by Marc Mulero
"Heh, impressive!” Dendrid commended while twirling the free blade in hand. “But you don't have the motivation of symphony to keep you going."
"What the f-" Sabin attempted to say before he was cut off.
In an instant, Dendrid maneuvered himself behind Sabin and held the free blade against Sabin’s throat. "Shh, sh, sh… let me enjoy the finale."
As fate would have it, the symphony was interrupted once more, this time by the tune of Blague descending from his fourth-floor quarters like a hawk before slamming to shake the ground. He rose, still draped in combat wear regardless of the night’s hour, an arm leveled, Desert Eagle in his grip, and a shaky finger ready to pull the trigger.
Something didn’t seem right. His wavy hair was wilder than usual, dark circles bleeding black under sunken eyes, and veins coiled around him like snakes. It appeared as though he was navigating some kind of nightmare in his mind long before the Shade had stepped foot into his home. Unfamiliar distress didn’t make any of the Sins less glad to see him though.
His eyes pierced into Dendrid's. "What will it take for you to release him?"
"You don't seem surprised that you have an intruder." Dendrid jerked Sabin closer to him.
"Your Hiezer leadership is experiencing an internal struggle," Blague said calmly, now holding his pistol ten feet from the enemy’s head. "It was only a matter of time before the true believers in Mulderan would come to reclaim him."
"Then you already know what it will take for me to release your bearded friend.”
"Forget me, Blague, I fucked up,” Sabin shouted, causing Dendrid to wring the blade closer onto his skin. “Just shoot this piece of shit!"
The front door of the mansion flung open to reveal Eugene creeping forward with his eye glued to his scope. He heeded Blague's radio call from moments prior, and now awaited his next order to pull the trigger. Other off-duty fighters began gathering around the scene on cue.
"Everyone, hold your fire!" Blague boomed.
"That's a good start," Dendrid's throaty voice cracked. His five-o’clock shadow was nearly brushing up against Sabin's face. "No more blood needs to be spilled tonight."
Drino walked up beside Blague, hauling his machine gun.
Sabin rolled his eyes. "Is that really necessary?"
Slowly removing his back from the field of vision of his enemies, Dendrid receded toward a corner with his hostage held closely.
"Release them from their cells," Blague ordered to Drino without breaking eye contact with the intruder.
The command caused mumbling to spread amid awakened Sins. Scoffs of disapproval, disgust even, may as well have been amplifications of Drino’s thoughts. He winced painfully, like all of the wounds that he’d suffered to get here were mercilessly reopened. But he swallowed it, for trust of his leader. And so he let the machine gun fall to his side, strap around his shoulder and neck tightening as the gun weighed him down, and watched the flashes of fallen soldiers and his near-death rampage cycle through his vision, all about to be pissed away.
“On it,” was all he allowed himself to speak.
"Release him," Blague said evenly.
"In due time, Leader of the Exiled,” Dendrid promised. “When Mulderan is out of harm’s way, this warrior will be yours again."
Sabin peered down at the assailant’s wardrobe and said, "You look like you escaped a mental asylum."
Dendrid looked to his captive. "Making jokes in such an inopportune position?"
"Well you know, if you kill me, then Blague kills you, yadda yadda, Mulderan sits in his cell, Sins rejoice for all eternity…"
Dendrid wacked him with the butt of his blade and shifted the sharp end back against his throat.
Where is this Highest Lord?
Eugene edged to the stairway to try and realign his aim.
Then again, I don't know why I'm in such a rush to be slid back into a cell.
Finally, Mulderan and Wes emerged into the light with a gun aimed at their backs.
"That man hasn't aged a day in all of this time," Dendrid thought aloud.
Sabin tilted his head up ever so slightly. "Where the hell have you been, buddy?"
“I must admit,” Mulderan’s even voice carried, “you were to be a last resort in an entirely different manner.” He paced confidently, haughtily toward Dendrid, judging him while a sea of eyes glared back. “I guess circumstances have set a different plan in motion.”
