Because he was in the field as a deployed soldier, Doctor Rustam had been promoted to the rank of Support Sergeant and was now considered the authority for all medicine in the company. He’d proven to be an incredible field doctor and became renowned for having saved the lives of men who’d narrowly avoided a swift death. To the company of fighters, Rustam was a hero and was rumored to frequently associate with commanders across the Wanre army. On that night, Amour sneaked his way into a spot near the tent in which Rustam was staying. He decided to listen in on his father's conversation with lower-ranking officials who often drank with the doctor when they weren't in the middle of another brief detailing future plans of advancement.
He recognized Rustam's slow, deliberate voice colored more frivolous due to him having become a mild alcoholic. He was laughing. Happy.
“And to think, Wanre believes we stand some kind of chance against these… these damn robot men! They bring me guys with craters blasted straight through them and expect me to whip up some magic on the spot. I'm a doctor not some sodding wizard. The First Rift had everybody believing too much in the supernatural, but the world is the same as it ever was: constantly engaged in pointless conflict because people are too reluctant in the face of change.”
“Robot men? What do you mean, Sergeant?”
“You haven't seen them yet?! Weren't you in the last two operations?”
“Actually, no. They, uh, sent me here recently. Said you were short on manpower and having a few difficulties with the enemy?”
“That's an understatement, Sir. There are men and women out there who’ve underwent specific transplants; they’ve sacrificed parts or all of their body to some kind of damnable experiment! Now they lead their own patrols and use cybernetic enhancements to completely decimate our people—we send a report of a casualty every time it happens! Have you not seen the numbers?”
“Eh. About that… they, uh, warned me not to discuss the losses with anyone. To the Wanre troops, it's important we appear as though we're the dominant presence on the field. If these ‘robot men’ you speak of are real, then we don't want the ones we fight for to panic over the idea of cyborgs raiding the fucking capital.”
“But the news has to get out, Sir!” Rustam piped up, “This isn't just an isolated incident; the Gaspul Rebellion is taking form, and it's costing us a lot of people! They refuse to bow to anyone!”
“Wait a minute!” The third official spoke. “The point tonight is not to fret about the coming events. Cyborgs or not, we’ll win regardless; Wanre is a crown of a country.”
“Bullshit.” Rustam replied.
“Oh yeah, hot shot; you've seen better?”
“That I have.” The doctor cleared his throat. “I used to practice medicine in the Dawn Federation—at the Citadel itself! I was essential…” He took a drink from the flask he'd kept on him. “I’d everything a man could want… and then… he came along.”
Amour listened intently to the following conversation.
“Some politician screwed me over, and I ended up with this little brat. His mother really liked to get around from what I know, but he was an annoying, the weak little thing.”
The group in the tent chuckled.
“I tried to teach him the art of medicine, but he failed miserably. The amount of people who didn't make it because of his incompetence…” Rustam sighed. “You know what, I think the raid really did bless me in the end. For one, it ridded me of that damn kid.”
Amour clenched his fists.
“You don’t think you’re being a little harsh?” One of them inquired.
“To be frank, my friends, I distinctly remember the night when some officer came to me with the most serious expression on his face. I kept laughing at him, because I thought he was a complete simpleton. But he asked me: 'How much for your son?' I scoffed and replied that he wasn't my son and that he wasn't worth anything. The officer thanked me. And you know, I never saw him or that stupid kid again.” Rustam laughed. “Maybe the kid liked him?”
“Doc, you're sick.” One of the men jeered. “Remind me to never let you babysit my son!”
“Alas… that's why I'm here to deliver the bad news, fellas.”
The tent grew quiet.
Rustam spoke in a more serious tone. “I got assigned a role on the Quick Reconnaissance Force, meaning if tomorrow's operation moves down a road we don't expect I'll be required to intervene in triaging the wounded. And the two of you… well, word is that they want to use one of you as a point man—and they're in desperate need of someone who can work a D-6.7 Mortar System.”
