by Marc Mulero
Now it was Wes’ turn to smirk.
“You mentioned that you’ve seen these before.” Sabin pointed to his own eyes. “In all of my years, apart from my late father, that bastard, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting anyone else with golden eyes.”
Wes slowly stood up in a struggle to maintain balance. Even hunched and starved, his shadow swallowed his captor.
“You kill my soldiers, disrupt my leaders, hinder our progress. Your movement is responsible for nothing but terrorism. I wouldn’t help you if you flayed me, sliced off my limbs, and fed them to me. Do you understand, hunter? Nothing will be gained from me.”
“Ouch. Well in that case…” he playfully drew his curved, double-sided String Blades and scraped them together to further instigate. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
Mulderan turned his head to watch the exchange, eyeing Sabin like he was an antelope that had just challenged a lion.
"Just kidding. I'm not very good at making threats, am I?" Sabin frowned.
Wes slammed the bars again. "Don't you savages take anything seriously?"
"Meh," Sabin shrugged, "I don't really see the purpose, since you’re not going to tell me anyway."
Mulderan glared at Sabin. "Are you sure you would even want such information? There may be truths you’re better off not knowing."
"Here, we have an angry cinder block, and a riddling Elven-looking prince. This was clearly a waste of my time."
“You have it wrong,” Mulderan’s monotonous tone bounced off the cell’s walls. “It’s you who’s wasting our time. But I do have an idea to keep you busy… perhaps you should reevaluate your family tree, maybe ask a ‘friend,’ to help you.”
The hunter rolled his eyes and dragged his blade across each bar of the cell. He looked at Mulderan for a minute to see if he had anything else to say, but the Highest Lord offered nothing more.
"Just trying to get me out of your hair, hm? Alright, a party man knows when there’s no party." The hunter walked toward the doorway and said, "C'mon boy," while slapping his knee.
Mars padded up to him and they proceeded back to the main floor.
What could he have meant by that? Is he screwing around with me? Or could it be that someone is still out there?
Biljin squinted on his way out of the shadowy Tribunal chamber. Victorious once more. He’d risen through the ranks of the hierarchy effortlessly, weaving through political obstacles, tackling strong personalities head-on, burying weaker ones with devious plots. All work of a great mind. Now sunlight peered ahead, shining to greet him over a pedestal of glory in the form of Victorian-style steps. Fresh air was suddenly sweeter. City noise more harmonious. He strutted conceitedly into it all.
Of course his triumphs were largely in vain, obviously the ulterior agenda was the true prize, but who was to say he couldn’t enjoy the ride?
Innovative transport vehicles crowded freshly paved streets – luxuries most Sins had never even heard of, let alone witnessed. They would think this a different world had their eyes glimpsed it. But not Biljin… he was an upper-class man now, both in guise and in spirit. A chameleon among the peaceful citizens gliding through their revered city of Horace. Hidden, corroded filth shelled by a polished exterior, to blend within the elegant metropolis. He worked ever so briefly using the world’s top medical technology, and studied beside - or above, as he saw it - the vast population of scholarly Vacals. This city encompassed the largest sector within Old Massachusetts and housed mostly curative professionals. Comparable to the Grand City of Nepsys, Horace was a place to be missed, but the time had already passed. Biljin was ready to blink it away like his short-lived attendance in their class. Vacals took much pride in their accomplishments, yet he was sure it was still a class that remained beneath him.
The Sin commander took out his ID and noticed the symbol on his card had changed from Vacal to Dactuar, and that it was outlined in an orange glow.
"Huh, that's unlike the last ascension," he said to himself on his way down the stone steps.
A sleek silver transport vehicle stopped a few feet in front of him, blocking his path to the street. It sat low to the ground and sported a sharp design, humming silently with powerful twin motors. The exterior curvatures resembled concept cars of the Old World, and the interior showcased the New World’s consolidated splendor.
"Nice service," he admitted, watching the driver hit a button above his head through tinted glass.
