The Albino

“Ben!” An excited squeal accompanied a flurry of blond hair and a flowery dress. Tracy Scaife, Ben Scaife’s little sister impacted him square in the chest with a giant hug and a smile. Ben wrapped the girl up in a not quite crushing hug that lifted the 90lb 14-year-old off her feet with a spin, “Hey Bug, miss me?”

Tracy wrinkled her nose at her older brothers teasing nickname for her, “Never!” She teased back, “Com'on, Gramma Clare’s just about packed.” Resisting her exuberant tugging, Ben paid the Taxi driver and hefted his duffle bag. Gramma Clare’s 1972 Bronco sat in the cul-de-sac of his childhood home. Grandpa Dick and Gramma Clare were Mom’s parents, and they were a constant fixture around the Scaife home since Momma passed. The loss of Patricia Scaife still stung at times. It would be almost two years since her passing, and their aunt and uncle had moved down from Minnesota in the aftermath of their daughter’s passing. Ben’s smile held a touch of sadness as he watched his kid sister flit around the house, stealing his bag and tossing it into his room before returning to bid farewell to Gramma Clare. While still in that lanky early teenager phase, His sister was starting to look more like mom with every passing day. Tracy was a surprise baby, almost 7 years younger than Ben; but she was still too young to be on her own. Pops had taught both of his children to be self-sufficient, but there was a difference between the occasional weekend and what could be months.

It was the reason Ben was here. Dad, Captain David Scaife had been called up on emergency orders. Considering the recent news coming out of Eastern Europe, Ben knew this was coming the moment he saw the explosion on the evening broadcast. It was an easy choice. Ben had already worked out his leave with both his Engineering college and his JROTC contact. It was easy enough to explain, and he was more than accommodated. He would be pushing his senior year back until his father returned, and his JROTC program would give him an exemption for family circumstances. His aunt and uncle had moved to the Carolinas to be nearer to them, but they were still two hours away. Both were past retirement, but Dick owned a classic car maintenance and modification shop which flourished in the two years since their move. Gramma Clare was Grandpa Dick’s right hand when it came to Marketing and Financial wizardry. They were there if needed, but Tracy had refused to let them kill their passion just to take care of her. Ben agreed, and the plan was in motion.

Ben’s brooding was interrupted by a guttural bellow that settled into a contented rumble. He stepped outside once more to give Gramma Clare a goodbye hug before she climbed aboard her not so quietly Idling Bronco, and the two siblings watched the classic disappear down to the normally quiet subdivision road. Ben sighed heavily before looking down at his tiny sister, “Pizza?”

“Death by Carnivore.” She confirmed, then laughed at her 6-3 brother’s confused expression. “That little place around the corner just got added to doordash, I wanna try’em.”

“Death by Carnivore huh. What the hell, why not.” Ben turned and followed his sister into the house. Their home was relatively open with a short foyer opening into a large combination kitchen, dining room, living room area with the three bedrooms at the end of a hallway on the far end. The kitchen was ostensibly separated from the rest of the space with a sizable island that sported a bar style lip on one side and a quartz countertop. It was their parents’ first real home, after a decade of moving for the military. Pops had gotten a permanent posting, running the training operations for McCrady. They had chosen to upgrade the home instead of Moving again. “I got it! They’re saved on my phone.” Called Bens sister and he just shrugged before heading into his bedroom. He found his duffel bag on his bed, having ruffled some of the comforter upon its impact. Ben always packed lightly, even when at school. The rest of his stuff would be here in the next few days by UPS from Stanford, but for now, Ben unpacked as he waited for the food to arrive. settled in, Ben plopped down on his bed, pulling out his phone. The news scrolled past on his feed. A dirty bomb had detonated in Moscow, and the finger pointing was in full swing. No one had come forward to claim the attack, and The Russian President was strangely silent. What was not silent was the mass congregation of troops along Russia’s western border. Poland was going on full alert, and the United States had recalled every active-duty soldier in any position across the nation.