--
After sitting through the Doctor's confession, Amour suddenly had the desire to kill the man he’d always known as 'father' or 'dad.' To know that his rape could've been avoided and was likely caused by Rustam's negligence was the worst feeling he could experience, something more painful than the moments preceding his near starvation in the Dusk. Amour felt the urge to murder rise within him, and so he remained at a distance, biding his time.
--
The following day's operation proved catastrophic.
Rustam’s company had attempted to extract prisoners taken by members of the Gaspul Rebellion. Some of the captives were fellow soldiers while others consisted of people who simply didn't support the Rebellion’s cause. The Wanre Commander planned for small squads to quietly infiltrate a town that had recently been occupied by the enemy. However, members of the Rebellion used better signaling technology to spot individual Wanre contingencies before they’d even arrived. Wanre’s squads were immediately fired upon by mortars before becoming engaged in an ensuing battle which drew the attention of the entirety of the unit’s camp and escalated into an all-out gunfight.
And this gunfight quickly became disastrous as the “Robot Men” stepped in to dominate the conflict. Soldiers with synthetic arms, legs, and entire bodies, warriors of similar makeup to Ekwueme; all were enhanced in some way and equipped with the heaviest arsenal owned by the Rebellion. After the majority of Wanre's first wave of reinforcements had been wiped out, the company reacted by sending in their remaining ground units in order to recover as many fallen soldiers and discarded equipment as possible. All the while, Amour walked among the bodies of soldiers and began creating fake injuries on himself before pretending to have collapsed on the side of a decimated building.
Doctor Rustam was sent in behind the reinforcements; the current mission was to form a forward line of suppressive fire which would give medics and all support personnel the time to retrieve those who could be saved in this incident. Amour skillfully evaded other medics in his search for his father and once he’d located him, he prepped accordingly…
--
Doctor Rustam, covered in blood, excretions, and vomit, tiredly dragged himself over to a tree and noticed that his hands were shaking. He wasn't allowed to be away like this—they needed him there. But while he was working, the wounds and devastation just kept continuing. He needed a break before he felt himself lose his grip on reality, and so he screamed in frustration when he heard someone cry out: “Please…”
Rustam searched around and saw, from far away, a lone body resting against a partially destroyed wall. The doctor garnered confidence in his own ability and hurried over to a man whose face had been paralyzed on one side. Rustam saw what appeared to be a large splotch of blood near the abdomen and quickly checked to see if he could pull away the clothing and expose the injury—!
Amour stabbed the doctor in the chest and then began slicing at him with his power, allowing him to use his full arm as something resembling what would be an artist’s paintbrush summoned from the dark. He could recreate pockets of reality, cutting through almost anything depending on the amount of skill used. And thus, Amour grasped Rustam by the throat and granted unto him a dark glare that the doctor suddenly recognized.
“No—there's… NO! Not you! You fucking monster! President Derek is as far as he could ever be from me, and yet he STILL keeps showing up to
ruin my life!”
Amour punched the dying Rustam before shaking him as he demanded. “Derek? Who the hell are you talking about?!”
The doctor coughed, looked at him for a moment, and then grinned wickedly. “I should've known it wouldn't be that easy to get rid of you—and I should've killed you! I chose to keep her secret; I mean, how could your mother expect me to raise someone who isn't my own! And I always knew you'd be a little shit when you grew up! You have Derek's blood in you… dammit!” Rustam held himself as he shuddered involuntarily from his gruesome injuries.
“Who is Derek?! –Tell me!”
“Your cursed fucking father, shithead. The damned President of the Dawn Federation, an idiot known only as Derek, who used to be a mercenary and now rules a whole sodding nation—But he didn't want you, Amour!” Rustam clenched his jaw. “He decided that he couldn't let the world find out that he'd been unfaithful. That would ruin his precious career, and that makes you what you've always been: a bastard! A bastard, Amour; you're the reason Avva died! Now the Citadel treats her like some god—they worship the person YOU killed! I gave EVERYTHING for her! You wouldn't understand; you're his unwanted spawn, and you'll be his downfall.”