The rear door slid smoothly into a hollowed compartment as the window retreated vertically into the roof – all curves and slick mechanics that were pleasing to the eye. A beckoning entrance invited Biljin into a burgundy, intricately threaded seat, matching the jewel-encrusted garb that he lifted to step into his stylish ride.
This rank sure knows how to make a statement.
"Welcome to the Dactuar class," a robotic voice projected out of the speakers. "Once we reach Ovainar Peak, you will be escorted to a broker that will assist you with housing. You will also be provided with a pamphlet summarizing the Annual Dactuar Retreat, taking place at the Northern Lights Resort. Enjoy." The automated voice cut out.
I feel like a king. It's a shame though, I could have gotten used to this.
Biljin picked up his radio and whispered, "It's done."
Blague marveled at the progress made on his home turf. Two new buildings - done. Embedded with the very same Ordinate structuring techniques as the elite. They might as well have been rooks on a chessboard. Powerful, adaptable fortresses steeped in Hiezer technology. Copycat builders and engineers had worked around the clock to make sure of it, to duplicate the sturdiness of the first that they’d hijacked. This was the beginnings of a city that would one day bend to the will of Mother Nature without falter. Not a Hiezer city like Nepsys, but a more accepting one. A Sin city.
Eugene, however, was less impressed, and far more concerned with other matters from afar.
“I should’ve gone with him,” he said aloud to himself, then to Blague, “I could’ve provided cover… helped this along. Now another one of our brothers is a sitting duck.”
Blague shook his head, halting their tour. “This is his mission, Eu. He’s in the heat of battle, far out of reach from our support. We have to have faith that he can carry out his duty. We need to believe that he can lead on his own terms.”
“That’s nonsense! This is not a game, or a test. This is his life… a commander’s life. A valuable one at that. One that we need to bail out, now. I can get to Bulchevin in two hours using a Hiezer jet,” Eugene reasoned. “You know it.”
“And then what?” Blague spread his arms. “Be two hours late to the scene? The enemy jets are overhead as we speak. Don’t you see? They will have either succeeded or failed by the time we get there. I for one, have faith in my commander. And you should, too.”
Eugene’s guilt just rose from the denial, forcing his stride wider to cut Blague off. “Fine. You want to talk logic, leader? Then tell me, if bombs are overhead there, in Bulchevin, then that means the Hiezers no longer care whether we store vials of Ayelan with us wherever we go. They’re willing to destroy it now to prevent the Sin virus, us, from spreading. What’s to stop them from wiping us out next?”
"I’ve been wondering the same thing since Lito’s last transmission. This all just shows that the Hiezer leadership is in disarray. Eldra would never go against Mulderan's vision. She must be struggling to maintain power."
"Yeah well, you’re gaining all this great knowledge at the expense of our friend’s life."
"I couldn't predict that the Hiezers would abandon their philosophy on the Ayelan chemical. It's my responsibility to adapt to the information available to us," Blague stated plainly.
Eugene sighed before a friendly hand fell on his shoulder.
"Imagine a world where we can establish a network between different continents without living in the shadows. If Lito carries out this mission, and he will, we’ll be one step closer to that reality. We're going to seve
r these chains, Eu, one way or another."
Eugene shrugged off Blague's hand.
The Sin Leader glanced over at the sniper and pointed to the structure towering over them. "This will be the Aura's home in a few days’ time."
The conflicted sniper held his head, remembering he had a hundred things to take care of, then asked, "Does it have a spot where we can unload Nemura?"
"Yes, there's a three-person cell block below the main floor," Blague responded, turning around to face his second-in-command. "You seem more agitated than usual. What's going on?"
Eugene looked up after rubbing his eyes. "Jen could explode at any moment, I haven't spoken to Narene since the Aura made their lovely appearance, and we’ve lost contact with Lito, who’s clearly in need of our help. Need I say more?" His hand traced his face down to his chin as he struggled to focus.
