Chapter 117: Rewrite Chapter 1 – wanting some feed back on it

 

A thick musk hung in the night air, accompanied by drums. Darkness engulfed the entirety of the area. Just battling off this darkness was the illumination from a fire at the centre of the village; this village consisted of hundreds of houses, huts and buildings scattered around a large, circular, middle area. The dusty floor had been cleared for a celebration.

Flames from the fire licked the sky. A thick musk hung in the air. The pounding of drums rattled through the streets and paths of the village. Chaotic sounds of feet slamming against dirt complimented the drums. Four figures sat along a platform. Tall headdresses of feathers sat upon their heads.

Despite all looking different in their body paints, their eyes fixated on what lay before them. Shadowy figures danced around the fire, natives - chanting and celebrating more extraordinary beings. Tonight was a special night—a celebration of life through death. From the four figures, one glanced past the flames to four more figures bound to poles.

"You look worried?" one of the four figures said, her heavy accent rolling the letter R and pronouncing the I as an E. The first of the four glared. It was a deep, naturally stern voice but still distinctly female.

"I will be fine, Cluupyte," a softer voice replied. Her accent was the same as that of the stronger-voiced woman.

War cries echoed from a group of women. Their bodies were painted black with large red stripes, and they screamed an ear-bleeding scream. More women, their bodies painted white and decorated with large red feather patterns, danced in a larger circle around the others. Throwing themselves around a fire, their bodies turned and twisted in the firelight, white-bone knives gripped tightly in their hands.

In their hands, they held bundles of white feathers. Unlike the dark-painted warriors, these women did not scream or yell, trading the war cries for chants and songs. Their elegant bird-like movements were rhythmic and mesmerising.

The third ring of people lay beyond these, with dark red patterns and arrow shapes on their skin. They brandished arrows made of white bone and colourful feathers. Lastly, beyond them, an outer circle of women again painted white but with green markings, held large bundles of green cloth aloft.

Close by, four women stood bound to poles. At first glance, you could be forgiven for thinking they were demons. They had allowed slices of victims' flesh to be sewn onto their flesh. Their teeth had been filed sharp, and their eyes held a feral hunger. Across from them stood an extended stone platform on the other side of the fire.

Four more women sat there, each of whom wore a paint associated with one of the four groups of dancers. Each woman held a knife in one hand and an item associated with the dancers in the other. Standing in unison, the woman in black and red paint looked over the dancers. A large headdress of red-and-black banded feathers adorned her. The inner circle of dancers with the matching body paint looked to her.

As she moved away from the stone, she walked to the first of the bound women. Placing the tip of her knife against the chin of the woman, she forced the woman to lift her gaze. As she did this, the bound woman cackled and thrashed toward her. She bit and snapped her teeth along the blade of the knife. Sneering with disgust, the standing woman grabbed the other's short, dirty hair and forced her head back.

"Don't worry, your death will have meaning," she said, placing her knife to the neck of the woman. As she did this, the other three leaders came to her side and did the same to the remaining three prisoners.

"Four fewer Raiders, four fewer traitors," the woman with the painted arrows said with a sneer. As all four women took their places, some stared with disgust at the bound women, some with pity. Regardless of their belief, it would not stop tonight's events.

From the deep darkness of the village, a woman came forward. Coming into the light, all dancers stopped. In unison, they fell to their knees. The woman wore a tall headdress of bright red feathers, and her body was painted with red flames, the paws of wolves, and the wings of dragons. A cackle came from one of the bound women.

"AH! So, you're here. The High Priestess?" the woman yelled. In response, the woman in red and black gave her a quick jab to the neck. Ignoring her, the High Priestess raised her hands into the air.

"Our goddess loves us," she began, walking through the people as crowds of primary women sat in the darkness and watched.

"Our goddess gives us life! Her greatness gives us strength and power, but through her curse, her love comes at a cost. Our dedication," Walking past them and over to the four women, "tonight, we show that dedication through bloodletting. That of the invaders and that of our own," Standing back, she nodded to the women. The four turned their gazes from the high priestess to the bound raiders in front of them.

The women cackled even as their throats were slit. As their blood bubbled and flowed, the four leaders moved back. The woman in black and red smeared the woman's blood onto the white knife, staining it red. The women in the corresponding paint leapt forward from their places. Leaping forward, they moved to the fire to join her in smearing the blood onto their knives.

