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[Erik Vrell]

Erik resisted the urge to struggle against his bindings, the barbed links of the chains already digging into his flesh. The psychic’s focus was drawn towards the jagged knife heading towards his throat, halting its advance with his telekinesis. Emperor Scorpion struggled to plunge his blade towards his victim’s throat, grunting with effort. After a minutes of struggling, the bandit lord gave up. 

“You're a tenacious one, I’ll give you that. I'd expect no less.” Emperor Scorpion spat, moving out of the psychic’s limited field of vision. Erik cried out as half a dozen knives dug into his skin at once, the agony causing his vision to blur. 

“What do you want?” Erik gasped, barely clinging to consciousness. “How do you know my name?”

“We’ve been watching you.” The bandit King chuckled maliciously, his laughter a deep, throaty rasping sound. “Sand Hawk isn't good at much, but at least he can sit under the sand and listen without fucking up too badly. The dunes don't need a ruler, boy, we don't need civilisation. We survived in chaos, we thrived in it, and as it once was, again it shall be.”

“So you're behind everything plaguing Nippur?” Erik asked, rage creeping into his voice despite his vulnerable position. Another rasping chuckle escaped the bandit’s mouth.

“No, I can't say I am. But if they succeed, so do I, so lending a couple of men never hurts.” 

“You could never hope to face King Gilgamesh.” Erik spat, his voice filled with hate, groping for his axe, sure that he had dropped it nearby. “Your mission has been doomed from the start.” 

“No, I cannot handle Gilgamesh myself. But I don't have to.” Emperor Scorpion said, hooking a chain around Erik’s throat. The psychic strained himself to hold back the chain, but found that his telekinesis had abandoned him.

“What-” He gasped as the cruel serrated links dug into his throat, his powers refusing to come forth. 

“I see the poison is working nicely.” The bandit King said as he pulled the chains a little tighter, bringing pinpoints of flashing light into his victim’s vision. “As I was saying, I don't have to fight Gilgamesh. I just have to drive off all of his followers until all that's left is him, King of nothing.”

“Gilgamesh will come for you.” Erik spat feebly. The psychic screamed internally for his powers to return, uttering every prayer he knew, even as his thoughts began to blur together. Of course, there was no response, and the gravity of the situation began to sink in. Erik had gone for years without the subtle presence of the mad God at the back of his mind, but his powers at least gave him some solace that Gal’skap was with him in some way. For the first time in over a decade, Erik was truly cut off from his patron. The realisation closed in on him like a thick blanket of smoke, almost as choking as the chains around his neck. Emperor Scorpion was not ignorant of the psychic’s struggle, and wheezed maniacally as he watched his victim spasm in the throes of despair. 

“Come on, boy, I'll let you call for help. Go on, scream for Gilgamesh.” The bandit King said as he loosened the links just enough. 

“H-help!” Erik cried, his voice hoarse from the poison creeping through his veins. Emperor Scorpion’s laughter redoubled at the display.

“See, boy, your King isn't coming.” 

“I wasn't calling for him.” Erik spat, his expression venomous enough to kill had he not been pinned face down to the floor. The bandit King turned around as he heard something behind him. A dagger whistled through the air, narrowly missing the bandit. 

“Emperor Scorpion, your reign ends here, just as I promised but, didn't actually say because I was scared that you'd cut my legs off, months ago!” Sand Hawk roared. 

To Erik’s surprise, the chains binding him retracted, and the heavy boot pinning him to the floor left his back. The psychic struggled to right himself as he heard the sound of shifting sand, but his torn and weakened muscles couldn't bear his weight. Sand Hawk rushed over to the psychic and uncapped a vial of clear liquid, raising it to his allie’s lips. 

“Here, it's the antidote to Emperor Scorpion’s poison, I've been sitting on this for just the right moment.” Sand Hawk said, obviously in a hurry to get the psychic back on his feet. Erik gratefully took the antidote, warmth rapidly returning to limbs he hadn't even realised were numb. 

“I owe you.” Erik said as he rose to his feet, grabbing his axe and gingerly touching his throat to make sure the bleeding wasn't serious. The psychic took a look at the bandit and noticed he looked somewhat different. Realising what it was, Erik took a cautious step back, pointing to the bandit’s cape. “Sand Hawk, what the hell is that thing?” 

