Deathbound - Chapter One

Heavy rocks tumbled loose from the ceiling of the tunnel, striking Milo’s hard hat and driving his chin into the dirt. Biting his lip in pain, the boy shrugged off the stones and propped himself up on his elbows, careful not to hit his head again in the darkness.

His headlight shone dimly on the metal of his hammer and spike, and with a swift motion, he drove the spike into the wall, cracking another inch or so of rock. Scooping the rubble behind him, he crawled further into the depths of the earth.

The tunnel could barely accommodate his small frame, but Milo was perfectly comfortable in the earth’s snug embrace. Besides, he’d had loads of experience digging tunnels. His grandfather, a proud coal miner, had taught the trade to him from birth. Sadly, such skills had grown obsolete as time went on. The more dangerous jobs were usually reserved for the Deathbound.

Milo’s expression grew taut as images of the monsters flooded his mind. When the first had emerged from the Gate, eyes cold and faces blank, no one knew what to make of them. Sure, he’d heard plenty of rumors about what they were. Nobody really knew, but everyone acted like they did. “They’re machines,” one had said. “They’re super-soldiers.” “They’re gods.”

It actually didn’t matter what they were, because the first thing they did was kneel at the feet of humanity. “We are the Deathbound,” they had said. “Our directive is to serve you.”

Naturally, the humans were overjoyed, and the Deathbound were immediately put to work. The Pawn Models worked in the mines and factories, impervious to the injury and boredom that humanity despised. Rook Models went into construction, effectively eliminating the need for both bulldozers and toolbox sandwiches. The Knights became a rescue force greater than any fire brigade. The Bishops were marvelous teachers, educating even the most renowned scientists of the time with otherworldly enlightenment.

Nobody had ever asked how the Deathbound felt, Milo least of all. Sure, there were some groups of protesters parading their self-righteousness, but they were reasonably ignored. Although now, perhaps humanity should’ve listened to them. The Deathbound proved that with their own hands.

Milo cursed as his spike slipped from the rock again, barely scratching the hard stone. He wiped a hand over his face in frustration, smearing dirt across his cheeks. Sighing, he shifted his shoulders, turning his head to look back up the tunnel.

The section where the rocks had fallen earlier had now entirely collapsed, trapping him inside the earth’s deadly grip.

Anger, rather than fear rushed through Milo’s veins, and he turned back to the stone, letting the emotion double his strength as he struck again. The stubborn rock crumbled away, and he kept digging.

As the debris piled up on either side, Milo was almost grateful for the tunnel’s collapse. Now, he had no choice but to continue, to infiltrate these grounds in order to find a way to exterminate the Deathbound.

White-hot fury surged through his veins, and he began beating the wall savagely, smashing the rock away with the blunt of his hammer. No matter what, the Deathbound would pay for betraying humanity.

It all began with Siegfried. He had come through the Gate into an assembly line, as per the humans’ system. Each Deathbound that came through, the humans would prepare and ship out like fine livestock. The Deathbound man had been given an identification number, and asked his name, model, and directive. His name was Siegfried. His model was King. And his directive was to enslave humanity.

Unsurprisingly, that was exactly what he did. Sure, the humans fought back. But Deathbound are Deathbound, and soon the humans became the other definition of the word. Overnight, the world had a new leader. The Deathbound rallied to his call, shackling the world with superhuman powers. Only now was there no doubt in man’s mind as to what they were.

They were demons.

Milo set his hammer down and lay on his stomach, panting lightly. His head was dizzy from lack of oxygen, and he felt as though one deep breath could suck the air from the room, leaving him to asphyxiate.

He was close enough now, wasn’t he? His arms stiffly ached from carving the earth for hours. Worse, the anger had burned out, and fear began to trickle down his spine. With a grim smile, he realized that he might have literally dug his own grave.

So be it then. Milo put his hands on the walls of the tunnel, maneuvering himself to roll over. Landing on his back with a grunt, he stared up at the ceiling. Six feet of dirt and stone were all that stood between him and his mission.

Letting the fear flow through him, he stabbed the roof of the tunnel with animalistic fervor, squinting furiously as dust rained onto his face. Emotions were his only weapon, his only advantage in the fight against the Deathbound. The Regicide was depending on him, and now he had no choice. Siegfried would die; he swore it with all his human heart.

Soon, the earth’s grip loosened on Milo, and light seemed to shine in pinpricks above the soil. Relief spurred him onward, and he thrust his spike into the ceiling, shielding his face as the roof crumbled away.

Slowly, his hard-hatted head poked out of the hole. Looking back, he’d been so angry, he’d dug through solid concrete. The Gate factory was coated in a soft white sheen, as if the symbolism wasn’t obvious enough. Though, the lights were off, and the machinery cast gnarled shadows from the high windows.

Emerging fully from his shelter, Milo took a deep breath, closing his eyes. How much time did he have here? Ten, maybe twenty minutes? The Deathbound guards would sweep inside the building eventually. He had no choice but to succeed, and he was ever grateful of that fact.

He kept silent as he prowled through the Deathbound factory. He was in the medical sector, now. Needles glinted on the wheeled tables, as a giant scanner languished in the corner. The humans had certainly tried to find a weakness in the Deathbound; a shame they hadn’t succeeded.

Milo’s headlight gradually grew dimmer, his footsteps seeming ever louder.

Breaking the hinges from a double door, he stepped aside as it crashed to the ground. Slipping through the opening, he breathed out slowly, looking up with steely eyes.

