The hollowed, p.1
The Hollowed, page 1
part #1 of Arcanum Endeavour Series
The Hollowed
By Ben Humphreys
Copyright © 2019 Ben Humphreys
All Rights Reserved
Cover art designed using Canva
Prologue
Have you ever been hung upside down by your ankles, hands duct-taped to your hips, silver tape over your mouth for four hours? Neither had the black-uniformed Corporal who hung from his ankles, hands duct-taped to his hips, with silver tape over his mouth.
It hadn’t been a good day. To begin, he was awoken by his Platoon Sergeant before the sun had even risen, which irritated him for two reasons. The first was that it was too early for anyone to be up, and the second was that the constant whirring of helicopter blades had kept him awake all night. So, when the Platoon Sergeant burst into the barracks with all of his screaming and yelling and cursing, it was a rude awakening to a disrespectful sleep. Then, there was only one Mess Officer awake so it was a lukewarm breakfast with watery tea to wash it down and that left most of the platoon in a sour mood. After finally getting set to begin the day and his patrol, he broke his helmet’s chin strap. He never used the chin strap but the severed ends dangled on each side of his face which just reminded him of being a child and walking through a bug-infested brush and coming out with crawling insects all over him. Before lunch, at least three times, he’d gone to adjust the straps on his respiration mask and the rebreather had slipped off for a fleeting second. He managed to clamp it back to his face before any of the smog seeped in but he dropped his weapon every time he did so, which gained him a severe rousting from the Sergeant.
To top off this horrendous day, he’d received the honour and privilege, according to the Sergeant, of taking advanced point for the patrol. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be an issue except that it put him at least one-hundred metres ahead of the scout. Being the forward scout wasn’t usually a problem either because he enjoyed the solitude; he hated being watched and criticised by the Sergeant. But taking advanced point put him within the grasp of the Army’s biggest nuisance; The Hollowed. They were soulless husks who sought to terrorise the Empire.
The Corporal looked up to his feet that were chained from the ceiling. It truly had been a horrific day. The blood had been rushing to his head for hours, and at first the strange pressure felt nice like a firm massage, until the massage turned into a squeeze, then the squeeze into a choke, choke into a strangle.
The Hollowed had stripped him of everything. They, the disrespectful slanderers that they were, even put him down to just his underwear while they searched his gear. At least they dressed him before stringing him up like a piece of ham.
He didn’t actually know where he was. It looked like some kind of basement or something similar since there were no windows. He’d been bagged over the head when they transported him and the light jabs he’d taken every few minutes disoriented his navigation while they marched him to wherever he was.
There was no use trying to get himself out of the position he’d found himself in. Should he succeed in getting his feet free, he was likely to break his neck on the landing. Then, there was so much tape across his hands and wrists that it was going to be fruitless to try break free anyway. All he could do was wait until The Hollowed had moved him to a more ideal position, then he could make whatever move he could. If he died fighting for his freedom, then so be it. It was a satisfactory and honourable way to meet his demise.
No sooner had the thought concluded in his head that there was a sound behind him. He wasn’t spinning nor was he able to propel himself, so he had to wait for whatever the noise was to reveal itself. For all he knew, whatever caused the noise had been there the entire time.
Then the noise moved closer.
Closer.
Closer still.
They were footsteps he heard. Probably one of The Hollowed. Barbaric beasts they were.
A figure moved around passed him and stood in front of his vision. In its hands was a steel chair. This man was definitely one of The Hollowed. The aura and ambiance that surrounded this individual was one of hatred, despise, malice…yes, undoubtedly one of The Hollowed.
In silence, the Corporal’s captor unfolded the steel chair and slammed the legs down on the floor. The metallic clang reverberated across the empty room. Cheap scare tactics, the Corporal thought. He was tougher than that. With every passing second, he was plotting his escape even in the face of his enemy.
The Hollowed sat down in the chair. The sadistic maniacs dared to wear camouflage uniforms but without a flag on their shoulders. The Corporal tried to look as unfazed by the situation he was in, holding his face like stone.
“I know you can speak Mandarin,” said The Hollowed in the Mandarin language. The facial features and skin-tone said that the man wasn’t Chinese so he clearly wasn’t native. “Feel free to make any kind of noise to acknowledge that simple fact.”
The Corporal was taught, briefly, to repeat his serial number if he was ever captured and to never reveal any secrets or information no matter what happened. However, it had become clear that he wasn’t going to be let down from his bat-like position unless he gave an indication he was helpful. So, he nodded.
The Hollowed ripped the tape from the Corporal’s mouth with a quick pull.
“Very good,” said The Hollowed. It was shortly after that the Corporal became aware of two other Hollowed standing nearby. They were hidden in the shadows, no doubt hiding their mangled bodies and lightless eyes. The Hollowed sitting in front of him, presumably the leader, had colour to his eyes. Peculiar, because everyone said their eyes glowed red from the tortured souls in their chests. But this man’s eyes weren’t red. They were fierce though…and they looked cold. Deathly.
