Ancient Astronauts

The Human Champion and the Ancient God

Hans kept his gaze on the road as the convoy headed for the Martin estate. Main street was a charnel house. Bodies lay piled upon each other in mixed heaps. From the side they looked like layers in the grand canyon, each one detailing the ebbs and flows of the battle. In the first layer, mainly soldiers, in the second kobolds, in the third soldiers, kobolds and civilians. The mass hysteria that drove the people from their homes toward the forest was written all over their ashen faces.

When they passed into the woods, he heard the 50 caliber turrets exploding in bursts every so often as something moved in the forest. Hans imagined they were only pasting forest life, but having seen the distances a kobold could leap, he didn't dare take the risk.

The Martin mansion stood silhouetted against one of Proxima-B's artificial moons, looking for all the world like a vampire castle. Hans grimaced. In a way, that's exactly what it was. James even had the denizens of hell to back his claim to that title.

The massive door stood ajar and silent as the trucks pulled up to the edges of the property. The door was framed by high stone pillars tapering to a point at the top. Two of the M4 main battle tanks rolled around to the back covering the rear exits. Another two guarded the road leading to the house. Soldiers poured from the backs of the armored personnel carriers and took positions using the vehicles as cover.

Hans waited only long enough to make sure his men were in position before waving to the Kentucky commandos to follow him, leaving Laptop and Lt. Smith to watch the exits. Every moment they waited more people died back in town. If Hans had known what secrets lay within those halls, he may never have gathered the courage to enter, and courage was never something he had in short supply.

Passing through the doors felt like crossing into an abyssal plain where evil lurks around every corner. Gargoyles bared their teeth at the entrance and eccentric paintings depicting suffering lined the red painted walls. Hans had seen all this on previous visits, but took it for what it was at the time, artwork. Now they seemed to whisper warnings about the dark soul that dwelt within.

They were not challenged at the door and Hans felt apprehension rising in his stomach. The idea that James wasn't even here burned in his chest. He sent the commandos ahead, clearing each room they passed through. The first evidence of life was the smell of burning tobacco.

Hans guessed it was coming from the parlor. James' favorite place to smoke and brood. The Kentucky commandos surged forward with practiced ease and ready weapons. The room was clear. What's more, the smell of cigar smoke was stale.

Just as they turned to leave, something caught Hans' eye. 

Grimly, Hans made his way over to the far corner and pushed the couch out of the way like it was a rotting log. Laying on the floor behind the couch, dark, curly hair cast across the floor, brown eyes fixed in wide eyed terror and surprise, lay Miriam Martin. The marks on her neck revealed that she'd been strangled to death.

Just beyond her outstretched hand lay a book. Hans peered at the cover; Les Miserables. Reverently, Hans reached out a hand and closed her eyes.

Scowling, he rose to his feet. One more life on a night of thousands claimed by the same sadistic man.

Hans followed his nose and found himself at the top of a flight of stairs leading downward. The warm glow of electric lights could be seen ominously flooding the bottom of the stairway in low light. What's more, the complex fragrance of cigar smoke was stronger here, though not fresh.

Far from narrow, the stairway fit three men abreast. Hans sent them down in pairs. He followed with his own rifle. They had blaster technology but they were still unreliable weapons, and most were being used in town. The barrels of their standard M16's were the first around the corner. The commandos spread out to the sides as Hans came through.