Vesuvius' Rise

Vesuvius’ Rise

Book 3 of War of the Zealot Empire

Characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictional and based on fictitious ideas.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

All rights reserved, including rights to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

©2014 Andrew Gray & Christian Clason

ISBN: 978-1-312-28240-7

Chapter 1 ~ Death on the Battlefield

The forest was full of zealots and Medelthians alike. The surge of bodies fighting filled the land with desolation and panic. Humans fell, soldiers and innocents alike, as the zealots befell upon their homes, their villages, their lands.

Eric’s legion was hot in battle, facing death head on and crying out in vengeance for those who fell. The reasoning for blood was long since lost in this treacherous war. It had gone on for millennia before he fell amidst the fighting, but it had been eleven or so long and agonizing years for him. Every year passed with aching lack of gratitude or sanity.

The fighting started out with so much potential and with justice in mind. But, now there was so much blood that he did not know where he stood anymore. Nobody seemed to know that anymore. Whether they were the good fighting the bad, the evil fighting the heroes, or just a planet falling apart.

These aliens were fierce fighters and they were merciless. They burned the villages, slaughtered women, men and children alike. They took to destroying resources, all for the sake of drowning out life on this planet.

The aliens had no sake anymore either. There was nothing leading them towards a goal. At least, not since the fall of their Prophet, a creature that had forced them to kill their own kind and build a male oriented society where there were very few women and they depended on cloning vats for the survival of their race. And in the eyes of the humans, good riddance if the race did fall.

Zealot venom assault fighters streaked overhead, and bombed an enemy turret position, blasting the concrete bunker to bits. Below, on the ground, a hopeful and ex general Telemechus was leading his forces against the tenacious, and better trained Honor Guard. The moment that Telemechus shipped his soldiers off to war, it had been six months of straight losses against the Honor Guard. The battlefield was a trashed mud pit of twisted metal debris, chunks of concrete, trenches, barbed wire, and splintered trees.

The fighters made another pass around, zipping over a Grand Army tank and busting through a line of Honor Guard Walkers. Directly below the fighters, was Telemechus, right beside the tank that was hammering lines of Honor Guard infantry. He had his squad lined up, his armor muddy, covered in scorches, dents, dings, and scratches. The whole killing field was muddy.

Every man on every side fought like ten men. The chaos that filled the land was like a disease that plagued the minds of the fighters and the body and soul of every creature that existed here. Life in Medelthia was becoming a pothole of disgusting filth that swarmed the hearth with nothing but dark thoughts.

Even the innocence of a child was lost to memories long gone. Children became men in a blink of an eye and were fighters before they could properly take care of themselves. And with that, they fell beside their fathers and grandfathers, long before their own chance to create a legacy and long before they could make any difference in this lifetime.

Eric was at the far end of the battlefield, with the Medelthian rebels on his right, and Eldrac’s Clan on his left in full force, holding back the tide of shiny black armored Honor Guard. Eric was also a muddy mess, and his armor spattered in blood that belonged to him, and did not belong so, his face was smudged in charcoal streaks, and mud. He had been on the front lines for weeks. All he wanted was to get home, and continue to be with the children. He had had enough of violently torn corpses, and angry artillery exploding the earth around him. He had a family to go home to, and a mate to care for. This was the worst this war had been. There were multiple factions vying for control of the mainland, despite the rebels being allied with what was left of the Grand Zealot Army, it was still a very difficult fight.

Vesuvius alone had pushed back all three forces and pushed all armies to the western side of the mainland. He was a vicious opponent, ruthless, and without a hint of compassion. The Honor Guard were better trained, disciplined, and commanded. Despite their lower numbers than the Grand Army, a single honor trooper fought with the strength of ten Zealot Grand Army troopers.

Cyrus, one of the members of Telemechus’ squad, fired his sniper rifle, clocking a guardsman from several yards away right between the eyes. He looked down from his firing step at Telemechus. ::This is no good, we’re at a stalemate again, the moment we gain ground they gain it right back, and likewise with us. This push and pull doesn’t work. We need to punch through their lines and break their formations. Or fall back again!::

The battle was hard pressed. The Honor Guard was relentless, pressing hard on the Grand Army and the Rebels, while upholding the lines against the Medelthian factions that were already fighting each other. So, falling back meant giving up the current line, but to punch through the Honor Guard’s lines meant they had to act unexpectedly.