The woman who held the feathers came forward. Coating the white feathers in the scarlet gore, her dancers did the same. The exact process was repeated. But this time, the women holding the arrows and the women with the cloth. Each began daubing their items in the blood. Not far from the crowd, just on the edge of the village, was a long line of flaming torches that led to a tall stone pyramid with an altar at the top. Around the cold, square altar, four young women sat in red feather headdresses with dragon wings painted onto their stomachs.  

The High Priestess began to walk up the steps, joining the women at the top as those below displayed their knives, arrows, clothes, and feathers as offerings. Passing the women and entering the temple, she dropped to her knees before another woman. Nude, she stood as several priestesses adorned with the same dragon-wing design smeared her in white paint.

"My Chiefess, offerings have been placed," the woman said as a large headdress was placed onto the head of the Chiefess. Nodding, the woman allowed the priestesses to add their final touches before turning and peering out. 

The Priestesses had red-and-white patterns smeared over their dark native skin. All had black hair that flowed down to their waist and past their round breasts and hips. Each woman's body was covered by a small, tan-coloured grass top that only covered their cleavage and a short, corded grass skirt corresponding to their shelter.

The Chiefess emerged from the temple. Dressed and painted the same as the others, she stood at the front of the altar as drums beat rhythmically. The only difference in her appearance was her tall, feathered headdress. Looking over her tribe celebrating below, the woman raised her hands high. The drums slowed, and the tribe looked towards the temple. Then in unison, the tribe charged toward the foot of the temple.

As the head woman raised her hands, the tribe cheered. Turning, she stretched a hand out towards the formal preparation room behind her. A tall man left the room, escorted by two beautiful women dressed in the same attire as the women around the altar. Their hair flowed down to their hips, highlighting the curves of their large round breasts and rumps. The scantily clad women escorted him toward the altar.

The drums beat to the rhythm of the man's heart as the women lay him on the altar. Young women in large, red feather headdresses, sitting around the altar, each took hold of an arm or leg to keep him secure. The two girls that had escorted him to the altar took their positions for the ceremony. One of the girls held his head as a support, and the other sat between his legs. 

Slowly she pulled down his loincloth, revealing his member to the tribe. The woman dressed in the feathered headdress walked behind the altar until she stood over him. She looked out at the crowd and raised her hands to the sky again, and the crowd roared again. Reaching behind herself, she unsheathed a large, white stone knife from her side. Her eyes looked down at the young woman between the man's legs and smiled.

Standing, the young woman between his legs climbed on top of him and mounted his growing erection as the woman in the headdress stood over the man, knife in hand. As the young woman rode the man vigorously, the woman in the white headdress began her chant. Her crude and strange language filled the sky as clouds started to form above the village. 

The followers cheered and hollered as the woman riding the man started to slam her hips into him more rapidly, taking his full member. After a few minutes of riding, the woman jumped from the man and began to gently suck on the tip of his cock. Lightning cracked the top of the temple's steps, signalling that the gods of rain were ready to receive their sacrifice.

Splatters of hot semen spurted out of the man's cock and onto his chest, generating cheers and whoops from the crowd below. Smiling, the woman in the white headdress raised her knife above the man as the girls around the altar started to chant, and the woman sucking on his cock started to bite and nibble at his member to keep him hard.

"Oh, great Gods who reign over life!" she roared into the heavens.

"Please accept our sacrifice of this young, fertile man so that the trading merchants of the union who come tomorrow may bring to me what I most desire!" Without wasting a second, the woman in the white headdress plunged the dagger into the man's chest. 

Crimson blood splattered down the altar's sides as she ripped open his chest. She plunged her hand into his open chest and ripped out his still-beating heart. Blood flowed down her arms as she held the part up into the night. There was a moment of silence as the drums quieted. The tribe looked to the skies as if expecting something, and as if on cue, the rain started to patter down onto their bodies.

Cheering erupted from the crowd as they all started to dance and celebrate. People began to take off with partners for a long night of sex and drinking. It was always rare for a sacrifice to take place, but when the rituals to the God of fertility and harvest did occur, it was always a raucous affair. The woman in the white headdress watched as the man's body was carried down the temple steps to be ceremoniously skinned and have his meat roasted so the tribe could consume his spirit to live on within them.

"Today was an outstanding success, my Chiefess," A female voice from behind the woman in the white headdress called. 

The woman in the headdress turned and smiled at the other woman as they cleaned the altar with pails of water. 'Success' well, that was a word for this. A twisted celebration of life and worship of the goddess mixed with the mourning of a loved one dying. The Chiefess narrowed her eyes as her false smile faded. As if reading her thoughts, the high priestess moved forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't feel pity for him".

