Kingdom: The Complete Series (38 page)

“
They
aren't concentrating,” shouts the Trespasser into his comms. “They need to
concentrate fire -”

The darkness is lit up
by streaks of energy – flame, lightning and crackling plasma – erupt from the
energy field and pierce through the city, into the distant ranks of missile
launchers. Plumes of flame and ash are blown into the sky. 

Following the tendrils
of destruction are the smaller swarms of flaming energy that crash through the
night sky like eagles, hunting for prey before descending on the crowds of
civilians evacuating the city. It finds those with sickening intentions, those
with broken minds festering with hate and cruelty, and it changes them.

The Protector, glowing
brighter and stronger now, begins to float towards the burning camp in the
middle of the square.

“
The
time for battle has come,” it booms. “Mark. Follow me.”

Above the square –
above the city – the Destroyer hovers within it's red sphere, lashing out with
whipping tendrils of pure energy, tearing the military to pieces.

Mark follows the alien
towards the flames of the camp, towards the red wall of oily-swirling energy.
Fear twists in his gut as missiles and bombs rain upon the crimson forcefield
to no effect.

Trespasser One pulls
the rest of the squad back into the cover of the train station as flaming
debris falls around them.

Out in the darkness,
across the city, Glasgow catches fire and begins to burn.

Episode
11

Destroyer

Glasgow is burning.

The city, sparsely lit
before, is illuminated by the fireballs arcing over the rooftops. Moving as
though conscious, the fires seek out their prey like ocean predators.

It searches for people
that desire nothing more than to hurt others; to cause harm and pain.

Where it finds them, it
changes them.

In some, it hardens
their skin and muscles. In others, it shapes their minds to manipulate the
elements. Others it twists like monsters, giving them eyes that can see in the
dark, and bristling fur that will pierce skin. It creates abominations wherever
it finds that sickly inner darkness.

The monsters awaken,
and begin to destroy everything – homes, people, soldiers, tanks.

Everything.

Glasgow is burning.

At the epicentre of the
chaos is the glowing red orb housing the Destroyer. It lashes out with tendrils
of heat and light, searing the bodies of soldiers to ash, leaving the tarmac so
hot it bubbles and froths. Beams of pure energy cut through the buildings,
blowing them to nothing more than smoke on the wind, leaving searing craters in
the city blocks.

In the darkening sky
above the end of the world, a fleet of aircraft release the fuel-air bombs that
are weighing them down. Clusters of thermobaric explosives fall towards the
city, aimed straight at the crimson beast in the eye of the fire-storm.

The squad are crouching
in the blazing ruins of Queen Street station, ducking every time they hear the
hissing bass trumpet tone of the Destroyer's beams cutting through the city's
stonework. Trespasser One lifts a hand to his ear, and his eyes widen with
urgency.

He turns to Gary,
crouching beside the others. “Gary, bombs are falling, get a forcefield around
us now.”

Putting a hand on his
masked head, Gary focuses his thoughts until a blue bubble blossoms around the
squad.

“
Mark
is still out there,” shouts Jamie. “What about him? What's coming?”

“
Mark
can take a bomb to the face, Jamie. I'm worried about
us
.”

Jamie gives him a
reluctant nod, and the squad hold onto one another, crouched behind the remains
of a white-tiled wall as the whistling of the bombs grows louder.

“
Here
they come. Brace yourself, Gary.”

The bombs hit, and
their world becomes nothing but light and noise.

Fires are extinguished
by the pressure wave as the air is sucked away in a blistering wind. The
forcefield holds as bricks and debris shatter against it, driven by the
cyclone-force of the bombs.

Gary falters and a long
thin crack appears in the shield as though it were ice. The Trespasser puts a
hand on his shoulder – though Gary can't hear his reassuring words over the
blast.

Then it is gone.

Donald looks up.
“Surely that killed it?”

“
I
hope so,” says the Trespasser, and raises a hand to his ear as Command relays
more information. He turns to the squad. “Ok. We've got a problem.”

The squad watch him,
judging his mood by his eyes. He takes his hand-held grenade launcher from his
belt and uses it like a pointer.