Dumbfounded expressions were everywhere, because the Highest Lord was walking freely in rebellion territory, again – a nightmare they thought was behind them, somehow recurring.
Blague averted his gaze from his brother back to Dendrid, gun still straight. “Last resort…? The Mentis Shade… Dendrid? I remember the day you were locked up as a child. I remember your crime. A bullet between the eyes wouldn’t be enough,” he snarled with scorn.
Emotions were beginning to surge, Sin weapons lifting higher to show intent. Tension in the air was palpable. This couldn’t be… tired eyes had to be playing tricks, forcing them to be wide awake, and all it would take was one loose trigger finger to create a bloodbath.
In the meantime, Dendrid felt like he was being played. Eyes narrowed, shifting between Mulderan and Blague, confused as to what they were saying. The man pointing a gun to his head could be no more than just a few years his senior; he didn’t remember any peers around him at his sentencing.
Ignore them! The Sin tries to distract you, to throw you off your game!
“Enough small talk. It’s time for me to reclaim my position,” Mulderan demanded. "Lower your weapons or I'll have your beloved hunter sliced from ear to ear."
A collective gasp sounded from the civilians. Sabin, who was beloved by all - to lose him by way of public execution would destroy morale more than it would to lose an enemy king. The Sin Leader knew this.
"Do as he says!" Blague shouted at the crowd.
Dendrid inched toward Wes with Sabin awkwardly being dragged in his clutch, carefully positioning him so only a sliver of his face was exposed. “Put those weapons down, Sins. I know when I’ve caught a valuable fish… I know you want him back in your tank. Drop them,” Dendrid spoke lowly, earning a furrowed brow from the hunter in his grasp.
When a demand is shouted by an enemy, and confirmed by a leader, time suddenly feels impossibly slow. No one was moving. How could one adhere to such an order? The Sins gave too much blood to capture this prisoner, too much death to take back their own lives. Each second felt like defiance. Might as well pull the trigger. Might as well end the standoff by ridding the world of this madman.
One Sin cursed loudly, lowering his weapon and throwing it to the floor, knowing full well the situation was lost. That’s all that was needed – the first one – because shortly after, rifles were slowly pointed toward the floor.
“Fuck you, Mulderan!” An angry gesture came from the crowd.
Disgust was written all over their faces. It was that same arrogance he upheld here upon this very floor not so long ago, where he pointed for execution as easily as deciding dinner. Civilians, fighters, it didn’t matter. He intended to wipe anyone from his path to reclaim his precious Ayelan. Now here he was again. After justice, after glory, it felt like it had all been erased.
“Ahhh,” Dendrid sighed deeply, the music resuming in his mind.
Now this is a sinister melody. Oh yes.
“I can feel your disdain. Is it misplaced, I wonder? A life of misfortune always needs a source of blame, I suppose. I will be that for you, sure.” The Highest Lord exposed his chest. “Pick me. Typical… from those who cannot and will not take responsibility for their own lives.”
While Mulderan engaged in his monologue, Dendrid leaned closely to his captive. "Listen to me," he whispered to Sabin. "I’ve heard word from the Queen of Ice herself that may be of use to you."
The unruly crowd cursed and scoffed at Mulderan while he leisurely walked by.
"This world is dying," Mulderan’s monotonou
s voice carried throughout the open mansion. "Who will you blame for that? How will you survive the trials to come? How will you keep our civilization intact?"
The crowd quieted, alarmed by the highlord’s comments and inquiries.
"What kind of game are you playing?" Sabin whispered back. "You're an agent of the Hiezers."
"A prisoner is far different than an agent. Hear my words. Let me pay for what I have taken from you."
"Yes, because I have a choice in the matter," Sabin jeered.
Wes was far enough ahead not to hear Dendrid and Sabin exchanging words, and was too concerned with keeping a watchful eye on his leader anyway.
"You are annoying," Dendrid groaned.
"So I've been told," Sabin said, unable to help his smile.