Nodding, the Chiefess forced a smile to her lips as she did her best to banish the morbid look she had. The priestess laughed.

"I have to admit I didn't mind mating him either!" the girl that had ridden the boy laughed. Yet the Chiefess stayed quiet at the cackles of the priestesses, her eyes transfixed onto the boy's flesh as it was being cleaned with hot water. 

"Despite the festivities, no one should stay up for too long tonight as the merchants will be arriving early tomorrow, so all need a good sleep," she said as she started walking down the temple steps.

"Are you going to bless the man's body before he is cooked?" The woman yelled after the Chiefess.

"No! I need sleep," The Chieftess yelled over her shoulder as she continued down the steps. She passed the men placing the meat onto the spit roast, then the girls that had happily danced to entertain and seduce their victim. 

But there was a feeling tugging down at her heart. She knew that all here mourned the death of the man. Yet none were willing to show that fear or sadness to the goddess who looked over them.

"I'm sorry," she muttered as she stared down at the wife and family that had taken in the man they had sacrificed. 

The two women in the large, red feather headdresses looked at each other, then at another woman dressed the same as them. Due to the darkness and inability to see the women's faces, the Chiefess couldn't see the eyes of the women widening. The high priestess stood closer to the family. Walking over to them, she leaned down and whispered to the family. 

A small smile came to their lips as they lowered their heads. 

"Laugh," was the word muttered into her ear. 

They were celebrating as they looked over the cooking body. The only reason they took this man in was that they knew they would need a sacrifice this month and that he was from a rival tribe that had offered him as a gift of peace, but they hadn't become emotionally attached to him. The Chiefess' tribe had no intentions of making peace; she intended to make a queendom that worshipped her and gave her whatever she desired.

Smiling, the Chieftess returned to her hut. Walking into her home, she wiped the white sand off her feet. Yawning, she stripped off her little clothes and stumbled over to her sizeable fur-covered bed. She climbed onto it, hugging a soft pillow into her face, a gift from the Merchant Guild, given the last time they visited. Lying still on her bed, she giggled into the pillow like a child. The next night was bound to be fun.

The next night

Bullets of rain pelted down onto the carriage. A young man who looked no older than eighteen pulled his legs to his chest to keep them dry as he sat under what little cover the carriage provided. The head merchant glanced back at him with a broad smile.

"We'll be at the native village soon; they have hot food, good drink, warm beds." the last part said with a devilish grin.

"And even warmer women!" the man continued in a celebratory tone. The boy chuckled a little, he'd always wanted to set out on an adventure of his own, and now we finally had the chance to do so. The other men in the carriage stared sheepishly at the floor as the women present glared disapprovingly.

He peeked over the head of the driver. Looking past the muscular horses, his gaze drifted up the steep walls of the canyon that surrounded them. The pale, chalk-like walls glimmered in the moonlight. Something unnerved him, however. He could swear there was movement upon the peaks that overlooked their carriage. Even though the tops of the canyon were probably 200 or so meters tall, he could still see vague actions.

Concerned for the carriage's wellbeing, he leaned forward and gently bumped the arm of the head merchant.

"Hey, you see those up there." The head merchant in his blue Chaperon and striped golden, black, and blue suit appeared out of the carriage.

"Yes, The other natives of the area, the Desert Ghosts. They're probably just watching over us to escort us to their village," the man explained as he pulled back into the carriage. Putting a handout, he gently patted the head of his young disciple. He was only sixteen yet had been thrown out by his family; the head merchant could only hope the young kid could survive what would happen next.

They continued for a while; the horses neighed as they galloped across the desert sands. Those who sat inside the carriage chatted and talked, but the boy sat silently as he solemnly stared towards the firelight of the village they were gradually approaching. He did his best to tidy up his suit, swiping dirt marks from the sleeves. The head merchant noticed and turned around, tapping him on the leg.

"Oi, Charlie, no need to try cleaning up. Where we're going, the people won't care if you stroll in buck naked." the head merchant said to try and calm the boy's nerves. Charlie nodded, taking in several deep breaths to steady himself. This was the first ever merchant trip where he would be doing some trading. He was running through his mind all the different ways he would try and sell them the idea that it was good to trade with his union and hopefully gain some respect from the head merchant.

They rode towards the flickering lights of the village for a while longer, the rain slowly coming to a stop as they did so.