“I’m going to ask you a series of questions,” said The Hollowed. “Do you understand?” As the Corporal hung helplessly, trying desperately to stay stern and serious like he was in control, blood rushing to his head so his eyes were bulging, he answered calmly.
“Yes.” The Hollowed leader shifted in his chair, cleared his throat, then leaned forward so his elbows were resting on his knees.
“What unit do you come from?”
The Corporal despised how close he was to The Hollowed, no less than a foot and a half, and it was almost making him physically sick.
“2nd Division,” answered the Corporal. “2nd Imperial Army.” The Hollowed glanced at one of the others standing nearby.
“What country are you from?”
The Corporal kept his face still, even though he was greatly intrigued that The Hollowed didn’t know what nation they were opposing. If they truly knew, they would quake in fear.
“Jupiter-
The slap across his face stung and burned and he didn’t have time to flinch because the word had barely left his mouth when The Hollowed swung his hand. Even in the pain, the Corporal remained strong and let nothing show. The hilarity of the response fuelled his resistance and a small smile curled his lips.
“Next time, I’m taking one of your eyeballs,” warned The Hollowed. “Why did you attack four months ago?”
How typical. The soulless Hollowed were ignorant to their own actions which sparked the intervention. They brought their own misery unto themselves. As such, the Corporal refused to give the stupid question an answer. It didn’t matter. The Hollowed moved to another question.
“How many are in China?”
The Corporal smiled. If The Hollowed only knew how many men there were hunting them.
“You don’t possess the number of bullets necessary to kill even a fraction.”
The Hollowed had a sick look in his eyes like there was a grin beneath the surface of his expression. These pathetic creatures were Neanderthal-like, run by their primal instincts to seek blood and violence to pronounce their dominance. It didn’t matter how many there were. All of them would be crushed beneath the might of the Empire in time.
“I want to tell you a story,” said The Hollowed. “Do you care to listen?”
If that was what was necessary to get himself down from the roof to execute his escape, then he did indeed care to listen.
“Yes.”
Chapter 1
The silence was unlike anything they’d ever heard. In a world where the chirping birds were now sporadic gunfire and the howling of the wind was the whistle of mortars and artillery, the silence was deafening.
For one reason or another, like in all apocalypse movies, thugs had taken to decorating the abandoned cars and bullet-ridden shop windows with graffiti. Even during an outright invasion where people were being murdered in the street by the droves, humanity still found time to shake its fist at authority.
But amid the graffiti, the artillery craters in the asphalt of the road, and the black-burned frames of cars, the most eye-catching feature of this new world were the signs. They were put up by the Army, the invading force that had decided China was under its domain.
Of course, it was all propaganda. Effective propaganda but propaganda nonetheless. In perhaps a case of unavoidable irony, the signs were quite often targets of graffiti, but they were so numerous that it didn’t matter. They were screwed into brick walls and bolted to fences. You couldn’t stand in the street without having at least four in your sights.
Each sign denoted reasons why refugees and survivors should reveal themselves to the occupying forces. Some claimed the powder used in the respiration masks had to be replenished every so often and that the only supply left in the city was held by the Army. Approaching their nearest Army patrol was the best way to survive. Other signs
The propaganda signs boasted depictions of these beasts, drawing them as dark creature-like figures with long claws for hands and glowing red eyes. Citizens were advised to be wary of people that showed Hollowed characteristics, such as sickening and horrifying displays of violence, rape of ones held dear, low growls in the dead of night, scarred and mangled faces, and eyes rife with evil.
There were four of them on the rooftop, geared up with their weapons and their respiration masks. Their personal breathing systems were unique pieces of equipment, something that neither the Army nor civilians could get their hands on, so it further detailed them as The Hollowed. It also sent a lightning bolt of fear into anyone who recognised them.
One of them was sitting on an air vent with his boot lifted up to the edge. That was Kairos. An asymmetric warfare expert with a knack for strategies and tactics that no one could ever think of. The man standing guard and watching the doorway back to the stairwell was older than everyone else, evidenced by the slight wrinkles. That was Dreadnought. Grumpy, gruff, stuck in his ways, and forceful were his strengths. There were two kneeling at the ledge of the rooftop with binoculars to their eyes. One of them had a Mandarin symbol sewn onto the sleeve of his uniform. That was Apex. He was dedicated to the destruction and downfall of the Army. The man beside him was the unsung second-in-command. That was Apostle. A deeply religious man but also one who wasn’t shy when it came to a fire-fight.
“How long does it take to make it to the eleventh floor?” asked Kairos.
“Evidently…,” sighed Apex from behind his binoculars. “…quite a long time.”
“Are we sure the stones in our masks don’t expire?” Dreadnought said aloud. He wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular.
“Yeah, Dread. We’re sure,” answered Apex. “The signs are total bullshit. Don’t walk into that trap.”
“How can we be certain? I thought our masks weren’t developed until a few months before the invasion.”
“Because, to date…,” Kairos chimed in. “…none of the air-cleansing obelisks in the buildings have needed replacing. They work just fine after all this time.” Dreadnought grunted.
“Here they go,” said Apex. He was grinning when he said it. “They’ve just entered the floor. If you want to watch, now would be the time to get your binoculars out.”