Amour finished the doctor by removing his head from the rest of his body.
--
“Clansman. Again, you make me repeat myself: there are no 'private discussions.' Everything that can be said to me can be said to your brethren!”
“Oh, but this one is special, Elder. I want you to witness my rebirth; are you ready?” Amour led the Unaer’e Ark to his hut and stopped right before the entrance.
“If this is an attempt on my life, then it is foolish, Clansman. The Dusk, as a whole, enforces that human kin are less valuable than the lives of others, and so no human steps foot into these lands without facing a brutal death. Amour, I’ll warn you that you must either change your mannerisms or leave this place.”
Amour looked at him without fear and smiled. “I've already decided to leave this place, as there is one more wrong that must be righted.”
“You are enthusiastic; what a strange specimen, indeed.”
“Right this way.”
Amour opened the door to his hut to reveal a torso impaled through the center and painted in several different shades blended in hues of amethyst. Parts of Doctor Rustam’s spinal column had been removed and rearranged to make a necklace adorning the piece; the head was nowhere to be found, but Amour had smeared ash across Rustam's heart and placed it at the top of the torso.
“Clansmen… this…”
“Is a work of art, is it not? I found that my ability not only cuts… it stitches back together, which makes me the perfect sculptor, the ascended artist.”
“Extraordinary. A pure art form that can be taken into the human world. Something darker than our methods but just as destructive. Clansmen Amour, you are unmatched in your intent for chaos. This is something intrinsic to the worst of our kind, but I never knew humans had the capability to be so… innovative.”
“But that's not even the best part, my Ark!” Amour rushed over to a table where he picked up a new creation.
He used a band attached to it in order to strap it to his face. “The perfect piece.”
Doctor Rustam's face had been removed and melted onto a clay like material with which it fused. It was a mask, the malformed and horrified visage of his victim.
“I will return to my home and find 'Derek.' If he really is a President, someone with power, then I won't stop until I take everything from him.” Amour declared, “I will show Derek his mistake, that I'm more important than he could ever believe himself to be. I will take his empire from him, and when he has nothing left and has watched everything in his life vanish… I'll take his life. I won't eat him—and I won't make him Beautiful. No. I'll throw him to the dogs, because that's what he did to me. It's time for me to carve my destiny in the Citadel.”
--
Lieutenant Shraeu followed Zola, who moved through the mansion with a distinctly stiff gait and casually called out, “I’m back, honey!”
Silenced followed for a few seconds before a voice responded, “Oh goody! In here! —Quick!”
In an act so out of place that it shocked Shraeu, Detective Zola started to play “Pain,” by Tupac, on her Kom Cell, placed a listening piece in her ear, and turned up the volume to drown out the Lieutenant’s voice.
--
“I am bestowing upon you what appears to be a book. But this book, it houses something special. I understand your plan, Clansman, and I deem it worthy of one such as yourself. However, the object hidden away in this book is a mirror that links its way into the world of Another. A Spirit much worse than our species and not one to take lightly. In this world, there lurk demonic deities with the potential to destroy everything we know. If the situation becomes overwhelming, I'm entrusting you to Its guidance…”
--
Joel Petrus was locked away in a private room once he’d become a danger to those around him. The Executive was descending into a feverish madness which nearly compelled him into taking his own life once again. Zola's husband believed that Petrus would eventually regain his sanity and consequently become even more pledged to his cause. This remained to be seen, however.
Detective Zola Bali opened the door that led into a dining room, and Lieutenant Shraeu hurried behind her while trying to decide if he should leap in front to protect the woman. He hurried inside the lavish chamber.
Amour Bali was waiting for him. He’d taken his wife’s surname before migrating to the Citadel.
Before Shraeu, a large, marble table had been conscientiously set. Three seats adorned with cushioned, lavender pillows were shadowed by decorated plates and a variety of polished silverware. Amour had positioned his wife's chair next to him and the Lieutenant's at the opposite end of the table. He merely reclined with his left ankle resting atop his right knee and smiled as he took a sip out of a tall wine glass.
