“I get the feeling they don’t like us very much,” Vyck comments in a strained voice, rubbing his head.
“Isn’t this just a customary friendly hazing?” Devin retorts sarcastically. His arms are splayed out in the mud. “Next is the drinking gambit.”
I can’t help but chuckle lightly. He’s maddening as all Hells, but I’m learning to accept it. I’d never have thought I would grow fond of him and his partner.
I look over at the other pen where Tálir and Abrax are imprisoned. The old man is on all fours, wheezing and gasping for breath. His injuries must be severe since the Crimsons held no punches around his recently healed wounds. Tálir has a bloody nose and a bruised eye.
“Tálir!” I call, eliciting his attention. His gaze is piercing, like he’s trying to memorize my face. I can see the true passion in his eyes. “Are you alright?”
He gives a light smirk. “I’ll live. You?”
I cough in pain, but I laugh underneath the exhalation. “I’ll live longer.”
He nods his head, and I can see blood and mud smeared in his long hair. He says nothing more, and focuses on helping Abrax.
“So what’s our plan?” I ask the others, wiping some mud off my face. “I’m feeling the urge to send all of these barbarians to meet their retribution in the Hells.”
“You’re going to take them all on from in here, m’lady?” Devin comments with raised eyebrows. “I admire that fighting spirit, but we’re stuck here for the moment.”
“Why?” I protest bitterly. “These cages can’t be that complicated to escape from. There’s got to be a way to fool with the emitters, or disable a power outlet.”
“It’s not that simple, Sarina,” Vyck says, pointing to the laser grid. “These pens are capable of deflecting military missiles and energy bolts. The only way we could shut them down is if we boned up the power couplings.”
I look outside and see the metal boxes that generated energy for the laserpens. Both are situated several meters away near one of the huts on our right. A Crimson guard is stationed next to the couplings—bowrifle in hand.
Damnit! I swear to myself. We don’t have anything that can reach that range. If only Tálir and Abrax had energy in their armor. They could blast the damn things to bits.
But as it currently stands, we have no means of escape.
◆◆◆
Night has fallen upon us as we desperately try to plot an escape. The rain has stopped. Fires burn bright throughout the village and roasting meat fills the air with salty smells. No matter how hard we try, none of us are able to formulate a plan to escape. Scenario after scenario, we can’t figure out an escape plan. Even Abrax and Tálir cannot seem to focus a strategy. Abrax is already barely able to stay conscious, let alone formulate strategy. Tálir does his best to tend to the old man, but his breaths are ragged and his eyes flutter.
He can’t die! I won’t let him!
Vivían sees our distraught, and speaks from the center of the pit. She calls, “Sarina. Don’t worry about escaping. They’ll set you free once they have what they want.”
I look at her in apprehension. “What do you mean? What do they want?”
Even at our distance, I can see tears welling up in her eyes. “They want me. To punish me for heresy. To give me the mark of avah’kal, the hunter sacrifice. If there’s one thing you should know about our culture, it’s that sacrifice is viewed as salvation.”
Vyck stands suddenly and rushes to the edge of the pen, nearly frying himself against the beams. I can see it in his eyes. The terror, the concern, and the desperate protest.
“Vivían…” Vyck’s voice falters. “No. No you can’t!”
I feel cold dread grasping my heart with icy fingers. I see Vivían give a weak smile, despite her terror. “If I submit to their punishment as a hunting sacrifice, they’ll let the rest of you go when it is concluded. I’m not sure about Tálir and Abrax, but the rest of you will be freed.”
“NO!” Vyck yells, his voice pleading. “No! We can find another way!”
She shakes her head. “Leir’tah is their Shepherd, and she leads by showing both strength and mercy. The Cross Way says that a sacrifice must be treated with honor. Even if it’s with an enemy.”
Vyck looks heartbroken. I don’t know what fate awaits Vivían, but a pit in my stomach saps hope from me. She won’t make it out alive.
No! I can’t let her die!
Even as I struggle to formulate a plan, commotions come from within the village. Torches are lit, and a drumbeat punctuates the air. It’s tribal and portentous. Crowds start to gather around the pit and near the pens. The power couplings aren’t blocked, but now hundreds of eyes are on us.
A throne the size of a small hut is hauled by Crimson guards from the center street. Repulsor disks keep the structure floating off the ground and easier to pull via chains. It’s a crude thing. Rigid, austere, and painted with signature red, gold, and silver paints. Metal crosses are bolted into the slopes, piked with skulls. Four torches are holstered on each slope. Stone steps are smooth as marble, and the chair itself wraps around the figure in the center.
Leir’tah sits with one leg over the other, a scepter clenched in her hands. She wears a more ceremonial robe, but her appearance hasn’t changed. She looks at us with cold menace as her throne is dragged towards the pit. Shamans wrapped with maroon leather cloaks enter the pit near Vivían. Using a metal drum, the guards pour oil around the perimeter of the ritual circle. When finished, they place the seemingly half-empty oil drum a few meters from us. Fires are started and they circle the pit in a blazing ring. Leir’tah’s throne hovers barely a meter outside the flames.