The doorbell Rang, ‘That was fast’ Ben’s passing thought passed as he stood to head for the door. His mind returned to his father’s situation. It was over a decade since his father had a direct combat role, but his old man had kept fit. He was even taller than Benjamin at 6-4 and passed down his blond hair to Tracy. Ben was almost the reverse. While his sister was destined to be tiny like her mother, Ben was within an inch of being his father’s clone. His 6 foot 3, 210 lb frame carried little in the way of fat. His father had seen to those habits, and yet his mother had left her mark on his genes. Her Irish Descent had gifted her son with a bright curley mop of very Irish red hair and brilliant green eyes. ‘Dad regularly tests himself in the simulators, as well as the students under his command. He will be…’

A sharp crash ripped Ben from his internal thoughts, and the blood congealing scream accompanied the scene in front of him as he opened the door to his room. 4 men, all wearing balaclavas were standing in his living room, one dragging his little sister by her hair, blood covering her face from he broken nose. “You said the bitch would be alone!” one exclaimed, “Ah! The boy’s home, Lucky us!” a sinister voice growled as the leader of the group raised a pistol and fired several times.

A searing pain Caught Ben in the right side of his chest as he fell back into his room, reflexively diving away from the incoming fire. He pressed his hand to his side, feeling his blood flow freely, but not in great quantity. He pulled his shirt up to reveal the glancing impact. The bullet had just penetrated his skin, but the angle was shallow, and it skipped off one rib before exiting several inches later. Ben’s breathing was agony, he knew what a broken rib felt like from a dirt bike accident several years ago. He sprinted to his closet, ‘please be there, please be there.’

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Vincent Trainer, disgraced former corporal of the United states Army, looked around the nice house of his former commander. He was out of Leavenworth less than a month ago, put there by the asshole who owned the place, and who was not there to stop him. Then Lieutenant Scaife was the man who put him there. It’s not like he hit anything important, just some stupid civies car. He had drunkenly stolen an Abrams and was joyriding it around when he accidentally lost control and careened through a fence, crushing an old lady’s car in the intersection. Scaife was the one who ratted on him, revealing his inebriated state and compiling a list of other incidents that proved Vincent’s history. The disgraced soldier had spent ten years in Leavenworth, obsessing over the man who he believed had elevated his charges enough to have him imprisoned instead of simply dishonorably discharged.

“Ben!” the harpy on the ground shrieked, receiving another punch from the man still holding her hair.

“Shut up bitch, I’ll make you scream soon enough” the man sneered before turning to Vincent, “You said she would be alone. What the fuck is that puke doing back from Cali.”

“Fuck off Greers, He’ll be dealt with soon enough.” Vincent snarled, “Keep it in your pants, we have a twofer to collect. Kline, go finish the fuckwit off.” he turned to the kneel in front of the bleeding shaking girl, running a finger down the front of her shirt, “Then we can get to the fun part.” Vincent smiled as he watched the girl struggle to retreat from his touch.

Kline grumbled something nebulous about getting first go and began stalking up to the door the boy fell into. There was blood all along the wall, a good sign. “knock knock, fucker.” He growled as he reached for the door. His hand never touched it. A familiar sound of a weapon’s bolt racking froze everyone in the home just a moment before the door exploded into splinters. Vincent heard the familiar roar of fully automatic fire and watched Kline be thrown back bodily as dozens of rounds of 5.56 slammed into him in the span of just a couple of seconds. Greers swore, dropping the golden locks in his hand and unslinging a stolen AKM he had taken during a home invasion turned murder in Chicago. Greers raised the rifle just as Kline fell over and the Boy appeared in the hallway with his own weapon.

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It was there, Ben’s Graduation present from his father. Technically it was not his. It belonged to the family trust, but He had picked it out when his father had revealed his intentions. Legally it was a preban registered M11a1, or at least that is what it had started life as. Benjamin was an aspiring engineer, obsessed with interesting and innovative designs. He was studying mechanical engineering at Stanford, with a discreet intention of becoming a firearms designer after following his father into the service. He was used to keeping that secret for obvious reasons while he was in California. The moment he had discovered the Lage Manufacturing line of accessories for the Mac platform, he was hooked. His Mac11 was used as a legal full auto trigger pack inside of his Lage Max 11/15 upper assembly, functionally turning his 80s era pop gun into a fully functional M16. Ben had not stopped there, slowly experimenting with his present, applying what he learned in school. HIS Lage had a lightened bolt and a modified operating and buffer system that allowed him to reach truly terrifying rates of fire. He saw the two remaining men there, both now shooting at him, and Ben’s burning anger began to mute his whole world. He tunnel visioned… and squeezed the trigger.