"How about you go tend to your love triangle for the rest of the day? You can leave Lito and logistics to me."
Eugene dragged his feet up to his room in the Senation mansion, feeling dizzy, mopey, and anxiety ridden all at once. Every thought of his love or Narene activated a jolt to his heart like shock therapy of the worst kind. It angered him at first, with Blague and all, but when no one was around, the feeling just became exhausting.
His pace into the bathroom devolved into this sluggish ambling with heavy limbs dangling at his sides, almost as if he were a reanimated corpse running on fumes.
“Grh,” he grunted when finally making it to the sink. Elbows locked straight to hold his weight up. Then, as his slouched head lifted, something was revealed to him that was the last thing he wanted to see. Himself. In the mirror. A nasty image – unkempt stubble, dirty blond hair a disheveled mess, dark-rimmed eyes and gaunt cheeks. Awful. His reflection could only stare back at him with disdain.
I can't put this off any longer. Briggs would’ve told me to man up, and I probably would have by now if he were here.
"Fuck!" he yelled as he slammed his fist onto the side of the sink.
I left the poor woman in the dark for weeks now. Pick yourself up and go, you piece of shit.
He splashed water onto his face and unstrapped the rifle from the buckle across his chest. Every action was meant to stall the inevitable. He took a deep breath while glaring at himself, and after a moment of self-pity, exhaled and looked away.
Time to go.
The flight of stairs leading up to the fourth-floor medical room felt endless. His fear fought him on every step, but his conscience kept him moving. In his innermost cowardice, he secretly hoped that she wasn’t on shift. This way he would have an excuse for not addressing the situation, but the sound of her voice dispelled all of that in an instant. It shot nervous butterflies all around his stomach. His mind suddenly went blank. What was he to say? An apology, after all of this time? What would that do? He couldn’t tell her that he saved her life back in Old New York… that would be cheap. She would just say, “If you hadn’t left in the first place…”
With his head dipped in shame, he turned the knob and let himself in.
There she was, as beautiful now as when he abruptly left her, wrapping a soft cast around a civilian’s broken arm. And when she looked up, it was all there. The knitted eyebrows that spoke to seeing a man she’d begun to fall for just a short time ago. The hardening of her expression from the realization catching up to her - that his impulsive abandonment was as painful as a knife in the gut. The sting was there then, and reinvigorated now. The brief rollercoaster ended with a long, unforgiving searing into Eugene’s eyes.
In an instant, the months of intimacy they’d spent together pedaled through his head.
Ugh, I should go. That look of disgust says it all.
Narene eventually turned back to her patient, who laid there placidly on painkillers, peering at his nurse in the same fog that Eugene was in. She carefully sealed the last bit of casting and nodded reassuringly at the man, communicating with him as well as Eugene – silently telling the sniper that her priority was no longer him. Large eyes rounded once more, comfortingly, and tight lips relaxed into a gentle smile - all attempts to mask the shooting pain bubbling around her heart.
The Sin commander stood awkwardly for the eternal minute that she made him wait. Narene softly patted her patient's arm twice before standing up and proceeding slowly over to the doorway. Eugene stared at the floor in shame, not meeting her eyes, until a brisk slap to the face got his attention.
Eugene jerked his head up, startled by the impact. "Narene, I'm so-"
"I thought I was falling for a man," she scorned, shutting the medical room door behind her.
Her olive skin was beginning to turn red, pent-up emotions running through her face all at once.
"Not a boy," her voice was choked by the lump caught in her throat. Tears fell, but her face remained harsh.
"Forgive me, Narene. I was falling for you, too... until the impossible happened."
"I know what happened. Word travels pretty quickly when an entire community is under three roofs." She gathered herself. "That's not why I'm heartbroken."
"My past rose from the dead. Please try to understand-"
"No, you try to understand. You discarded me like fodder. Like my family did when I committed my crime. Like my friends did. I was a fool to think you would be any different," she spoke, despair seeping through her words.
