The new place was quiet. Desolate. Still. Rubble lined the ground as far as Morga's eyes could see. There was nothing there. No people. No buildings. Not even a tree. While empty, it wasn't hard to believe that this was the Heart of Darkness's last known location. It felt like the last known location of many things. And people.
Her grip tightened around Carnage. What had she got herself into? Had she just escaped a fight that she could almost definitely win for an unknown danger?
Morga took a deep breath, both trying to calm herself and to catch any scents that might be floating on the breeze. The air was heavy with dust, its grit had coated her tongue already. But there were smells. Aromas of fights already fought. Blood. Sweat. Panic. But those smells were old; ghosts of terror. Echoes of violence.
She looked at Scratch and the little grunt wore an expression that told her that a joke had died on his lips; he could sense there was something wrong about this place too. Morga hadn't known him long, but she could already read him like a book. One with big writing and bold colourful pictures.
"Where are we?" He repeated. It was all he'd said since they'd got there, and it was a question Morga struggled to answer. "What's your best guess?" he added for a bit of variety.
Oddly, the bonus question seemed to kick her brain into gear.
Once again, it was time to think like the great detective, Hector Cluescavenger.
Without even realising that she'd liberated a snack from her pocket, Morga popped a couple of jellybeans into her mouth.
There were no people. No-one to ask.
There were no landmarks. Nothing to look up on a map. Not that she had a map.
That led Morga to conclude one thing.
"Nowhere," she said, sharing her discovery. "We're nowhere."
Those words felt bleak, and they suited this new place remarkably well.
"That's a tad dramatic," Scratch said as he looked around. "Although I can't say I'm going to argue too much. How can a place be so empty?" The little green grunt kicked at a pebble-sized piece of rubble. "Okay, here's a new question. If you can answer it, I'll give you a banana split..."
"Don't you already owe me a lifetime's worth of banana splits cos I got us safely out of the tavern?"
"Things said in the moments of certain doom shouldn't be taken seriously," Scratch said, taking a step away from the orc lest she try to smite him. "Besides, you may have got us out of the tavern and away from the police, but I wouldn't say we were anywhere safe."
"What are you talking about? There's nothing here. Where's the danger?" she replied, even though she'd felt that danger too. She knew it was there. They may not be able to see it, but there was something here.
"Look, I'm glad you're a very brave orc, but I'm a grunt and I'm scared shitless - which is lucky for you. Otherwise things could get messy. And I can sense there's danger here. I reckon you can too. I hope you've got a plan to get us... to somewhere... anywhere. Anywhere that isn't nowhere."
Trying to appear nonchalant, Morga studied Carnage while he remained in his dormant state.
"I'm working on it," she said, "but we're here for a reason. My quest brought me here. As soon as that's complete, I can get on and do what I wanna do with my life."
"Ah, yes. The quest. Why did you need me for that again?" Scratch asked.
"I don't have the details. All I know is that you need to come with me."
"Sounds ominous," Scratch muttered, but he made no moves to make an escape.
Chances were that he probably had intended to pick a random direction and run in it (after all, in a land of nothing but rubble, one direction was very much the same as another), but before he could even put one foot in front of the other, something about the place changed.
Morga felt something in her gut that felt very much like led. Sometimes such a feeling was a result of a heavy meal, but this wasn't one of those times. Not only had she not eaten anything substantial for about a day, but there were other things at play. The air felt charged.
And the ground had started to shake.
*****
"That can't be good,” Scratch said. "What do you think? Earthquake? I've read about those.”
"What are they?” the orc asked.
"Umm... I'm not completely sure. But from what I understand, it's when the ground gets angry and throws a tantrum.”
"Doesn't sound so bad.”
"Imagine the biggest troll you've ever met. Now imagine they've got a really shitty attitude.”
"Got it.”
"And then imagine that they're ten times the height you initially imagined.”
"Oh...”
"And then imagine that bad attitude has been made worse because you just insulted their haircut.”
