when the knight's blade sliced through the end of his staff. Before the alien could react the pommel of Galahad's sword was shattering his nose, the man's head banging off the wall behind and then Galahad was slamming his shoulder in the man's chest, his blade thrusting up and through the man's stomach.
Roger shuddered, he'd seen Slayers up close, had served as one's Watcher for three years in the sixties, and had seen more than one vampire, but to see the legends of one's childhood in visceral, brutal action was something else entirely.
"Come, Sir. Roger," Roger blinked, it appeared he'd been knighted, he'd missed the ceremony though. Galahad smiled. "Let us free our country-men, and build an army with which to smite these godless creatures!"
"Yes," Roger stared uncertainly at the chain-mailed warrior, "couldn't agree more." He only wondered what the lads from Hereford would make of all this.
Bloody hell, if they disagreed, Roger shuddered, he might ask a Goa'uld for a passage out of here.
"This is the palace of the queen?" growled Arthur.
"It is," Bond paused, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. "Well it was."
The Victoria Memorial before it was completely obliterated while the left side of the building was caved in, and the right charred by the heat from an explosion. London's most famous landmark was no more.
Yet even worse than the destruction was the Jaffa patrolling the rubble around it, watchful eyes ready to cow or kill any resistance.
"Then royal blood calls for blood." For once in his life Bond felt cold terror as the Once and Future King drew his blade. "We shall make a river to drown them in."
"Um," Bond felt moved to comment. "Not to be a stick in the mud about this, but there's only the three of us," he glanced at Frank Martin. "There must be close to fifty of them."
The legendary king chuckled lowly, his eyes fixed on the Jaffa. "Did I ever say we were but three?" Bond groaned as the king rose fearlessly, every Jaffa spinning towards them. "Wild Hunt, I summons you!"
Bond shivered as an ice-cold wind swept over them, blowing ash and dust into his face so that for a second he couldn't see or hear anything. When his senses returned, his heart skipped a beat as he heard the crashing of a thousand hooves thudding into the ground, the earth trembling under the impact. "Good lord," he whispered. Giles had described them, but to actually see them for yourself was something terrifyingly different.
The horde of horse riders came from a dozen time periods in history, were of all sizes and ages, but all carried an unearthly grimness about them, a sort of glamour that made everything seem grey just by their presence. Their giant leader made Bond want to gibber and scream, his awesomely built body covered by a skin of chain-mail, his stag's head's mouth filled with wolf's teeth and his eyes burning with hell's fire.
"Bloody hell," Martin muttered. Bond glanced at the hardened veteran to find he was shivering slightly.
Only the king appeared unmoved. "No, I would not fight such numbers alone, not when I have dread allies to aid me."
"This is a place of history?"
Robson nodded at Gawain's whispered question. "Yes, the Imperial War Museum," he replied as he peered around the bushes to the side of the building. Intelligence told them that a number of minor Goa'uld had made their base there.
"A place of the history of war," rumbled Sir. Lamorak. "Most fitting that we slaughter our enemies here."
"Couldn't agree more," mumbled Robson. Bloody hell, but even the minor knights were petrifying.
"The guards approach," Gawain warned before silencing and sinking further into the bushes. The next seconds stretched to a seeming eternity as the Jaffa approached. The moment they were in range, Gawain leapt to his feet. "For god and Arthur!"
The lead Jaffa's eyes widened, his staff came up only for the weapon to be knocked away by Gawain's shield. Before the Jaffa could right himself, the knight's broadsword slashed diagonally up, taking the man's face off, spilling blood everywhere.
Another Jaffa stepped around the melee, hard eyes narrowing as he swung his staff around and aimed. And then a Slayer crashed a knee into his back, hands linking under his chin, and twisting, neck shattering with a blood-chilling crack.
Even as the Slayers charged into the battle, the two knights were tearing through the Jaffa, spilling blood with every swing. Soon the museum would be theirs, but a far greater battle was still to be won.
"This is a place of history is it not?"
The vast square was surrounded by a trio of now devastaingly silent paths on three sides, and the wide steps leading to the National Gallery on the other. Nelson's Column stood proudly in the centre, surrounded by the cracked remains of four huge bronze lions. The plinths at the corners of the square, now nothing but rubble.
Finally Giles nodded and looked up at his companion, Bran The Blessed. "It is, it was."
"Oh," Bran's smile was bone-chilling. "I think today is a day of history too. The day when dread legends returned and liberated fair England."
"One rather hopes so-."
"Are we going to get a move on or what?"
Giles sighed. It seemed that Kennedy's awe at meeting Arthur didn't stretch to Bran the Blessed.
Probably because her being an American precluded her knowing anything about him.
"Yes," growled Bran, huge sword rising, "after so many centuries I hunger for blood."
"Oh good lord," murmured Giles. Just what had Arthur launched on the devstated world?
Shannon watched silently as they approached their target, a great horror robbing the moment of any possible lustre. Even the presence of the legends she strode beside couldn't reassure her as she looked around the destroyed city, few of London's famed landmarks remained standing, an ash grey cloud hanging over the city, rubble crunching underfoot. Occasionally there'd be a shape in the shadows, but then its owner would scurry away. Smoke and fear combined to clog her throat as she thought of her hometown, would that be destroyed like London?
Suddenly Sir. Percivale and Finn MacCool came to a halt, dropping into crouches she and the two knights behind her duplicated, hiding behind a burnt-out saloon. The moment the first of three Jaffa passed in front of them, MacCool was up, teeth bared as he bellowed a hoarsely-delivered Gallic war-cry.
His sword was ripping through the nearest Jaffa's throat as the other two began to turn. The powerfully-built Irishman charged around the back of the falling corpse to thrust his blade up and through the second Jaffa's stomach, blood gushing out. At the same Percivale attacked the third, twisting away from a staff blast that Shannon also had to jump out of the way of, the blast scorching the car door she'd been crouched beside, before elbowing the alien in the face.
The alien stumbled backwards, pain in his eyes, and blood gushing down his face. Before he could right himself, Percivale's back-handed swing was separating head from shoulders.
"Let us find more of these insects to stamp," muttered Finn, eyes spitting fire.
Lara gasped as she raced through Westminster's creepily deserted streets, the pursuing quintet's feet padding on the cracked pavement, apparently effortlessly closing the distance between them and her. And then Corin slid out of his hiding place behind a paint-scorched postbox, his blade singing as it slashed through the lead alien's throat, blood geysering out.
Even as the corpse fell, Corin was moving on, contemptously batting aside the plunging carcass to thrust his shield into another Jaffa's face, the collision's impact knocking the alien onto the hood of a parked car, staff falling from his hands. The Cornish warrior began to twist at the waist towards the downed warrior only to twist back to meet another Jaffa, parrying his staff swing on his buckler before delivering a kick to the stomach that knocked the Jaffa into some steel railings. Mouth twisted in a grimace, the Jaffa swung his staff at Corin as the warrior raced in, ducking under the blow before thrusting his sword through the alien's face.
Sir. Bors added to the confusion by launching his attack from the behind, sword thrusting into the small of the back of the last Jaffa, cutting his legs from him. The knight yanked his sword out in time to decapitate another alien before it had chance to turn.
"Watch out!" Lara fired two shots as the Jaffa Corin had knocked down rose and swung his staff up at Bors, her shots blowing the back of the alien's head off.
"I am indebted Lady Croft," Bors bowed slightly at the waist. "But perhaps we should move on?"
"Yes," Lara seathed her automatic, "we should."
After all, they had a city to liberate and a war to win.