As the night wears down on us, I see the barbaric ritual preparation. My chest feels like an icy cavern, devoid of warmth or comfort. A hellish fire surrounds the pit as shamans begin to move towards Vivían. Though she wears a brave expression, I can see her watery eyes widen. Vivían’s judgement awaits.
Chapter 40: Tálir
Hells Break Loose
“MERCY!”
Her terrified screams reverberate throughout the village, bloodcurdling and agonizing. The wind seems to carry it, and the cackling fires make shadows seem almost demonic. It’s as if we’ve journeyed to the many Hells for our final, painful judgement.
Everyone knows of the Arc, the religious beliefs of the three nations. So I’m equally familiar with the various Hells in scripture, one for every crime or sin. Killers are sent to the eternal flame, where you are to relive the exact pain you caused the one you killed. In a twisted sense, Vivían is seemingly being judged in that part of the Hells.
Vivían is chained to the post outside of our laserpens, and dozens of Crimsons encircle the fire pit as if partaking in some dark ritual. In a sense, it is. The shamans have stripped her shirt, leaving her chest bare in a humiliating fashion. A ring of fire keeps the commoners at bay while two Crimson shamans stand inside the ring with heated iron pokers.
“Please,” I hear her plea. “Please don’t!”
“You sacrifice for this. Brand of avah’kal, of hunter sacrifice, be inescapable, Vi’ Avah,” Leir’tah commands coldly from her throne. “Why you try to back out?”
“She’s just scared! Let her go, you bitch!” Sarina shouts from the pen several meters from me.
“Vivían!” Vyck calls desperately, his hands stressfully grabbing his blonde hair “It’ll be alright. Focus on us, we’ll get you out of there!”
Her eyes lock with Vyck and my heart wells with unfathomable pity, for she looks defeated. She gazes at Vyck with a passion I thought I’d never see in her. Her lighthearted and boisterous attitude has been so uplifting on our journey. Now to see her shamed, humiliated, and frightened it’s unbearable.
There’s a pause, and then she releases a bloodcurdling cry of pain.
The shamans craftily start tracing esoteric lines with the irons across Vivían’s chest. The sizzle of burning skin can be heard underneath her screams. My stomach convulses, a
nd I feel like vomiting. Raw hatred stains my heart at watching a friend suffer this torment. For a minute they trace some kind of symbol from her right breast across to her stomach. The symbol follows the shape of an A, but with small tendrils sprouting from it. Her screams reach a fevered pitch before halting, and she blacks out from the pain.
“YOU FRAGGING ANIMALS!” Vyck roars, nearly slamming his hand into the laser gate.
“Let her go!” I shout, my anger rising.
“Tálir, keep calm,” Abrax manages to wheeze, cradling his right side.
“We can’t just sit here while they torture her!” I protest angrily, facing him. “We’ve got to get out of here and help her.”
Abrax’s dark eyes shine with determinism. “We need to be smart and patient about this,” he says weakly. “Mavens don’t act brashly. Keep your thoughts precise.”
“To all the Hells with that!” I growl, turning back to face the crowd. “I’m going to make every last one of them pay for this!”
Morning light is only a couple hours away. Even if we escape, we still have to find our repulsorbikes if we’re to flee. Our weapons and supplies have been stored in a tent a few yards away from the ritual center. But without the kryos, I’m unsure how I’ll be able to defend the others if we escape the cages.
It seems hopeless. We can’t escape.
A beeping noise suddenly emanates from my right bracer, a repetitive pinging.
My eyes widen with both hopeful excitement and hollow dread. The shouting of the crowd prevents notice, and I gingerly lift the plate to reveal the terminal.
7% Charge it reads.
A similar noise emanates from Abrax’s gauntlet, and his pained expression vanishes. Looking from his gauntlet to me, he says quietly, “We have fresh kryo residue in the armor! If we’re patient, we can harness that sliver of power. Wait until they reach twenty percent. That should be enough to escape and defend ourselves.”
“Maybe ten minutes’ worth of energy,” I whisper with determination. My eyes dart and see the oil drum resting meters from our cage. Right next to the power couplings. “I know what to do. What about the Roil?”
“It seems to be moving slowly,” the old man grunts, looking at the sky. “But we’ll deal with that when it comes.”
The Crimsons begin chanting as the shamans halt their branding—the contusions on her chest look almost like lightning bolts. Leir’tah stands from her pedestal and started walking down the steps of the makeshift throne.
14% Charge.
“Ita vod wek hara kompi avah’kal,” Leir’tah says with an icy aura. “Awake for ritual sacrifice, disgraceful Vi’ Avah.”
Vivían remains motionless, her breathing seems faint. The last hours of moonlight and surrounding fire make her skin glow. The brand marks almost seem like torrents of fire.
“Stop this!” Aida cries desperately.
“Let her go!” Sarina screams again. “Or you’ll pay in blood!”
“We’ll appease your sense of sacrifice!” Vyck growls, his fists clenched in rage. “How about a village of sacrifices? Will that do?”
