by Marc Mulero
“You left us to die,” Eugene’s grim voice broke through the chaos.
When blemishes finally cleared from vision, Eugene came into focus. Blague blinked hard to erase what he saw, but there it was again – half of his face withered to its skull. Exposed cheek muscles contorted pathetically, like frayed guitar strings, as he tried to spit out remnants that were spewed directly into his exposed jaw. Something as harmless as a wince was terrifying to see. The sniper was nothing but a ghoul struggling to lift himself from under the crater. Another hard blink… what the hell type of world had he woken up to? Little bits of matter swarmed around his friend, some kind of regenerative substance, racing to restore his lost skin and cure his wounds, but the storm ripped it back, leaving him to decay.
“We’re not going to die here, Eugene,” Blague shouted. “We can’t. We’ve come too far to give up now!”
“Hah,” the sniper scoffed. “Too little, too late for that, don’t you think? You already abandoned us when we needed you most,” malevolence bled through his tone. “Our allies, our home, our people, they’re all gone now. Everything that we fought to save has been destroyed, dismantled by your own hand.”
In a valiant push, the mystical life-force rushed again to replenish the sniper’s skin, but was cruelly torn back by unrelenting winds. The pull took more flesh than he’d started with, leaving streams of blood to leak from countless orifices.
“Don’t falter on me, Eugene. We’re not dead yet!”
The sniper’s arm trembled. A cough of blood, tears of crimson, everything was turning red from burst vessels near his eyes. Then a patch of his throat was suddenly ripped free by the storm’s wrench, leaving him to choke on his own gore.
Thunder cracked and a waterfall gushed over Blague’s face, nearly breaking his nose and pressing his eyes too far back into their sockets… what now? He was scared to pry his lids open again, in case it would be nothing but blackness. But a croak from Eugene begged him otherwise.
“Look…” the word dragged on with a death rattle in between.
And Blague did – another comet twisting into the storm, revolving rapidly overhead before being flung out with a bang to form a crater of its own. This one was east of the two men, making the Sin Leader fight the spiraling winds once more to turn his head. Who else had arrived in this hell? The meteorite cracked open at its top… anticipation and pain were not a good mix. Blague heaved, fought to get to his elbows.
The ore split open from the top, and from it, an arm broke through a crevice like a zombie from its grave. Then the shell fell down, left to wilt behind a man that should’ve been too large to fit in the first place. The face of Blague’s most genuine commander was highlighted by the lightning. His limp was crushing, powerful, like a giant’s. One arm crossed his torso to cradle his wounds, molecular matter swarming feverishly around him, to save him, racing to plug six bullet holes that spouted blood from his body.
“You said you would take care of my boy, Blague. You promised me back in that room that if I fell,” he pounded his chest and sent squirts of blood out like a fountain, “you would be there to step in. Who else would we be if we didn’t adhere to our word? What was the point of the Sin rebellion, if not that? Hm?” He shook his head. “Instead, you’ve failed me and let my death count for nothing.”
His last words fractured the ground all around Blague as if some secret code had been spoken.
Blague tensed, digging his fingers into a growing rift, trying to keep his old friend close. “Your son is safe, Briggs. Your death will never be in vain!”
The giant stumbled forward, crimson gore glossing his weathered armor. “I trusted you,” he said with unnerving calmness. “Get up and take a look ahead, and you’ll see what your absence has heeded.”
After saying his piece, gaping wounds grew rapidly like black holes, attesting that the curative matter was once again being overpowered by the cyclone’s wrath. Thriving winds intensified, forcing him to his knees and opening his skin even more to expose pumping organs, leaving the Sin commander to pant through his last breaths.
Blague fought with all of his might to lift his head, terrified of what he would see next. And that terror became realized when a sea of bodies flashed into sight, all branded with dimming Cryos brands. Every death marked his failure, and when his eyes focused, Cherris’ wilted body contorted amid the pile, with Kentin and his friends beside her to make it all the more real.
