“My father fought the corrupt establishment as a spy. The government sought to silence him and my comrades. He sacrificed himself to expose the truth, to give us the light we need to fight your shadows. He would be proud of what I have become! How dare you question what he would think of me?”
Marcus looks away. General Laffat Constantime did indeed sacrifice himself, but for entirely different reasons. He fought to dismantle the Gewerksma’s twisted vision, ensuring the protection of his people. He was never a mole as Argus was told, but a hero who gave everyone a second chance, a chance for Argus to thrive. Only Marcus knows the truth of what happened on the night of Laffat’s death.
Yet, Argus has no interest in the truth, but rather holds onto the false narrative he has spread without facts. Marcus needs to find a way to tell Argus the truth.
Marcus reaches for his Nactbu. His hand tightens on the hilt as he pulls it out slowly. However, he realizes that Argus is somewhat tired from his last fight, making him an easier foe. His grip on the weapon becomes weaker as he looks up.
“I won’t need my sword against you,” he says confidently as he pulls his hand away, allowing his weapon to slide down into its scabbard.
Argus’ face crinkles as his fists tighten, infuriated that Marcus isn’t taking him seriously.
“You think you can defeat me without your Nactbu? Such arrogance that fills you!”
“But your obsessiveness with the lies that you ramble on about have clouded your conscience. The man you thought you knew isn’t the one he truly was. Your father-”
“Don’t you dare even mention my father again!”
Argus charges forward. His blood is boiling, an inferno burns in his eyes. He pictures his blade going right through Marcus’ heart, ending his miserable life. He will not let Marcus or his lies stop or sway him from bringing Paradise to the people, and more importantly, uncovering the truth about his father. Yet, Marcus doesn’t move. His opponent has become reckless and that is what he wants.
Argus lifts his blade and swings for Marcus’ head. The sound of clanking metal cracks in their ears as the blade hits Marcus, a soft buzzing sound rings in Marcus’ ears. Argus pushes with all his might before he realizes that his opponent is still standing. Marcus has side-blocked his blade with his arm.
Argus pulls his sword back and hops back. Like a statue, Marcus doesn’t move, unfazed by his opponent’s attack. He gazes at Marcus’ armor, seeing that it is different and unique. It shines like a gem, giving him the appearance of a god. Argus wonders when Marcus got his new outfit, and is unaware that his attack has given Marcus kinetic energy that empowers him. He charges in again, lifting his sword up.
He swings at Marcus. Like before, the sound of clanking metal echoes throughout the streets again. Again, a soft buzzing rings in Marcus’ ears. Once again, Marcus blocks the sword, absorbing more kinetic energy.
Argus pulls back. This time, I’ll get him. He lunges forward, using his sword as a javelin. Marcus sidesteps and grabs Argus’ arm. Argus tries to pull back, but the grip is too strong for him to break. Terrified, he looks up and sees Marcus smiling.
“My turn.”
Marcus clenches his fist, building up the energy he has stored. He winds his fist up and thrusts it forward, hitting Argus’ chest. Argus goes flying back. He tumbles across the ground, bouncing violently around until he hits a wrecked car, knocking the wind out of him.
Argus breathes in heavily, his chest tightening up. He feels his strength has been pushed out of him as if he were drugged. The pain is unbearable, so much so that he coughs violently.
“Such… power,” he groans, feeling something pushing against his chest.
He looks down and sees a large dent in his armor, and is baffled and shocked by what he sees. The damage inflicted would have required an immense amount of energy, which in turn would have required a highly sophisticated machine to unleash such power. Even then, these machines are limited, lacking the nimbleness needed to be effective.
But he doesn’t have time to figure out what gives Marcus his power. In fact, he doesn’t care much about it. To him, it is just Marcus showing off, trying to intimidate him. He has a revolution he needs to fight, to win.
Searching for his strength, he pushes himself up. He barely lifts himself off the ground, grunting in pain as he stumbles forward. His vision is slightly blurred, drool dripping from his mouth. He sees Marcus hasn’t moved from his spot as he glimmers in the sunlight, resembling a knight of some sort. This infuriates Argus, as he believes he himself is the savior, and he clenches his right hand.