Telemechus sighed as he looked over their trench, ::To fall back, is death, to stay is death, but to push, could lead to life…::

::It’s up to you general,:: Cyrus said.

::Let me think Cyrus,:: he replied.

Eric drove his blade through the gut of a zealot, and pulled away, Dragon Heart, we should try to push forward!

I don’t think we have it in us! Dragon Heart called to him, Our lines are giving it all! I’m not sure if we could punch it. At this point, our last tactics might kill us. She glanced over her shoulder towards Telemechus. He looked like he was deep in thought, with his men protecting him. Dammit Telemechus, if you have any tactical ideas, now is the time.

She panted heavily as she swung her sword back around. It came down on a shoulder of a soldier aiming for Eric. He went to one knee with a pain filled screech. The young zealot practically capsized from the pain, and did not see it coming until her sword slew the head off his shoulders.

Cyrus, using his visor, could see that the infantry of the Honor Guard were advancing in the thousands, backed up by vehicle support. He could not count them all, but he figured the squad count was high, he turned back to Telemechus to relay the information, ::The Honor Guard is advancing, foolishly, but they’re backed by tanks and walkers.::

Dragon Heart could not see a way out of this but to fall back. They would have to change their course of action, from the way she saw it. Punching through would be the only option, but with what could they actually punch through their lines? She looked right and left but could only see people wearing down and fighting at their best, which waned as the battle wore on. If we punch it, there’s no certainty that it would work or that it wouldn’t kill off the vast majority of our men.

::He’s bringing down the hammer…perfect,:: Telemechus smirked underneath his helmet. ::Eleji, I’m coming home,:: he signaled on his wrist computer to four squadrons of fighters. All of a sudden the air filled with the roar of engines, as Zealot fighters zipped overhead, dropping ordnance, and laying down heavy laser fire to the Honor Guard troops below. They were out in the open with no cover, and were quickly overwhelmed by air superiority.

Dragon Heart was stumped, surprised to see the fighters. Where did they come from? She looked over to Telemechus. I thought the last of the ships were under construction with Tullius’ handiwork… She was forced to return to the fight as a zealot charged her with two blades bared.

Across the battlefield, from his perch, above the whole stretch, stood a Zealot, clad in shiny black armor with red trim, his arms crossed over his chest, his tail swishing back and forth, as his eyes watched the battlefield through his red visor. Vesuvius had been sitting pretty on six months of straight victories against the rebels, the Medelthian Armies, the remnants of the Grand Army of the Zealot Empire, and the Matriarch Guard. For every action against him, he had an opposite and appropriate reaction.

::Well there goes my advance,:: he did not look at this as a failed advance, he forced Telemechus’ trap and led him headlong into his own. He looked calmly down at his wrist computer and typed in a sequence of numbers. Within moments, the sky became full of missile fire, from hidden weapon platforms. The missiles slammed into enemy fighters. They spiraled out of the sky, and crashed into the battlefield below, only one squadron was able to escape.

::Even playing field now…I like this…all squads advance,:: he announced.

Vesuvius dropped down from his perch, and landed softly. He swung his rifle around to his front, and began marching slowly towards the front. His squads ran right past him, but he seemed to just walk calmly, and steadily. His stance, dripped with arrogance, and overconfidence.

He had nothing to fear at this point. This world was his oyster and he would feed on it until it ran dry. The constant waging of war meant nothing to him, though he heard cries from the people of an end to this war. He saw only one end: his victory.

This is my war, to build a future of strong, capable, magic wielding soldiers out of my zealots. These terrans, fickle, disgusting, barbaric, and inferior abominations will be snuffed out. The time of the zealot has finally come, and God will have no choice but to crown our race as his chosen. Not the heretics Tiberius, nor Telemechus, or the sky haired demon will stop me. I have the almighty on my side, and through him, all things are possible. I will use magic to further a new Empire, and crown myself the new prophet. I will sit on the golden throne, and bask in the glory of God when this is all done! They will all feel my hate, and suffer as I have suffered fighting these pathetic life forms.

