by Marc Mulero
When the smoke began to clear, her first visual was of a conjurer with locks of silver hair, followed by a Cryos sphere surrounding them at all angles.
Aslock huffed from the loss of energy, pulling the azure matter away from the outside world and back into his veins like shimmering eels being called home. With the substance still cycling his forearms, he turned to face those he’d saved just as the next warhead whistled above them. No time for words. Just the sound of his arms collapsing together to create another upsurge of force so powerful that it projected them backward like they were bungee jumping horizontally. G-force made Lesh’s skin pull back in waves, body folded into a U with Valor beside her and Aslock soaring closely behind. They slammed down hard in grating fashion. But it was fine, better than the alternative, better than being ripped to pieces. Thanks to the mysterious man, the mortar exploded to hit nothing once more.
“Get up and follow me,” Aslock ordered. He turned and raced for the tunnel.
Back in Senation, the dying let out a chorus of moans that was too much to endure. Oscin was used to trauma, but this time the screaming was taking place in what he’d come to call home. He spit up whatever bile was left at the pit of his stomach and stumbled around the grounded bodies.
Innocent people in search of something more. A better life for their loved ones. They found it, alright.
The drunken pilot opened his eyes to the world spinning around him. Vertigo had become his commonplace, his state of comfort.
“You did it!” he hiccupped, looking up to the roof and waving his fist sarcastically. “You fended them off.”
The smoke around the Senation strongholds was clearing, as Asura and her like-minded fled in their salvaged aircrafts.
Oscin spread his arms out wide to present the carnage that was left after the dust had finally settled. He paced around in a stupor, unsure of where to go from here. After a few minutes, he finally stopped and pushed the sloppy hair out from his face. Through the fog in his brain, he tried hard to make sense of the thoughts that bounced back and forth within his head.
What is it all for? Am I here just because I have nowhere else to go? Nah, there are good people here. Drino may be a prick, but Lito is a good man. Blague cares, too. It’s not his fault he’s a strange fuck.
The pilot stumbled forward and around the corner of the main mansion, beginning to waken from his streak of delirium.
His throat quickly filled with bile once more, the sight of his only friend sprawled across the floor instantly sobered him. Disbelief filled him at first, but the dusted green Mohawk flapping in the wind confirmed the truth of it. No more Bulchevin parties, no one to look after his pathetic life, no more reason to stay. Just his comrade’s lifeless face robbed of all of its color.
“No…” Oscin knelt over Lito’s body, staring for at least a minute while his altered brain caught up with reality. “C’mon, man…”
This can’t be happening right now.
Then silence, just the stench of fresh corpse warping past his nose with the wind. He ignored it much like Lito had back when they opened the Bulchevin doors for the first time after the airstrike. The sight was too terrifying, too traumatic. Too personal.
Flashes of his missions with Lito quickly came to mind, ending with their time in Bulchevin, and how they were both forced to grow and change in an unbearable situation. Against his entire persona, Oscin grew to like it there. No Drino, no commander meetings, just him and his unlikely buddy starting somewhere new. But that was all dust now. Just a memory.
He sucked his teeth and shook his head. “Thank you, boss. I’ll see you soon enough. I’m sure of it,” the drunken pilot whispered, tears streaking down his dirtied face. He unbuttoned and shrugged off his shirt, then laid it over the fallen commander’s face. Stumbling to get back to his feet, Oscin offered a salute that he once thought trivial, pounding his chest with the last of his energy.
That’s it. It’s all clear now. I can’t stay here anymore. I have to get far away from here, far away from this bullshit.
Chapter 22
In vertical descent, Blague took in a sight long feared - death at his doorstep. Soldiers stopped bracing the mansion’s doors one by one now that the battle was over, and out burst Sin civilians… it was their loved ones they sought – dying or dead. Arms were flailing from pent up angst, not knowing for sure what had taken place out there just minutes before. He could see the panic on their faces, and felt their anguish.
He thought of Chella’s husband, of Briggs, of all the others he’d seen perish over the years on his watch. This was a trial he’d hoped never to relive. But yet here they were again. Catastrophe in Senation after a stretch of peace seemed inevitable only now, after the scene had been painted.
The view wasn’t devoid of hope, however. The Vacal Wings were an unknown body who were efficient, and of a professionalism that seemed foreign. And they seemed caring with perfect bedside manner – true medics. A healing touch desperately needed amidst the aftermath of sabotage.
The jet hissed as it landed, hydraulic steam disbursing into the air like dry ice in water. He looked on solemnly, becoming the mood, taking note of the large feathered wing stitched onto each medic’s back.
