CRAIG WOYCHIK - THE SANCTUM

This is Craig Woychik's second publication. He currently lives in Iowa and helps edit fiction for the Eastern Iowa Review. He is especially proud of his beautiful eighteen month old daughter. 

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THE SANCTUM
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Sig looked at Lana from across the room, sadness in his eyes. He loved her, but the match was an impossible one. She was a mortal and he’d been alive since before recorded history began. He ached, never expected to feel this way, but there was something about her, something familiar that he couldn’t quite place. His mind snapped back to reality. They had a job to do, and it was always about the job.
 
In the dim light of the meeting room, he scanned the faces of his team. Tense, focused, some lightly perspiring. He could smell the fear, the aggression. In the far corner, he noted the glowering eyes and immense shadow of Cervantes, his right-hand man.

“Lana, are we set for tomorrow? Ex-filtration, overwatch, and diversion?”
 
Lana motioned to the projector. “Yes. Ex-filtration is set for precisely 1645. After you and Cervantes destroy the Sanctum, Guy will set off explosions at these locations...” she paused to point to the marked areas on the map. “They will be programmed into your HUD, to ensure maximum damage and effectiveness.  Fen will be circling in the S4, providing sniper cover and updating HUDs as positions change. I will infiltrate tonight, and make contact with our source on the inside. This needs to be a flawless operation. If we fail, Wurzak will summon his armies from the other side, and the world as we know it will end.”
 
The room erupted in a chorus of muttered agreement. Chairs were slid back, and the room was empty, save Lana, Sig, and Cervantes.


Sig was tall and dark, long, black hair to his shoulders, and a well-kept beard flecked with silver. Slender, but powerfully built, he was well-armed with an array of handguns in an elaborate holster setup. A pair of mirrored kukris crossed on his back completed the ensemble.
 
Cervantes was similar in height, but built like a bull. Blue eyes and light brown hair gave him a somber, intimidating look.  He had a solitary revolver in a holster on his thigh, and a high-tech battle axe on his back.
 
Lana was shorter, with long, curly black hair, and deep brown eyes. Unarmed, save for two bladed tonfas, she was built and outfitted for speed, stealth, and agility.
 
Cervantes stalked across the room, arms crossed, and a scowl on his face. This op wasn’t going to go well. He knew Sig was a loose cannon, and that would get him in trouble. Over a century earlier during WW2, Sig had almost blown a night operation in France. Before that, he went berserk on a trench-full of Germans in WW1.  Sig had no self-control, the primal nature of his blood coursing through, but with each passing year, it intensified. And though Cervantes still had a primal side, he had learned to control it.


“Sig, you going to keep a lid on it tomorrow?” Cervantes said with a bit of a smirk. He loved Sig like a brother, but his irritation factor toward him was extremely high.
 
Lana could see an argument coming, and couldn’t spare either one of them if it escalated. She stood up from finalizing the uploads to the battle hub, and rushed to get between them.


“I’ll keep a lid on it as soon as you stop opening a can of worms every time I make a mistake. All you ever do is...” Sig was cut short by Lana stepping between them. Her small frame was dwarfed in height and size by both Sig and Cervantes, but they both knew better than to challenge her. She was soft-spoken, but could hold her own, along wtih their combined tempers.
 
Sig and Cervantes lowered their eyes. Lana turned and walked away, chuckling to herself. Both men in turn silently left the room, and went to their respective quarters. They had a big day ahead, and even immortals needed to sleep.
 
Sig happened to be the son of the first vampire, Mordecai, and his mother was an angelic being who was initially unaware of Mordecai’s true nature. The combined powers and longevity of both parents had given him his extraordinary set of powers.
 
Cervantes, son of the patriarch of all werewolves, King Lycanus, as a boy, fell into a silver mine. Instead of killing him, it strengthened him, and built his immunity to the deadly element.
 
But no one knew much about Lana. She was mortal, as far as they knew, well-skilled at fighting, a technical wizard, with no supernatural powers to speak of. She looked to be in her early 30s, but no one was sure of her true age.
 
