Demon Axe, Chapter 16

Any dumb fuck could make the excuse that the Paulson City Police were just doing what they were told for the sake of their families. The news anchors could sanitize their sins with Lysol until the end of time. But what about those in uniform who actually bought into Roger Zee’s twisted logic? Like a certain orange politician, Roger Zee’s actions and words gave permission to commit violence in the name of the “greater good”. The corrupt cops who felt empowered by this dangerous thinking were the ones driving tanks and hummers through the elven world.

Gigantic tanks crushing innocent street dwellers underneath their bladed wheels. Cannons blasting buildings until they crumbled to the ground. Hummers with machineguns mounted on them unloading a blizzard of bullets upon elves who tried to run and hide. After hundreds of years of the elves rebuilding their homeland, it once again resembled an apocalyptic scenario. Rubble scattered all over the pavement. Broken and twisted elf corpses strewn across the road with their blood running down the sewer drains. Screams and cries of those who were barely surviving pierced the ears, but not the hearts of their human rivals. Mothers huddling with their children behind piles of broken buildings.

The war machines were tromping their way across the wreckage and bloodied bodies with the intention of storming King Arthur Triscloud’s castle. The finest of elven architecture was ready to be violated with fiery cannonballs and armor-piercing bullets the size of crowbars. As more women and children gathered around the castle to shed their tears, their sorrows were met with laughter and mockery from the cops who were itching to settle the score between man and elf.

“This is not your land!” shouted a familiar female voice, putting an end to the hyena laughter. With rows upon rows of elven soldiers with swords marching behind her, Princess Raven Triscloud pointed her own blade at her world’s attackers while giving an oratory worthy of a certain Lord’s heavy metal performance.

With muscles twitching and raw anger in her voice, Raven shouted, “Whatever fake reminiscence Roger Zee is feeding you, it will be your downfall! Up until this moment, my elven race has never been a threat to human democracy! We just wanted to live peacefully and rebuild what your people have taken down with brute force! Anybody who says otherwise is dabbling in revisionist history! Your news anchors and your politicians have built the human empire on fear! You want something to be afraid of?! I’ll give it to you! Charge!”

The elven soldiers led by Raven rushed into battle with swords and shields raised while the human forces readied their machineguns and tank cannons. They unleashed a tidal wave of bullets across the elven warriors, but the indigenous race’s oversized shields deflected the ammunition off to the sides, where they bounced off rubble piles with audible pings. The elves stayed light on their feet as they dodged and weaved out of range of the cops’ high velocity cannons.

As soon as Raven and her soldiers bolted within range, the massive slaughter became a melee between swords and batons. Elves jammed elongated blades through their opponents’ black hearts and chopped off limbs, causing the human forces to bleed buckets all over the broken city streets. Likewise, cops rained down heavy clubs across the elves’ skulls until the fantasy race’s brains were splashed off the concrete.

Raven, being the most skilled fighter of her army, ran around to various human soldiers and slashed their throats, gutted their stomachs, and chopped off heads. She was often ganged up on by three, four, or five cops at a time, but for every baton strike, she rolled and flipped out of the way. While she was on the ground, she threw a circular slash and chopped off her opponents’ feet, causing them to scream like children and cuss like sailors as they bled profusely.

And then Raven noticed out of the corner of her eye that a tank cannon was aiming right for her. “Shit!” she yelled before cart-wheeling out of range. The cannon fired and blew concrete shrapnel all over her friends, making them easier targets for baton beatings over the head and across the ribs. At the threat of another cannon blast, Raven backed up into an alleyway to avoid more shrapnel. She needed time to rethink her strategy, but her friends were dying out there. “If only there was some way to disable those tanks,” she said to herself.

“I wouldn’t count on it if I was you,” said a haunting elf voice. Raven gasped and slowly turned around to face her new opponent. Out of the shadows came Roger Zee with his machete in hand and a shit-eating grin across his ugly face. “Haven’t you gotten tired of watching your loved ones die? Daniel Mercer certainly has. So much so that I doubt he’ll want to interfere in elf politics ever again,” mocked Roger.

