Floyd seemed to ignore all of this, heedless to the power in Lupus’ voice. He charged headlong into him, oblivious to what he was being falsely accused of.
Throwing a punch round to the right, Floyd tried to connect his own fist to his assailant, but Lupus blocked it and gutted him with a blow to the stomach. Floyd was pitched to the floor and in seconds, his peers flew to his aid. There were seven, all trying to land vengeful hits on his enemy. They were fast, Lupus could grant them that, but he was faster and decided that if he had to take them all down to get his answers, he would be happy to do so.
There was a swipe from his left which he sidestepped and kicked back at. Then an attempted strike from the right, but he dodged it, forcing the blow to land on another of his attackers. Only a few seconds had passed, but he was now defending himself from eight opponents, Floyd included, who were all as large as he was.
Gradually Lupus’ defence wore down, his fractured mental state similarly weakening his body and they started to hurl verbal abuse at him alongside their assault. He took the first connecting blow on his back, which sent a spasm through his spine. He was shunted forwards, where a punch landed in his face. He managed to block a few more attempts before giving even more ground. Seconds later, they knocked him down to the floor.
“You’re pathetic!” they yelled.
“Where’s your stupid bitch now?” Floyd cried. “Why would I want a whore that chooses weaklings like you??”
Lupus, taking the hits and suffering them well despite their force, started to feel a change in his core as Floyd’s insults continued to stream out foolishly. As his enemies beat him down into the white concrete of the Academy grounds, the onslaught of emotion and rising chemicals started a transformation deep within him.
He growled at them suddenly, loudly, warning them to back off as he realised what was happening. He had no intention to harm them, but his senses and bloodlust were far greater now than when he started the fight. If he took form, there was no telling if he could control his rage. Instead of paying any heed and relenting, his opponents laughed and mocked him, calling him a worthless freak.
He was so surrounded by Floyd and the others that the crowd could no longer see him. With a sudden roar howling out from his chest and an outcry of shock from those closest to him, there was an ear-splitting whip of energy as Lupus took his form faster than he ever had before and became the Lion.
Lupus felt his front right paw claw at the floor, gouging out deep gashes in the tough pavement. He growled through his massive jaws at Floyd and the boys who had been attacking him, now shrinking before him. They backed away quickly, terrified that he would tear them apart, yet too scared to even run.
The entire courtyard was paralysed with an equal measure of shock, awe and fear. Here, before them all was an element of the Prophecy made real. He was as terrifying as he was magnificent.
In this form, Lupus was huge. His mane was thick, but unusually curled for a lion. It made him look like a noble, powerful beast that knew it was a killer, yet had the mind of a much higher sentience. His large, pointed ears separated his hair around them whilst his deep, blue eyes seemed to penetrate the very spirits of those around him. His tail was long and tipped with the same brown hair that dressed his head, but it was razor-sharp where his mane was soft. He was altogether impressive and amazing to behold.
Even more striking was his rage, which he could not help but find release for, as he roared defiantly in the faces of his attackers. He knew he would get no answers this way and was likely to scare them half to death, but he was careless as his thunder-like outcry passed like a wave across the courtyard.
Itching for vengeance, he compressed his hind legs, ready to launch into the group that so eagerly sought to abuse him.
Just as he went to strike, and more than likely to kill, an equally powerful voice boomed across the Academy grounds. “CEASE!” it urged.
Lupus, caught off-guard by it, found that he acquiesced not through obedience to the speaker, but from a familiarity to it. The crowd parted as the Black Guardians made their way through the throng towards the Lion.
Reaching him, all but one knelt in homage to him. Sabre, who remained standing, waited for the Apostle to acknowledge them.
…I know your face. Lupus said, his speech transmitted to the legionnaire psychically. It was an ability that his form both necessitated and granted. He could choose who and what could hear his voice, how many and in which tone, yet he spoke only to this legionnaire.
Sabre? He asked, now totally ignorant to the courtyard and people around them.
The commander smiled in acknowledgement. “My Lord Apostle, we have searched the stars for you”. Only now did Sabre deign to bow his obeisance, “It is an honour to finally be united”.
The students closest to them could hear what the legionnaire had said and passed it on in awestruck whispers and gasps. To them, this was the first definitive proof that the Prophecy was true. Little could they appreciate what its fulfilment meant for their Empire’s future; if they did, most would have wept at that moment. For now, they could only rejoice in blessed naivety.
The shock washed away from Lupus as quickly as it had come. He retained his form as a sudden thought raced through his mind. It blocked out his joy of seeing the legionnaires so completely that he had to voice the questions plaguing him.
Where are the rest; my brothers and sisters? Where are the other Apostles? He asked, a mix of anxiety and sadness in his plea.
Chapter 4
“MY GRACE,” SABRE said, his words heavy in yet another attempt to snap Lupus out of his reverie.
They had quickly departed from the courtyard of the Academy, much to the shock and awe of the students. With a swift exit and no resistance, the Black Guardians had led him to their transport; a Stormfalcon drop ship, the standard vehicle the legions used for troop movement and deployments. It was a large ship, painted in the same matt black that every legion’s fleet was, but with a distinguished series of purple stripes along its rightmost flank that set it apart as belonging to the 617th.