Sig leaned over his desk in his quarters, staring intently at the security monitor. He was watching the gate. He never liked when Lana went out alone. Deep in his heart, he wished he’d said something to her before she left. Yes, she was good at her job, and always came back, but he still worried. The gate opened, and her matte black Skyline raced through, speeding off into the night.


“Yes?” he said before he even heard the knock on his door.
 
The door opened, and Fen walked in. Fen, Fenris, was a brother immortal once a Viking fatally wounded during the siege of Constantinople, then brought back from the dead by a monk with a vial of holy water, and now the team’s resident sniper. He was average height, but with a battle hardened build. Red dreadlocks to his waist, and a braided beard cascaded over his chest, Fen was the epitome of intimidation.


“Sig, I’m setting up overwatch tonight. Something doesn’t feel right, and we need to keep eyes on Lana.”
 
Sig turned and slowly straightened up. Fen wasn’t often wrong. It was his worst fear coming to life. This battle might be the one where he again loses someone he cared about. “If you think something feels off, go with your gut.”
 
Without another word, Fen turned and left the room. A few short minutes later, Sig saw the faint silhouette of the S4 in the moonlight. He sat down on the edge of his bunk, and breathed a sigh of relief. At least he could rest easy for a short time. He laid back and closed his eyes; he needed rest.
 
Suddenly, after what seemed like only seconds later, he was jolted awake by a sharp rap at his door. “Sig, its time!” He heard Cervantes sprint farther on down the hallway, stopping at the next set of doors.
 
He got up and donned his holster rig, two strapped to his thighs, two on cross-draw setup on his waist, two shoulder holsters, and two behind his back, directly under the twin kukris. His black jumpsuit was a combination of kevlar and carbon steel chainmail.
 
He left his room, and looked to either side, checking on his team. Down the hall, Cervantes was armored in a similar jumpsuit, but with the addition of high tech steel plating covering his chest and shoulders. He had added another .50 caliber revolver to his gear, strapped to his other thigh, a literal myriad of axes and blades were strapped to his waist and chest, with the gems of his armory, a double sided battle-axe, and his very own greatsword that he had carried into battle almost a thousand years earlier at Constantinople.
 
Guy, a knight once trusted with protecting the Holy Grail, had pledged his life in service of it, and the Church. In return, he was granted a year of life for every denizen of evil he slew. He was a giant of a man, making even Cervantes look small. His long blonde hair hung in braids from under his helmet, falling over his modern scale-mail armor. A shield outfitted with small rocket launchers and a flamethrower paired with his black steel longsword. Bundles of semtex explosives hung from his belt and bandoleers.
 
Guy hopped on his steel grey Ducati, and raced out to the wooded area near the Sanctum, to prep for his diversion.
 
Sig stepped outside, and looked at their little makeshift compound. Chain link fences and razor wire surrounded the modular base. Everything had been airlifted in to this remote part of Eastern Europe over a year in advance while the recon team checked with the locals, and used thermal imaging to detect the Sanctum. A few random motorcycles, trucks, and cars littered the compound yard, and a few spare Spectres and S4s sat on their landing pads. All in all, the operations base probably covered a good 6 or 7 acres, most of which was bunkers and living quarters.
 
Sig turned to face Cervantes as he too, stepped out into the early morning mist. “We need to keep this quick and clean, man. No hesitation, no mercy.”

“It’s not the hesitation I’m worried about, Sig. It’s Wurzak. Last time we fought him at St. Lo, we almost died.” Cervantes looked tired, and worn.
 
Sig nodded in agreement, and jumped into the rapid response vehicle next to him, motioning for Cervantes to join him. He floored the gas pedal, and raced to the Sanctum, over ten miles away. On the drive, he tried to raise communication with Lana, but no response. He was worried, but had to focus, couldn’t waver now, but he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and thoughts of Lana.
 