He tossed his rifle away, and picked up a rotary prism repeater from a fallen Honor Guard, and started to jog into combat, to catch up to his men. Then the point of shock occurred, as both sides got close enough to exchange blaster fire. However, Vesuvius quickly noticed he made a grave error. Telemechus, did not bring his men out of the trenches to meet him in one final push on this battlefield. He was expecting Telemechus to be a gentleman and follow guidelines, but with his men hunkered in the trenches, and laying suppressive fire on the ranks of infantry, Vesuvius quickly noticed the error of his ways.

Several squads of Honor Guard fell in minutes, the whole first wave’s momentum ground to a halt soon after, and it was a mad dash for cover in craters and any hunk of scrap metal on the battlefield. Right and left squads were huddling against any piece of cover they could find. Vesuvius looked to either side of him, as he passed his men, with the repeater in hand. He walked directly towards the trenches, in open cover. Bullets, and laser fire whizzed past him.

He was starting to feel invincible as these things whizzed past his head. Nobody landed a shot as he marched towards them. He felt bold enough to die, even though he planned to live and rule another ten thousand years at least.

As he marched closer though, he was starting to feel the burn of lasers touching his armor. He was getting too close and they would soon land a hit on him. At the same time, he wanted to keep marching and boldly challenge them. He wanted them to feel foolish and downplay their abilities by showing them how terrible they were at shooting at him. Of all people they could not hit him?

He was not far away from the trench, at the moment his smile on his face underneath his black helmet was widest. He was nicked on the shoulder by a bullet. He looked down at his shoulder, then shook his head. He tossed two grenades that landed in the trench, and opened fire on the zealots that scrambled to get out. He mulched them into nothing, the high pitched zap of the prism repeater, music to his ear holes. The screams of the traitorous zealots made him smile, their death throes made his heart sing with joy. He reveled in their misery. He made it to the trench, and with wide sweeps, he fired the repeater down. It was like a kill box. The zealots ducked down, had nowhere to go, and he slaughtered all he could see.

The Honor Guard, shooting from cover, took this as a sign from their great leader that victory was on the horizon. They left their positions of cover to attack the section of open trench, rushing right at the broken line. Thousands of Honor Guard stormed the trench, and now Telemechus had no choice but to push forward, he would not give up ground. Grand Army, met Honor Guard in vicious combat, both ranged and close quarters.

Vesuvius laughed and threw the repeater aside, and drew out his sword in one hand, and his pistol in the other, gutting a nearby zealot, and shooting an etherian fighting alongside one of them. She seemed to have been angered and grieved by the death of the zealot. ::Integration is for the weak, mixing blood is a sin against the Holy One! You will all perish under my blade, and my rule!:: he roared as he beheaded a second zealot.

The Medelthian Armies charged forth from the other side, bringing endless numbers of humans, pashers and various other creatures charging with plasma blasters in hand. Elves fell back and regrouped to regain power, trying to repower their weakening bodies. Their energies seemed to surge.

The more Vesuvius saw them, watched them, took notice of them, the more he could see. It was like his eyes were learning. He was learning magic in a way, though he could not yet reach out and touch it. He could see the energy of their bodies as it grew and waned. When those same elves arrived they were seemingly nuclear in the boundless amounts of power they contained. But now, as the war wore on, they were wearing thin. That bubble they formed when they regrouped seemed to recharge them as a whole so they could return as individual soldiers.

How they managed to do this was beyond him. It was one of those secrets of magic that he needed. Perhaps the first lesson or perhaps the last. He did not know or care which it was, but he would need that knowledge.

He had already found that dissecting the bodies of elves and etherians paid as useless time spent with energy loss. But, it paid as a great use of time when he was frustrated. Dissecting the very idea of magic was hard, so when elves and etherians refused to hand over their secrets, which all of his captives did, torture gave him a much needed sense of calm.

