Breach

Guardian 42 pulled up to the job site in his rickety old pick up and parked at the foot of the hill. Sighing he looked at himself in the rearview mirror. Beads of sweat pouring down his brown skin, compliments of a busted AC and the merciless Texas sun. Looking in his rearview, 42’s eyes flicked up to the black medieval shield stitched into the front of his hat. “Back to duty,” he sighed to himself, as he took his half-smoked wood tip cigar from the ashtray and got out of the truck.

He surveyed his surroundings. At first glance, one wouldn’t think it was the site of a top-secret mission to protect the world. It lacked all the flash one would expect. There was no yellow tape, no news trucks, and there was a distinct lack of loud emergency vehicles. Shoot, the hat was the only part of 42’s uniform. The Guard didn’t believe in flash, that's the sole reason the order has stayed hidden in plain sight for centuries. By simply keeping things simple. Only ever sending in the necessary number of guardians needed for each job - whether it's recon, or crowd and clean up – the less men involved, meant less chance of failure, and the mission was everything.

He put his hands on his sweaty lower back and leaned until it popped satisfyingly. “Woah there, Grandpa! Be careful, don't want you slipping a disk!” a familiar voice said from behind him. He turned to see Guardian 73, the only guy in the order who dressed bar casual on a mission. He wore blue jeans over fancy cowboy boots tied off with an even fancier gold belt, and a grey shirt with the same shield to match the one on 42’s quote uniform. “I'm surprised they still even send you out on missions; aren't you technically like 60?” he said, offering his hand. Technically he was right, but it was too hot for the banter. “71 years young last week,” he responded as they did their secret handshake. 73 chuckled, “Lucky man, you don't even look at a day over 20.”

42 didn’t consider himself lucky. His mind flashed back to getting dragged into a pocket dimension to be tortured by an evil succubus and he felt the opposite of lucky. But 73 didn't know that. Hardly anyone knew the pain and suffering he had endured. All they knew was the story I was ordered to tell. The one where I fell through one of the scars back in 1960 and landed in 2020. “Oh yeah, lucky me,” 42 shuddered and changed the subject.

“This breacher must be pretty serious if they brought you in,” he said, “what have we got?” They started up the hill together. “Well, it's definitely a breach, but we haven't made contact. Not sure if it's a friend or foe,” 73 started, “so this is still a recon mission. I’m just here for backup if needed.” 42 nodded in understanding, as 73 went on. “See that guy over with crowd control?” He said pointing out a man in overalls chewing out the crowd control guardians. “That ray of sunshine is Eugene Ficas. He owns some land a couple miles down the road. Apparently, he and his old lady got into it real bad last night. So this morning around six, he decided to come do some fishing so he could cool off.” 73 said with a pleased smile stretching on his face, “No pun intended.” 42 turned to him, confused, the pun clearly going over his head. “Oh right, you'll get it when you see.” 73 said with a dismissive wave.

42 lifted the cigar and bit down on the wood tip as he grabbed his lighter from his shirt pocket as 73 continued, “Mr. Ficas said he was out here for about 20 minutes before he got a bite, but-” 73 stopped talking mid-sentence - distracted by 42 - who was frantically striking the spark wheel of his lighter with no success. “You need some help with that?” he asked. “Yeah, man, mine must have gotten wet from all the sweat,” said 42. “I got you,” he said and concentrated on the cigar. A faint glow appeared in his irises, and slowly circled around his pupils, replacing their natural light brown color with a flickering orange light. 42 had only seen him do his “trick” once before on a mission in California. His eyes widened at the memory but before he could protest a tiny orange spark shot from 73’s eyes like a miniature lightning bolt and relit the tobacco. The sweet wine aroma filled his nostrils, as he puffed it back to life. “Thanks 73, your control has gotten crazy good man,” he said while exhaling smoke. 73 shrugged “Well - after what happened with those Cali fires - the higher ups pretty much told me get it together or else,” he said as they started back uphill.

73 was about done catching 42 up as they reached the top, “What he witnessed sounded like the standard breach signs loud cracking sound weird light show, then said something fell from the sky and when it crashed into the lake.” 73 cocked a thumb pointing down the hill. 42 looked and his cigar fell from his mouth as his jaw succumbed to gravity, “How?” he thought.

The humidity, the sweat coated clothes were proof of the fact that the sun couldn't decide if it wanted to be 101 or 102 degrees today, it was hot. But despite that fact, at the bottom of the hill surrounded by nothing but open field under the unforgiving glare of the Texas sun. Sat a large pond frozen solid. A thin cloud-like haze hovered above the ice, and as they approached 42 noticed that snowflakes were falling from it. “You'd think with the humidity - let alone the sun - it would have at least started thawing out,” 42said, stepping closer to the pond. Fresh snow crunched beneath his feet as he squatted down and put his palm flat on the ice. 73 nodding in agreement “Weird,, it wasn’t snowing when I showed up.”