The Sanctum... a dark temple to the other side. The pillars and statues were in ruins, and the stone was crumbling. As Sig and Cervantes made their way through to the inner Sanctum, they took note of its age. They hadn’t seen architecture like this since they had been young, millennia ago. But somehow it looked older, even otherworldly.


“Keep sharp, team. Thermal readings are off the charts.” Fen’s voice came over their earpieces. At the same time, something whizzed past Sig’s head, and slammed into something soft, then they heard the shot. A denizen uncloaked and slumped to the ground, a large gaping hole through the body. More shots rang out, and a dozen more bodies appeared and fell over.
 
“HUDs up, folks, they’re cloaking! Use thermals!” Sig touched a button on the side of his sunglasses, and pulled out a pair of pistols. He held them crossed over his chest, closing his eyes for an instant to listen for footsteps. He heard something... Eyes open, he turned, and fired. The denizen screeched in pain, and crumbled into heaps. More appeared out of nowhere, and he began firing. Over to his right, Cervantes was facing off against a swarm, battleaxe in one hand, sword in the other, swiveling and turning, taking out entire groups with a single swing.
 
Above, he could see the heat signature from Fen’s rifle, firing periodically, and in turn, more bodies stacking up.

The ground started to shake, and a low, guttural roar emitted from within a stone arch. A flash of purple light and smoke, and a warlord appeared with a new regiment of denizens.
 
“Sigfried!” TuCroth, the warlord shouted, pointing his sword menacingly. “We meet again. This time, you will die!” He waved in Sig’s direction with his sword, and motioned to Cervantes with his other hand. The regiment split into two groups, and ran headlong into the fray.
 
Suddenly, the ground was rocked by explosions. Guy’s voice came over the headset. “Had to set them off early, there’s over a thousand converging on my position.”
 
Never breaking rhythm, Sig calmly replied, “Do you need assistance?” all the while smoothly dodging and ducking attacks, and performing his own counterattacks.
 
“A little help would be appreciated!” Guy’s response came through, but it was choppy.
 
“I’ll be there as soon as I can! Fen, help him out if you can,” Sig said.

“On it,” Fen replied.
 
Sig had depleted his ammunition, and pulled out his mirrored kukris. The enemies recoiled in shock. They had seen weapons like these before, long ago, but in their home world. The shock was only momentary, for at a wave from the lieutenant, they charged again. Sig kept swinging, parrying, and countering, and the bodies around him continued to pile up.
 
“Sig! A little help?” Cervantes had been overrun. At least six were on his back, tearing at his armor. He was big, but they were fast and strong. Sig tucked and rolled, and sprinted towards Cervantes, when without warning, TuCroth was in front of him.
 
TuCroth...Half demon, half human, stood a mammoth of a creature with scaly grey skin, and a face like a swine, which made him unbearable to look at. In one hand, he grasped a sword, in the other, a large warhammer. An evil grin crossed his face, and he raised his hammer for an attack.
 
He brought it down in a heavy swing, making the ground quake with the impact. Sig rolled away, nearly losing his footing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her... Lana.  She was sneaking through the battle, making her way towards Cervantes who was now buried under a growing mass of enemies. In one swift movement, she darted in, cleared a good portion of them with her bladed tonfas, and pulled Cervantes out.

“Go!” she shouted. “Regroup and get inside the Sanctum! My source was captured and they tortured him into giving information. At all costs, we must destroy it. Ulrik has opened the portals, and soon Wurzak will have entrance into our realm.”
 
“What about you?  Sig said to keep you safe!” Cervantes replied, grabbing her arm.
 
“No. I will do what I have to, and meet you when I can.” She sprinted towards Sig’s position.
 
Sig was still in a deathlocked fight with TuCroth. Eventually, one of them would make a mistake, and it would get them killed. TuCroth was pressing the advantage of his size and weaponry, making huge, powerful attacks to stun Sig, and while Sig was dodging the attacks, he was weakened from a wound to his thigh.
 