"I see... So, we're in for chaos and destruction then?”
"You can count on it,” Scratch answered.
"So what are we meant to do?” Morga asked. "If there was such a troll, I'd let the Rage take a lead and do my best to deal with it. How to we deal with this... this...”
"Earthquake?”
"Yeah, that.”
"I think I read that we need to find some kind of secure shelter.”
They both looked around at the vast offering of absolutely nothing.
"What's plan B?”
The rumbling became more forceful, and Scratch could feel it in his chest, like it was bouncing his heart off his ribcage. All he wanted to do was run. Run as fast as his little legs would carry him. But where would he go? There was no place to hide. No help. No hope. There was just nothing as far as the eye could see.
Or was there?
The rumbling and shaking intensified, and stole Scratch's legs from underneath him. He landed with a thud, the impact knocking the wind out of his lungs and bruising his arse. His eyes watered, but he was sure he could see a cloud of black on the horizon.
A dark, ominous cloud of black.
'Ominous again,' he thought. 'At least this place is consistent.'
Out loud, he said, "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?”
Following Scratch's outstretched finger, Morga looked out at the horizon.
"Oh shit,” she said, her voice carrying an edge Scratch hadn't heard before. It sounded like concern. Or worry. Or perhaps even panic. "Carnage! Time to wake up!”
Once again, Scratch wished he could run away.
"What is it?” Scratch asked.
Morga muttered something in orcish, it was no more than a couple of syllables, but the words felt impossible for Scratch to form with his tongue.
"What does that mean?” he asked, even though the orc's scowl told him almost everything he needed to know.
"It means that the agents of death are upon us, and Mortvell's horsemen are here to chase us to our deaths. It means the end is extremely fuckin' nigh.”
"All that in a couple of sounds?”
"Yes, orcish is nothing if not to the point. We're very economic with our words. Why waste time saying a whole bunch of stuff when a couple of sounds does the job just as well?”
Scratch had to admit that she had a point.
"So... you mentioned about Mortvell's horsemen?”
"It's a figure of speech,” Morga said, and Scratch felt a twinge of relief. "There are no men. There's not even horses. Those things on the horizon? Those are unicorns.”
The twinge of relief buggered off.
Scratch had heard the stories of such beasts. Of course he had. Those stories were famous across Venari for their violence and depravity. Unicorns were monsters to be feared in a world full of monsters. They were untameable. Unable to be reasoned with. They lived for violence.
That bit of relief Scratch had felt ran away faster than it had arrived. They were well and truly screwed.
While Scratch contemplated their imminent demise, Morga raised her weapon into the air and Carnage transformed from hammer to mutant killing machine. Scratch could only hope that it would be enough. There was no way they'd be able to defeat the unicorns, but a bitey hammer thing might buy them enough time to make a hasty exit.
"You ready, little guy?” Morga asked. Was it his imagination, or was she starting to warm to him?
He wasn't ready at all. He'd never be ready for this. But the pounding hooves were getting closer, and there was no choice but to meet them. Scratch shrugged, "I'm ready as I'll ever be.”
When death is on your doorstep, you may as well put on a brave face. It won't change the outcome, but it'll make you feel a little better.
With that in mind, Scratch picked up a jagged rock from the ground. It wasn't much of a weapon, but at least it was something. He stood in front of Hector's barrel, as if to protect the skeleton.
The unicorns galloped ever closer.
Their stomping hooves were joined by other sounds. Otherworldly moans and high pitched screeches. In some stories, those sounds alone were enough to drive people to their deaths. Scratch could understand why: he already felt hopeless. Giving up seemed like a sensible option. After all, what was the point? It would be so much easier to succumb to whatever was on the horizon. Sure, it would hurt, but it would be over in no time.
Scratch was about to voice such thoughts when something wet landed on his head. Looking up, he saw that Carnage was drooling.
