Chapter 166: Damien’s karma came too soon.
It was 02:30 a.m. Most of the base was asleep, save for those who were on watch duty. A six-man team of elite soldiers moved sneakily, even though they did not need to.
They broke into a house numbered 17 in the third wall, using a secret tunnel that only a handful of people knew about. Inside, the Gadriel family was asleep, adults and children. None expected any trouble or danger.
A faint hiss filled the room. Colorless, odorless gas that acted quickly. Within seconds, the Gadriel’s lost consciousness in their beds.
One man checked the vitals of the Gadriel’s and gave the others a thumbs up. "We can move now."
The Gadriel’s were thrown over shoulders and carried into the tunnel. Meanwhile, five more people joined the six-man team and started packing up all the property the Gadriel’s had come with to Fortress Four.
The people and the luggage were all loaded into a truck which rolled out of the gates at exactly 3:00 a.m.
No alarms. No lights. Most of the soldiers at the gate did not even know what was being transported. All they knew was that Hades and Sunshine had approved of it. Also, Major Elio had warned them to ask questions or speak of what had happened.
At exactly 03:25, the truck entered Jon’s base. The men that manned his gates had been briefed on what to expect. Weapons, new gel, fresh fruit and, chicken and six humans.
"Why are you moving them here?" One of the men asked Major Elio.
"Because the man is a smart ass and he is going to get himself killed or thrown out in the middle of winter." Elio replied.
Some people did not recognize Dwayne Newsom, but he did. As soon as Frank Gadriel made that comment about Dwayne having no children, he anticipated trouble. He expected a fight, not Dwayne getting permission of the base presidents to throw Frank and his family out.
Then again, they were the biggest troublemakers in the third wall. They had stood against Sunshine and Hades one too many times.
"Do we treat them like VIP’s or burdens?" The man asked.
"Burdens." Elio replied. "No need to be kind or polite to them. They won’t appreciate it anyway."
At 04:00 a.m, the truck returned to Fortress Four.
Hadrian Quinn was waiting for those that had gone outside, jaw clenched, gray eyes cold. He was like Hades, but a colder version.
"Is it done?" he asked Elio.
Major Elio nodded. "The Gadriel’s will not be our problem anymore."
****
The grey hour of dawn hung over the stone village like a shroud. Heavy, suffocating and dark. Only dim light of a sky was caught between night and day.
The villagers were already awake. Some were preparing breakfast for Damien and the Quinns. Others were shoveling snow. Some were already tending to gardens or carrying out their various chores.
Brigitte Quinn was the only Quinn doing some work. The others were in bed or supervising the villagers.
Damien was awake and watching over the people like a lord overlooking his servants. He did not trust them not to do something funny when he was not looking. In his hands was a pitchfork which he was sadistically using to poke those he thought were moving too slow.
Or those whose faces he simply didn’t like.
"Morris!" A young boy suddenly shouted.
He was pointing in the distance, eyes wide like he could see something. Most of the villagers abandoned their chores and turned to look in the direction where the boy was pointing.
A figure seemed to be moving towards the village. Excitement grew in their hearts, hope brewed that they would soon be free of the tyrant outsider.
The figure became clearer, and the villagers gasped. It was Morris!!! He was alive and pulling something behind him with a single hand.
Damien pushed through the villagers and saw it for himself. His face twisted with disbelief. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his gun, hand trembling nervously. "You are not real." He shouted.
Morris took four big steps and reached them. He stood before Damien, steady and unflinching.
Damien’s breath caught. Deep down, a sick certainty clawed at him. The mist did not leave survivors unchanged. He was worried that Morris had awakened too.
"Back off or I shoot." Damien ordered.
"He killed the chief." A woman wailed.
The villagers started to wail and shout the names of those that had met their end at Damien’s hand. They told him of Damien’s super speed and pointed to the small hill of bodies in the snow that were waiting to be buried.
Morris looked at Damien. His fists clenched so tight that blood seeped from where his nails cut into his palms. His vision blurred with rage, chest heaving as grief ripped through him like fire.
A roar built in his throat, primal and deep. His skin ripped bones groaning as if stretched beyond reason. His muscles surged tearing through the seamless of his ragged clothes. He grew taller, broader...like something out of a fantasy story.
Before the stunned villager’s eyes, Morris became a giant.
Gasps broke into cries of awe and terror, some even fell on knees from the shock, others whispered prayers.
Damien staggered back, his face pale. His lips parted, no words finding him. The gun wavered before him like a twig in the storm.
"What the...hell are you?" He muttered, almost chocking on his breath.
He did not wait for an answer. Every sense yelled danger...flee.
But he did not flee. Instead, he pulled the trigger, aiming for Morris’s head which was miles above in the air. The bullet hit Morris’s stomach and bounced to the ground.
Gasps tore through the air.
Damien fired again.
Silence.
The gun was empty!!
"No....."Damien gasped, fumbling, shaking the weapon as if the bullets would appear by sheer desperation. His eyes darted to the villagers, to the ground, to Morris’s colossal form looming over him.
He was left with just one option: to run, but before he could, the villagers surged forward in fury, rage boiling over after a night of humiliation. Men grabbed rocks, women raised sticks, some even fists, ready to tear Damien apart.
But Morris’ voice thundered, low and commanding.
"Stop!"
The crowd froze; their anger caught in their throats.
Morris’ eyes locked on Damien, his voice like rolling thunder. "He is mine."
Damien laughed. A wild broken laugh that cracked through the air. He spread his arms, staring up at the towering Morris. "Then do it!" He shouted, spittle flying from his lips. "Kill me, Morris! Crush me like an insect. Do you think you can be faster than me?"
Morris’ massive hands shot out like snakes and closed around Damien’s neck, lifting him from the ground like a child might pluck up a rag doll.
Damien’s legs kicked uselessly, and he started pleading his case. "We can work this out. I killed your father; you can kill my wife."
Villagers gasped.
Nora fainted.
Even Avenn Quinn was astounded.
Morris thought for a while about what to do and he decided that killing Damien was showing him mercy. "Death is not what you deserve." His voice rumbled steady.
The giant raised his other hand, his fingers curling like claws. With a sickening crack, he seized Damien right leg at the knee and twisted it, before ripping it off.
The villagers recoiled, some turning away, others staring in horrified awe. Parents shielded their children’s eyes, though many peeked through fingers with widened trembling gazes.
Damien’s scream pierced the air, raw and unholy. Blood sprayed, staining the ground. Morris gave the other leg the same treatment.
The gun fell from Damien’s grasp, as he passed out.
Morris tossed Damien’s body on the ground. "Now let us see how you use those legs to run."
He looked at the villagers as he shrunk back to his regular size. "Bring the meat I brought with me. Buck and Geoff are with the meat. He thought he killed them, but they survived and I found them."
Morris’s eyes turned to the pile of bodies in the snow. "Prepare for a funeral. My father will be burned with Damien Quinn’s legs and whichever hand he used to shoot. Get a healer to treat him. He is not allowed to die."