“Please,” scoffed Kairos. “The way I packed that satchel, I’ll be able to see it perfectly fine from here.”
The black-uniformed troopers marched through the door onto the eleventh floor. With no electricity from the electro-magnetic pulse detonated approximately four months ago, stairwells became popular again. Trails had been deliberately left by Apostle and Kairos, so the Army unit was following an obvious path. One of the soldiers stepped into the main office floor.
Kairos was right. The flames blew outwards and broke every glass window on the floor with a shattering boom, something Apostle was convinced only happened with movie special-effects. Beneath their own feet, the building quivered from the shockwave. A black cloud of smoke rolled upwards as the fiery explosion snuffed itself out. It was going to be leaking nauseous black smoke for hours. No one would be able to find out whether the bodies were still intact or not until at least the next day. Apex had the hope that at least a handful of them had been propelled by the blast through the shattered windows. The Army troops would have deserved it. The smoke could be seen for kilometres, a stark contrast to the yellow smog, and the sound echoed into the forever.
Apex pulled the binoculars from his face and laughed, not of humour but of pleasure.
“Well done, Kairos,” he said when he caught some breath. Packing his binoculars away, he stood up and secured his gear by tightening some straps. “Alright, let’s move out before the rest of the rat-bastards get here. Dreadnought, take point.”
Finally, in Dreadnought’s opinion, they left the rooftop and began their descent down the stairs. Dreadnought went first, followed by Apex, then Apostle, and Kairos coming in last. They spiralled down the building until they reached the lobby where they spread out and dispersed for better battlefield coverage.
“Keep your eyes open,” Apex reminded them. “Everyone within a ten-mile radius would’ve seen that explosion and they’ll all be heading in this direction. That’s too many to handle without preparation.”
“Copy that,” replied Dreadnought.
“Check,” Apostle said.
“Check,” Kairos answered.
They kept a lookout for any signs of a converging Army patrol, looking for shadows that moved or sounds that didn’t fit the gutted city. All along the streets were the cartoony depictions of The Hollowed. However ridiculous and hypocritical it was, the Army certainly managed to capture the likeness of their masks. All it did was make them seemed like specially-trained monsters. Beware The Hollowed the signs read. But it was really only Kairos who understood what the propaganda was setting out to do.
The Army’s occupation of the city was less organised than the signs made out; they didn’t rule the surviving population. But they knew The Hollowed was their main enemy to defeat, and they knew that The Hollowed could get the remaining survivors on their side if they tried. The only logical solution was to target the survivors, get them to shun The Hollowed, and quell any uprisings before they began. Even with the post-invasion population of the city, a revolution was still the biggest threat acknowledged by the high-command.
So, the signs showed The Hollowed as legend, myths of the modern era, like folktales reminiscent of ancient Chinese culture. With the familiar style of folklore monsters, The Hollowed were played off as attacking the Army and the survivors without discretion. That was how propaganda worked.
“Patrol incoming,” Dreadnought said. Apex pointed to the buildings on the left.
“Into buildings, go.”
While the other three dashed into the apartment buildings, Apex dove right. He skimmed between two cars and flung himself through the broken window of a market-shop because he wanted to see how much attention they’d brought onto themselves. He tumbled over a table and slammed to the wooden floor with a soft grunt. It knocked the wind out of him a little. He wasn’t expecting the dive to have that much impact. With a hunched back to counter the winded chest, Apex started weaving through the indoor market. It had been built inside what looked like an old training dojo or meeting place from years ago since the windows were wooden shutters and it was unfurnished except for the tables and a few chairs.
The quicker Apex could get passed the patrol, the sooner he could get a look at them. He couldn’t engage by himself otherwise any reinforcements nearby would overwhelm him before his team could get back into firing positions. Ever the warrior though, he kept his gun up in case he had to engage.
He heard a sound and dropped to one knee, holding his breath so he could hear instead of listening to the plastic breathing inside his mask. He hoped that the rest of his team was making its way passed the incoming patrol like he was. If they had enough time, they could link up and swing back around to take the patrol down.
The sound he heard didn’t repeat itself. It was silent.
When he decided it was creaking wood in the eerie market, he stood up and continued through. Wooden floor rubbed on protruding nails and aesthetic bamboo walls left untreated for months really gave off an extinct-civilisation vibe. Bullet holes freckled the walls. These indoor-markets were common before the invasion, mixing traditionalist Chinese markets with department-store structure to get a revitalised shopping experience. Apex used to love visiting them but now he had to visit them in their desolation. He tried to ignore the brown spatter stained on the walls.
He stepped around tables and chairs and benchtops to keep his noise signature low. His boots knocked merchandise that was still lying on the floor from the invasion. Jade statuettes and sculptures dominated this portion of the market. Shattered pieces were scattered. Some were left completely untouched. The colour had begun to fade a little, or maybe it an effect of the tainted air, or maybe Apex saw the colour fading from the world in the middle of an apocalypse. Maybe he was so used to viewing the world through the yellow tinge of the poisonous fog. Either way, he had to keep moving.