42 got up and dried his hands on his shirt. “Have you had a crack at it yet?” he asked. “Nope, I was waiting until you got here before I tried,” 73 answered. He looked to his left at the sketchy old wood pier, and what had to be Mr. Ficas’ fishing pole was still in the holder on the old, cracked pillar. The haze was thicker in the center preventing him from seeing where the line had been cast. Hearing another crunch to his right, he turned back to see 73 cautiously stepping onto the ice. Slowly he put more and more weight on his foot, testing it before stepping on completely.

“Seems pretty solid looks like its frozen all the way to the bottom!” He said taking another cautious step. “Just got to take it slow so we don’t bust ou-” and as if speaking things into existence was another power of his, he fell, hard. His feet went over his head, and he landed flat on his back with a pained and audible moan. 42 laughed, just as hard as 73 fell.

Even Mr. Ficas and the other guardians who were watching very intently busted into laughter. Cursing under his breath 73 clumsily got to his feet and scowled up at them. “I could scorch y’all from here you know!” he growled under his breath; a hint of that orange flicker filling his eyes again. 42 chuckled again as he stepped carefully onto the ice. “You, ok?” he asked. 73 gathered himself, groaning as he rubbed his back, “Yeah it'll hurt more tomorrow, let's keep moving.” They treaded lightly in an anxious silence, broken only by the loud rattling of 42’s chattering teeth. “Check it out!” 73 who didn't seem at all bothered by the cold, said pointing. 42, who was feeling like the elements had it out for him today, looked ahead.

Where 73 had pointed, the surface of the ice looked like tiny frozen waves. “Wh-wh what ev-v-ver di-di-did-did th-th-this m-must have land-ed-d here,” 42 said with a frozen stutter. “F-f-froze the wa-wa-water bef-f-fore the r-r-ripples even se-se-settled,” he finished. 42 could make out fish, stuck in permanent retreat from the thing that came crashing into their world, and gulped at the thought of sharing the same fate. 73 walked around the edge of the circle and stopped parallel from 42. “OK!” he shouted across the ice before he tilted his head right then left, as he popped his neck. “The breacher must be down there,” he said, closing his eyes. 73 stood there for what felt to 42 like a long time as he stood there patiently shivering to death before 73 said, “Stand back a bit.”

He opened his eyes, the faint orange glow from before now completely filled his eyes, glowing bright as flares in the night. Teeth clenched, he aimed the light at the ice and let it free. No cute spark this time, instead it erupted from his eyes like a cannon, the recoil of the blast jerking his head back. 42 had to shield his eyes from the brightness and sudden rush of hissing steam that made him forget all about the cold. Then 73 regained his control and started to lean into the blast yelling from the exertion. 42’s mouth hung open, the expression on his face a mixture of fear and awe as reddish orange sparks flew up around them.

When 73 let up he almost tipped over as he threw his hands on his knees panting. 42 rushed over. “You’re like a human blow torch!” he exclaimed. “Freakin 'walking weapon!” But 73 didn't look up, still panting he said, “the ice doesn't seem as impressed as you.” Confused 42 looked down. “Oh, come on!” he groaned. The ice hadn't even cracked, not even a mark. 42 kneeled down and cautiously put a hand down on the surface; it wasn't even warm. Lifting his hand, he squinted down into the ice, and immediately flinched back when he saw two glowing blue eyes wide open and staring straight back at him.

“I think I found the-” but before he could finish the wind began to speed up. It howled as it circled around them like a cyclone of snow. There was a deep echoing crack as the ice began to shake. Then as quickly as it began, it ceased. They looked at each other wide eyed, and shaken before slowly turning around, and well they found their breacher. The thing stood roughly 8 feet tall, covered head to toe in sharp icy armor like scales. The outer exterior of the beast, although intimidating, was not nearly as dangerous or sharp as the icicle length teeth and talons it sported. It glared at them with its cold blue eyes for what felt like an eternity.

At that very second something in 42’s mind clicked. “73,” he whispered, “I just got your corny pun.”

Then, with a deep bellowing roar the beast charged.

The universe is a vast ocean filled with an unfathomable number of unique places and beings. Some beautiful beacons of peace, others Desolated cesspools of sorrow. Doorways, like scars in the veins of space and time, are spread throughout the galaxy connecting each of these places together. Earth has had many visitors from different plains of reality. From Intelligent, loving creatures coming to spread peace and knowledge, to savage chaos driven beast looking leave nothing but destruction in their wake. To protect the inhabitants of our reality, a secret order was created to watch and protect these windows. Individuals whose lives have been affected from encounters with the veils or the beings that dwell within them. They’re the shields at the gates, prepared to greet or destroy anything or anyone that tries to come through; they are the Guard.