"I'm here now… to apologize and explain," he said delicately, placing his hands on her arms.
A sob escaped at the reminiscent touch that toyed with her feelings. She shook her head and backed away.
"It's too late for that. Go back to your goddess. Isn't she waiting?"
Eugene sighed. "If you find it in your heart to hear me out… you know where to find me."
She turned her head to the side and scoffed. "Why did I let this happen?" she whispered sadly, and walked away.
Chapter 3
“Abandon the shield!” Lito roared.
His voice cut out like he’d vanished into thin air. The jets vacuumed everything: the screams, the commands, the contagious energy that proliferated just moments prior. It was all gone when heads craned to see foreign pill-shaped objects rumbling through the sky to finish the job. But Lito wasn’t done yet. He hadn’t come all this way to be buried.
So with a heave and a grunt, one of Brower’s arms wrapped around Lito’s shoulder while the other was hoisted by Oscin’s. Together, they hustled him over toward a shaded side of the fortress for cover. Gunfire pelted the ground on their path, causing Oscin to panic, trip, and send the three of them tumbling just barely into safety with the limping giant between them.
Everyone else scattered like roaches in the light, scrambling in opposite directions and exchanging their weapons for speed before diving to the floor to avoid the blast. Those who rushed the front doors of the fortress head-on madly opened fire before soon suffering the full might of Hiezer artillery. Perhaps the most merciful of fates. Others remained behind the shield, pushing valiantly with the blindest hope, like children shutting their eyes to wish reality away. The cascading bombs came anyway - grass, gravel, and body parts were catapulted over fire, challenging the handful that followed their leader to safety.
“Uldan, empty your arsenal and abandon the tower! The Hiezers called our bluff! They know we don’t have Ayelan with us!” Lito bellowed into his radio.
“We have some time before the jets circle and realign,” Uldan said. “Sit tight, commander. We’re about to give a grand finale!”
Brower tugged on Lito’s shirt and gripped the wall to lift himself up, wincing all the way, cursing the nasty wound mangling his shin. He unraveled his bandana, slapped it against his knee as if that would clean it, and proceeded to wrap it to curb the bleeding. Although Brower grimaced, he did not complain… a point of pride for the Bulchevin native.
With labored breathing and still shaking from the close call, Oscin’s thin arms were outstretched upon the side of the stronghold, flattening himself as mu
ch as possible to keep invisible. He wanted to be a fly on the wall, to just blend into nothingness. He wasn’t really there, so there was no point to look for him. He was pathetic, worthless to the Sins.
Fear was like a blender for his stomach, causing another doubled-over session of spewing bile. He couldn’t help but wish himself back to the leather chair of the jet - its armored casing, freedom of the entire sky to run through if he so chose. Oh, how he wished he was back there. Where one would cry for their mother within the peril of war, he could dream of being swaddled in the pilot’s seat. As broken as his life was, he’d taken it for granted. The luxury of the sky, the stupor of a drink. What he wouldn’t do right now for one more round.
Lito’s band was failing quickly. Able bodies seemed to possess deteriorating minds, and vice versa... all of which were not in his favor. But a leader isn’t meant to wallow in pity. Instead, he needed to focus, consolidate his resources, assess the situation, make another move. He surveyed the small group of Sins left standing, sizing up the chances of success when his group and Uldan’s were to make a break for the door. How would it end? A quick slaughter? An underdog’s triumph? Then a different kind of ruckus forced his attention around the wall. Both he and Brower peeked as the force of explosions shook the building. A storm of missiles, gunfire, and flaming arrows pelted the roof and windows of the reinforced fortress.
“The last hurrah,” Brower choked out between coughs.
“Not necessarily, mijo. How much of the Bulchevin community awaits our capture of the mansion and how far out are they?”
Brower turned back to look at his commander. “Nearly all of them. We have everything riding on this. The drought has made conditions unbearable over here,” he said weakly. “They’re less than a quarter mile out, in the caves.”