"Ugh, thanks, buddy,” he muttered, but the gloopy saliva gave him an idea. Could he summon his powers? They kicked in when he was in danger last time. Could it happen again?
Not knowing how to trigger it, Scratch thought scared thoughts. Given the circumstances, this was incredibly easy to do.
*****
Eager for what was to come, Carnage growled in her hand. Morga wondered if the hammer had any idea of what it was about to face. While it was a force to be reckoned with, was it any kind of a match against a herd of unicorns? Was anything?
They had to try; there was no other choice.
Ethereal moans toyed with Morga's emotions. She screamed and bellowed in response, trying to drown them out. It was one thing to lose a physical fight, it was another to lose her life due to this trickery. There was no way she was going to make this an easy job for her enemies; that just wasn't the orcish way.
Distinct shapes began to form on the horizon. There was no mistaking their foes now. Clearly defined monsters charged in their direction. Morga could see the reds of their eyes.
They promised violence.
But that was okay... Morga promised Rage and Carnage in return.
The orc let a war cry loose and hoped Scratch would be able to keep out of harm's way for as long as possible.
The unicorns were upon them now. Their stench threatened to overpower Morga's senses. Their black coats seemed to swallow light and sound.
There was nothing but the fight now.
Nothing but violence.
Battle commenced.
*****
At first, it was hard to differentiate from the rest of his trembling body, but something danced at the bottom of Scratch's spine. Not daring to hope, he had to admit it felt a lot like when he'd used his powers in the cellar (that was, of course, assuming that powers were what this thing was).
Pressure built behind his eyes. It pushed against his skin. Squeezed his heart. In the cellar, he'd imagined his body exploding, but somehow this was worse. This time, it felt like it was actually happening. He supposed it was one way to escape death by unicorn, but he had to admit that it wouldn't have been his first choice.
Pain ravaged Scratch's little body. Was this really the price of his power? A wave of agony dropped him to his knees.
Around them, the unicorns circled. The thick musk of their body odour coating Scratch's nose and tongue, choking him. The creatures whinnied and groaned as they moved. Taking their time, they paced and paced, their red eyes never leaving Scratch, Morga, and the barrel that stood between them. It wasn't that the unicorns were nervous about making a move, it was that they were toying with their prey. This was a game to them.
Still holding the rock he'd acquired a few moments ago, Scratch got his feet. One of the unicorns huffed at him, as if laughing at his pitiful excuse for a weapon. Scratch wanted nothing more than to throw that rock right at the creature's eye, but doing so would break the spell. At the moment, the beasts were not attacking. The longer that lasted, the better.
Another wave of pain wreaked havoc with Scratch's insides. Something in his gut squeezed and contracted, moving in ways it was never supposed to. It twisted and contorted, collapsed and then expanded. Wave after wave shook his insides. Something that sounded like liquid sloshed around, as if looking for a way out. Sweat broke around across Scratch's skin, soaking his fur and hindering his grip on the rock. Beside him, a unicorn - possibly the same one as before - huffed a laugh. They were enjoying this, the sick bastards.
"Keep it together," he heard Morga say. "It'll soon be time to move." Her voice was hollow and distant. For all the help and comfort she was, she may have been in another circle of Venari.
A few of the unicorns were laughing now. Their laughter reminded Scratch of that of goblins. There was no joy there, just malice. Or, if there was joy, it came from the delight in seeing someone else suffer. Goblins were a twisted lot, but compared to unicorns, they looked like nuns.
While agony tortured his insides, the laughter messed with his head. It echoed around in there, taunting him. Trying to summon his courage and determination, Scratch growled, and once again tightened his grip on the rock. One of the unicorns spotted his actions and made a questioning sound, but there was no fear in the noise. The unicorns were comfortable in their abilities. They knew this was a fight they would win.
Scratch knew it too, but he still threw that rock. At the last moment, it slipped in his hand. Cursing his own sweat, Scratch watched as the rock dropped harmlessly to the ground next one of the beast's feet.