His Lage roared its hate a second time at over 1100 rounds per minute. The D60 inserted into the mag well forcing ammunition into position as quickly as it could. Ben’s personally designed and machined compensator held the weapon in place as he held the trigger down. This was HIS weapon. He knew it front to back, had personally put over 25000 rounds through it and replaced two barrels from the accelerated wear of full auto fire. He held the weapon on target with practice and determination, cutting the two men down with a long burst that expended the majority of the remaining ammunition in the 60 round drum. He held his aim at a high chest and head level to avoid hitting his sister, and released the trigger after a few seconds when the last man holding the rifle fell from the view through his red dot sight.

Ben could smell the concentrated aroma of burned powder as he flicked the safety on and slowly lowered the rifle. Tracy’s eyes were wide, not in fear of him but in something else as her tears flowed freely again. They mixed with the blood on her face, now more than just hers, as she stood up and sprinted towards him. It confused him, and he opened his mouth to tell her its over, that it was ok. His eyes widened in surprise as a torrent of pink bubbly blood burbled out instead of words, he looked down in confusion as his bloodlust ceased and his adrenaline was finally overpowered by the burning fire in his chest and guts. Over a dozen ragged red holes were oozing his life force as the pain drove him to his knees. His attackers were dead, but so was he. The thought wrenched its way through his mind as his body began to fail him and he fell flat on his face. His chest heaved for air, only to pump more blood out through his nose and mouth.

Tracy reached him, managing to pull him over to his back and took his head in her lap, “BEN!! BEN!! NONONONONONONONONONONO, BEN STAY… DON’T GO… BEN!” she screamed several times before grabbing her phone from her pocket and frantically dialing, “Please come quick! Badguys broke into our house! They had guns! Ben he.. he killed them, but he’s bleeding everywhere. Hurry. He’s shot bad!! Ben.. BEN.. BEN!!!” Tracy dropped the phone, pulling at his cloths and pushing her hands on some of the holes in a vane attempt to stop the flow as Ben’s coughing slowed and his body began to convulse for air.

Ben was unable to do anything. Nothing worked, but at least the pain was gone. He tried to speak again, tried to tell his kid sister that it was ok, but only coughing and blood came out. He was dying, he knew it, and it was ok. She was safe. Her voice began to fade as his vision began to darken before something unexpected happened. He felt a violent wrenching in his soul and his vision exploded in a violence of light and velocity as he felt himself careening to… somewhere. Everything was moving in this column of blinding light. Slivers of a view darted between the small gaps in the light, ‘are those… galaxies?’ Ben thought as he strained to see glimpses of his surroundings outside of the blinding light.

Almost as soon as it began, a second flash blinded him again. His vision cleared to find himself standing in an environment of pure white. His feet were standing on what felt like smooth glass, but he could not tell anything other than everything was pure white and without form.

“Son of Terra, I welcome you.” A soothing voice echoed through the pure surroundings. Benjamin looked around quickly, only spotting a small glowing yellow orb as it began to expand and pulse. Benjamin felt completely frozen unable to do anything as he felt the heat from the burning orb assail his senses as it expanded before morphing into the glowing form of a human female. The glow began to recede, but still shown brightly enough to act as an almost garment that shrouded the finer points of her features. Ben could tell she was almost his height, long, lithe, and definitely female.

“Am I dead.” Benjamin asked, surprised to hear his voice instead of another fountain of blood and bubbles.

“After a fashion. You almost ceased to be before I was granted permission to take you.” The glowing being softly spoke as she finished approaching him, standing just inside arm’s length with total grace of confidence.

“What happened to me. Is Tracy safe. Who are you, is this heaven or hell or something else. Can you take me ba..” he fell silent as the being raised a placating hand.

She regarded him for a long moment before placing one almost uncomfortably warm hand on his shoulder, “Calm, Son of Terra. I can answer some of what you ask. Your sister is safe. I swear by eternities flame that she is alive and well. You did well, the vile creatures that entered your home are indeed slain.”