A rusted jetpack was tied to his back, adorned with haphazardly placed hawk feathers. The pack looked like it could explode at any moment, and Sand Hawk held the ripcord in his hand, ready to start it up.

“It's my secret weapon that he took from me. Now, no time to explain, but we’ve gotta move!” Sand Hawk shouted as he pulled on the cord, the twin turbine of the jetpack roaring to life with a belch of smoke. Before Erik could object, Sand Hawk rushed forward and grabbed him, the pair taking off at ludicrous speed.

“Tell me what the hell is happening!” Erik demanded, but Sand Hawk didn't have to answer. A bump in the sands could be seen chasing after the pair, keeping pace even as they raced across the dunes. Even as the scenery whipped past at breakneck speeds, the mound drew closer and, to Erik’s horror, half a dozen barbed chains, each tipped with a jagged, rusted knife, emerged from the sands like nightmarish serpents. Each chain moved on its own, striking like a cobra at the fleeing pair, only narrowly missing each time.

“I can't keep this up for long, have you got anything?” Sand Hawk shouted over the roar of the jetpack’s engine and the screaming wind. Erik reached into the depths of his mind while he tied the axe onto his back, and the font of power that he had missed so dearly responded with glee. Psi exploded from the psychic’s sleeves as his eyes lit up like amethystine stars, coalescing into the familiar shape of his great psi bow. Erik drew back his arm over Sand Hawk’s shoulder, an arrow appearing in the bow, right on cue. Charging even more power into the arrow, the projectile started to throb, the steady heartbeat signalling its destructive potential. 

The psychic took careful aim at the centre of the chains, conscious that he only had one shot. Adjusting his aim to where the bandit King would be when he loosed the arrow, Erik released the pulsing projectile, the weight of his wrath behind the shot. The arrow pierced through the sands with deadly precision, the mound faltering and falling behind as the shot hit home.

“Here comes the good part.” Erik called to Sand Hawk, signalling for him to slow down. The bandit gave Erik a strange look before complying, his jetpack slowing before dropping the pair to the ground. The telltale bump in the sand began to move towards to pair again, before the sand around it erupted in a brilliant violet explosion. Grit showered the area as Emperor Scorpion was revealed, and Erik got a clear look at him for the first time. 

The bandit King was surprisingly older than Erik had expected, the little hair he had a faded grey and his skin wrinkled, but his form was still fit and muscular. He wore a suit of segmented black armour, and instead being shoddily prepared like the armour of his subordinates, the suit was expertly made into the likeness of an emperor scorpion’s carapace. Six holes were bored into the suit, allowing the horrific array of seemingly sentient chains to reach the outside world, and a large portion of it had been torn away in the violence of the arrows detonation. 

“Surrender yourself, bandit.” Erik demanded, his anger ignited by the spark of pain that showed itself when he spoke.

“No! Not like this! I will complete my mission!” The bandit King roared as he shakily rose to his feet. “The dunes will return to chaos, the strong will rule, and the weak will die! Just as it is meant to be!” 

“You're delusional.” Erik spat. “The dunes will be united beneath the banner of New Babylon. Not you, not Baron Deathchew, not even Diablo himself can stop this vision from being realised. It is destiny.” 

“No… I still draw breath, and I will fight until my last. Now come,” Emperor Scorpion hissed, raising his arms in challenge. “Face the Emperor of the sands.”

Erik lunged forwards, psi crackling forth from beneath his skin as he overcharged his body, drawing Mageslayer and summoning a psi blade to his hand as he rushed towards the bandit King. Even in his empowered state, however, Erik was not prepared for Emperor Scorpion’s retaliation. Each chain extending from his back moved with a mind now it's own, each pinpointing and lunging towards a weak point, just as another foiled blow after blow aimed at their master. The bandit King gripped the handle of one of the rusted knives, bringing it to bear against the mindbreaker. Even with the combined efforts of Erik and Sand Hawk’s limitless supply of flying daggers, neither could manage to land a scratch on the deceptively agile bandit King. 

“I’m going to try something!” Sand Hawk thought at Erik, the psychic barely catching what he said as he yanked the ripcord on his jetpack and shot off into the distance. Cruel laughter sounded out from the bandit King as Erik paused for just a moment, and his feet were yanked out from under him.