“
Not
far from here are the last units to get out of the city centre – evacuation
units escorting civilians. They are currently being torn to shreds by people
with powers like you, people that the Destroyer is raising to fight for it;
Command can't spare the fire-power to protect them, so we're going to do what
we can to help them, ok?”

Jamie nods, but the
rest of them are giving the Trespasser the look of herbivores in the
headlights.

“
I
know that combat isn't what you signed up for, but we don't have much choice.
Just stick close to me and follow my orders. Ok?”

There are a few
reluctant nods, and the Trespasser motions for them to follow him outside. They
rush through the smoke and ash coating the once-pristine station, and down the
burning steps into hell, where the only light is the blood-haze cast by the Destroyer.

Mark is blown into the
sky by the bombs. He feels the pressure tearing at his skin, trying to suck his
eyeballs from his skull, like a hundred hands reaching into his lungs and
trying to turn them inside out. The flame follows the blast, and for a moment
he is floating above Glasgow in the night sky, fire clinging to his skin like
glue.

In that peaceful
second, he sees the shadow over Glasgow. For miles in every direction there are
red flames falling, finding new psychopaths and murderers to convert to the
cause. Sirens and gunfire form an orchestra, punching their sound into the
deathly quiet; tracers and flickering lights drawing shapes in the sky.

He doesn't fall. A part
of him thinks that perhaps he is flying – perhaps the Protector was right all
along.

Then he sees that same
alien holding him by the wrist, a dull green silhouette of a man keeping him
suspended in mid-air.

“
The
bombs have created a gap.”

It points down at the
Destroyer's shield, its words shaking Mark's stomach. A jagged iris has opened
where the bomb hit, like the pupil of a red, wounded eye. The crimson
forcefield has been torn open, showing them the red man-shape hovering inside.
As though in defence, a long lashing tail of fire roars out of the gap. The
alien throws Mark and itself aside to escape it.

“
We
must attack now.”

Then it drops Mark into
the gap, letting him fall into the interior of the burning red orb.

He screams as he
plummets through into the core, towards the crimson silhouette. It slaps him
aside with a wall of force before he can close the distance. Mark flies to the
side, crashing into the interior wall of the forcefield and sliding down it,
clutching his face.

Struggling to his feet,
Mark looks up in time to see two things:

The first is the
green-glowing humanoid rocket through the gap like a superhero, fist-first,
into the crimson shadow. The second is the red orb closing over, sealing them
in this prison with the Destroyer.

Mark gets to his knees
as the two shapes wrestle in mid-air. Cracking his knuckles, he roars and leaps
like a tiger, crashing into the pair.

Without breaking step,
the crimson-man grabs him by the throat, and Mark feels himself burning as he
is bathed in flame. Whilst it has no eyes, he can feel it staring at him with
disdain and pure, fiery hatred. It draws its fist back and punches him with the
force of a lightning bolt, sending Mark flying back into the forcefield. He
winces in pain, clutching the burnt skin where it struck him.

Mark looks up again,
and sees the sickly green man doing no better. His ally is fast and smart,
keeping a distance and flying around the crimson shade like a wasp, striking
with bursts of flame, then lightning, weakening it.

The crimson shadow
loses patience: a broad beam of solid light smacks the green man from the sky,
leaving it limp on the ground beside Mark.

Mark struggles to his
feet, nursing the pain in his side, and leaps again with a snarl on his face.
This time he is ready – when the shade grabs him by the arms, he plants his
forehead into its face and sends it reeling back.

He drops – unable to
fly after all – and grabs onto the shade's foot as he falls, dragging it down
with him.

The green Protector
leaps past him and punches a crackling, electric fist into the figure's jaw
before grabbing it by the head and forcing it towards the ground with Mark.

The three figures,
tangled together, drop like a dead bird before smashing into the bottom of the
red orb and untying themselves from one another.

Mark gets to his feet,
ready for another bout, when the ground vanishes from beneath him and he falls
through the shield, tumbling into the empty camp with a cry of surprise.