Upon the ridges and caves that sat high above them, women (and a few men) painted in patterns of red and white stared down at them. Charlie gave them a small wave and smiled to show his passiveness towards them, but they responded with only a few shouts and Spears waving. His face sank as he sat back, saddened at how he assumed this to be a hostile response. The head merchant noticed his sunken face and gently hit him again to get his attention.

"Cheer up; they just aren't used to our kind around here."

"Our kind?" Charlie responded to the head merchant.

"Yes, these people are famous for being a female-dominated tribe; they do this to keep their numbers low for survival reasons," Charlie turned to the Head Merchant. 

"Survival? But isn't strength in numbers?" 

"Numbers means more mouths to feed," The Head merchant said before carrying on. 

"They do this by having multiple women' marry' a man. After that, they either kill him, banish him, or keep him as a kind of a house pet," 

"Sounds rough," Charlie muttered as shivers rolled down his spine. 

"And their contempt for men is mostly due to their religion. From what I hear, they also have a kind of magic that allows them to live for hundreds or thousands of years before they age. So be careful, as you may be on the menu! I would love to learn more, but their tribe are fierce fighters and would probably rip us apart." the head merchant joked.

A wave of energy shook through Charlie, paralysing him in his seat.

"What the fuck…." He muttered. Looking at the head merchant, he could see he felt the wave. 

"Sir?" He asked; looking, he noticed the natives were no longer along the top of the canyon. 

A cold breeze surrounded the carriages, blowing the white sand around the large wooden wheels. The natives who had lined the top of the canyon were gone. Now the caravan was left to itself. From the front of the fleet of wagons, several men in green and white-striped jackets, iron helmets, swords, and a pistol holstered across their chests, approached. They were mercenaries of the merchant union. 

 

"SIR!" The first man called, waving his hand towards the head merchant. 

 

"What is it? We are near the Desert Ghost village, and I'd rather not be late for our meeting!" The head merchant yelled back, always concerned more with his pockets than anything else. The men finally reached the side of the carriage. Swiftly they turned their horses to ride alongside.

 

"Yes, sir, but we have the news that the natives are gone!" The man yelled back as the wind started to whip sand into their faces. 

 

"I can see that!" The head merchant replied as he gestured to the top of the canyon. 

 

"No sir, but rather it is the reason they are gone. We have news that a large pack of Desert crawlers are coming. Several sections of the caravan have already turned back and are taking up positions." the man said with deadly seriousness. Swearing and muttering under his breath, the head merchant gave an order. 

 

"Have the caravan form a circle with the carriages, get the rifles forward and get me a gun!" The head merchant yelled. Charlie froze as the men started to spread the message to the soldiers. With expertise, the carriages quickly formed themselves into a large circle. 

 

The horses were taken from their reigns and brought to the centre of the circle of carriages. Jumping from his seat, the Head merchant grabbed Charlie's arm. 

"Come, let's get you to safety. After all, you are my golden goose! My luck has been up since I met you, so letting you die here wouldn't do." The Head Merchant yelled to keep the startled boy calm.

 

The Head merchant dragged a confused and terrified Charlie into the circle of soldiers around the main cargo carriage. They climbed onto the tall wooden structure. The main storage carriage was huge, almost the size of several houses, making it more than a fitting place for the small army of mercenaries and merchants to defend from. 

 

Packing themselves into the wooden building, the mercenaries worked quickly to take positions at the windows and doors to block all possible entry points. Charlie could barely see in the dark gloom of the room. He, the head merchant and a few lesser merchants positioned themselves on a pile of large wooden crates. The mercenaries grabbed their long lever-action rifles and large round-cylinder cycle revolvers. Different rifles and rounds of ammunition were passed along the line to them.

 

There were crackles of gunfire off in the distance. Upon the sand was the thumping of the web feet of a Desert Strider, the leading horse of option by the Mercenaries of this Caravan. 

 

"Here, keep this on you," the Head merchant said, shoving one of the large revolvers into Charlie's chest. He looked down at the confusing contraption. It wasn't like the posh, one-barrel revolvers the royals or merchants usually carried. This pistol had four barrels, and the clip was composed of six separate circles. Carefully his finger moved over the trigger. 

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"Point and shoot," his voice wobbled. Being sheltered as a child, he knew little of how to use a weapon, let alone one like this. 

 

"Quiet!" A mercenary whispered harshly. 