Amour formed a disgusted expression at his drink before turning his gaze back to the two of them and shrugging slightly. “Ugh, it's Jadot Chat'el, some unpleasant wine a friend suggested I try with my next meal. But please… have a seat, Mr. Shraeu—or, I'm sorry, ‘Lieutenant’ Shraeu.” He chuckled.
Zola continued to avoid Shraeu's gaze as she calmly walked over to her husband's side.
“Zola! Y-You don't have to—”
“She doesn't have to what?” Amour cocked his head to the side and seemed genuinely puzzled.
Zola put her arm around her husband’s shoulders and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Amour smiled and said, quietly enough so that only the two of them could hear, “Missed you.”
She took her place next to him, interlocked her fingers, and set her elbows on the table so that she could rest her chin in her hands.
“I had my butler, Mr. Thume, prepare enough food for the three of us! Today's menu includes a salad sprinkled in basil and chives as well as sufficiently drowned in a new dressing that's been getting rave reviews in the city; a vegetarian soup made from ground Alandran herbs and tofu; venison topped with a stream of a subtle sauce; and roast pork coupled with shiitake mushrooms—it’s a cheerful mix of some very creative pieces!”
With barely a moment’s notice, Lieutenant Shraeu drew a gun from the holster on his belt and screamed, “Now you listen here! I don't know what this shit is, but I'm not about to sit around having tea with some freak!”
“Did I say anything about tea?” He turned to his wife and seemed baffled. “Honey, did I say anything ab—”
“Did I order you to talk!?” Shraeu’s face became a deep shade of scarlet. “Zola's suffered long enough at the hands of you, Mr. Bali, and I'm here to put an end to this once and for all! She told me about what you were involved in—your insane plot, and, in my eyes, that makes you a terrorist!”
“And what exactly do you think I've done?” Amour beamed a smile at the Lieutenant.
Zola continued to wander off in her he
ad and didn't remove her headphones.
“I'll bring justice to you myself and use the evidence left behind to label you as an enemy of the nation! I will FREE Zola from you!”
Shraeu squeezed the trigger and yelled so loudly that he didn't realize what was happening. He kept squeezing with full force until he realized that a round hadn't properly entered the chamber. As he struggled to remedy the jam, a strong forearm collided with Shraeu's hands and knocked the weapon away! The Lieutenant barely began to flinch before he noticed that the barrel of a shotgun was being pressed into the side of his head.
“Ah, and the man of the hour—the one who made this all possible—makes his appearance. Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Thume!”
Shraeu shook with fury but could do nothing.
Amour laughed. “You haven't used that handgun for over a year now since you moved up in the world. Don't worry, my lovely wife filled me in on all of the details.” His expression grew more serious as he crossed his arm over his chest and placed his chin in between his thumb and the side of his index finger. “You see, that's something we both noticed: an improperly loaded gun—something that I'd never expect a Bureau Official to do. You love Zola, don't you—it's okay, you can go ahead and have a seat! Thume, be a pal and bring us dinner, would you?”
“Of course, sir.” Thume retrieved the gun on the floor and promptly moved into the kitchen.
Shraeu angrily took a seat and glared at Amour. “Yes, I love her.” He said. “—much more than you ever could!”
Amour looked to Zola. “Why does he always have so much more to say?”
She shrugged and continued looking down.
“I mean, a 'yes' or 'no' would've been—nevermind.” He shook his head and turned his gaze back to Shraeu. “By the way, Mr. Thume is from Gaspul.”
“Gaspul?!”
“Yes.” He sighed. “I just said that, didn’t I? Currently, the Dawn Federation occupies them; the government intends to make it into another 'territory,' and I can see the reasoning behind it. Gaspul can provide us the resources we need to move forward in the future these people built for themselves!” Amour chuckled. “But nonetheless, you would do well to pay your respects to Mr. Thume. I'll just say that he's much more than he seems…”
Angelos Odyssey Page 39