“Brought back from the brink of madness, to this,” he said to Volaina, who was strapped to a medical bed at his side.
“You’ve done all that you could, love,” Elaina attempted to comfort. “Accept what you cannot control and find strength in what you’ve tried to restore.”
“I already have,” Blague whispered aloud.
“Now, I wonder, who sounds as if he belongs in a padded room?” Aslock called from behind.
Blague barked out a laugh. “Fair point, Elder.”
“A shock to your heart from a cannon’s roar. Who would have thought that your trigger would be so… ordinary? We could have administered that in our lab.”
The Sin Leader turned to face the hooded Neraphis, who had reprised his mentor role. “Without your training, I would have considered myself a lost cause. Thank you for your inspired confidence.” He graciously bowed.
A moment of silence fell between them, giving Blague the time to reflect upon the gravity of the situation at Senation. “What’s Valor’s status?” he asked somberly.
“That wild warrior has been through worse. He is conscious, but injured, and must be tended to by our own. This is where we must part ways, for now.”
“I will forever be in your debt,” Blague vowed.
“Your debt will only continue to grow, for your training has just begun.”
Sabin walked stiffly alongside the mansion. Eyes impassive, mind adrift, and burdened with terrible regret. A windblown cover in his grasp flapped to reveal a lanky arm dangling beneath it. Mars padded beside him with long, sorrowful strides and nose to the floor. Pallbearers to a funeral.
The hunter gazed upon a nearby foreign aircraft unloading Sin fighters, who were being led by the absent leader himself. This sight was confusing, sure, but he was in too much of a fog to even question it. His aimless walk now had an endpoint. Eyes lazily followed the jet as it promptly lifted for departure as quickly as it came, then tracked down to see more Sin fighters than had originally left for the Battle of the Dome.
Sabin was becoming even more pensive, but then he asked himself: why bother?
The metallic stink in the air from so much spilt blood, the extra weight in his arms, the cries… it all worked to leave a zombified expression on his face. Vacal Wings hustled around him like angels fallen from heaven, at least that’s how it felt. But really, they were just people, saving what injured lives were left on the battlefield. They could’ve been shouting for him to move, for him to help, but all he could hear was his own thoughts on his way toward an old friend.
If only I’d acted faster, or Lito slower, then that bullet would’ve hit its rightful target. A father, a niece, a nephew, and now a brother.
The volume of his thoughts shrunk back inward once he registere
d the figure in front of him, Blague, who appeared visibly uneasy. It looked as though he’d been stabbed on the spot.
Grimness darkened the Sin Leader’s deep-set eyes, for he knew it could be only one of few that would suck the life out of the hunter.
“Eugene? Lito?” he asked in a low tone, keeping an unwavering glare upon the sheet. He watched as Sabin remained silent, and the wind did the talking. The rippling cover revealed a thin, brown arm with a faded Sin mark.
Blague gasped sharply and turned his head away from the body.
He opened his mouth to say something, but then grimaced, curling over with nausea.
Lito…
Sabin kept his head down in shame.
Finally, Blague peered down and spoke to the fallen commander. “My brother… the Rogues are en route to Bulchevin to restore power to the fortress you’ve claimed. Rest easy, Lito, your efforts and your life’s work will never be in vain,” he said, holding up a piece of the cover to glimpse the commander’s unmoving face.
“Blague, there’s more,” Sabin revealed, finding the strength to face forward. “Asura isn’t the only one who betrayed us. Eugene… he turned his rifle on me, and Lito stepped in the way.”
The Sin Leader’s eyes widened, jaw clenched. He felt his blood boil with rage. It was evident.
“Eu betrayed us?” he said a little too loudly, out of tune, ransacking his mind to find a possible explanation for his right-hand’s treason. “After all of these years… what kind of spell did she cast on you? You fool. Lito was the best of us!”
Blague shook his head, still processing. “No. No,” he digressed, lowering his voice. “Doesn’t add up. Not at all. I know you were there Sabin. I know,” quieting the hunter before he could interject, “but it still doesn’t make sense. After all I’ve seen with the Society, every bone in my body is telling me that there were other elements at play here.”
“The red smoke seemed to have possessed the entire Aura,” Sabin agreed.
“So a new enemy rears its ugly head and causes us more suffering. The path of a Sin was never meant to be easy,” he said with renewed anguish, locking eyes with Sabin. “It’s unfortunate, but obvious that we must also lose one more.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Sabin snapped. “Now is the time to band together-”
“Your rightful place is at the helm of the Templos Rogues, as successor to your late father. Yes, Coe told me at the Dome. And what’s more, we’ve only just begun to forge this powerful alliance. They’re an invaluable group, and it only makes sense for them to have an invaluable leader. This is your calling, Sabin, and you know it. This is how we make things right.”