He realizes something is missing. He looks at his right hand and sees his sword is gone. He frantically looks around. Where did it go? As he searches, he hears a whirling sound. He turns to the noise and his eyes widen.
“Come on Argus,” Marcus says, provoking him as he twirls Argus’ sword around. “Fight me like you mean it.”
He sticks the blade down into a soft part of the ground, expressing his power on the battlefield. He takes a few steps forward, expressing his domination. Yet, while he believes Argus’ death is inevitable, he won’t let him die without knowing the truth about his father. He wants him to be liberated from the lies, clearing his mind of the poison that has seeped in. Argus wipes away the drool, strategizing how to get to his sword.
“Okay, I’ll play your little game,” he says with a smile.
Both men stare at each other. An eeriness sweeps the battlefield as a gust of wind passes by. Not far away, a storm barrels down, one that was forecast to hit around this time. Earlier, a few of the storm’s clouds broke off, masking the sun briefly. Now the sun will be covered, rain falling on the bleak battlefield that has seen the Gewerksma’s fortunes turn for the worst.
Marcus casually saunters forward. With every step he takes, the storm gets closer, symbolizing that the end is near. Argus growls and frowns. He’s still angry that Marcus isn’t taking him seriously. He feels he’s being treated like a child who’s been disciplined, punished for doing something wrong.
Finding the treatment intolerable, he charges forward, showing he means business. Marcus comes to a stop, waiting for his opponent. Argus swings at him and he blocks the punch. Then another punch comes at him. Punch after punch, Argus looks for an opening, hoping to deliver the knockout blow. His determination is high, his ignorance blissful as more of his energy is taken away.
Marcus backs up slowly, blocking each punch. He wants to give the illusion that he’s losing ground, hoping Argus will become reckless. At the same time, he’s absorbing some kinetic energy, building up his reserves. Yet, he can’t keep backing. He doesn’t want to lure Argus back to his Nactbu, to give him an additional weapon that may prolong the fight.
Tired of backing up, he sidesteps to the left. As he moves, Argus hook punches him, striking him in the face. This dazes Marcus and Argus sidekicks him, pushing him back. Argus lunges forward, believing he has him.
Marcus sidesteps again, sweeping his opponent’s feet. Argus falls to the ground, caught off guard by his swiftness. He grunts in pain as his incaved armor pushes against him. Marcus lifts his foot and a bluish metallic color forms around it. He wants to build up enough energy to incapacitate Argus, but not to kill him.
Argus’ eyes widen. The glowing aura scares him, mystifying him. Yet, he knows it isn’t something good as Marcus’ foot heads towards him. He rolls away as the ground shakes, jolting him a bit. Argus hops up and sees a small crater in the street.
“What is this energy? Where did it come from?”
He hyperventilates. He sees why Marcus is so strong. Yet, he wonders how this energy is generated, how it can materially exist.
“That’s not important right now,” he says, uninterested in Argus’ questions. “But what is important is the truth, the truth about your father-”
“Stop mentioning him!”
Argus runs forward. Not only hasn’t Marcus answered his questions, he’s brought up his father again. Rage burns in h
is eyes as he throws another punch. Marcus blocks it, rolling his arm and grabbing Argus’ arm. He then pulls him forward. The aura reappears as Marcus thrusts his hand into him, slamming Argus into the ground. The shockwave reverberates painfully throughout his body as a bit of blood spews from his mouth.
“Are you ready to listen now?” he asks as he backs up.
Argus looks up.
“Noo…”
Gasping for air, Argus rolls away once again. He stands up and runs towards an overturned shipping container. He jumps and pulls himself up. He places his hands on his knees and bends and looks at Marcus.
“What are you- going to do now?” he asks, breathing heavily. “I have the high ground.”