If not for the pain of his shoulder, he might be charging full speed after some of the retreating soldiers to pellet them. But, he needed to slow down. In fact, he slowed down to focus his aim on the more dangerous of soldiers that would pose a threat to his own army more than the others.

He pegged a soldier in the back with a shot with his pistol, but he could see he was about to be overwhelmed, by sheer force. He had no choice but to pull back his forces now. He was about to signal for a retreat, when the ground underneath him thundered. He turned around only to stare up at a large walker. It was piloted by Corvus, a headstrong zealot, who was now pointing all turrets directly at him.

::A present from the man whose mate you’re keeping him from,:: Corvus said over the loudspeaker, and proceeded to unleash all of the ordinance the walker had directly at Vesuvius and the remaining Honor Guard troops.

Explosions, heat, and vibrations could be felt through the bodies of all close by. The ground exploded in fire and smoke. Corvus had his hands on the trigger for a solid thirty seconds, seemingly coating the entire area in front of him in heavy gunfire. Once he let up the trigger, and the ground settled, only smoldering, and angrily torn bodies remained. The battlefield in this particular section was completely silent.

Dragon Heart looked around the field from the north to the south and to the far west. Everything was ruined in this place. Nothing was meant to live, yet she felt such a huge regret that so much died in the name of war. Not a tree within the vicinity was left standing and plant life had been burned out.

Dead bodies piled high. Zealots from the Honor Guard, zealots from the Grand Army, humans, pashers and trolls from the Medelthian Armies, humans, pashers, elves and etherians amongst the rebels, and zealots from the Matriarch Guard, filled the entire field. There was nowhere to step, nowhere to stand, without standing on the remains of somebody who had lost his life for the cause of somebody of higher authority of his or herself.

Yet, nobody was willing to end this war. Defeat meant that the psychotic leader who pranced around with such boldness earlier would take over and wipe out their entire nation’s races through torture and and use for cloning vats. And while his men died and the man was near death, Vesuvius would not pull out of this war.

But, what does he have to gain? She looked around for him, but there was no sign of him. She caught sight of Corvus in the walker and wondered if the man was being a little too high headed. Something seemed to quiet and calm about his surroundings.

She turned back to the fight ahead of herself. There was too much going on to stop and ponder the facts about this war. She was in a battle, and though weary and wishing to board a ship for home, she had to keep up to par. If she gave them even an inch of her lack of attention, even a moment to touch her space, she would be dead by plasma blast or sword.

As of late, technology was becoming strained among the zealots. The Honor Guard’s seemingly preferred choice of weapon were blades that protruded from the sleeves of their armor. Though they did use guns, they seemed to use them sparingly as they got closer and began demonstrating their tactile abilities.

It was too bad for zealots that etherians and elves were more agile creatures. Elves with their thinner build were quick athletes who could dodge through attacks at quick speeds. Etherians, being slightly heavier in build, were no less fast, nor agile, but used much of their mentality to drive their battle. While elves wished they could spare lives and were pushed through each and every battle for the mere fact of survival, the etherians were easily spurred on by their leader’s cheers.

Eldrac was an effective leader, for both etherians and elves, but Dragon Heart thought her too high strung and cocky. There was something off about the woman that she simply did not like. As a result, she loathed Eldrac in some deep manner, with a zealous animosity to hold close her children, her battle tactics, and especially her mate, Eric.

Before she knew it, her bottom was tapped lightly by Eldrac in passing. She had a confident smirk on her face, her heavy machine gun across her shoulder. Excellent job Dragon Heart,

Dragon Heart snarled, wishing she could turn on Eldrac in an instant. But without much room for fighting people on her side, she turned her attention to advancing zealots. She unholstered her plasma blaster and aimed carefully at each man. Kiss my ass!

Eldrac whipped her machine gun around and laid heavy suppressive fire at the oncoming squads.  Eldrac was lean, but muscular underneath the skin. The machine gun had to have weighed at least twenty pounds, but she carried it like it was a box of feathers. Her skin bulged from the recoil of the weapon, as she swept from side to side, cutting through the zealots.