A surge of frustration rattled his bones in the same way in which he’d watched Elaina die. And both times, they proved just how powerless he was.
Jolted awake by a splash of cold water, Blague shook off the wetness to see Aslock and Halewyn standing over him with looks of concern.
“Thirty-one days and yet you continue to lose yourself in cursed thought,” Aslock reproached. “You were shouting at the top of your lungs.”
“My meditation has been effective,” Blague defended while struggling to stand, still distraught from the nightmare. “I’m accepting this new aspect of life, and in the process, encountering my fears.”
“I think you have an obscure definition of meditation, adept. You are parting further and further away from peace-”
Halewyn put a hand on Aslock’s shoulder, the glow in his eyes evident. “He is a leader, and at war. Peace for this man will be a journey like no other so long as his people are in danger,” he said knowingly. “We must aid him in achieving balance. Perhaps we should introduce him to combat training… much earlier than planned.”
Even the most patient beings are starting to lose it with me. I can’t give them what they ask. My nightmares forewarn that time is against me.
“Gentlemen, I’ve surrendered to your art and your teachings. I’m allowing myself to abandon my people at a critical point in our rebellion. It’s becoming extremely taxing. If there is a way to accelerate this process, please make it so.” He shifted his pleading eyes to Aslock.
Aslock was pensive and silent as he rounded them both. The authority fell with him, and only him to alter training, for Blague was his adept. They followed him with their eyes while the Elder shook his head in his deliberation with Soros, where at times his lips moved slightly as if mouthing words when reading through a book, other times his finger went up, like a great point had been made. It was odd, but expected.
“Very well then,” he finally caved. “It seems we have no choice but to aid you in mollifying your rage and your regrets, by any means possible.”
Blague nodded graciously. “Thank you, Elder. All that you have bestowed upon me thus far has unveiled a striking world of mystery. For that, I am grateful.”
A modest grin washed across Aslock’s face.
“While I have you both here, a question has been lingering at the front of my mind,” Blague said.
“Speak it,” Halewyn encouraged.
“Auront, or the island of Vicissitude as my father calls it, contains a geyser that produces a harrowing smoke, which acts as an extreme hallucinogen. This smoke has greatly altered its inhabitants’ psyches. What is its significance?”
The Elders exchanged a look before Halewyn began to explain. "We have touched on the forbidden chemical, or entity perhaps. Very well then. The island of Vicissitude has existed as an anomaly for many years. Its unusual characteristics and unpredictable effects on its visitors has earned its taboo amongst the Society. The consequences of the auburn smoke are long-lasting and often lead to an augmented clairvoyance and an unstable increase in intellect, all of which is intertwined with a lost grip on reality."
"I've experienced these distortions,” Blague admitted. “My journey has led me to that landmass and all of its mystery. Have you studied it? Have you uncovered anything more than the apparent?"
"We have," Aslock spoke. "We had studied the island intensely in a concentrated span of time, before we knew that its effects could become permanent."
Blague recalled the trippy aftermath of Asura’s smolder. "The smoke created a memory so
vivid that I wasn’t able to decipher the difference between reality and the dream until the smoke had receded."
"These effects are unexplainable,” Aslock said. “But what we were able to uncover is the nature of the geyser's smoke and its ability to harness DNA in a gaseous form, enabling it to travel freely without a body."
"You're suggesting some form of omnipotence?"
"We have not confirmed any aspects of actual consciousness, just that DNA molecules residing in the smoke remain intact."
"Our findings were limited and we have long since abandoned this research,” Halewyn said. “Much like the undying storm, the knowledge is not worth risking any more lives."
Blague reflected quietly for a moment before saying, "You and my brother have been tested by the temptations of your sciences. It's good to see that not all succumb to madness," he commended. "If only your responsibilities weren't so narrow…"
Aslock’s eyes rounded from behind Halewyn, who returned a cool stare, accepting Blague’s critical words without flinching. It was clear, however, that the air in the room had changed. Four-hundred plus years of living between the two men came with a certain aura… one that succeeded at even making Blague uncomfortable for a moment.