Marcus looks up, pondering for a second on what to do as he backs up. He then runs towards Argus. In addition to the power Argus has given him, he can generate his own by just moving. When he believes he’s close enough, he jumps and lands on the container. He pulls a dazed Argus forward, turning him around as he pulls his glowing fist back. He strikes Argus’ chest, further denting his armor and he hits the ground and skids across it.
“That,” Marcus says with a smile.
He hops down and strolls towards Argus. Argus slowly rises and looks behind. The storm is almost here, ready to close the curtains on his show. Yet, his eyes are marveling at his glimmering Nactbu. He considers it his gem, his only hope to have a fighting chance. He turns around and sees Marcus fast approaching. He looks menacingly at him as he flees, heading towards his sword.
With lightning speed, Argus runs past his sword, pulling it out. He then circles back and charges forward. With every step he takes, he gets closer to his target, the storm pushing forward. He visualizes butchering Marcus, ending his miserable life. When he’s feet away, he lifts his blade. He swings.
A chiming sound rings out. For a moment, Argus doesn’t move as a friction-like sound screeches. He tries to push forward, but there’s an equal strength pushing back. He looks up and smiles unkindly.
“I thought you said you didn’t need your sword against me,” he says with disappointment.
“I don’t,” Marcus says gracefully. “It would just be a faster way to end this, that’s all.”
“Hmph! Really cocky of you to say-”
“That. That doesn’t matter right now. We should instead be focusing on your delusional antics. You have covered your eyes and ears from the truth, denying the facts you refuse to believe. Your father-”
“Why do you keep mentioning him!? Stop!”
Argus pushes Marcus back. The sudden surge of energy has caught Marcus off guard and he stumbles back a bit. Argus isn’t going to listen to the falsehoods that have slandered his father, undoing his accomplishments that should be formally recognized. He charges forward, swinging at Marcus.
Marcus lifts his blade up and blocks the attack. He then goes to strike, only for his attack to be blocked. Yet, he pushes forward, pushing back Argus as their blades chirp. With every swing, Marcus grows stronger, building up his kinetic energy. The amount of power he possesses is easily enough to overpower Argus, to end this fight.
However, while he has this strength, he refuses to exercise it. He still has to tell the truth about Argus’ father, facts he believes will ultimately set Argus free. To achieve that, he must tire out the loony man, make his mind more susceptible to change.
Then Argus takes off running. He can’t allow Marcus to tire him out, weakened to the point where he falls to his opponent’s blade. He turns towards one of the buildings, believing the closed environment will benefit him.
As he makes his way to one of the buildings, two loud thunderous bangs ring out. The ground around him explodes, halting his progress. He looks around, thinking Marcus is responsible. Yet, he can see Marcus is only leisurely strolling towards him, out of range.
He looks and sees two small glares across the Johnson & Weld building. He has forgotten about the snipers, foes he shouldn’t even bother considering a threat. However, he’s a bit worried inside given his armor is dented badly, meaning a large-caliber bullet could penetrate him. He takes a step forward.
The ground around explodes again as bullets shred the pavement. One bullet strikes his knee, toppling him. He falls onto his back, leaving his weakened armor exposed, the crosshairs setting on him.
“Donin. Sadara. Leave this fight to me,” Marcus says calmly as he approaches Argus.
“But Supreme Commander, he’s readily exposed. We can end this now,” Sadara says, clearly upset.
“No! I’ll deal with Argus. There’s something I must tell him.”
“And what is that?” Donin says, baffled. “You can’t tell him anything. He’s delusional, he won’t listen to what you have to say.”
“He doesn’t have to. I’m just merely planting a seed in his head. So please, leave this between him and me. That’s an order.”
Donin and Sadara sigh. They don’t agree with Marcus on this one. They have a perfect opportunity to kill Argus, a chance to end the fighting that kills hundreds every minute. But it seems Marcus wants to philosophically wrangle with Argus rather than fight him physically.
“Marcus,” says a growling voice in his ear. “I thought we agreed there is no other way.”
