by Marc Mulero
The Sin Leader’s stability was supreme throughout the turmoil, however. It seemed, finally, that he’d found catharsis, like some grand duty that could only be fulfilled at the tail end of life was now complete.
There he drew his Desert Eagle carried through countless battles and, after all of that, let it dangle in his fingertips.
My battles are behind me, which means that I can finally retire you.
He then let it drop, sacrificing it to the pit.
The sound of sheer metal rang when he ripped his blade from its sheath. He read the black edge like a book, appreciating its beauty while hugging its familiar grip.
An extension of my arm, blade of blades. Farewell.
As he slowly opened his palm one finger at a time, the blade loosened before tumbling from his grasp.
Fate led him out from Mulderan’s musky lair; he thought it fitting to leave behind everything that brought him to this, cradling only his wife’s consciousness within his vessel.
“Elaina, when we leave this mansion, the tide will have turned, in one way or the other. Whether the Hiezers still rule, or if the Sins have risen, they will be different,” Blague spoke aloud. “Bloodshed will cease and either outcome will become acceptable, because the world’s surface will be without Rol and without its cruelest host.”
“And what of us?” Elaina’s voice was an angelic chime without its panic. But there was a sob that followed, and then silence.
Storms of strife hushed in the hours of victory. The blood-lathered streets were quiet and slick. This was the aftermath.
Leaders of the rebellion gathered from all corners of Nepsys. Bruised and battered, shot and stabbed, it didn’t matter. Medical treatment could wait where not critical, for this was the end of not just a fierce battle, but the war.
Ages of suffering. Ages. Now, finally the exiled had won. Against all odds… they won. The hierarchy had been flipped on its head, inverted, where black and gold lied on their backs or on their knees while Sins stood triumphantly, with the rest of the world by their side.
The city could sing a different tune - for glory. For peace. Roars began to take hold as guns and fists punched the air, starting with squad leaders. It was growing so fast too, and soon even cheers of a fan-filled stadium couldn’t compete. This volume echoed from the heart, for the idea of freedom had now been realized. The rebellion had won.
Wild Bulchevins manned the top of the gates, launching Hiezer elites high into the air, over and over again, until their bodies were impaled by the spires. Dactuars raced up in a frenzy to stop them, to teach them humility. This was not to be the first image of a New World. It seemed fresh challenges had already dawned. The Sins of Senation were refined with Blague at the helm, but the others… needed some work.
Not too far away, just past the gates, many rebellion fighters had gathered, forming a semicircle with each class clinging close to one another out of habit, all to watch as Hiezers were hauled off to varying factions. It felt kind of like a cattle auction. But really it was to prevent a resurgence - for the short-term safety of all, the elites had to be separated in their confinement.
Veer was dragged from his stronghold. His golden vines shined across his bare shoulders, arms held behind his back as he writhed.
“Please,” he begged. “Just don’t let harm come to my boy. You aren’t savages. Be better than we are.”
Meanwhile, Jeck Stone spit on the ground as he was escorted out of the gates. Crescent bodyguards guided his path at the Champion’s request.
“What should we do with them?” Morn turned to Melissa.
Fresh cuts streaked across her freckled face and her lashes were crusted with dried blood. “Keep them separated and protected,” she responded assuredly. “Until they are tried for their crimes against humanity.”
Medics and Wings scoured the battlefield for the living, while Sin fighters worked to respect the dead.
The Rogue overseers, Coe and Jayce, huddled closely over Vleece as tears welled up in their eyes. Her life was quickly fading, the iron grip around her hammer slackened. She spat blood from her mouth and declared, “It was an honor, gentlemen. Find my mother for me. Find your daughter, Jayce, and your family, Coe. Don’t let this all be for nothing. They’re somewhere in these walls. Go. Go!”
Coe grabbed hold of her hand and pressed his head to hers. Tears broke and sobs followed.
“I… wanted to see her one last time,” she whispered.