Charlie fell silent as he listened to noises outside. Only the wind and scratching of sand hitting the wooden wall could be heard. Nothing that would sound like these Desert crawlers the man had mentioned. Through the narrow slit of the door, Charlie stared at the front of the large horse as it galloped into his view. 

Upon the back of the horse sat a man. The signature large, bulky plates of armour meant to cover his arms were gone. Riding to the base of the wagon wall, the man toppled from his horse. For a moment, there was silence as several mercenaries leapt forward. Two higher-ranked mercenaries with lever action rifles gave cover as four men rushed to him. Two held large pikes, and the other two swords. 

 

Click 

 

A single click sounded from the wall next to him. Another, then another. It sounded like a bug. But why were the soldiers so scared if they were simply bugs? The clicking sound moved along the wall. All watched where the sound was coming from. All eyes followed the sound until it reached the front door. Two mercenaries that guarded the entrance raised their rifles. Charlie instinctively took a deep breath, finding himself scared of what would happen if the creature were to see him. 

The wind brushed the hair of the mercenaries as they approached the bloodied man. Upon getting to his side, several immediately set to his injuries while three more stared down in shock. His left leg was gone.

"Hey, what the fuck happened to you?" One of the mercenaries said as he shook the injured man. 

"The…The front twelve wagons…. They are all gone…." His eyes widened as the clicking sound rang in their ears. Slowly, they turned to see what sat upon the wagon and the kin of which lined the top of the canyon. A confusion of feathers, claws, and fur was all they saw before a thousand roars shook the canyon. 

Back in the main cargo carriage, a single paw, illuminated by the moon, appeared in the doorway. The foot was covered in thick white fur, and claws protruded from the front, perfectly curved for slicing and cutting. One of the mercenaries raised his rifle. Aiming, he waited for more of the creature to show itself.

As it moved into view, he fired into the head of the beast. The gun cracking made Charlie flinch; his eyes still locked onto the paw as the rest of the creature slumped into view. The creature looked more like a wolf than a bug. Its long snout, thick, slick white fur, and clawed paws; this was more of a wolf than a bug. 

 

The mercenaries moved away from the windows, not wanting to be ambushed by the approaching horde. Silence hung in the air, but only for a moment before the clicking noises resumed around them. Charlie aimed his weapon towards the open door, his finger lightly pressed on the trigger. 

 

With a soft thud, another of the Desert crawlers landed in front of the doorway. Looking through the tiny slits that worked as windows, he could see the flash of white as more of the creatures dropped down and out of view. The creature in the doorway sniffed its dead comrade. It placed a paw on its head and gave its former friend a nudge. 

 

Seeing its friend was dead, the creature snapped its head to face the cowering Charlie. Using what little intelligence the beast had, it appeared to conclude that since Charlie was the one pointing his weapon at the door, he had to have been the one to kill it. Bastard. Unforgivable. Tensing his finger on the trigger, Charlie watched as the creature threw back its head. A deep, guttural howl filled the air as the creature called to the rest of its pack. Once the cries were returned by its pack mates, the wolf threw itself forward. 

 

Charlie pointed the pistol toward the wolf. 'Point and shoot', he thought as he clamped his eyes shut and pulled the trigger. A loud bang, a crack of bone, and then the sound of clanging metal as one of the round disks ejected from the gun and onto the floor. Carefully he opened his eyes. First, he looked at the metal disk and the pinkie-sized bullet casings. Then he looked to the smoking barrel of his gun. Then his eyes fell onto the bloody and hole-riddled corpse of the Desert crawler. 

 

The victory was short-lived though, as the howls stopped. Growling and clicking again, more Desert crawlers scampered into the doorway. The merchants and mercenaries began to fire as the wolves attacked the wooden bars of the windows or tried to barge their way through the doors. More giant crawlers started to attempt to make their way into the room. Clambering over the bodies of their fallen, a few made it into the room. Charlie fired again, then again, then again. Only two shots left. 

"FUCK!" a mercenary screamed as one of the creatures wrapped its fangs around his legs. 

Instinctively Charlie sprinted forward. Reaching the man, he fired one of his rounds into the side of the crawler, killing it instantly. Without thinking, Charlie dropped his gun as he grabbed the man. Using all the power his scrawny arms could muster, he dragged the man back to the relative safety of his comrades. 

 

"Hey, you all, right?" Charlie said, slapping the man a few times to keep him awake.

 

"Get a fucking weapon, you bastard!" The man croaked. Jumping, Charlie only now realised his weapon was gone. 