The Highest Lord continued his speech while making his way to the front door of the stronghold. "You're all too far gone to aid in the second coming of the New World. But hear this: if another quake is to devastate everything that we know, I will accept your children and train them to survive at the cost of your surrender.”
"That's enough, Mulderan," Blague demanded.
"Oh? I thought you wanted your group to hear all sides," Mulderan challenged, recalling Blague's speech alongside Jeck.
"Say the word, Blague. I have a shot," Eugene announced through radio.
"Stand down," Blague replied. "Sabin's life is at stake. His throat would be cut as soon as your rifle goes off."
"They're going to murder him anyway," Eugene said with angst.
"Stand down," Blague repeated calmly while keeping a tight grip on his pistol.
"Give your legacy a real chance," Mulderan bellowed. "Surrender this madness. Stop hindering the Hiezers from keeping humanity safe."
Mulderan had presented his case confidently by standing tall and gesturing with open arms, his demeanor giving the impression that he still owned the place. As he walked out the front door, the angry crowd gave their attention to the shriek of a little girl.
"Mommy!" she cried, chasing Sin fighters carrying three dead bodies down the steps.
The Sin civilians’ horror was evident.
"You son of a bitch," Sabin began to writhe in anger. "Blague, end this fucker!" he said, attempting to elbow Dendrid.
Blague tightened his grip around the Desert Eagle, positioning his weapon to aim at the man restraining Sabin. The little girl's incessant heart-wrenching cries strained the situation even further.
"A Templos rebellion apparently believes their leaders’ offspring have been executed," Dendrid whispered into Sabin's ear while the captive jerked to break free. "It's a fallacy. Eldra revealed that it's a ploy to keep the rebellion at bay."
"Why would you tell me this? You have no loyalty to us."
“I have no loyalty to anyone. All I have ever known is captivity. My code is still that… mine,” Dendrid spoke lowly while the hunter fidgeted within his grasp, fighting as he was hauled along the vast marble foyer. “I have existed behind many bars, but thankfully my captors have been generous enough to provide endless symphonic bliss, and so I suppose I should not complain.”
Sabin turned his head to get a glimpse of Dendrid's ear in between strands of his dark blue-black hair. "Uh, you aren't wearing any sort of headphones."
"You constantly interrupt the most thrilling segments," Dendrid scolded, annoyed while making their way toward the breach point of wreckage outside the mansion.
“Jussst great, I’ve been abducted by Mozart,” Sabin said aloud to himself, looking forward at Wes and Mulderan leading the way.
"That's as far as you go, brother," Mulderan said, turning back to face Blague. "We may release your commander once we're out of your snipers' range."
Blague stood on edge, while his most valuable prisoner walked back into Hiezer control, knowing any inkling of an attempt would mean the end of Sabin’s life. This was it, decision time.
Shit. He cursed to himself. Would his brother release him? Had he abandoned all of what it meant to keep his word? He had no choice but to adhere… to risk it. And so he held his hand out, signaling the rowdy crowd to stay behind the mansion’s doors.
As the four of them rounded the breach point, Wes turned with his fist held up.
"That blabbering terrorist is mine,” Wes roared. “Step aside, Dendrid!"
Dendrid released his grip on Sabin, but not in the way that the giant-at-arms wished. He shoved the hunter backward, allowing him to flee, and then stepped up like a bodyguard protecting his VIP. The curved sword twirled, evening their height and weight disparity by stopping it an inch from Wes’ neck.
"We will honor this agreement, Almighty Wes," the Mentis demanded.
The scar on Wes' eye crinkled when he clenched his jaw and his fists. "How dare yo-"
Dendrid held up a device in front of him, displaying the Ice Queen awaiting his word. "It's done, Eldra."
"Good,” she answered. “Give me Mulderan."
Dendrid tossed the device and lowered his blade, noticing Sabin was far enough away.
"Volt him," Mulderan said.