“Joseph,” Marcus says, unfazed as he comes to a stop. “There is no other way, no doubt. However, that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be told the truth, even on his deathbed, even if he won’t listen to reason.”
“Your philosophical pursuit is costing more lives every second. Death is the only thing that will free him.”
“Then let him die hearing my words, words he can ponder in the dark. I must speak it on behalf of Laffat. I must…”
His voice trails off. He looks up and sees Argus has disappeared. He looks around casually.
“Behind you!” Sadara shouts.
“I’ve got you now, Marcus!”
Argus swings his sword heavily. He’s aiming for the back of Marcus’ neck, believing he can penetrate his armor and sever his spinal cord. His blade hits Marcus, clashing loudly like cymbals.
Argus pushes on his sword, hoping to painfully penetrate him and kill him. Yet, he feels he isn’t getting anywhere, which baffles him. Then he sees a bluish metallic aura glowing. His eyes widen.
“Wha- what? It can be used for a defensive purpose as well? What is this? How can you manipulate-”
“Energy like that. Well, that’s a secret now, isn’t it? Yes, it can be used for offensive and defensive purposes. It’s quite a feat in technology if you think about it, although my armor is strong enough to stop your weak attack. I just like to show off sometimes, that’s all.”
Argus pulls his sword back, somewhat defeated. It’s becoming increasingly clear that Marcus may be impossible to defeat, a god that can’t be touched. He realizes this is a fight he cannot win. He backs up, his thoughts unhinged as he contemplates what to do next.
“It’s over, Argus,” Marcus says firmly as he turns around, sensing debility. “The Gewerksma have fallen, the revolution is dead. This is not what the nation wanted or needed. Laffat would never have approved of violence against his people. Your father-”
“I told you not to mention him!”
Argus charges, his fiery eyes blinding him with rage. His blade is pointed like a javelin, ready to spear his opponent. The sudden rush of emotions fills him, making him forgetful of his retreat from an impervious man.
I’m proud of you, my son. His eyes open a bit, his rage dissipating. He sees the scenery has changed. Instead of a war-torn battlefield, he sees a cream-colored room with a lavish tan sofa. He instantly recognizes the place as the living room in his old home.
“How did I get here,” he asks, whispering to himself.
He takes a couple steps forward towards the entrance of the room, knowing this is a figment of his imagination, but yearning for the experience.
“Come here, Argus.”
Argus stops at the entrance. The voice has caught him off guar
d, a voice that vaguely sounds familiar. He peeks in the room and sees a man sitting on the sofa, facing away. Who the hell is this?
Curious, he enters the room and approaches the man. As he gets closer, the man turns. He has well-combed black hair and sharp green eyes. He is a tall and muscularly built man. Argus stops, bemused by whom he sees.
“Fa-father?”
Laffat nods his head.
“Who else would it be?”
Argus stares in shock. He’s stunned that his father would be here. Joy fills him as he approaches Laffat. Laffat raises his hand, stopping him.
“What are you doing, Argus? Why is Zurkerx burning?”
Argus stops, the joy drained from his body. He’s puzzled that his father would ask about the state of the country and not about him.
“Burning? We are tearing the fabric of the Einnerist regime down and weaving one on the ideals of Neo-Demokrism. Father, your heroic acts helped shed light on our cause, to give our dream a thriving chance. But none of that is important. Tell me, what did they do to you? What happened to you?”
Laffat turns away, disappointed by what his son has said.
“My heroic acts protected the people from the dangers of the world. Such a shame they have been misinterpreted.”
“Misinterpreted? Nonsense! They are clear to all of us. You’re a role model that gave us the strength to fight.”
Laffat turns farther away, sickened by what he’s hearing.
“Even the strong can be manipulated by fabrications, misled by one’s actions. Is that how everyone views the world now?”
Argus shakes his head, surprised by what he hears.
“You sound like you’re protecting these Einnerist scum. Are you?”
“My words are merely vague and left for interpretation, although if you want to know the truth, you must find it on your own.”
Zurkerx- The Empire Shall Grow Page 29