"This man will not find peace while all his thoughts are of madness and war." Halewyn turned for the stone door. "Bring in Valor. Give Blague what he craves."
On a hunch, Coe stepped into the guest quarters where Volaina and Drino had briefly bunked, hoping, kind of, that he’d find the hunter there. Pushing a strand of lengthy blond hair from his face and peering down to see Sabin tend to his wolf was more jarring than he’d expected. Apologies weren’t his strong suit after all.
“I figured I’d find you in here.”
Silence.
“Well… I’ve come to tell you that we all know the reason we’ve avoided catastrophe is because of your intervention. Jayce would never admit it, but we are in your debt.”
Sabin cleared his throat. “I guess it’s good to hear the obvious slip from your tongue, even if it is on a delay.”
Coe went to respond, but instead let it slide.
“And that debt… well, based on what that guy, William…” Sabin began, getting to his feet.
“Willard,” Coe corrected.
“Yeah, whatever. Based on what he said about the Hiezers’ plan to thin the population around their fortresses and squash any uprisings… it seems I may call on you to repay that debt sooner than expected. Yes, that means working with the spy and all.”
Coe clenched his fist sheathed with metal.
“Look, it’s not easy for me either, stoic one. Volaina killed my relatives that I didn’t even know existed until it was too late.” Sabin pushed an index finger into Coe’s shoulder. “But you’ve led this group for a while, right? That means you’ve had to put aside your compassion and loyalty for logic, at times… otherwise you wouldn’t be a leader at all. You’d be just some Rogue soldier gone off on his own.”
The overseer’s chest rose, his angst encased in it.
“She saved the families of your entire Rogue army. As hard a pill that may be to swallow, you know it’s true, even if that maniac hunting for Moby Dick doesn’t agree.”
Coe hooted at the jest toward Jayce. “Those two, Al and Tes… they represented all of my pride. The pain of their loss is crushing, but yes, I understand what she was faced with. Aldarian is right, she’s paying for what happened, in her own way.”
“We all are,” Sabin admitted.
The two were alerted to the clatter of the old man’s cane tapping against the floor. He slowly appeared at the room’s entryway with a feeble smile surrounded by wrinkles.
“As painful as it is to hear you speak of my grandkids,” Aldarian said slowly, “it brings me joy that you two are putting aside your differences.”
“My problem was never with him,” Sabin said snidely.
Aldarian gasped. “You… would hold a grudge against an old man that showers you with shiny gifts?” He clicked his tongue, hiding a smirk.
Sabin looked up at Coe and blew air that could almost be considered… a laugh? He softened ever so slightly, somehow, in this moment. Charmed in the dumbest way. It reminded him of, well, himself. In better times, that’s how he would approach a bad situation.
“There’s only one way to get where we’re going, you two,” Aldarian asserted, creeping closer, lingering a bit in his stride. “Only one w-”
He gulped, cut off by something internal. His body…
Mars’ ears pointed unexpectedly, like a silent alarm was going off that only he could hear. A series of cries emitted through a closed snout.
What’s happening?
The scene was closing in on Sabin all at once. Panic without words. It made his hair stand on end. Then darkness overcame him rapidly like a storm cloud rushing to hover over his head, and when it settled, memories that he hadn’t known existed burst from a cellar.
A youthful Aldarian bent down to one knee, bright white smile of pride encouraging a young Sabin to ask his questions.
“Can I come?” he heard himself say.
A large hand reached to muss his hair. “When you’re older, my boy… I promise.”
Vision of a forest replaced the last memory. With a knife in his adolescent hand, Sabin shook as the blade neared a deer’s heart. Warm fingers rested around his wrist, calming him, guiding him, while the words “It’s okay” were repeated over and over. He looked up to his father to see life and vigor.
The surprisingly beautiful flashback dissipated, making room for concern to take its place. The bright white smile faded into a yellowing grimace. Warm hands were replaced with shriveled, cold ones. The strength that once pepped his father up fell with him as he took an awkward fumble into a nearby chair, causing him to drop his cane before clutching at his chest.