With the click of a button, the Mentis Shade was relieved of his weapons, reduced to his knees. Immobilized. His back arched into an unnatural C from high voltage electricity, stiffened, frozen solid until muscle spasms twitched his limbs into wild convulsions. It was as though the electroshock was sizzling him from the inside - sounds of snapping joints and the smell of burning flesh.
It was unspoken when enough was enough. He had rescued them after all. That’s when Mulderan nodded to the immobilized prisoner so Wes could pick up him, toss him over his shoulder, and grab his weapons, so the two could be freed from prison.
The Highest Lord trekked onward, further and further away from his former prison. "It’s now time to prepare."
Biljin’s vision slowly returned to him, blurry white spots parting like clouds. No… they were clouds. He was face down on his stomach… in the sky. A quarter-mile separating him from the ground. His fidgeting suddenly ceased so as not to break whatever ungodly spell was cast to keep him suspended as he gazed fearfully at the clawing ocean below.
Another anomaly? Like the snow waves? This is impossible.
His stomach felt like it had dropped into the pit of his torso, where it would stay unless he could figure out how physics, gravity, science was betraying him. A prickly sensation crawled from his limbs to his heart, his jaw so tense that his teeth were clattering. But logic eventually caught up, bearings slowly returning… there was no wind, and his fingers were on a cool transparent casing – glass.
Of course.
He blinked hard to feel his head still aching from whatever it was that struck him, followed by a groan and a question to himself: "What is this?"
"An intermediary where we can speak without interruption," a voice responded cryptically.
Startled, Biljin lifted his head to see two black boots with a silver design outlining them. He had to find composure again – that endless pool of iron arrogance that made him who he was, regardless of whether or not he understood his surroundings. But whatever parts of him were reanimating quickly reduced once more, for what stood before him was a harrowing image, one which he hoped never to see: a haunting silhouette of an elegantly hooded reaper shadowing the scientist.
"I am Aslock.” The man offered a gloved hand.
Biljin, understanding he had little choice in the matter, reached to be pulled up from the invisible floor, feeling the cold tips of Aslock's silver-encased fingers touching his.
"Although you have been interesting to observe, the message I bring is for your leader."
"I don't even know who my leader is yet,” Biljin replied, staring into the talking shadow. “I was inducted into the Dactuar class just a short time ago."
Aslock bore back silently from under the intricately designed cloak masking his face. Silver traced the ends of his hood and forked into his heavy mantle, all working to bestow an otherworldly being, one that Biljin hoped had a face within
that endless blackness.
"Not that leader," Aslock responded, tilting toward Biljin. “Not the pawns that you play.”
That can’t be... I was careful every step of the way.
"I can feel your mind calculating, reassuring yourself that it is not possible that I know you truly follow a Grenich."
Biljin remained straight-faced. He wouldn't give Aslock the satisfaction of his bewilderment.
"Your mind is not the only great one…"
"What are you?"
"A scientist, Biljin, just like you."
"You don't seem like any physicist I've ever encountered…"
This man is dangerous, but I suppose he could have killed me a hundred times by now if he wanted. My best odds of understanding this... man… would be to play along, for now.
"I am no physicist or scientist of any of the natural studies. I am a Neraphis," he revealed.
Neraphis? What is this gibberish? Peel through the facts, form a hypothesis of substance. The only relevance at this point is that whoever built this tower is advanced enough to shield themselves from the Dactuars’ vision.
He looked far ahead, to see that he was still obviously in Old Iceland, that he was par with the large Dactuar symbol glimmering from their resort.
That takes resources, and guts. Maybe I’m wrong about his claims… taking this man and his words lightly would be a fool’s choice.
"I've never heard of such a study."
"Good," Aslock said after a pause. "Then we are doing our job."
We. I wonder how many he means by that.
"Enough of your attempted inferences. Give the offspring of Orin and Yulesa Grenich this," Aslock said, holding out a small piece of Obsidian lined with unfamiliar symbols and encased in diamonds. "Tell him he is sought, and such a rarity should be taken advantage of."
Biljin looked into the abyss that spoke to him, and then finally reached for the mix of precious stones.