He lands with a crash,
concrete disintegrating around him.

He looks up from his
crater; the orb has already sealed over, trapping the Protector in there with
the Destroyer, alone. Inside, he can see crackling lightning and flame, like a
volcanic storm.

“
No,”
he whispers. “No, no -”

He jumps to his feet
and leaps upwards, crashing his fists against the forcefield. It barely bends
under his assault, and without flight he is left clawing at the air as he falls
back to the earth in the arms of gravity, cursing and swearing.

Inside, the Protector
is lying at the base of the orb, helpless under the relentless assault of the
demonic red man hovering above it.

The iris opens, even as
the missiles and large-calibre rounds dash themselves in vain against the outer
layers, and the Protector falls out, fading at the edges like mist. It lands
without a sound next to Mark, and he kneels beside it, watching it evaporate
like the steam off a winter lake.

“
Not
-” it says, its bass-voice booming in Mark's heart. It stutters like a broken
machine – and Mark realises that that is exactly what it is; a machine. “Not
strong enough. Failed.”

Mark looks up to see
the open iris, and the red figure hovering within it. It casts its arms out
like a wizard and lightning, heat, sound, force and energy rain down upon the
green man in a torrent of pain. He throws himself away from the beam.

The Protector lets out
a scream that, whilst deep and alien, is all too human. Mark feels it deep
within his bones: the death-cry of the being that gave him his power. The force
of the blast throws him backwards into a mess of tents and crates, and by the
time Mark emerges, cursing and shouting, it is over.

There is a faint
silhouette lying on the ground, surrounded by burnt, scorched earth, in a
crater that is to become its grave. It manages to glance at Mark, reaching for
him, before the wind blows it away like dust.

Then the Protector is
gone.

Mark glares upwards and
finds the iris still open. It seems as though the entire sky is a red boiling
sea hanging over his head, with the red man at its centre.

Mark leaps, fist cocked
back, and the crimson shade hits him with the same force, blasting him back
down into the very same crater where he watched his sculptor die only seconds
ago. Mark twists and writhes in agony in the ground, pinned there by the sheer
force of the assault, like an ocean current dragging him under.

He can feel it eating
away at his skin, burning away his protection as the fire inside him rages,
trying to repair the damage.

Jamie follows the
Trespasser through the rubble, cursing at the heat as they navigate over long
trenches burnt into the earth, as though by the sword of some great demon. The
others follow behind him, all of them shying away from the huge red orb giving
out a vile, poisonous bass note.

They are led through
the burning ruins of a bar, some of the broken tables still aflame from the
heat that tore through it.

“
We're
heading for a convoy that was evacuating civilians,” says the Trespasser as
they move through the smoky darkness in the midst of the red night. “They
reported contact with humanoid forces that were, to quote Command, leaping off
the bloody rooftops.”

“
Oh
hell,” says Gary, loud enough for them all to hear it.

“
Stay
close, let me do the shooting – and if you have to, defend yourselves and each
other.”

They come out of the
pub and cross the street to where rows of individual trees once stood, lining
the boulevard intersecting Buchanan Street. The trees are charred husks now,
burned away by the heat and the flame.

Missiles streak over
their heads from halfway across the city, explosions rippling against the red
forcefield. Miles higher, mere sounds in the sky, flies another fleet of
bombers. Trespasser One gets the word in his comms; another batch of fuel air
bombs, timed with a high-volume missile strike to take advantage of their
effectiveness.

He nods to the squad,
who have stopped with him. “Another bombing run – let's get moving.”

They head towards the
gunfire this time, the rattle of assault rifles in the distance. Something
screams, an animalistic cry that couldn't have come from a human.

“
What
was that?” asks Gary. “A tiger or something?”

“
Focus,
Gary,” says the Trespasser.

Just then, running into
their line of sight up Buchanan Street, come a squad of soldiers, six of them.
One of them stops in the middle of the road, waving his men across it, before
stopping and turning back down the street and firing a short burst from his
rifle. It clicks empty, and he drops it, pulling a service pistol from his belt
and emptying the magazine.