The Bloodforged Kin

Chapter 203 - 197: Mason - Platoon 3: Jonas

Jonas, Firefist Doug, and General Tom stood at hole nine of a golf course, troops arrayed in wide phalanx formations behind them. Shadowy movements were coming from the woods bordering the green.

"Do you understand the plan, sir?"

Jonas turned to look at General Tom, nodding soberly. "I'm going to fight whatever comes out of those woods, Fire Fister Doug is going to back me up, and the soldiers are going to keep everyone off my back."

"Firefist, sir." General Tom replied.

"What?"

"His name is Firefist. He's earned better than that nickname," Tom said sternly. "Sir," followed as an almost afterthought.

Doug's look of gratitude was met with a blank stare from Tom.

Jonas nodded, the scarred man as silent as ever as he chewed his toothpick. He was intimidating to look at, scars criss crossing his face. He radiated silent confidence and power. Doug had never seen him fight, but everything about him radiated deadly energy. Violent potential.

Forms began appearing in the treeline and he stepped forward without a word, pulling the chain off of his neck. It was a thick motorcycle chain that looked to be about three feet long, but had the ability to magically extend and retract as needed. It was alternately able to bash or slash as he wanted, moving in unpredictable patterns. The very shape of it should have prevented it from moving sideways, yet it moved with preternatural grace, a living thing in his hands.

He stepped onto the green as the first creatures appeared. If there was any fear in him it didn't show - his expression radiating boredom. The spiders came first, leaping and scuttling forward with frightening speed. He didn't even shift his feet as the chain reached out, links sliding smoothly a foot off the ground, cutting the legs out from under everything in front of him. He didn't even bother with killing them as they rolled around him like heavy, furry beach balls. He sauntered through their ranks, his chain lashing forward at the loping wolves.

Six hollow thunks later and six wolves fell, clean holes punctured through their foreheads. His chain retracted, the links wrapping around his fists in metallic gloves. The waves reached him, wolves and spiders climbing over each other to reach him, each was met with a flurry of blows. Skin and chunks of bone flew into the night air as he danced between them.

Dancing isn't the word, Doug thought. This wasn't a clean dance with smooth movements. This was a bar room brawl, furious, vicious, and beautiful. The bodies surrounding him were forming a low berm, their protection quickly turning into a hindrance as creatures began leaping from the mounds. Bodies flew through the air but there were too many.

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Doug stepped forward to move in, fire erupting around his clenched fists.

"Wait," General Tom said, a restraining hand on Doug's arm.

Fear closed Doug's throat as Jonas was suddenly buried in bodies. He was about to ignore Tom's warning, punishment be damned, when bodies exploded outward. Jonas had activated Chain Wraith, the thick motorcycle chain a dizzying array as it circled around him in a maelstrom of metal. The golf green was suddenly cleared of bodies as everything on it was hurled away.

Noise reached Doug's ears and he turned to see the squads engaged from every side. Some were engaged in melee, but the majority of these squads were made up of magic users. Spears of ice hurled spiders into the distance, wolves continued to chew and claw even as they burned with magical fire. Spears of lightning, spikes of deep shadows, lances of purple light - all of it found victims in the target-rich environment.

General Tom turned to Doug. "Keep him safe. I'm going to command the men." He walked off without waiting for confirmation.

Doug turned back to Jonas, watching for any sign that he should jump in. He was all nerves and tense muscles as Jonas carved his way through the onslaught. Every time it seemed he was about to be overwhelmed, Jonas became fury in motion, punching, kicking, biting, slashing his chains around him, twisting them into gauntlets and punching animals away from him. Doug fired off two quick fireballs to knock away a wolf that was leaping towards Jonas's back, only for Jonas to throw him a dangerous look.

What do I do? Do I even need to do anything? He stepped forward, then back into place. Cast nervous glances over his shoulder at his men, then back to Jonas. The squads were defending the area with deadly precision, General Tom's skills and their experience keeping them in perfect synchronicity. There was nothing for him to do but wait for an opportunity to help - for when he would be needed.

The melee raged on for what seemed like an hour but was probably closer to 30 minutes - the most stressful 30 minutes of Doug's life. He was trapped between a rock and a hard place, wanting to help but not being able to. His men didn't need him, Jonas looked to be thriving, and Doug didn't even have to defend himself, nothing was making it past either side to him. Sweat poured off his bald head despite the cold, and his jaw ached from clenching his teeth - but still he stood, a loaded gun with the safety on.

Then, with a muffled huffing sound, it was over. The firefight had died out behind him and all eyes were on Jonas as he straddled the last Shadow Wolf, chain wrapped in his fists as he choked the final wolf to death. His back strained and the loop of chain around the wolf's neck was taught, digging further and further into its fur. Even in the dark light they could see blood pouring out of its neck and cascading down the chain in waves as it huffed for breath after desperate breath.

With a final heave and a loud crack Jonas stumbled backwards, releasing one side of his chain to shrink down to its usual length. He pulled it around his waist as a belt before walking away from the charnel grounds without a backwards look. Doug noticed many new slashes that would add to the scars on his face as Jonas passed.

The man walked calmly past Doug, General Tom, and the troop formations without glancing at them, without a word, without expression. The only sound he made was the roar of his motorcycle as Jonas sped off into the night.

Doug looked at the general and shrugged. Tom looked at Doug, at Jonas's retreating silhouette, and to his soldiers.

"Platoon, fall in! Ready, march!"

With that, Platoon 3 began their slow march home.