The Faceless, Part Two
By Graham S.
Galaxy from Getty Images Pro Created in Canva
Disclaimer: The following article is Part 2 of a fantasy series written by Graham S. It may contain mild fantasy darkness or violence. Reader discretion is advised.
To view other parts of this series, follow the links below:
”THE FACELESS”: WHAT IS IT, AND WHAT INSPIRED IT?
The Faceless, Part 1
The Faceless, Part 3
The first sign of the Faceless was the whispering. Outside, a soft, inhuman chant could be heard, slowly growing in volume as more Faceless arrived and added their alien voices to the vile song. Then there was the scratching at the door, gently at first, as if curious, before slowly becoming more and more aggressive, then the heating and lights went out, the power box ripped off the wall by inhuman claws, before, finally, the telltale whine of rending metal, as the door was pried open by dozens of talons.
Otheym’s heart skipped a beat when the first Faceless entered the room. From behind his cover, which was a flipped over bunk, he could see its pale, hunched, emaciated form. It lifted its head into the air, casting a glance around the room, more curious than anything else. As its eyes landed on Otheym, he could see its snakelike nostrils, lack of mouth, and large white eyes. Its psychic energies wormed its way into his mind, causing an agonizing burning feeling behind his eyes. With a loud click and roar of energy, the psychic pain stopped, its creator falling dead from a plasma shot to its chest. Eira lowered her rifle, and ducked back to her cover. Otheym tried to thank her, his head still swimming, but only managed to let out a pained rasp.
Slowly, more Faceless dragged themselves into the room, their inhuman voices raised slightly in anger, or perhaps confusion. Otheym and Eira opened fire, loosing plasma into the growing crowd of creatures. Omentouched Dafyr let out a mechanical bellow, before leaping into the fray, swinging his sword. Otheym prayed that none of his shots would accidentally kill the Omentouched, although his still-swimming head would make that hard.
Despite their best efforts, Eira and Otheym slowly began to move back to avoid the unstoppable advance of the Faceless. Omentouched Dafyr, however, stood firm in the center of the crowd, wildly swinging his sword, shrugging off the claws ripping at his implants and psychic energies ravaging his mind and body. However, despite his valiant effort, Dafyr eventually collapsed, the faint whir of his implants fading. The Faceless turned their attention to the two survivors, now that the main threat was vanquished, their whispers turning into enraged shrieks, as they began their advance. Otheym felt psychic claws tearing at his mind, and was overtaken with panic. He turned and sprinted to the back of the building, tugging at the backdoor, which refused to open.
Otheym felt a weight crash into him and fell. Eira’s body lay atop his, unmoving. He couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead, but could feel a warm trickle run down from her side onto him. A Faceless stood over them, its claw raised, ready to finish him off. He shut his eyes. However, a voice rang out, a pleasant, professional voice, but magnified, as if speaking over a microphone. “All non-hostile personnel, kindly lie prone,” said the voice, before there was a roar and whine, as if a massive cannon were firing, and everything went dark.
Otheym blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light that flooded his vision. As he slowly came to, he saw a lantern dangling from a canvas roof and the pleasant warmth of a blanket around him. He sat up and found he was in a large tent, Eira beside him. On the far side of the tent, a man dressed in the black uniform and rebreather of the Leagues of Omen military, was watching him. “You’re awake,” he said, his voice distorted slightly by his rebreather, “That’s good. You weren’t as low to the ground as you should’ve been when we glassed the HAB.” Otheym tried to speak, but his voice wouldn’t come out of his throat. The soldier seemed to notice that he was trying to say something. “I assume you’re going to ask what happened. Simply put, we, the reinforcements, arrived to find that you were getting swarmed with Unusual Fauna, and we decided to just send a glassing laser through the side of the HAB and tell you to duck so it wouldn’t hit you. Fortunately, the plan worked like a charm, and now you’re recovering from the damage done to your mind by the Unusual Fauna and the high amounts of plasma that came close enough to you to knock you out. On the upside, you and your friend will be fine. Probably.”
Otheym slowly got to his feet, and tried speaking again, “What do we do… now that the HAB is… blown up?” His voice felt slow and raspy.
“Not to worry,” responded the soldier, “We’ve been repairing all the damage done, and setting up new accommodations for the reinforcements.”
“So, we’ll… still be… on this planet? The mission… isn’t called off?” asked Otheym.
The soldier nodded in response, “The Omen wishes that the expedition continues. Oh, and now that you’re up, we have a list of tasks you can help with.” He handed a slip of paper listing the tasks to Otheym. Otheym read the first one, sighed, and began to look for his goggles, so that he could rewire the power box once again.
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Graham S. lives in Africa, in the Democratic Republic of Congo. He has been studying at Northstar for two years and is in tenth grade. He enjoys reading, writing, video games, Dungeons and Dragons, and Warhammer 40k. He hopes to one day be an author but currently is enjoying being a journalist for the Navigator.