The Metal Man

With a buzz of electrical noises and a click of green, the world suddenly was. Awareness flooded into an empty husk. Slowly, as though being imbued with life for the first time, sensation rushed anew from every inch to the core. An aura spread, as thought processes started to shake off the disorientation of a long slumber.

With a dull rumble, bits of earth and grass fell as the golem shook with being. Several birds squawked as his torso ripped from its dirt sarcophagus. He reached his hands for the sky and arched his back and neck. Slowly, sight came to him, as he eased himself to a more natural position. Grinding and straining noises followed as he rose. It was hard to move. Suddenly a question ran though his mind

"Where Am I?" he questioned himself silently. He twisted his torso, which also drew many groans, scanning the horizon. He was in a field, surrounded by large tomblike mounds. Many of them where overrun with growth, but from a few, bits of shrapnel could be seen.

Spear tips, sword hilts, and limbs. Metal arms and legs jutted from the mounds. Some sign of battle came from each one. He examined them for quite some time, giving each careful consideration.

He thought to himself the irony of the scene. No matter what battle the metal monstrosities fought, life ultimately won. The earth devouring the casualties of insignificant wars. After this profound realization, another question racked his thought.

"Who Am I?" At this he froze, and looked down on himself. His torso was dull black with silver dotted around, underneath the ebony armor. He looked at his hands. They where also black, and had a sharp look to them, menacing gauntlets. Around his joints and less so around the rest of his body, flowed a green aura. He tried to touch it, but felt nothing.

He needed answers. Looking up from his hands he scanned beyond the fields. All he saw was bits of light in the deep shadows of a great ominous forest. Each tree was topped with a sharp spike of growth. The sun was beginning to touch a few of the tallest spires. It was dusk. Definitively, he chose a flicker of light her decided was the closest, and set that as his goal.

He began to try to step but he could not move. The metal around his hips strained and moaned but did not budge. He looked down to examine his legs, and noticed they were still buried in the dark dirt that once cocooned his body.

He placed his hands to the ground and pushed, hard, pulling with his legs. The ground cracked and gave at his hands strength. He pulled his legs free. They were caked with thick clay.

He stood next to the hole and began to try out his limbs. They strained under his load, but they held. A nearby mound shuttered as he treaded, and collapsed. A metallic skull breaking loose and rolling to his feet. He looked over as the torso fell. A glint of silver caught his eye. He strode over and noticed what seemed to be a hand coming from body.

He reached out and grasped it. It felt like going home, even though he did not know what his home was. The handle felt familiar, and gave him a feeling of courage. He pulled, and with ease it slide forth.

He held the axe to the waning light. It glittered as though it was new. The Handle was silver. It was unstained from its dormancy. The single blade was trimmed with gold, and the blade was undimmed. Its edge was still sharp and shone brightly. On the handle were ruins. He could not read them, though he longed to.

He found a strange hole on the hilt of the axe. The reflexively glanced at his hip. There jutted a piece of metal, looking like a snap. He snapped the axe to his waist and felt refreshed with energy.

Remembering his goal, he began to stride for the light. The Sun was now halfway into the trees. He lengthened his stride. Then on his forearm something caught his eye. As he marched he scanned it. There was scorching, then following it were the numbers “0559276”…