by Marc Mulero
Volaina grasped Tessna by the shoulders, breaking her weak attempt to flee. She felt like she was participating in some hellish Nazi play, where she was a commanding officer, a villain. There was nothing she could do but cry silently to herself, soundlessly, while the last act played out.
I can’t do this. How can I ever look Sabin in the eyes again if I don’t turn my rifle? I can’t sit quietly. I won’t…
“There’s only one piece of information I need. And if you provide it, perhaps I will let your sister live. Who orchestrates your will from the shadows? Even Willard couldn’t get close enough to see him,” Trillus pressed, his multicolored eyes shifting between the two.
“Say nothing, brother,” Tessna said, squirming in Volaina’s grasp.
I should put a bullet in his head right now. I can be their guardian angel, turn the tide, give them a chance.
Quietly, delicately, Volaina loosened her grip on Tessna’s shoulder and gripped her gun.
The Rogue was keen to it, Volaina could tell by a change in her breathing pattern. She was trying to be still, to assess if there was a barrel about to be pressed to her head, or what?
Al seemed to ponder while silence filled the air, perhaps considering the general’s question. Trillus returned a deadly stare through narrowed eyes, until, finally, golden ones met his.
Finality was in his expression, in his voice. “I will take that to my grave.”
“Loyal to the death. Very well, then,” Trillus said, taking a step back. “Rest with the knowledge that everyone you know will be joining you shortly.”
Where the hell is their headquarters, damn it? I need to relay this to Blague immediately. If I act now, we will all die, and no intel will leave this place.
“Caova, elites, step forward for duty,” Trillus said. “These acts are punishable by death.”
The Hiezer elites walked toward the kneeling Rogues, who waited in unnerving silence.
There’s no more time to waste.
“A shame, really,” Trillus said, pulling his unique mask back down over his face. “There’s so much purpose in the two of you. If only you could have used it to help society, instead of crippling it.”
“There wouldn’t be so many of us who oppose you if that was what you were actually doing, asshole,” Al jabbed, grabbing his sister’s hand and turning to her. “I love you, Tes. We did great. Our parents would’ve been proud.”
“Firing position!” Trillus announced.
The elites raised their weapons to the kneeling Rogues. Trillus and Volaina remained in front of the two Rogue leaders with their rifles in ready position.
Turn your weapon, Volaina. Turn your goddamn weapon…
“Fire!” Trillus let out a terrifying shout, followed by gunshots and the thud of lifeless bodies dropping around them.
There was a gap in the line, though. Where many bodies jerked from recoil, one didn’t, and the general caught it in his peripheral.
“Caova?”
Volaina’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, but the sound of his voice in her ear, like the devil disapproving of her act, or lack thereof, felt like she was already in hell.
I’m sorry.
She prayed. And with that, in an eternal moment, she opened her eyes, wet with tears, and took a deep breath to brace herself for a fragment in time she would never get back.
Bang. Nothing good came from what she had just done – severing the ties that made her family, slaying Tessna, an innocent, righteous young woman. Robbed of her light. A fatal wound to the head. It was dreadful… but it was her brother that made it unlivable.
Al was silent – the row of bodies, of people he laughed with, bled with, loved… that row ended closest to him, with his sister. He broke down. He wept. This was the last thing he would witness? This? His sister’s murder? He looked back to Trillus with bloodshot eyes, completely unable to speak, unable to convey anything. He was silenced by travesty, and had never been more ready for his grave.
There was a lag, as if Trillus was… relishing in it?
“It’s okay, sis,” Al told himself, nodding. He snapped. “I know you can hear me… it’s okay. I’m here. I love you.” He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “I’m here.”
The Hiezer general pulled his trigger, and just like that, a set of vibrant golden eyes dimmed, marking the end of Al’s short life.
“Clean up and I will report back to headquarters. Elites, this goes down as a successful mission and a great leap in ending the Templos Rogue rebellion,” he stated before addressing Volaina. “I’m requesting you for the takeover of Rogue headquarters at the Centric Crater. You’ve been a great help, Caova. Thank you for joining us,” he said sincerely.