Sabin signaled for Coe to get help, eyes wet, voice shaky as he scrambled over to aid the ailing man gasping for air.
“It’s okay, Pop. It’s okay. Medics are coming… just breathe.”
Aldarian waved his hand to dismiss it all. He wanted to talk, Sabin could see it in his face, but his entire body twitched to force an inhale instead. No use. Everything was beginning to fail at once - the sight of it stole the color from Sabin’s face, the blood from extremities. Pins and needles, numbness, everywhere but his heart.
Now Aldarian’s eyes were filling with water, coming in and out of focus. Why? Was he seeing some cherished memory? Frustrated that he couldn’t get the words out? Sabin could only hope it was the former.
“Your mother,” he choked, strain coating his voice, “she would have been so proud of who you’ve become.” He shrunk down into the chair, fighting against the feeling of drowning amid a sea of air. “Look at you…” Another wheeze. “I’m proud of you, Sabin, even if it doesn’t mean much to you. “I’m… not even half the man that you’ve grown to be.”
With glassy eyes, Sabin grabbed his arm. “Cut it out, pop. There’s no way a stumble like this could snuff out someone as big-headed as you.”
They both laughed, transcending the pain for an instant, like they were at a hunter’s lodge over brew and venison. A dream stenciled into reality to mask its darkness.
But a loud gasp for breath sucked it all away. The blissful brevity.
Father, no…
All of Sabin’s years understanding nature in the forests - taking life, appreciating death, all of his experience did nothing to help him here. It was too close to home. Too close to childhood. A bullet in the gut, the trigger pulled by time.
Aldarian’s convulsing body was too much to bear, cracking open the hunter’s betrayed heart, shutting off all of the resentment, breaking away all the anger. Nothing was left now, just pure, unhindered emotion to finally pour out.
“Pops…” he cried, embracing him tightly, a hug that transcended everything between them.
Aldarian only sobbed and huffed in response, clenching back hard, letting him know that
he was still there… that everything was alright… that he was dying, but he loved him. It all transferred over. It hurt. His body was so weak in his embrace, so feeble, when it was once so strong – a pillar of knowingness, of life.
This man taught me to smile once, to live. And now what is he?
Sabin squeezed tighter to help him through his final moments. “You’re not alone, pop. I’m here. I love you. I’m here.”
He nodded back. Sabin was sure he was grateful. Maybe his last thoughts didn’t have to be of regret. Maybe he could go peacefully.
His faint grip began to loosen around the hunter’s back. Perhaps he can go knowing that there’s a part of him left in the world.
Finally, his hands fell, a lone gasp to end a long rhythm, and then another set of golden eyes dimmed.
Beckoned by the Eldest, a man thinly coated in titanium guards entered the Citadel training grounds. Strange. He was different from the others… metal weaved in and out of his Neraphis cloak all the way up into his shrouding hood. A harsher, more durable look. And what’s more, the presence of a warrior, energetic swagger, all of it bled through his movements as he ostentatiously twirled his lance, the whir of air emanating from it disturbed the quiet space. He may as well have said “Hey! Look at me!” until finally, when his show was done, he slammed the flat of his weapon onto the stone floor and stared up to its point.
“You should become familiar sparring against such a weapon,” an excited voice recommended.
Blague stared at the pole that was as tall as him. “It seems my brother is popular around here.”
The man’s mantle shook from a silent chuckle. “You catch on quick, Blague. This will be fun, I am sure of it.”
While the two jeered one another, Aslock dismissed himself to a far wall, kneeling as a spectator and pressing gloved fingers to his lips in anticipation.
The battle-ready Neraphis kicked his lance, and so it scraped off of the stone ground to signal the start of the duel. It wound, whipping through the air like exposed fan blades inching closer to its target. “Now, it seems, you will receive some instruction on what it means to be an Ohndian.”