Jayce turned abruptly away. He couldn’t bear it any longer, to see Coe’s head fall onto her chest with his shoulders bobbing, to see Vleece’s eyes turn into framed glass, to watch her blood run cold. It was all too much.
Close by, Drino stomped around calling out orders, until he abruptly collapsed to the floor. His wounds should have knocked him unconscious, but his stubbornness was legendary. The Vacal Wing trailing him since the fight rolled her eyes and then rushed to aid him.
Deep within the city’s walls, Lesh pushed a hovering stretcher forward with the hunter upon it. His chest slowly rose and fell. He was alive. You would never be able to tell based on the assassin’s expression, but it was true - her gamble paid off.
What’s more, four Hiezers accompanied them unchained. And when soldiers marched up, angrily wishing for nothing more than to tackle them down, they met Lesh and thought better of it.
“Touch them and I will be wearing your hearts around my neck,” Lesh threatened.
The Hiezers smiled proudly as the Crescent soldiers backed away.
Across the battlefield, Uldan sluggishly made his way past the grim and gore, shaking his head as he took puffs from his pipe. “Where’s Blague? The people demand a ceremony. This greatness should be recognized once all has settled.”
“One thing at a time,” the Champion responded, taking it all in.
The sound of footsteps bounced off of brick walls surrounding a spiral staircase. A dark hand grazed the ornate bannister, appreciating its smoothness. Gothic designs on the rounded enclosure breathed a grimness into the hollow space. But eventually, Biljin’s boots found flat ground, and in front of him lied a hexagon of prison cells. It was a strange thing to see what lurked just ahead, but he was calm, fingers casually slid between a ruby clasping his rich silk shirt.
“Everyone thinks you’re dead,” Biljin said, staring at the deranged killer. “But seeing you take over an entire fortress singlehandedly, I knew better.”
Dendrid stood with his back to the entrance, hunched over his old cell from the outside looking in. His fists tightened around the bars that once kept him captive. Soot spotted his arms, a reminder of the grenades hurled to stop him, but never quite reached their mark. There was a sense of existential turmoil in his body language. No more lanes to follow. No one left to kill. He looked down at his blood-stained hands, fingers long and unmoving. Countless arteries sliced and limbs battered, but still, he was unfazed. His gift and his curse. And now there was nothingness. He turned his head slowly to acknowledge the physicist’s presence.
Biljin took another few steps forward before planting his feet. “It’s been nearly a day. The war is over, Dendrid. The people are talking about a ceremony. But you, I had a feeling you would revert back to the only thing you know.” He gestured to the prison around him.
“Leave me be,” Dendrid spoke in a lowly voice.
Biljin sighed before clasping his hands behind his back. He looked to the small window that had a view of the tallest spire. “You’re waiting for Blague to reemerge from Mulderan’s nest, aren’t you? You want him to give you direction now that you’ve figured out that your mother’s crimes were her own.”
The Mentis Shade’s brow tensed under his unkempt hair. He was confused how a distant man could read him so easily.
“The old Sin won’t be sticking around, you know. Ever since he’d descended from a mountain long ago, he changed. Something within him altered his perception of the world. Noble, sure. Caring, of course. But his battles have moved inward. He won
’t be guiding anyone in what’s to come.”
Dendrid finally turned all the way around to face the bald man. “I’ve come here to be alone. Why are you speaking this to me? You’re disrupting the show.”
Biljin winced, remembering the insanity that plagued the Mentis Shade. He took another step forward. “But if he were the leader that I remembered, I know what he would do. He would coddle you Exdians, like sick patients in a hospice,” his tone darkened.
The madman’s eye twitched as he said, “Have you a death wish? Insulting a man who’s paved his way in blood?”
The Sin ignored the threat. “My climb through the ranks was swift. But to be standing here, still on top after all of this mayhem, took some clever foresight. And now that the reins are wrapped tightly around my hands, I can assure you that humanity will not be plagued by the cancer of your DNA. The Hiezers wrote their own ticket. I won’t make the same mistakes. Do the world a favor and jump from the gates in a show of grandeur. Lead the way for the rest of the cursed to follow. Do it for me.”