Cracks came from the door. His body froze. An enormous Desert Crawler stood on the mound of bodies. Its sharp eyes scoured around until they fell onto Charlie. Time seemed to freeze as he stared at the beast. The deep black eyes stared through Charlie, shivering his core. Sneering, the creature's jaw opened wide as it inched closer. 

Looking to his side, Charlie glanced at his gun. It was just out of reach. Bright flashes appeared before his eyes as a mercenary close to him opened fire. At such close range, his ears rang. A wet substance trickled down his left cheek. Placing his fingers on it, Charlie pulled back his hand and stared at the blood. Glancing back at the beast, he saw it was already snapping at the ankles of the man. 

Its sharp fangs gripped around the flesh and began to tear deeply. Screaming, the man fell, tears swelling as he beat down on the creature with the butt of his gun. Crying out, another of the mercenaries threw himself into the fray. Charlie simply stared, his eyes wandering over the fight as his muffled hearing began to clear. 

As if realisation had slapped him, he scrambled over to the gun. Lifting it, he took in a deep breath. The iron sites were small and stubby. Slowly breathing out, he began to line up a shot on the creature. Wait, no, the shot before had bounced off, right? Leaving only a scratch, it had confirmed his suspicions.   

His eyes scanned the beast, looking at every muscle until he saw it. The legs were bare! Lining the iron sites to the legs, Charlie gritted his teeth. Just as he was about to fire, Iron flew across his vision as the mercenary's sword attempting to assist his ally, snapped and fell to the ground. Placing more pressure on the trigger, Charlie almost toppled over as the gun fired.

Blood splattered onto the walls of the wagon as one of the front legs was blown clean off the beast. Stumbling, its eyes turned back to Charlie. Growling and seeing no other option, it pushed back on its strong hind legs. Pulling the trigger again, there was just a click. Another flash of silver filled his vision. 

A thump, and then something heavy fell onto his lap. Reaching down, a hand gripped Charlie's shoulder and pulled him back. Looking down, Charlie stared at the decapitated head of the Desert Crawler. Above him, clad in armour and holding a long sword, a merchant of the Union Heavy Guard stood over him. 

"Fucking hell, he was worth the money," The head merchant said as the Heavy Guard swiftly struck through the armour of another Desert Crawler, cutting it in half as he did so. 

Still, they came like a never-ending tide of claws and frothing, fang-laden mouths. Claws and fangs collided with steel, but the armour worn by the mercenaries held off the razor-sharp teeth as the beasts fell.

"A sword made by imperial blacksmiths…." Charlie muttered as the blade cut through the armour of the Desert Crawlers. 

"Hey, you all right?" The head merchant said, quickly patting down Charlie. 

"I…I think I will be fine," he said, looking at the bodies that blocked the doorway. Panting, the armoured man stood, staring at his gruesome work. There was no hope in hell that anything was getting past such a pile of death. 

 

Gathering what ammunition and weapons they could, the mercenaries checked defences while the merchants and servants treated the injured. Charlie sat back as the medics and servants tended to the man he had rescued. Gagging slightly, Charlie threw his hands over his mouth. Fuck, he wasn't good with blood. His face grew pale as he shuffled into one of the room's corners. Pulling his legs into his chest, he sat still, saying nothing. Not daring to lift his head out of fear of what he might see, he listened to the sounds of men screaming as medics treated their mangled arms and legs.

After a while, the sounds of the Desert Crawlers grew distant. The sounds of yelling and cheering people sounded from around the wooden fortifications. Listening carefully, Charlie could hear large animals chasing off the last of the Desert Crawlers. War cries sounded in the night air as he glanced around the corner to look outside. 

Women with their bodies painted white leapt and weaved between the monsters. Spears, axes, short swords, and arrows ripped and tore through the fur and flesh of the beasts. What were these weapons made of? Their Bullets took several rounds to pierce the skin, yet these seemingly primitive tools quickly tore through the lines of beasts. 

Some women had red arrows painted on them, others with a black knife and axe motifs, and some were painted entirely black and adorned with red lines. But the ones that stood out to Charlie were the ones in white with red wings painted onto their stomachs. Their tall red feather headdresses allowed him to easily follow them as … they did not fight. Ten in total took part in the battle. 

But these ten did not fight in the traditional sense, anyway. From how they moved, it was as if they danced and leapt through the ranks. The stunned Desert Crawlers were given so little time to react to their speed that they seemed almost static. As he watched, he was amazed how little blood was spilt as the women skilfully cut at the jugular of the beasts or gave them a simple stab into the side of the head to have them drop. 