“You bastard!” shouted Raven before engaging the terrorist in hand-to-hand combat. The two elves clanged and banged swords with enough volume to drown out the sounds of war going on in the background. They even managed to make dents in each other’s blades, though Raven’s were much deeper and nastier than Roger’s. The terrorist went for a slash to the throat only for Raven to duck underneath and bull rush her opponent against a brick wall.

Holding the blade to Roger’s neck, Raven angrily whispered, “You are a disgrace to your people, Roger. I’m going to enjoy taking your fucking head off!” She would have if a cannon blast didn’t take a chunk out of a nearby building and rock her off balance. Roger threw a palm strike to Raven’s gut and kicked her in the face, flipping her in the air and causing her to land on her chest. She spit out blood and nursed her numb face.

Roger arrogantly whistled as he picked up his machete and danced like a fruitcake to his fallen opponent. Raven slowly made it to her hands and knees, but Roger held the blade to the back of her neck and said, “Revisionist history my ass, Raven! The only traitor to the crown I see around here is your deadbeat father!”

The insult pumped adrenaline through Raven’s system as she grabbed Roger’s feet and pulled him to the ground, making him drop his weapon. Raven took this time to stagger to her feet while Roger nipped up like an athlete. From that point it was martial arts warfare. The female warrior threw punches and kicks around the head and ribs of her opponent, all of those attacks being blocked or dodged by Roger. The zealot grabbed one of Raven’s punches and squeezed on her wrist so tightly that she crumbled to her knees. He said, “That dig about your father? That wasn’t an alternative fact. It was a hard fact!”

Raven threw another punch, but Roger caught that one as well before throwing her overhead and slamming her on her back. From there the former Order of the Spider soldier dropped repeated elbows on her chest and ribs, causing her to cough up even more blood than before. She tried throwing her legs up to back him off, but she was so weak that it resembled drunken choreography.

Roger knelt down and held his blade to Raven’s throat, to which she said, “Go ahead! Finish me off! I’d rather die than live your dystopia!”

The terrorist chuckled, “As much as I’d love to finish you off right now, there’s a war going on around us in case you hadn’t noticed.” To prove his point, another chunk of rubble flew across the battlefield, dusting Raven and Roger with large pebbles. Roger stood up, grinned, and said, “Besides, you’re not the one that I came here for. Any minute now…”

“You scoundrel!” shouted an elderly male voice. Raven’s puffy vision was able to make out the features of her father as he dashed into battle and threw wild slashes at Roger. The terrorist dodged each slash with athletic grace before kneeing the king in the stomach and hoisting Arthur on his shoulder.

“Put him down!” demanded Raven as she coughed up more blood. Her rage fell on deaf ears as Roger retreated from the bloody battle going on around them. The Princess held out her hand in a weak attempt to save her father, but after a short while of seeing his pained face, Roger took him away into the violent morning.

Tears built up in Raven’s swelling eyes, but she had no outlet for her sorrow other than beating the ground with her aching fists. She tried getting up, but the pain surged through her bones and watered her down to a crawl across the concrete. She pulled with the last of her remaining strength and then closed her eyes in defeat. The human and elven worlds belonged to Roger Zee.

Her dreams, however, belonged only to her. As the sounds of battle were dying all around her, she envisioned Daniel Mercer with his magical microphone serenading a raucous crowd. He had his skeleton makeup on and everything. He even played with his former band mates: Vulture Man on guitars, Pig Man on bass, and G-Pac on drums.

Even though Daniel was screaming angry lyrics, he seemed happy and loved in a place like this. This was his natural habitat and Roger would never be able to take that away from him no matter how much land he ruled over. Raven would have smiled at this moment, but her mouth was bloody and it hurt to do so. “Find me, Daniel,” she whispered. “Find me again.”