The Gate of Death towered over the facility, a circle of stone the size of a building. Ornate marks laced the stone sides, rippling oceans and blazing fires, violent winds and rumbling earth depicted with unearthly beauty. All was captured within the grey prison of the Gate.

Supposedly, it had once shone splendidly as well, but now it was hollow, as it had been for the past three years. Only a few hours after Siegfried was born, the Gate of Death had imploded, the portal vanishing as quickly as it had come. No humans since then had been inside the Gate complex, until now. Milo supposed this made him lucky, in a sense.

The empty gate had a magnetic force to it; that was, magnetic repulsion. Milo trembled for a moment and immediately decided it would be wise to scour the area, you know, before heading towards the supernatural doom hoop.

The rest of the chamber wasn’t much to see. Scorch-marks blackened the floor and walls, radiating outwards from one untouched area directly in front of the gate.

Staring at the space, Milo could almost see Siegfried, as the scientists must have for the first time: blond, shoulder-length hair, a chiseled jaw, and a light behind his eyes that burned with benevolence. Shortly after his godly entrance, that light in his eyes had blasted a hole in the ceiling, and it became clear that this light illuminated one, simple truth.

Humanity’s time was past.

A darkened screen lay crookedly on a table, next to a particularly large heap of twisted metal. Milo approached the computer tentatively. The records. As a precaution, the scientists had been scanning Siegfried from the moment he stepped from the Gate. It was a slim hope, but Milo had nothing to lose. Latching desperately onto this logic, he paced towards the monitor.

He felt around and under the table, searching for a power button. Finding one, he pressed it anxiously. His heart was bumping against the fabric of his shirt now, as the screen became a lighter shade of black. “Turn on turn on turn on,” he muttered.

Slowly, his fear began to poison his ears. Milo could hear metal scraping, a distant voice, the third echo of a footstep. Good, he thought. The only power of a lowly man was fear. His nails dug into the steel desk, adding to the frenzied scrapes that seemed to fill his skull.

He laughed in relief as the screen flickered on, colored light bursting onto his sooty face. His eyes flicked from panel to panel, typing in a search option for the records of Siegfried. Siegfried, Siegfried, Siegfried. His mind whirled a crooked dervish as the computer loaded.

Titles scrolled down the screen in blue font, showing the Deathbound that had come through by their day of arrival. Among his contemporaries was Siegfried’s name, and Milo jammed his finger onto the mouse, clicking his file open.

The metal was excruciating now, the painful scrapes seeming to fill the Gate chamber, screaming for him to get out, get out, get out.

Milo latched onto this terror, letting the adrenaline fill him with power. It was good to be afraid. Fear was the only path to survival. This power was rationality, and that made him better than the proud Deathbound. This thought of superiority filled him with contempt.

A document file opened up, the white screen of salvation. Milo’s brain scrambled to absorb the information that came, offering a slight thanks to the dedicated scientist who’d recorded it in the face of death.

Imagining the steel clattering angrily now, Milo muttered aloud what he read, hoping to seal it into his mind to take back to headquarters. “Siegfried Lumine,” he mumbled breathily, “born the twentieth of March, middle-aged, blond. Kind of hunky, if I do say so myself.”

Milo read the sentence again and blinked. Whoever had written this must really have been depraved for science.

Shaking his head, he continued. “Model, King. Possessed Drive ability, Light. Details below.”

Milo started to hyperventilate, cold sweat dripping down his back. A Drive ability? Was that what Siegfried used? The rest of the file was too extensive to memorize. The metal scraped and banged, scattered and rang: get away get away get away.

The boy laughed, though it died as it left his mouth. His fear would carry him through; luckily, he also had a backup plan. Producing a flash drive from his pocket, he jammed it into the side of the computer. A few swift movements began downloading Siegfried’s file. Having it copied down would be the greatest asset to the Regicide’s agenda.

The only problem was, it was insanely slow. Milo wanted to tear his hair out as the false racket exploded around him.

Closing Siegfried’s file out of frustration, Milo began to wander around the records. Tapping his foot as the bar stuttered along, he cast his eyes down the rest of the day’s arrivals. He should have been paying more attention the first time he looked, because his eyes popped out of his skull, his heart jolting in surprise. Fear, terror, horror, screeching metal, all of it crashed down on Milo at that moment.

After Siegfried had emerged from the Gate, five more Deathbound had come through.

His fingers froze on the keys, eyes unbelieving what he saw. The files were empty, as nobody had been alive to write them, but the system had clearly sensed five Deathbound from the Gate.

A sinister voice began to cackle one shattering question into the mass of Milo’s mind, over and over. Where are they, then? Fear ignited crippling chills in his arms, and he trembled erratically, though rooted to the ground. Slowly, this demonic monologue was joined by another sound, screeching and violent.

The sound of metal clattering from the pile behind him.

Gasping sharply, Milo snapped into a stock-straight position and willed his body to obey. The file had finished downloading. He just had to take it out, and turn around. Take it out. Nothing was behind him. Complete the mission, save humanity. Take it out.

A footstep echoed infinitely behind him. Take it out take it out take it out. Milo harnessed every inch of his fear. Take the flash drive out, or you’ll die. Terror had stabbed completely through his body, staking him in place.

Take it out, for Regicide. For Mom, Dad, and Milly. For Grandpa, and to destroy the Deathbound who killed him. The Deathbound killed him. Killed him. Killed me.

Fear consumed him whole, and Milo whirled around, the hideous scream pealing from his lungs. A shadow was detaching itself from the darkness, lunging towards him.

The last thing Milo felt was not fear, as he had hoped. It was the feeling of a knife entering his throat.