Benjamin’s knees gave way at the news, and he stumbled back a step and found himself on one knee panting as his mind replayed the Horrors from a moment ago. This time he was seeing them, and feeling them without the benefit of his body’s fight or flight instincts... He clutched his chest as he felt the bullets impact, ripping their way through his chest and stomach. “Who… Who were they…” He gasped. Pops had always taught him to protect himself and others, refusing to punish him when Ben had beaten the elementary school bully into a pulp for punching a female classmate. This was different. He had killed three people without remorse and without any feeling other than rage.

The being knelt in front of him. She ignored his question, laying an almost searing hand on his shoulder, “Peace, Son of Terra. Your actions were righteous and valiant. They are the reason you are before me.” Benjamin took a deep breath as he felt a soothing heat radiate from her touch and calm him somehow. “Who are you, then. Answer me that much. If you can, where am I and what do you want with me.”

The being helped him up before speaking, “You are valued, by the Cosmos itself. There are so few who exhibit the qualities you showed. Compassion, love, tenderness are rare enough; but to have them coexisting in harmony with violence of action, wrath, and aggression is rarer still. Your Sire and Dame have raised you well. I have need of your very soul, Benjamin Scaife of Terra.”

Benjamin felt ice run down his spine at her admission, “My… my soul?”

The being sighed softly, but Ben could not see enough of her face to discern her expression, “Yes, but more accurately, I need you… to help me… I cannot tell you more. I am truly sorry, Son of Terra. I cannot give you the peace you so richly deserve, for I must send you into another battlefield… a world set alight by evil fires of will. I will watch you, and I will help you where I can. I cannot force you, but my options are limited. Time grows short, will you aid in the saving of an entire world.”

Benjamin regarded her for several moments as his mind raced. He was planning to serve his country after graduation before moving into the private sector anyway, and he was probably already dead. His heart ached as he thought of his kid sister, but her safety was assured, at least in the direct aftermath of the attack.. “I… I will try. You gave me a second chance… It is not something I can refuse.” He bowed his head slightly in difference. “Are you… God?”

The being let out a soft sweet laugh before approaching him until they were barely separate, “No, I am not… I am but a part of the Cosmos” Benjamin felt uneasy as she pressed closer to him, “I can only grant you the understanding of the first language you hear, and I can send you early so that you may at least have some rest in this new world.” She whispered to him, her face barely an inch away from his.

“Uh…” Benjamin faltered. She was close enough to for him to finally make out a few features. Cheek bones, a nose… lips. She was stunning. “What’s your name…” He stammered.

“I am what your race named me.” She whispered, “I am” He felt her warm lips touch his in a light chaste kiss before taking a single step backward “the one you call, Sol.” She placed a hand in the middle of his chest, “I wish you luck.” She smiled, then pushed.

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Jukha’s footfalls landed with expert placement, avoiding every fallen limb, every betraying leaf, every potentially rustled grass stem or snappable twig. He was close, the Sow Yarkinal Deer was quietly grazing in the clearing, and she was alone. It was rare to find a female without foal at this time of year, but if a hunter could find one, their meat was its most tender during the spring birthing season.

His finest arrow was Nocked, with a freshly sharpened iron head. It was an expensive metal, especially for his meager earnings as a hunter for a small FeralWood’s village. Two more steps had him within range of his bow, and he felt the familiar tension in his arms and core as he drew the wood and sinew recurve weapon that he had crafted as his right of passage. His breathing steadied as he willed his body still. He waited a heartbeat more before holding his breath, refining his aim just a bit more before releasing. An explosive clap of thunder rang out instead of the customary soft twang of his bow. The shockwave of the explosive blast of light that accompanied the sound threw Jukha a great distance before he landed. He groaned and slowly stood, dusting himself off and pensively looking toward the clearing. The Sow was still there, lying in the grass with an Arrow in its side. It must have been killed by… whatever that was. Jakha nocked another arrow, and slowly crept into the clearing toward the animal only to notice… something laying in the middle of a charred patch of ground. It was not an animal... It was a person; of what kind he had no idea. The being was slowly breathing, with hot whisps of steam radiating from its unconscious body. It was big. Almost as big as the Warrior Orcs that loved to lord their status over the rest of the Village. It groaned but did not stir.

“Morag’s Cock.” Jukha moaned, and began collecting vines and sturdy limbs. He was going to need them.