What the hell have I done?
Chapter 10
Blague spiraled into a realm of distorted thought. The discord from his prolonged past persisted in clouding his present.
A windowless room kept him captive. It was sheathed with grungy, molded bricks slapped with dried blood. He had no memory of how he’d gotten there or why, just the feeling of a pounding headache and cold air prickling his bare chest. Hands lifted to rub reddened eyes, but were quickly withdrawn by the burning acid blistering his skin and seeping through his pores. This wasn’t a memory - it was a nightmare.
Blague inspected his leaking flesh. "The Ripper moves on to use poison, but why? What is she trying to preach this time? Some grand epiphany that only pain could evoke? Punishment for deviating from her defined path? Show yourself! Tell me why!”
He clenched his fists tight, feeling only numbness as green puss oozed from his fingers. “You cannot break me, Ripper. I’ll just rise up stronger against your intended lessons.”
His renewed confidence was quickly tested, though. No one entered the sealed door, because no one heard, or cared. Only muffled sounds roared back from the other side – machinery revving, the high pitch of a spinning saw. Laughter. Sick, maniacal laughter emanating somehow through stone, as if the entire scene was mocking him. Then, when things couldn’t get any more haunting, the deeply set scars spread across his torso began to squirm under his tight skin, making fleshy, slug-like movements as they wriggled in place.
“What the f-”
The marks began to crawl up to his neck, slithering like snakes in between muscle. He tore violently to get them out, self-inflicting harsh wounds to rid himself of this plague. But it was of no use. The wounds were too deep and the freshly clotted blood blocked him from finding anything. Then, hard of breath and low on energy, a horror of horrors reignited his strength - Elaina’s voice resonating from the next room, from outside the bricks and beyond the grave, an unmistakable cry of agony pierced the air. The sound was familiar. It was of the time his brother had stolen her, and murdered her for her precious DNA.
Blague got up and ran to the wall in a frenzied panic, drawn desperately to the direction of the voice. Her voice. But his surroundings were meant to sabotage him… even his own scars slinking about were wrestling him back.
“Why? What is this? Get out of me!”
They were reacting to his anguish, working to further slow him by lazily wrapping around his neck and constricting the airway to the point of strangulation. He gasped for breath, but nothing came through. Slammed a pale fist against the brick barrier. No one answered.
"I get it now," Blague struggled to say, his life being crushed out of him. "She's immortalized through him. The Ripper passes down her legacy to the Highest Lord, the cycle of pain persisting through her lessons. I'm at war with two generations of hell."
Blague began to see spots in his vision, his oxygen quickly depleting.
"And I’ve lost," he conceded hoarsely, before collapsing to the floor.
The sound of static pulled him from terror, awaking him from the nightmare. He clawed wildly for the rocks next to him, forgetting that he was hundreds of feet atop a mountain, with a moonlit ocean far below, daring him to fall.
The meditation his father had suggested faile
d time and time again. All of the ludicrous notions brought forth by the old man led to nothing but madness.
"Biljin has arrived to see you, sir,” a Sin fighter announced through transmission. “He said it's urgent."
"Understood. Send him to the back entrance in one hour," Blague responded groggily.
"Copy."
Blague stepped up to the overhang of the mountain, staring into the depths to test his courage. He thought of the time Mulderan sentenced his father to death by hurling him down a cliff, the time the Hiezers turned into something wicked.
Betrayal of the highest degree: Orin’s own flesh and blood, using the grounds where we were taught as children against him, for the darkest of pursuits. Some twisted poetry, my sick brother. He helped carry us into this world, and you felt the need to throw him out.
I don’t know how you defied his wishes by surviving, father, but I’m glad you did.
Winds tested Blague’s balance. Loosened gravel from his journey up made the mountains cackle at his feet. With one long exhale, he dropped to his hands and knees, swung his legs down and around to catch the toe of his boots in stone indentations, and proceeded on his swift descent.