A second wave appeared to be coming over the crest of the hill, and bearing down on the trench. The Honor Guard had the high ground, and it showed. Yet a few of them seemed to stop when they realized they were walking head long into slaughter. Some of the officers of the Honor Guard pulled back their squads, up and over the crest of the hill. The advance was stopped, but Eldrac cackled and began to fire at the retreating zealots. She shot them in the back as they ran away, Line ‘em up, and mow ‘em down!

Focus on the attacking lines, Eldrac! Dragon Heart barked at her, mostly for the sake of offending the woman.

Dragon Heart, you disappoint me! Look at all that cheddar up there! How could I miss it? she laughed, mockingly, and turned the gun on the crest of the hill.

Dragon Heart ignored her sadist expression as she was confronted by a pair of soldiers that replaced the others. These were the faster killers, the sprinters among zealots, who knew their talent was their speed.

Eldrac quickly ran out of her ammunition, and set the machine gun aside. She barked for more ammunition, and took out her pistol to pop incoming zealots as they approached her. She dropped them quick, she could see that the main force was still at the top of the hill, and simply watched as the other squads fell to the guns of the Medelthians. Then they disappeared

Dragon Heart moved back to the safer areas of the trenches, looking around at their men. Disregarding their provisions, it seemed that their men were doing fine. Though bodies were already piling up in segregated areas designed to hold carcasses, their numbers were holding up against the immense power of the endless number of zealots in the Honor Guard.

Eric was sitting on a sand bag, wrapping his arm with a bandage. He was hit twice, once in the left shoulder, and another was a graze on his left arm. He winced as he pulled the bandage tight and cut it with a knife, holding the end of the bandage with his teeth.

I got an ouchie…I don’t like these Zealots. They play hard, and they hate to lose.

Dragon Heart silently sat down next to him and laid her hands on his shoulder. She had been practicing magic during her time among the elves, and now she felt was the time she needed to utilize what she had gained. What strength she had did not make up for her lack of energy though. While her knowledge was far, this small spell took on a life of its own and healed so much of his wound that it took too much energy. She had to cut the spell before it was healed, leaving half mended wounds.

I think it’s time to pull out, she sighed, wishing she could do more.

Eric smiled and shook his head, Nope, not this time. He pointed to the ridge line, They’ve retreated, our best bet is to attack them head on. I owe them for my ouchies, so, you stay here, I’m going to go have a look-see. Eric stood up and proceeded to clamber up out of the trench. He slipped and fell into the trench again. Hang on a moment, he said as he tried to scramble up the top of the trench, his feet slipping on the muddy wall. He clung to the edge of the trench, and looked down at Dragon Heart, Sweetie? A boost?

She sighed and shook her head. She chuckled as she strolled towards him. With both hands under his feet, she shoved him up and over the edge. She grabbed onto a hold and boosted herself up and over the edge, following him back into the heat of battle.

Eric winced as he came back up to his feet, the wounds in his left arm still hurting, like bee stings that would not go away. He hefted his sword of unity over his shoulder and started making a beeline for the top of the hill. He did not even bother to watch his step, it was impossible to not step on the bodies. He made his way up the hill. With slight glances, he made sure Dragon Heart was not too far behind. He did not want her killed on one of his own follies. Right now, these soldiers were keeping him away from his beloved Dragon Heart, his family, and of course, his dinner. No one got between Eric and a meal and avoided being marked with death. Eric wanted to clean this up and go home. He had been treating Dragon Heart like a person of rank, and not a mate for life for too many months. Too many months he was away from the children, and too long had he been away from the stone child that had yet to awaken from its long petrified slumber.

He cut through a zealot that rushed at him, and he continued on, upwards to the top of the hill. He looked back again to make sure Dragon Heart was right behind him. Once he reached the crest of the hill, and looked over, he had a wry smirk on his face. He sheathed his sword, and chuckled, Dragon Heart, come up here and look at this!