Again, unicorn laughter mocked him. They bared their sharp teeth and waggled their long, obscene tongues.
Inside him, a pain like a knife stab bent Scratch double. Tears welled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Scratch had never been what anyone would describe as a brave person, but this felt like the perfect moment to give that bravery thing a go. Besides, if he cried, he would amuse the unicorns, and he didn't want to give them any more satisfaction.
Gritting his teeth as another blast of agony attacked him, Scratch held back a scream.
As if sensing his weakness, one of the unicorns took this as a sign to start. The time for play was over.
The unicorn broke out of the circle and charged at Scratch. Before either he or the orc could react, the creature bit him with its unnaturally sharp serrated teeth, breaking his skin. A shock of crimson splattered against as green matted fur.
Something inside him tingled again.
Strength filled his muscles and Scratch stood up straight.
*****
As soon as the first unicorn broke out of formation, chaos ensued. Morga punched, bit, and swung Carnage at their attackers.
To his credit, the hammer used his own teeth to tear into unicorn flesh at every opportunity. While this did seem to piss the beasts off, it didn't stop them.
In turn, Carnage treated this as a challenge.
The mutant hammer struggled in Morga's strong grip.
"Okay," she said, while jumping out of the way of a set of unicorn teeth that had got far too close for comfort. "You'd best stick around if I let go."
Carnage didn't reply, and Morga had to wonder if what had happened back at the tavern was just a fluke.
She let go of the hammer and continued to fight the unicorns with her bare hands.
Before he dropped to the ground, Carnage sprouted legs, which he used to launch himself at his target. He leapt upon one of the unicorns with the same ferocity that he'd attacked the gnomish knight. The hammer didn't care that his opponent was apparently unbeatable; all he wanted to do was revel in the fact that blood was being spilt.
Unicorn and mutant hammer went head to head. While Carnage found plenty of meat to dig his teeth into, the unicorn struggled. Its yells of frustration echoed around the empty plain, meeting the ears of no-one who wasn't already engaged in combat.
Carnage took another bite. And another. He bit, clawed and scratched until raw muscle and bone were exposed to the air.
Through her red mist, Morga took a moment to shout some words of encouragement.
The unicorn may have been missing huge chunks of its body, but it still fought, showing not even the slightest sign of discomfort. It swatted at Carnage with its hooves, before kicking at him with a hind leg. How was anyone supposed to beat a foe who didn't care when they were being eaten alive?
Unable to answer that question, Morga continued to fight.
And then it happened. Scratch sneezed.
*****
A monumental amount of lime green snot erupted out of the grunt's nose, and shot into the air like water bursting out of a toxic geyser. Mucus reached into the grey, yet cloudless sky, before raining down upon the fighters below.
Now the pressure was released, Scratch felt like he could breathe again. With his trust in whatever powers his snot possessed, he allowed himself a moment to take two deep calming breaths.
Everything was going to be alright.
Everything was going to be fine.
Everything was going to be like last time.
It would be just like the cellar - everyone would calm the fuck down and Scratch would come out of it all unscathed.
"I say," a somewhat familiar voice said. "We do appear to be in a bit of a pickle."
Dread - heavy and dense like a lump of lead - sat in Scratch's stomach.
Everything was going to be like last time.
"You can still fight, right?" Scratch asked the hammer.
Carnage, covered from top to bottom in blood, was now stood next to the unicorn he'd been battling with. Confusion had its grip on both parties.
"Fight? I do believe this can be resolved with a chat and a cup of tea." Carnage turned to the still-bleeding unicorn. "I don't suppose you have a kettle around here, do you?"
"No tea, Carnage," Morga said.
'Finally,' thought Scratch, 'a voice of reason.'
But, to his dismay, the orc appeared to have lost all her fighting spirit. The Rage - that terrifying, yet incredibly necessary at that moment Rage - was gone.
It was just like last time. Fuck.