Finally, my wounds are healed. Well, physically at least. Drino too – he seems to have recovered. Slowly we mend. Slowly we find the means to press onward. It’s time Volaina and I sort out intel to determine our next steps. Until then… stay afloat. I can’t let my father’s words unravel my spirit…
Cherris’ voice popped into his head, reminding him of the unrest within Senation.
I'm jumping the gun, aren’t I? First, I have to reapply the glue at headquarters if we're to succeed beyond this. Now is the time to pull it together. We will never have an opportunity like this again. The Hiezers, self-proclaimed leaders of the world, recalling mass forces from all regions? Only one thing to do while herds are thin…
Moonlight slashed Blague’s body in half, lighting part of him and shadowing the rest. Every break tugged his eyes toward the rippling ocean, gifting him meditative bliss in the most unexpected intervals.
Mulderan would only call such an order under extreme circumstances. Could the Hiezers be in civil conflict? Have the other highlords taken up against him? Or is it something else?
On his descension, the warm, salty winds of the night helped to revitalize his spirit.
The Rogues could be great allies. We've had no means of a proposal to join forces until now. Although, the information we possess wouldn't be enough to remove suspicion. The Hiezers’ spy tactics have deformed the meaning of trust, making it a rare asset to create. This makes the news our spy brings that much more crucial to our potential strategy.
“The Society, Blague, you can’t give up,” Elaina’s voice blared.
The sound he thought he’d heard caused one of his hands to slip from his downward climb, sending pebbles and dust tumbling around him. He swung back toward the rocks to anchor himself into another crevice, feeling a fresh wave of anxiety burn in his chest.
“What the hell?” he snarled anxiously, pegged frozen on the mountainside while panting. His brow furrowed while trying to regain composure. “What… was that?”
After twenty more minutes of retracing his path, Blague found that there was no longer that feeling of endless open air beneath him. Now it was just gravel and pebbles. Still in the remnants of a trance, he let go, facing the rocks, falling to feel ground beneath him once more. But that wasn’t all. Eyes… he felt eyes on him too. The familiar stare of a certain returning scout commander.
"Biljin, welcome home," Blague said before turning.
There he was – dressed in lightweight, perfectly tailored garb strapped together by a single ruby. Wind rippled his elongated sleeves as he made his way over.
"Not even a ‘congratulations’? I'm offended." Biljin smirked.
"Hah, your expedited promotion was expected, but no less impressive. How have you found the Dactuars? I recall them being meticulously structured, and having many great minds within their circle. Does it still hold true?"
"They operate at another level, that's for sure. No other class gives the essence that the Dactuars exude."
"Well, you haven't met my brother.” Blague wiped the sweat from his brow.
"No, I haven't had the pleasure, but I hear great things," Biljin joked. "Truly though, even the most respected Dactuars couldn't hold a candle to me. I suspect at this rate, I will meet Mulderan soon, seeing as you lost him."
"And I would lose him again, even if it were swine like you that he held at gunpoint. There are ideologies that we must strive to uphold if we're to one day be righteous leaders of this world." They began their walk toward the mansion. "I thought you would have understood that by now. So, by all means, try to keep up."
"Perhaps I just wanted so badly to offend my leader that I became blind for but a moment…"
"Perhaps."
"Blague, in all seriousness, you don't look like yourself. Are you alright?"
"Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.” He spun to face him. "I'm fine, Biljin. I just feel like the blinders have been removed and now I have to adjust."
"That could mean a trillion things."
"It could, and that's about how many questions my realization has sparked. What about you? You look as though you've seen a ghost. What urgent matter brought you back here?"
Biljin reached inside his shirt to pull out the diamond encrusted Obsidian stone that was given to him, the engraved symbols sparkling bright. "He looked like an elegant Grim Reaper, so I suppose you could say that I did see a ghost."