Their dance slowed. Wandering back, the women stared as the Desert Crawlers retreated. Following their gaze, Charlie stared at a tall woman. She wore a headdress of tall Orange, white and black striped feathers. Charlie gulped as he saw what she stood upon. A tall, monstrous creature of white fur. 

Yet despite the terrifying appearance of the beast, his attention was quickly diverted back to the woman. In her hand, she held a large war spear. Tipping her head back, she took in a deep breath. Sniffing the air, she lowered her head and began to scan the area. Her eyes wandered to the wagons, then to the small group of Desert Crawlers that now gathered by the side of what had to be the pack leader. 

The alpha Desert Crawler was about five times the size of the other creatures. Proudly, it sat, its large black eyes fixed on the lead woman. Shivers ran down Charlie's spine. He…He could have sworn the woman was staring at him. A large grin spread across her lips as she slid a foot back. The queen leapt forward, releasing a war cry that made the lesser Desert Crawlers bow before. 

Pushing the tip of her war spear into the sand, she went her foot back to make a footing. Leaning down, her eyes bounced around the Desert Crawlers. Sprinting forward, she took a knife from a strap around her right thigh. Drawing the knife, she stabbed it down into the head of a Desert Crawler. 

Swiftly, she swirled through the group, using each of the Desert Crawlers to pivot to the next, heading for the Alpha creature. Charlie's eyes widened. The sand was hard to move on, and with so many Desert Crawlers left, it would have been a long, bloody battle if they had been able to regroup and fight the natives. 

Regrouping to fight again was not beyond imagination; after all, they had coordinated the initial ambush with considerable thought and planning. Staring at the Desert Crawlers, Charlie saw the claws and feathers on their backs vibrating in unison. Was it a hive mindset? Or something more like ants? Assuming the Alpha was in charge, they could be subdued if that were the case. 

With that in mind, ending the fight quickly would be a good idea. Charlie felt his body tense as this woman cut through Desert Crawler after Desert Crawler, using each as a board to bounce further to the primary target. The more giant feathers and spikes on the back of the Alpha began to click louder, causing more Desert Crawlers to turn their focus from attacking the wagons towards the woman. 

Five Desert Crawlers at once leapt at the woman. Crouching, she threw herself towards one. Stabbing down with a knife into its skull, she turned and threw it back into another. In a swift move, she swivelled her knife and slit the throats of two more. Sand kicked up into the air as the Desert Crawlers charged toward her. Weaving through, she burst out into the night sky. 

W…Was she human? With such athletic ability and strength, she could lift a beast that could easily be the same weight as a human, maybe heavier. Two larger ones leapt at her; one went to bite into her arm. Its bite landed, and she plummeted into the sand. Desert Crawlers began to pile onto her, each ripping and tearing into her. The men stared on, terrified. 

Glancing back, he saw a large man sitting with a gun on his lap. Guards surrounded the man, so was that him? The Region Lord who was meant to be travelling with them to the village? Unlike the others who stared on in petrifying fear, his eyes were relaxed. Before he had time to find this behaviour odd, he turned and realised the calmness of the native women too. 

Sand suddenly struck the side of Charlie's face. Looking back at the fight, he saw the sand of the desert rise high as bodies of Desert Crawlers fell limp, thrown into the sky or out to the sides. More and more Desert Crawlers fell as the Alpha began to inch back in retreat. As the sand settled where the woman had been attacked, a pile of bodies lay instead. 

Raising her hand to her lips, she licked the ruby-red blood of a desert crawler from her hand. How delicious were the words her face gave to Charlie? Walking back, the Alpha stared at the woman as the claws and feathers on its back began to click once more furiously. The clicking sound became unbearable as it increased in intensity and speed. 

Yet despite this, not a single Desert Crawler moved to follow the commands. Calmly, with her knife in hand and deep, deathly-looking bite marks covering her body, the woman walked forward. Her headdress was now stained red with blood. She continued walking over the mound of dead creatures. 

Lifting the knife, she pointed it at the beast. Swiftly the beast turned in an attempt to escape, but the knife the woman had already flown through the air and found its mark at the centre of the beast's head. Carefully yet casually walking over the bodies, she came to the Alpha beast. Ripping the knife from its head, she began to carve down into the flesh and fur. All watched in silence; even the remaining Desert Crawlers watched as she used the small knife to cut off the head of the beast. Strolling across the sand, she moved back to the large, white, furry creature she'd arrived on. Placing the head onto the animal, she turned with a broad smile to the wagons. 