When she saw what he was seeing, she was shocked. There were over two hundred thousand Honor Guard waiting for orders from Vesuvius. They were all just standing there clueless. This was the bulk of one of the main forces that had been causing everyone on Medelthia great angst. Most of the casualties on the battlefield were dead soldiers from Eric’s side of the war.

Eric, we should go back, there are too many, Where Dragon Heart saw a reason to turn back Eric saw a means to press forward, by himself.

Turn back? I want a good dinner tonight, and sit by the fireplace with our children, in our home. I don’t want military rations. I want a warm, and fresh meal, he looked over to her and kissed her cheek, Let’s go home. he breathed in, and let out a loud sigh. He stretched his palms, flexing and extending his fingers. He breathed in again, and extended his hands outward in front of him. He glared a bit, and brought his hands apart, as he did, the ground cracked and shook beneath the armies of the Honor Guard.

The zealots looked panicked, but it did not take long to see both Eric and Dragon Heart at the top of the hill. Laser fire came right at them, but Eric held his ground. Get behind me, he ordered at her. With a grunt he brought his hands further apart, and the ground beneath the zealots opened up, to feast on their flesh.

Thousands of zealots fell through the cracks in the ground, never to be seen again, swallowed up by the earth. The Honor Guard tried to escape, but Eric, with all his concentration, expanded the field of destruction and collapsed the ground all around the enemy. He closed them off of all escape, and they all fell to their deaths. The screeches, and screams of despair and panic could be heard and felt. The earth shook with violence, as it was rent apart, it seemed to almost demand the zealots as payment for being woken. The ground swallowed them greedily, and when there were no more, Eric brought his hands together, and the earth closed back up. The army was gone, all that remained were scattered vehicles, strewn weapons, and camping equipment, all for the taking.

Eric dropped his hands, and let out an exasperated gasp of breath. He panted and groaned kneeling to the ground, that took great energy to get the soil to cooperate with him. It seems that the earth didn’t want to cooperate with me today. I had to convince it to work…but now…now we can go home. He smiled up at her as he breathed heavily. She was gaping at what once was an army spanning for at least four miles. He wiped the sweat off his brow, but that just gave him more of a smudge of dirt on his forehead. He was covered in mud, and grime from battle. His hair, recently cropped short, was caked in brown mud, and tangled. It no longer looked completely blue. At least…for…a little while, he sighed with exhaustion.

Dragon Heart took him into her arms and helped him to his feet. She was concerned about what he had just done and the consequences to be reaped. But for now, she focused on what he needed after that act that expelled what was left of any energy to move and fight. Let’s get you back to base camp, she spoke gently.

Chapter 2 ~ Strike of the Night

Dragon Heart had left Eric to sleep off his wave of exhaustion while she looked over some maps. To her left was General Lizariem, a pasher whose men were waiting on the south front. To her right was Captain Namaniliel, whose liege on his right was General Ubeingar. Ubeingar had a grave look on his face, one that he directed towards Eldrac often.

The elves were alright with the etherians’ ways in battle, but even a war worn soldier like Ubeingar felt that her tactics were severe. He was stroking his chin, like it might grow a goatee. All the while, he watched others shuffle the maps and point out places.

On his right was Captain Verana, who came with General Lizariem. She had a general spunk about her that Dragon Heart admired, but something seemed feverish about her. She was so heated in discussion that Dragon Heart wondered if Verana would side with the etherian tactics, if she saw them in battle.

This worry was taken away by the woman’s cluelessness. It almost made Dragon Heart chuckle that this was the second in command that General Lizariem brought to represent his sector. Disregarding the Medelthian Army, they were short on soldiers who were sturdy and smart for battle, but the woman seemed clueless to real tactics. Instead, she incessantly insisted upon maneuvers of head first attacks.

While we want to win this war, we want the battles to end with our heads intact and our men alive, General Ubeingar finally said. Dragon Heart silently agreed with him, turning back towards the map with fervor.

This was one of those moments, the gentle faced, freckled, red head Eldrac stayed silent unless spoken to. She knew that Dragon Heart harbored feelings of hatred towards her, but she had no idea what spurred it on. She was a proud warrior and mother, and the thrill of battle was at times greater than the most rigorous