He’d heard enough. Dendrid twisted into a blur, unhooking two knives from the back of his belt.
Yet, the Sin commander offered his neck with a smile.
Dendrid was the deadliest person the New World had ever seen, but Biljin had the most lethal of minds. The physicist knew that there was not one scenario where he could confront Dendrid head on and live. Not a one. But… he could push a button faster than Dendrid could run ten feet. That he knew for sure.
Biljin activated the reprogrammed electrical chip lodged deep within the Mentis’ spine, leaving his arms to flail and his knives to fly to the floor. His body tremored at a velocity not meant for a human body to sustain - his fingers… they were vibrating, his back contorted into the shape of a horseshoe. The pain was excruciating, the veins on his neck turning black as he seized. Sparks of electricity bolted from his skin. He was being fried.
“My new world will not be guns blazing, swords slashing, or Cryos spewing. There will be no smoke and no Ayelan curses. It will be civilized, Dendrid. And you have no part in such a utopia.”
In the last moments of his life, Dendrid turned. His stare was quiet. Eerie. A career murderer immortalizing the one who finally bested him.
“Stay dead for me.”
Chapter 25
Milos searched the grounds of Senation for his friend. He scanned the skeletons of Ordinate buildings, old and new. The beaches, the mountains, every corner of this community they’ve come to call home. Still, no sign of him anywhere.
Dammit, Kentin. Where are you?
Regret hunched him toward the floor like a boulder on a slave’s back, metal clamps on his wrists adding to the image. It was no use to try and build up any confidence, for this time, blood was on his hands in the worst way. He let the deranged murderer out from his cage and befriended him. He was responsible for unleashing a beast, knowing the risk. A disaster in judgement. Dendrid was only seconds away from wiping Blague and his allies from the world. Only luck made Milos’ blunder forgivable.
He perused the rocky beach where they used to hangout a time ago and combed every cranny of the wagon they used to sleep in. Nothing.
He begged Cherris to help, but she knew that Kentin wanted to be alone.
“He’ll come around, hun. Give him time,” she said.
Milos grew annoyed. “No, it’s not okay, Cherris. I ignored my friend when he begged me not to. I shamed his father’s lessons. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was wrong. I have to tell him that!”
Cherris pushed curls away from his face. “Come help me pack for our trip to the ceremony. It’ll take your mind off of all of this, Milos.”
At that moment, the boy was thrown back into Kentin’s room. What did he remember seeing? Crumpled pages everywhere. Weapons missing. Bed a mess. That wasn’t like him.
Wait a second… no. He wouldn’t hurt himself. He wouldn’t do that.
Milos, struck with fear, suddenly bolted from his conversation with Cherris, leaving nothing but dust in his wake.
“Milos, where are you-?”
It didn’t matter, her voice was already drowned out behind him, because he remembered very clearly that there was one place he hadn’t checked. It was so long ago…
He raced to climb the first set of stairs. Citizens parted for the war-born kid as his feet stomped over marble tiles and onto the mesh flooring of the third level. He was panting now, thinking the worst.
There, a walled-off crevice peeked out from the other end of the hall.
He gathered himself, glaring at the gold-plated chute designated for canned food storage.
“Okay… this is it. The only corner I haven’t checked.”
It’d been years since he’d visited. The imagination of his best friend led them into their secret hide-out a thousand times over. And throughout each and every instance, he could hardly remember having an ounce of a child’s spirit. It was always him, always Kentin who had a way of dragging the sparing lightheartedness out of him.
He shook his head free of the past, and realized now how much he’d grown. Once a spacious bunker for his pretend missions now looked like nothing more than a closet, one that he was terrified to enter.
He wouldn’t hurt himself over this. That would be stupid.
His heart thumped in this throat as he reached for the handle.
He slid it open.
Nothing. Quiet.