The craft had a pointed prow, with a viewport for the pilots that gave an expansive visual field around its conical shape. From there, the ship’s hull dragged back as an indomitable structure, with anti-gravity engines set in its underbelly to propel the machine fiercely over the ground. Two pairs of dorsal fins at the rear access ramp streamlined it, whilst its sides carried powerful cannons to keep the ship defended. A further, larger cannon was slung underneath the cockpit and a final, anti-personnel weapon was fitted inside the ship by the ramp to help create a beachhead for any assaulting troops, or provide covering fire should a tactical withdrawal become necessary.
When Lupus first saw the Stormfalcon, another pang of familiarity, like the one he felt with Sabre, crossed his mind and he realised that he had seen this type of machine before. It felt like déjà vu, but more certain, though it still resembled a memory from another life. Although he could not remember the type of weapons it used, and the way in which they worked, he remembered well enough that this ship was a menace to the enemy and a boon to the legions.
“Do you have an answer for me?” Lupus finally asked the legion commander.
Sabre sighed expectantly, as though he had known for some time this question was coming. As the transport flew gracefully over the city towards the Senate House, people on the street were beginning to point and notice at the unusual craft flying around their home. However, its occupants were focussed only upon each other.
“My Lord Apostle, do you not remember what the Auranair told you?” Sabre replied, a crease of sincerity on his brow.
Lupus felt a shiver run through his spine. There it was again, another thing that he both knew and did not. The name or title, he could not determine which, was even more homely to him than the Stormfalcon, but he could not ascertain why.
“The Auranair…” he whispered, repeating the name when he really intended to ask who it belonged to.
Sabre chastised himself privately, realising he may have been insensitive to the Apostle’s memory and current state of mind. “Forgive me, Lord” he said. “It was a title the legions used to give our goddess and creator. Her true name was Vermillion.”
Lupus definitely knew that name, and as it was spoken to him by a real legionnaire, a flood of memories came back. He knew instinctively that part of him was repressing the more traumatic items, fighting the pain as images of a golden being filled his eyes and vague messages echoed between in his ears.
“It was Her rank…” he murmured to himself, solving the mystery of what it meant to be the Auranair. “She was a goddess Queen.”
He looked sternly at Sabre sitting opposite him, shoulder restraints holding him in place while the Stormfalcon took them across the city at speeds faster than it seemed possible to go safely at.
“I cannot remember everything. If you asked me I could only tell you what the others look like, which form they take, but not who they are or where they were sent. I must know, Sabre; where are they?”
Sabre shared an uneasy glance with Olympus, his second in command, who nodded back at him in some kind of secret agreement. Returning his gaze to Lupus, he tried to make his voice sound as calming as he could.
“Truthfully, we do not know my Lord. They have only recently received the Blessing. To them, the events that the Auranair put in place have only just begun. You are…unique. She…” he hesitated. “My Lord, did She not explain how it would be different for you?”
Lupus tried to recall it, consciously attacking the very mental blocks that sought to hold back his memory. He had never attempted this before now; he never realised before that he knew more than he could imagine, but Sabre’s suggestion that he must know made him want to rediscover it and the feelings he had when he saw the legionnaires said as much.
He decided he was failing to get anywhere purely just by will. Then, as he started to admit his inability, softly spoken words seemed to bounce off the passenger cabin of the ship. Yet, in reality he knew, they were only in his mind.
Time…first…displacement…before…
They seemed jumbled and nonsensical, but his mind worked fast to solve the riddle and he remembered that to the Empire, the Prophecy had only just started to come true. That meant that with Colossi only recently being discovered, the humans chosen to become Apostles would have only been given the Blessing that to him was given years ago, in the last month or less.
“They have only just been Blessed…” he muttered under his breath, but Sabre heard his understanding and was content now to fill in the blanks.
“Yes, my Lord. You probably feel as though you received the Auranair’s touch many years ago; in truth, you did. You were sent back, Sire, along with us and several other legions. We were meant to be the Prime Legion, sent back in time before the other Apostles were chosen, so that we could lay the path for them and their own legions to join us. Our objective was a noble one; to make the Empire ready to accept them so that when the war came, mankind was ready…”
The past tense did not evade Lupus’ attention. “Were? What happened?” He tried to contain his ire at being alone for so long, but there was no Calla to calm him at the briefest touch now. “If you were sent back with me, where have you been for all these years?”
They felt the Stormfalcon bank to the right as it passed around a group of towers before making a dive under the first bridge that crossed the Cygnus River. They had made it to the heart of the city, where the population was densest, and they needed to evade the attention of the public as much as possible. The deep river banks concealed them before they needed to climb back out and head towards the Senate House.
