Deathstalker 02 - Deathstalker Rebellion

depths far below, old instincts driving them on and up in search of light and warmth. The waking world gave birth to bloodworms and barbed rippers and spiked golems in their own organic armor. It was spring, and the whole world was alive.
    Jack Random and Ruby Journey fought side by side, their flashing blades dripping alien blood and gore. They were strong and fast, and they never grew tired. They seemed to be everywhere at once in the great maze of tunnels, helping where most needed, and nothing large or small could stand against them. And Alexander
    Storm, who had once fought at Random's side when he was young and in his prime and unbeatable with a sword, now worked to plot strategy and send fighters where they could do the most good. He worked all day with a small army of scouts and runners, and tried not to think of himself as old.
    The pressure of exploding life slowed as the day wore on, and spring reached its halfway point. The Rejects under Random and Ruby and Storm took control of their trenches and tunnels again in record time. The Wolfe security forces weren't far behind, but then they had more energy weapons. The second day of spring dawned.
    The fauna and flora had been taught their place again, and the rebels and Wolfe mercenaries were able to turn their attention back to the more serious business of war.
    The rain slammed down in a never-ending torrent. The trenches filled ankle-deep with icy water, the levels always rising just a little faster than it could drain away. The Rejects splashed through the water to their positions, waiting for the signal. Then the whistles blew, and both sides boiled up out of their trenches to meet in the no-man's-land between. Arrows flashed and energy guns roared, and then there was only close quarters and the harsh thudding of steel cutting into flesh and bone. Tides swept this way and that in the great milling mob as two armies became only so many individual struggles, and every man lost track of his fellows. Men and women screamed and died, and blood pooled briefly on the jagged metal floor before the driving rain washed it away.
    The fighting surged back and forth, and both sides searched for an advantage they could hold and exploit. The fighters fell and the rains fell, and men and women became dim shapes in the downpour. Some went mad in the horror of the battlefield and the never-ending pressure of the rain, and struck wildly about them, never minding friend or foe. The air became so moist it was hard to
    breathe. The rain filled eyes and ears and mouths. And still both sides fought on. It was what they did. Random and Ruby fought back-to-back, their swords leaping and striking impossibly fast, and no one could stand against them.
    Rebels and mercenaries died around them but they went on, unflinching, unbeatable, until finally the whistles blew and both sides fell back, dragging the dead and the wounded with them to the safety of the trenches and tunnels.
    The rain fell. And that was the second day of spring.
    Summer dawned. The rain stopped as though someone had turned off a tap, and the heat rose and rose until it became unbearable, and then went on rising. Water in the trenches turned to steam. The blistering air seared lungs, and every move in the awful heat became an effort. The sun was blinding in a brilliant sky. The Wolfe security forces climbed into specially designed cooling suits. The rebels didn't need them. Neither, to practically everyone's surprise, did Random and Ruby. They just adapted. And when the whistles blew, both sides came howling out of their trenches to fight again. Swords sheathed in bellies, and heads blew apart like rotten fruit as they were touched in passing by energy beams. A rebel screamed as an ax sheared through his arm, and a mercenary spluttered blood as half his face was cut away. Men and women stamped this way and that, fighting for room to swing a sword. The dead and the wounded fell to be trampled underfoot as others struggled to reach the enemy. Screams of rage and pain filled the air along with the war cries. The uneven ground was a crimson mess of blood and worse. At the end of the day the whistles blew and both sides fell back. They took the wounded with them. Wounds festered quickly in the inhuman heat. The dead were left to spoil, to be recovered later, when the heat dropped a little during the night.

    Some people volunteered to fight in the night. Small patrols of men and women from both sides for whom the need