The Color of Steel

Part 1, Chapter 12

A few hours later, the group was creeping through the rocky crags just to the north of the village. Shadows dappled the terrain and made it even more treacherous than usual, despite the strange beauty of the moonlight refracted through the ever-present miasma. Not everyone was enjoying the view, however. Repeated inquiries to Suvorov over whether she could handle the terrain in her current state, especially after she stumbled and nearly slipped off of a twenty foot or so drop, had soured her mood worse than normal. This had nothing to do with the pain that her still-healing wounds were causing, of course, despite the side-eyed glances she got from most of the group whenever she needed to clear a particularly difficult rock. A detachment of Kodiak's troopers was following them as well; only two of the twelve wore masks, with the rest donning gear comparable to Siegfried's. Nobunaga had stayed behind to speak with Kodiak further, claiming that he was much more of a talker than a fighter.

"Let's stop here. The monster should be here in about ten minutes." Siegfried raised a hand with palm flat to indicate to anyone who'd missed her words. Suvorov herself cast an appraising glance around the area. It wasn't precisely her favored terrain, but it would do. It was just open enough for those with larger sets of weaponry like herself to move, while anything larger would need to contend with a variety of crags and crannies. It didn't offer the number of sightlines she would have liked, but it probably favored the rest of the group and their smaller-scale armament.

The soldiers with them wasted no time in fanning out, taking position atop rocks in a rough semi circle centered on a gap in the rock that led to a winding trail. Supposedly, the terrain was rougher in every other direction, so the critter would be on its way through here. Suvorov began to move to the front, deploying her rigging, but Targe cut in front of her with his own already prepared. The two shared a look, Suvorov's irritated gaze meeting Targe's concerned blue one. They both held in place for a moment, before Suvorov finally broke contact with an irritable "tch" and headed for higher ground.

I hate this nonsense. I'm a soldier, not a vase. Wounds had never slowed her down before, and she had no intention of letting them do so now. It wasn't worth the wasted energy to argue with the group, especially since they seemed hell-bent on putting her on a pedestal as far away from the action and reality as they could manage. Reluctantly, she took up a position behind a pair of soldiers, in a small dip surrounded by pillars of rock. The place looked a bit like a massive rocky hand clutching its three occupants as each one of them looked out from behind a different "finger."

The ensuing wait stretched out like all time seemed to before a battle. It simultaneously felt like it was rushing past and lasting for an eternity. Seven minutes later, a distant, almost pained-sounding groan sounded from a throat that was certainly not human or anything close to it. It sent a visible wave across the gathered fighters; machine guns spun up, bulky railguns were raised and primed, artillery swiveled and legs crouched. Another minute or so after that, the groaning noise sounded again, this time with the sound of definite footfalls following.

She hated to admit it, but she actually felt nervous. Dealing with beasts like these had never been part of her job; they were usually killed or frightened away from any potential battlefields between cities, and of course they never strayed into urban areas without meeting an end well before then. Presumably, a sufficient quantity of shellfire would end it just like it ended people in armor, but people in armor were far more predictable than wild, mutated animals.

Suvorov wasn't given a lot longer to worry. The creature slowly came into view; "hideous" was a descriptor she would apply to it. It looked like some bizarre kind of lizard, but with spindly legs that sat beneath its body, and forelimbs that wouldn't have been out of place in a horror movie. They were folded up to the monster's sides, narrow fingers terminating in sharp claws. Beady yellow eyes flitted about the clearing above an out-of-place looking beak; something seemed to have tipped it off, as it slowed and stopped its approach, making another one of those painful-sounding groans.