My blood boils. Not with hatred, but with determinism. For once, we are all united for the same cause: to free Vivían and seek retribution. Caught up in the moment, all I can think about is the thrill of our unification.
20% Charge.
Now, it’s time to save my friends.
Minding my usage, I direct a Stream towards the oil drum several meters away. Emerald energy soars from my fingers and arcs towards the open container. Sparks erupt and ignite the oil. A small explosion results, and the laserpens immediately deactivate.
Chaos follows. The crowd disperses in fear as the warriors attempt to scramble their way through the throng. Those guarding the cages are so disoriented that they barely move as Abrax fires two Streams into their chests—stunning them in seconds. As the pandemonium grows, I see the others start overtaking some of the confused warriors. Armed with bowrifles, Sarina and Devin begin firing at the remaining guards.
Vyck immediately rushes to the pit, fearlessly leaping through the ring of fire. Time slows as I watch in captivated astonishment at his heroic determinism. When the time came, he was ready to jump into action. I grin with respect.
As Vyck crosses the flames, Devin fires a bolt right at the chains binding her. The bonds fall away, and Vivían is about to topple over when Vyck catches her and cradles her unconscious body.
Jumping into the pit after Vyck, Sarina rushes to cover the two from the Crimsons. Sarina’s eyes find mine, and we both nod to each other.
“Abrax!” I call, wheeling around as he sends a Stream into the chest of a warrior. “Get the others to our equipment stores, I’ll hold them off.”
The old man regards me with a concerned expression. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Tálir!” he says in agreement, limping towards the others.
Quickly activating the helmet, I incapacitate more guards as I move towards the fiery pit. My HUD reads Armor Integrity: 91%, Output Charge: 16%, and Kryo Charge: 17%. Similarly leaping through the flames, I stand defensively next to Sarina as Vyck prepares to move Vivían. Upon seeing Sarina firing at Crimsons in defense of Vivían, I feel a sudden rush of emotions. Excitement, admiration, determinism, and apprehension. In the heat of the moment, I want to say something to her. But my mind falters, and I reorient to the battle taking place.
With a primal grin on my face, I turn to see Leir’tah and a dozen of her warriors converging on the pit. Armed with bowrifles and stunpikes, they seem eager to engage the wielder of demon magic. It’s a euphoric sensation, the thrill of retribution. Finally, we aren’t the ones at the Crimsons’ mercy, and we can properly defend ourselves from them. Deep inside me burns a hatred for their craven tactics and barbaric rituals. It’s time for me to unleash my power of justice for what they’ve done to Vivían.
Adopting a protective stance, I stand between them and Vivían as my fingers spark with kryo energy.
“Prepare yourself!” I call to Leir’tah, “because all the Hells are waiting impatiently for you.”
◆◆◆
Leir’tah’s grey eyes shine with a primal hatred as she paces behind her warriors. I can tell she loathes everything about the armor and its demon magic. The Remnant is full of people who use the power of the armor for nefarious and selfish reasons. So I understand her disdain. But I’m not using the magic for despicable purposes. I’m using it to protect my friends.
“You is outnumbered, false wizardry!” she says in as much Trade as she can. “You burn for interrupting ritual.”
I allow my movements to flow, letting the kryo energy course through the armor and into my palms. Emerald magic sparks between my fingers, and the Crimsons flinch warily.
“Correction,” I say darkly, a primeval grin still etched on my face. “You will burn for hurting my friends.”
Anger and malice start to boil within my chest. I can feel it clouding my focus with red hate. I know I should heed Abrax’s lesson about maintaining the balanced focus, but I choose not to. My anger and sense of retribution have taken root, and I want to use that for my focus. All of my rage, fear, and lust for vengeance fuel my focus.
With only a few minutes’ worth of power, I send two blistering Streams towards the Crimsons. While only at 16%, the energy is intense enough to cause sparks to explode out as they are flung backwards. The other warriors aim their bowrifles and fire. My energy struggles to reach 25%. Generating a Shield, I’m able to deflect their incoming projectiles as I cover Sarina while Vyck tries to drag Vivían. She is still unconscious, but her chest is covered by a light cloth.
From behind my Shield, Sarina begins firing off rounds from her bowrifle. The red bolts find another three targets, and they drop dead to the ground. As we both retreat slowly, the Crimsons advance through the ring of fire. Like the torturers from the Hells, they purposefully approach us with cruel intent. And through the fires, Leir’tah stands with her scepter.
Her dark silh
ouette ripples in the fire, and her shaggy hair looks like a wolf’s mane. It is here that she resembles the one who rules the pits of Hells. A near perfect parallel. The lord of Hells. His name is Inuban, and he is the bringer of death.
Chapter 41: Sarina
A Departing Arrival
IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME since I’ve felt true solidarity.
The idea of caring for an individual like they’re a member of my family has been absent from my mind for years. I’ve had friends, and close ones at that—but I’ve never thought of them as a brother or sister. And I’ve only known Vivían, Tálir, and the others for a shorter time than those past friends.
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