Sabre’s eyes were rueful and full of sorrow as he answered the Apostle. “I wish I could give a real answer, Lord. In real time the Blessing has already happened; that much is clear. Colossi is here and the events that the Prophecy foretells have been unfolding already. Soon, the Auranair will realise we are outnumbered and will escape the realm of the physical to spread Her soul out to the twelve chosen; your past self included. When that happens, She will send us back in time so we can do what we were meant to. I do not doubt that the tragedy that befell us is unavoidable though; it is destined to happen again and again.”
Sabre paused momentarily. He could appreciate how confusing it all sounded; mixed tenses, failed potentials, things that were set to happen in the future that were already happening now. Nonetheless, Lupus was evidently immune to the complexity and urged the commander to continue.
“When we were sent back, we arrived at the Frontier near the planet Pheia, the outermost world occupied by the Gothican Empire. We had no bearings, no way of knowing where we were. The years that we should have spent preparing the Empire were instead invested in searching for you,” Sabre admitted honestly, with genuine regret for the Auranair’s ruined plan. “We did not know where you would be, and there were too few of us to spread apart and search all the sectors at once, but we numbered enough to split in two. We had no choice but to encroach upon Gothica, each half exploring the west and eastern sectors until we found you. Forgive us my Lord, but we were not expecting you to be in the core worlds of the Meridian, yet nor could we risk rushing to every planet that gave us a hint of your presence. It was a slow, costly process. One that we paid heavily with in precious time. My Lord, there is no excuse, we have failed you.”
Lupus felt the same regret that emanated from Sabre, but he did not share the judgement of failure. He could not cast blame upon the legions for pursuing the only rational path that was laid before them, even if it did cost time. He knew they could make up for it. He knew they belonged to him the moment he saw them, but he felt ashamed that it took him this long to acknowledge that fact to them.
“There is nothing to forgive, Sabre. I would have done the same,” he answered honestly. He raised his voice, wishing to address all the legionnaires in the transport in no uncertain terms. “You are my legion; I am an Apostle, Blessed to lead you in this war. There is no action that could make me lose my trust in you or shake the pride I have for you. Your very presence has given me a feeling of purpose I have not felt since the Blessing. Do not be ashamed of the time we have lost, my brothers and sisters, we are on the right path and we will see it through to the end.”
As he said this, he realised just how much he was changing already. Before even an hour had passed in the company of his legion, he had already begun to transform, from a secretive Apostle living a pretend life into a man who would lead the Black Guardians to war. His entire future had changed in less than a day.
This awareness brought forth something else that he was hurt to have forgotten, as if unlocking his memory had freed his mind for others to surface.
“Stop the ship,” he ordered, yet Sabre did not pass it on, surprised as he was at the sudden command.
“My Lord, what is it?” he asked, seeing the concern furrowed in the Apostle’s features.
Lupus looked at him directly, his gaze drilling into Sabre’s heart. “I need to find someone dear to me, someone I cannot fight this war without; Calla Vaylian. She is my life-companion. Now that you are here, you must help me find her,” Lupus insisted, but his voice was distant, perplexed still by the mystery of her disappearance.
Sabre could tell the Apostle’s love was crucial to him, not a mere fancy. From what the Auranair shared with the commander before Her death, he knew this woman would be as essential to the legions as the Lion himself was. The 617th had failed their Apostle already; they would not deny him help now.
The commander turned to his second. “Olympus? Scan the local authority’s databases; see if you can find this case. Once you have that, you know what to do,” he ordered.
Without hesitation, Olympus moved his hand to the side of his seat and pulled out a small, rectangular device with a crystal screen from the equipment box fastened there. It looked strangely like an advanced form of human technology, Lupus noticed. Was there s
omething else he didn’t know about the legions and Vermillion?
“What are you doing?” Lupus asked, knowing that they were helping him in some way but uncertain how.
“This device is an advanced scanner, of sorts. It allows us to find information on any individual…if there is information to be found…” Sabre answered.
“If?” Lupus returned.
“Yes, my Lord. It scans all data sources in a chosen area for segments of data relevant to the target. We can scan entire planets at a time, but the bigger the area, the more power we need. We would have found you sooner, but there was precious little mention of you anywhere in the Outer Worlds. Our mission called for a more…manual method. With your friend Calla Vaylian, it should be easy enough to find her trace. Then we use this to identify her across all databases, securing her genetic code. The sensor can then locate that.”
Lupus marvelled at the complexity, the sheer brilliance of the device. It was beyond the humans, that was for certain, but part of him knew that was a good thing.
“Genetic code found and registered,” Olympus confirmed as the Stormfalcon still raced across the river towards their destination. “Scanning the immediate area…”
Sabre and Lupus both waited tentatively for Olympus to speak again, one hoping for a match for his Apostle’s sake, the other because his heart was begging him to find her.
Olympus gave no expression, but turned off the scanner. He looked up at them before saying gravely, “No match, Commander”.
“Widen the search; scan the continent,” Sabre insisted, before anyone could despair.
Olympus nodded, effortlessly adjusting the device with a few touches to comply with the commander’s wishes. A few moments later, he confirmed again that there was no match.
The Deian War: Vermillion's Apostles Page 11