But what was that up there, in the top corner to his left - a nightlight? Gleaming over what?
He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him at first, but it was true, the light was gleaming over Kentin’s round face.
“Whew,” a huge sigh of relief escaped him as he began to climb the shelves.
What was he doing? Ignoring Milos’ entrance, for one, and just turning the page of a makeshift scrapbook his mother had left him. Dozens of empty pages were thinly stuck together at its end. She was taken before her time - the unfinished book was a solemn symbol of that tragedy.
His best friend was hurting. Every scour for purpose was a dead end. And every dead end yielded emptiness. No motherly comfort. No father’s guidance. One friend turned out to be a Hiezer, and the other was growing apart from him faster than he could handle.
Milos climbed uncomfortably onto the shelf beside Kentin, taking his silence as an invitation in. “This place used to feel roomier,” he grunted after bumping his head.
The air was strange. Milos never had to initiate conversation. He was always the one to sulk. Now it was time for him to man up, turning the score one hundred to one.
Kentin flipped the page silently, unresponsive to small talk.
“Look, Ken. I was wrong, and I’m sorry,” Milos admitted, stretching his legs to lay horizontal opposite Kentin’s shelf. “Blague could have died, and then the Hiezers would win.”
Still silence.
“I spoke up for what I thought was right. How long are you going to punish me for that? You don’t think it hurts enough that I got two ancient protectors killed?”
Kentin slammed the book down. “You could have gotten yourself killed, you idiot!”
Milos was taken aback. Stunned and quieted.
“You gave that psycho a knife, after I told you what he almost did to me. I thought we were friends. But it seems you’re in a rush to leave too.” He scoffed, turning away in a huff. “I should add you to this book, since you’re in such a hurry to become a memory.”
Milos rubbed his shackles together, distracting himself from the shame his friend befell him.
“I’m surprised you didn’t sneak off to the Battle for Nepsys.” Kentin picked the scrapbook back up.
“And have Lesh be the one to kill me on the field? I thought it would be smart to pass.”
“Oh?” Kentin feigned surprise. “So you do have a brain.”
They both smirked in the dimly lit space, the grudge beginning to melt away.
“Look. I’ve been thinking since the war end
ed. It’s safe to leave the exiled islands now. Why don’t we hitch a ride and go see the world? I want to explore in memory of Oosnie, since I can’t take her with me anymore.” A lump formed in Milos’ throat.
A gleam of excitement lit in Kentin’s eyes. He rose slowly. “But what about Lesh? Aren’t you curious about her trip to see the Society? We still have a lot to learn from her.”
Milos waved a transponder and said, “If she wants to find us, she can.”
A smile crept up Kentin’s face. “Alright, let’s do it!”
Milos pounded the shelf in excitement, causing the cans of food to shake above him.
This was great… a new adventure, a new journey, and seeing Kentin packing his invaluables up with a sense of childlike joy reignited that sparing spirit within him once more. It was a feeling that neither of them had felt in a long time. Even though the deaths that plagued them couldn’t be forgotten, maybe, just this once, those demons didn’t have to rule them. Not everything had to be so bad.
For the first time in a long time, they were free to be young.
Pre-ceremony events were taking place with a large, excited crowd centered around an outdoor town square in Nepsys. It was strange to see colors other than black and gold out in the streets, and even weirder to see people cheering about… but here they were.
Commanders and community heads lined a massively long, but not too steep, white marble stairway, watching over it all and waving like float leaders in a parade. And the parade hadn’t even started yet!
It was there Sabin and Volaina decided to break from the events to catch their breath.
But as Volaina was speaking, she noticed Sabin narrow his eyes while looking over her shoulder, and then turned to see an elderly woman waddling out from the masses. Why was she coming this way? Who was this lady with a baby in her arms, gray hair pulled back and speckled with braids. Her sentiment was familiar, Sin mark blazing, and her accent made it clear from which exiled continent she came. A Bulchevin native, through and through.