Blague felt his heart race with curiosity. "That's... that's Obsidian you’re holding." He looked up in astonishment, his eyes meeting Biljin's. "The Society contacted you?"
"They did more than that. The guy knocked me unconscious a few times, but at least he apologized for it.” Biljin motioned for Blague to take the stone. "He asked me to give this to my real leader, not the leaders I pretend to follow. So, here you go."
"For them to have known that, to have caught someone as vigilant as you, it must be true." Blague inspected the gift. "The uniform... was it black and silver? Did it cover his face?"
"Yes. Do you know these people?" Biljin asked in bewilderment.
"I used to chase the Society when I was a young man. I knew all the rumors. And to think, all of these years later, you drop one of these in front of me. It’s the same as my father’s been hinting all of this time. Only now, it’s all coming together… the reality of it. Everything you’re saying is straight from my imagination, dreams I’d concocted so long ago. There was only one person that I know of who was sought by the Society before this and she was never seen again."
"The man that spoke with me called himself Aslock. And he said that the rules have not changed, you will need the ‘key’ to enter, whatever that means. But he did want you to know that they do, in fact, seek your presence."
Blague put the stone in his pocket and looked up. "That key could be anywhere in this world. It was part of a life Sabin's father and I left behind long ago.” He proceeded onward. "Walk with me. We have a meeting to attend. You've shed some light on my situation and unraveled some of this mystery. I thank you for that."
Biljin nodded. "Happenstance."
"Hardly," Blague responded. "This is fate."
Morn stopped at the tip of a wooden deck overlooking the bay, feeling a mix of relief that Milos was still alive, and remorse for what the boy had witnessed. With tragedy came opportunity, though. It was only in the pits of the hierarchy where such sour fruits were ripe - the Southern trader had everything to gain from his kill. He gazed out upon a fleet of ships ahead of him, hoping for a silver lining after all the despair.
The sea breeze reminded him of what he could no longer feel, what his victim had taken from him. He looked to his metallic extremity and squeezed the rusted fingers shut.
"You know this brood?" Morn gestured to the deckhands perusing Artie's trade ships.
/>
"Of course,” Victor blurted as he cradled his ailing head from when Artie knocked him unconscious. “I meant what I said when I told you I was close with the guy. I’ve known some of his crew mates for years."
"Good, ‘cause I reckon I'm gonna need your goodwill from here on out." Morn swung a toothpick to the far side of his mouth. "C'mon, lovebirds," he called, turning his head to the kids.
Milos tugged her gently along.
Oosnie shook her head. "I can't, Milos. I made a home here. I want to work so I can make it better. One day, I'm going to buy a bed, and then I'll be able to dream. That's where my daddy said he would be.”
Milos was taken aback by Oosnie’s words. The naïve hopefulness of her goal made him angry, and the thought of where she would put that bed tugged at his heartstrings.
What an idiot, putting her life on hold because of a dream.
Yet the tears that formed in Milos' eyes contradicted his harsh thoughts.
She got me to where I needed to be without me even asking for help. Who am I to judge?
Awaiting a response, the little girl peered up at Milos with her large brown eyes.
After the internal struggle, Milos finally pulled Oosnie in and hugged her.
"Thank you for everything, Oosnie. You saved me."
Her face relaxed into a grin while accepting Milos’ embrace. She closed her eyes and reciprocated the hug. "I'm happy to make a friend. Just promise that you'll visit me once more before we die."
Milos broke from the hug, confused by her words. "Hopefully more times than that.”
"No one that I've ever known could keep that promise.” Her eyes averted to the floor.
"Fine, I promise.”
Oosnie smiled again, and decided to unfasten the yellow flower in her hair. "Bring this back to me, okay?"
Milos stared at the blossom Oosnie placed in his palm. It humbled him, quieted him, for he hadn’t been treated this gently since his time with his mother. The feeling was so foreign and the memories so distant that he absentmindedly trailed Morn and Victor onto the boat, speechless. Then, missing the tapping of her footsteps beside his, he came to, recognizing the loneliness.