 

Slowly getting to his feet, Charlie pressed his ear against the wooden wall. He could hear what sounded like women with thick native accents. Mercenaries started to rip down the wall of bodies, gradually allowing the moonlight to enter through the doorway.

 

Walking over the remains of the Crawlers, the woman entered the room. Charlie lowered his head, copying the Head Merchant. The Head Merchant said what sounded like a greeting to the woman as she approached them. Saying nothing, the tall woman walked past the Head Merchant. Charlie didn't lift his head as she moved toward him. Keeping his gaze downwards, Charlie saw the moonlight that lit the floor disappear as the woman stood over him.

Carefully, a soft hand moved down onto the top of his head. Running her fingers through his hair, she admired its strange foreign colour. He couldn't blame her; it was probably the first time the native woman had come across someone with his mix of devilish red hair and brown streaks. Once seemingly satisfied with her examination, her hand moved down the side of his head. Examining his complexion's small details, her hand soon reached his face.

Gripping the sides of his face tightly, she raised his head. Not stopping the woman for fear of offending her, Charlie willingly moved his head along with her grip. His soft green eyes were soon fixed on the woman. Now she was closer; he could make out much more detail about her. She wore little except a long, tanned, corded grass skirt and top to match. Other than the clothing, she had a thick, white, powder-like paint smeared on her skin. Red stripes made from a similar mixture were probably signs of her skills as a warrior.

 

Observing her closely, he noted her long, flowing black hair and deep brown eyes. Her calm, relaxed eyes stared into his. His palms started to sweat as she continued to stare at him. 

 

"Hello, Mrs, how may I help you?" Charlie asked, breaking his gaze from the woman and staring at the wall instead.

 

Her grip on his face tightened as she shook his face. Saying something in her thick native tongue, the Head Merchant quickly responded.

 

"She wants you to look at her," he said, glancing at Charlie. At that point, Charlie realised that everyone had paused what they were doing and instead had their gaze fixed on Charlie and the native woman.

 

Charlie started to blush slightly and sweat from embarrassment as his gaze fixed back on the eyes of the woman. Noticing his face grow red, the woman gave her first glimpse of expression as she gave a small chuckle followed by an even smaller grin. Still gripping him by the face, the woman turned and started to walk back towards the door, dragging Charlie with her.

 

Once outside, the woman stopped. Still holding onto Charlie's face, she spun around to look at him. Charlie could finally see her correctly. He stared in awe at the woman as he took in her beauty. Smiling, the woman gave a small chuckle. It took a few seconds for Charlie to realise how red his face had become. Instinctively he leapt from her grasp. He moved too fast as he tumbled back into the white, blood-splattered sand. A little bit of sick rose in his throat as he noticed his hand covered in the blood of a dead Desert Crawler that lay next to him.

 

Crouching down, the woman put a handout to Charlie. Taking her slightly less blood-soaked hand, the native woman dragged him closer to her. Charlie's face grew hotter and red as his face was only a few inches away from the woman's. Placing a hand on his forehead, the woman looked confused. She wrapped one of her strong arms around his waist and threw the young man over her shoulder.

 

Hurriedly she carried Charlie past the merchants, mercenaries, and the other members of their caravan. She brought him past other painted native warriors, Charlie taking note of how the majority, if not all of them, were women, all in the same white and red paint. Glancing over his shoulder to look at where they were heading, it took a few seconds for Charlie to realise what he was looking at. A giant, white, fur-covered centipede. Its black, beady eyes were visible under the grey scales covering its face.

 

Reaching the creature, the woman threw a confused, embarrassed, and incredibly scared Charlie onto the soft fur of the beast. Climbing after him, she started to ruffle through the creature's skin. Once she had found what looked to be a long piece of leather, she followed the reign until she reached a saddle covered by fur. Grabbing Charlie, she dragged him into a leather seat of his own behind her and with a few flicks of the reigns, the creature started to move.

 

"Sorry, wait for a second, my stuff…." Charlie stopped his complaints as the native woman snapped her head to face him. Seeing her glare, he decided it was best to shut up and go with it. But as he was carried away, he stared at her bloody body. From where she had suffered attacks, there were visible marks in her paint. Ripped and torn, the paint pointed to where bloody marks should have been. All scars and all signs of injury were gone. 

 

 

 

 

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