Still, at least the unicorns had calmed down too. If there was no-one to fight, Scratch supposed he didn't really need a Rage-filled orc and a homicidal hammer.
He allowed himself to calm a little, and started to wonder where tea could be found in a place of nothing like this.
Behind him, a unicorn whinnied. This wasn't an 'ooh, I can't wait to have a tea party' noise, more of a 'hey, I'm not done fucking things up' kind of noise.
Scratch turned around. Slowly. Scared of what he might see. Time slowed, as if every moment was wading through waist-deep sludge.
The snot had not reached everyone. One unicorn remained and, from the look on its face, it had enough anger and hatred to compensate for its entire herd (and probably several others).
The unicorn reared up and - had the sun been shining - it would have blocked it out. Scratch did what anyone else would have done in that situation: he tried to summon some snot.
Apparently, his powers did not work that way. There was no tingling and no pain. Never had Scratch been so disappointed not to be in pain.
“Morga... Carnage,” he said, his voice raising a few octaves. “We have a bit of a problem.”
“If you mean there's no tea, then I have to agree,” Carnage replied.
And Morga laughed.
She laughed.
They were on a battlefield and the orc was laughing at a joke about tea. What was the world coming to? Neither of his companions seemed likely to rejoin the fight, and there was nowhere for the little grunt to run.
There was only one thing for it: he'd have to fight. It was fight or die. Maybe both.
Scratch picked up another rock and threw it at the braying unicorn.
Against all odds, it hit the creature right between the eyes. For a moment, elation and triumph filled Scratch's heart. But that didn't last long. He may have managed a direct hit, but the unicorn didn't go down. It remained where it stood. Defiant, angry, and probably a little insulted at Scratch's attempt at an attack.
Fear danced in Scratch's belly before trying to escape. He gulped it back down. It tasted like bile and desperation.
Keeping his eye on his opponent, Scratch bent down and picked up another rock. This one had a deadly sharp edge. Now all Scratch had to do was get close enough to use it.
Getting close was easy. Staying alive was the tricky part.
Almost lost against the creature's obsidian coat, a trickle of blood - a red so dark it may as well have been black - dribbled down the unicorn's long face before splashing against the ground. Scratch would need to spill far more than that before the day was done.
Hopeful, he looked to his companions. Neither orc nor hammer seemed inclined to do a thing about the threat. He called their names, but they looked at him perplexed.
"Sod it," Scratch said, before lifting his weapon and running full pelt at the unicorn. He knew such an action was tantamount to suicide, but what choice was there?
Then, there was hope.
A tingle in his gut.
Could his magic snot arrive in time to save his skin?
“Please,” Scratch begged through gritted teeth, not caring which god heard his plea. He’d worry about if it was going of the ‘bad’ ones if he managed to survive.
The little grunt collided with the unicorn and, to Scratch, it felt like crashing into the wall of a tavern. The creature didn’t move an inch, but Scratch could already feel a sizable bruise forming on his shoulder. Ignoring the ache, he reached up with his weapon and plunged the pointy end into the beast’s flank. To Scratch’s surprise, it cut with ease.
The unicorn reared once more, spraying blood across its attacker. As it moaned in pain and anger, Scratch scuttled backwards, wanting to be as far away as possible from those hooves before they crashed back down to earth.
In the blink of an eye, the unicorn was back in the fight, charging towards its opponent. Filled with confidence and knowing he could cause a bit of damage now, Scratch raced back to meet the unicorn.
He raised his stone.
The unicorn bent its head.
Blood pooled below them. Flesh tore. Muscle ripped. Internal organs were pierced and shifted from their usual places. They were shredded and butchered.
Knees weak, Scratch wanted to collapse onto the ground, but something held him aloft. Impaled by the unicorn’s horn, Scratch stood, unable to run. Unable to rest.
The unicorn and the world faded from view. All that was left was the searing pain of a corkscrew horn through Scratch’s torso.