TuCroth lunged forward with a well-placed kick to the wounded leg, and floored Sig. His kukris went flying, and he laid on the ground stunned. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and the ground shook from an explosion deep within the earth. In the distance, he could see Guy sprinting towards him, and in the sky, Fen’s S4 was being bombarded by the netherworld’s batlike bird, Nethars.
 
TuCroth strutted slowly to where Sig was trying to regain his bearings. He tightened his grip on his warhammer, and raised it for his killing blow. As he brought it down, Sig reached for a denizen’s shortsword that lay nearby, to make one final effort, when a flash of black fabric shot in front of him.
 
Lana attempted to block the attack, but her tonfas were instantly shattered. The hammer connected with her body, and she was thrown like a ragdoll into a heap some yards away. Sig seethed with anger at the sight of Lana laying helpless, and his mind snapped. He felt the primal rage taking hold, that deep-seated nature he had been given by his father, and he didn’t try to stop it this time.
 
He launched himself at TuCroth, bare-handed, and began tearing at his throat, his face, his armor. Time and time again, he felt his fist connect with TuCroth’s wormy worthlessness. He heard the sound of bones cracking, saw skin ripping. He could see the life slowly exiting TuCroth’s eyes, but he wasn’t finished with him yet. Then, a gentle yet strong hand grabbed either wrist.
 
“He’s dead, Sig. He’s gone,” Cervantes said softly. “The Sanctum is destroyed, and Ulrik is on the other side.”
 
Sig stood up. “Wurzak? Is he..?”
 
“He never made it through. I made a call to seal it off. It needed to be done,” Cervantes replied.
 
“Lana...” Sig spoke as he turned.
 
“Sig, I’m so sorry. She’s gone.”
 
Sig’s body began to heave and shake. Oh why did he have to be this way, always hiding his feelings? He had never found the nerve to tell Lana how he felt, because after thousands of years of falling in love, then outliving the women he fell in love with, he had made a vow to let them live their mortal life, to be happy with another mortal, and not break another heart, not allow his own heart to be broken again.
 
He knelt by her lifeless body, cradling her in his arms. Crying softly, he kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry it ended like this, my love. I wish I could have told you how much I cared for you.”
 
His team stood motionless, time seemed to stop, and the wind picked up. A dim, haunting light shone on Lana’s lifeless body, and a voice spoke.
 
“Sigfried, darling. I’m not gone.” An apparition appeared before him. It was Lana! Slowly, more apparitions appeared. He recognized them all, each and every one, the women he had fallen in love with over so many years. From the daughter of a pharaoh, to a noblewoman in the court of King Louis IX. His mind swam and he feared his heart would leap out of his chest.
 
“I don’t understand,” he stammered.
 
“It’s always been me. Throughout the ages, it’s been me you loved. Every woman you fell in love with was me. Every woman you’ve yet to fall in love with is me. The soul takes many forms, Sigfried; I’ve always been by your side, through everything, everything. Don’t cry. I know you love me, and I love you, but this is my curse. To be forever alive in spirit, but not in body.”
 
Sig nodded tearfully. He didn’t understand it, why it had to be this way, but he understood that this is why she seemed familiar. He closed his eyes, and gave her remains one last hug, then looked up and the apparitions were gone. “Did you see that?” he asked Cervantes.
 
Cervantes shook his head as he knelt next to his best friend and brother. “Let’s give her a proper send-off, shall we?”
 
Some months later, Sig was sitting at a cafe, sipping on a coffee. Using his peripherals, he glanced up from his book to see a young woman sitting across from him. He noted her bearing, her build, and the fact that she had two shoulder holsters printing on her trench coat. Blonde hair and dark brown eyes, she looked professional, beautiful, and terrifying all wrapped into one.
 
“May I help you, miss?” he said without looking up.
 
“Please, call me Anne. The reason I’m here is I heard you were in need of a new team member.”
 
Sig put the book down, and looked at her. Her piercing, yet soft eyes had a quality he was familiar with. “Who sent you?”
 
“I think you know who sent me, Sig.” she said. 

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