“Now, where were we before that fool so rudely interrupted us? Ah yes, the futility of resistance.” Emperor Scorpion crowed as he whipped a chain towards Erik’s prone figure, drawing cries of agony from his victim.

“Chaos is the natural state of the world.” The bandit grunted as another chain sliced towards Erik, tearing lacerations into his body.

“Order is an illusion, a lie, a denial of your natural state.” Erik curled up into a ball, shielding his face and stomach from the cruel lash of the chains. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he could see a cloud of sand on the horizon.

“Only the strongest can survive in this world, that's why you, and Gilgamesh, and everything other bandit will all kneel. Because the strongest in this world is-” 

“SAND HAWK PUUUUUUNCH!” Sand Hawk bellowed, rushing along at unbelievable speeds only a few feet from the ground, his fist wound back for the haymaker of a lifetime. Emperor Scorpion barely had time to question what was happening before his former subordinate’s fist collided with his face at the speed of Sand Hawk, there simply being no other way to describe it. The jetpack kicked up a massive cloud of sand as the bandit shot past, obscuring the bandit king’s flying form from view. Sand Hawk skidded to a halt a few hundred metres away and Erik, sure that the bandit King wouldn't be getting up from a hit like that, rushed over to his ally.

“Are you ok?” Erik asked, helping the banged up bandi to his feet. 

“I've been worse!” Sand Hawk said, his voice full of excitement. Erik guessed that that had been the first time he had successfully pulled off a ‘Sand Hawk punch’. “My fist in kinda numb though, and I'm not sure if it's a fist anymore!” 

The pair made their way over to Emperor Scorpion, flipping his unmoving form over. His neck was twisted far further than it had any right to be, yet the bandit King’s eyes still flitted around, his mouth gasping for air as he struggled against shock. As much as Erik despised the man, that was no way to go. Erik didn't want to be killed by Sand Hawk either. Drawing his troll axe once more, Erik said a quiet prayer for the man before raising the crude blade above his head.

“Go in peace.” The psychic said as he lopped the man’s head from his shoulders, his cruel eyes finally peaceful in death. 

“Excellent job, if I do say so myself!” Sand Hawk said brightly as he stretched, obviously trying not to look at the mangled remains of his hand. “We, uh, we can fix this, right?!”

“I'm sure the hospital can take care of it.” Erik replied. “Now, let's grab those two over at the camp and head home. I feel like I'm about to pass out.”

“You look like it, too!” 

“I'm not sure if that was meant to be an insult or not…” 

Heading back to the camp, Erik pulled Killer Mosquito from the shoddily constructed shack and bound her and Roaring Salamander’s hands. The red armoured bandit would not stay quiet about his burns as Sand Hawk led the two through the desert, which Erik, frankly, could not care less about. After 15 minutes of Erik guiding the group rather than Sand Hawk, they arrived at Nippur, just as the sun was starting to go down. Erik handed the pair of bandits off to the guards to keep watch of, but not before assuring them they were harmless, and showed Sand Hawk to the hospital.

“You should heal here too!” The bandit said as he looked the bloodied psychic over. 

“I’ll be fine.” Erik assured him. “Natural prime regeneration.” Sand Hawk nodded sagely, reminding Erik of their first meeting in a strange rush of nostalgia. 

“Can I ask a favour of you, Erik?!” Sand Hawk asked, receiving a nod from the psychic. “I want to be on the New Babylon radio!” There was a moment of silence as the two men looked at each other for a moment.

“So, when you applied for the radio position before, you weren't just trying to assassinate me. I should have guessed…” Erik sighed. “Okay, if you're fine with being Bill’s cohost you can have the job.”

“Ah, what a glorious day this has been, thank you, Erik Vrell, you will not regret this!” Sand Hawk said cheerfully, pumping his mangled hand in the air triumphantly.

“Maybe cut back on the run on sentences, too.” Erik suggested quietly as he turned to leave, Sand Hawk heading into the hospital in turn. 

“Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to take the goggles off…” Erik overheard a nurse say.

“NEVER!” Sand Hawk replied, eliciting a small chuckle from Erik, despite himself.

The psychic made his way over to the empty recording studio and unlocked the door, relocating it as he went inside. Erik lay across a few chairs as he laid back, careful not to bleed on the fresh carpet.

“Job well done.” Erik thought to himself. “Although I'd be willing to let Victor take care of it next time.”