With Melissa at his side, Biljin neared the Sins returning home, both keeping reserved while the remnants of battle were being addressed. Medics came to escort an unconscious Volaina back into the ad hoc hospital, and another doctor hesitantly reached over to take Lito’s body out from Sabin’s grip.
Lesh slowed her pace upon catching a glimpse of Lito’s lifeless body taken to be transported. Her face turned pale immediately and inert like a corpse. She couldn’t believe it… Lito… a brother – maybe not by blood, but by mark. There was no greeting offered to the meeting of minds around her, not even an acknowledgement. No snarl or quip. Just a moment of silence - her way of paying respect. Then her body stiffened, fists clenched – her way of dealing.
“Blague, it’s good to see that you’ve survived Aslock,” Biljin stated with sincerity.
The Sin Leader gave a curt nod, still shaken by his right-hand’s betrayal and the death of a friend.
“The loss of Lito is devastating,” Biljin admitted. “The loss of innocent life is unforgivable. But we still stand and we need to put this atrocity aside until we figure out how we’re going to survive what’s to come. I took an immeasurable risk and broke cover, but it seems to have paid off. This is Ch-”
“Champion Brink,” a throaty voice called from behind.
Drino walked up beside Blague, hauling his massive arsenal that rested on his back, up over his shoulder, and within both of his hands. His solemnness was apparent, as he, too, felt the weight of the detrimental loss.
“General Drino, I never would have expected to see such a ruthless Hiezer general on the side of rebellion,” Melissa spoke.
“Former Hiezer. And yet here we are, and by the looks of it, the Champion of the Dactuars has stepped out from the shadows to aid.”
“Uh, okay, so you two know each other?” Biljin asked.
“For a genius, or whatever you call yourself, you catch on pretty slowly,” Lesh finally spoke.
“Jason Brink’s sister… Biljin has told me much about you,” Blague said. “We are in your debt for saving our home.”
“For a most wanted defiler, you have heart,” Melissa said lightly to Blague.
Drino chuckled to himself and said, “I should let you know now that you’re not going to like our new allies, Melissa.”
The Champion shifted her eyes back to the former general. “And why is that?”
Drino pointed to her metallic leg with his gun. “The man who took that from you is among them.”
“You’re with the Rogues? How? The Defiler List has you registered as separate and distinct threats-”
“We all adapt under extreme circumstances. Take yourself, for example,” Blague said, shutting down the Champion’s surprise. “There is a culminating threat that isn’t just a problem for the Sins any longer. The Hiezers hold all of the tools for humanity’s survival. It’s time we shift this imbalance.
“Come,” he continued. “Help me honor the dead and aid the living. Then we can get acquainted.”
Chapter 23
The stream of torment didn’t end with the battle. Earth’s roars saw to it. Mere rumblings escalated into shockwaves of shattering rock, thunder clapped from the planet’s core, and the ocean snarled like it was being prodded. After what the Sins had just witnessed from the Aura, there was an idea that the ensuing quake could be the work of the devil, or some reckoning sent by God. It made the groans carrying after every bang that much more haunting, but not everyone was so quick to fear.
Milos was firm, facing the door of Lesh’s quarters with Kentin at his side. They knocked over and over with no response. After minutes of fidgeting in anticipation, the door finally swung open, followed by the assassin’s emergence from the pitch-black abyss that was her residence.
“Are you two going to shuffle and squirm until a knife lands in between your legs?” She stepped through the threshold to address them.
Milos peered up at his fearsome trainer through strands of curly black hair, firmly standing his ground. “What’s the point of preparing if we’re just going to hide behind our walls?”
The dark blemishes under her eyes crinkled as she squinted. “Now’s not the time for this nonsense. Blague is dividing responsibilities to keep you helpless fools alive during this disaster. Out of my way,” she said, pushing past the two.
Kentin gasped when Milos grabbed onto her arm.
“I’m going with or without you!” the stone-cold boy threatened.
Lesh turned her head. “Has the quake rattled your brain, child? Where the hell would you be going at a time like this?”
“Back to Death Valley.”
She scoffed. “For what? Eager to die on the journey there? The waves would consume you,” she spat before turning back into her room.
“I heard your radio,” Milos said sternly. “You made a promise to someone who’s asking for your help. You can’t just leave her.”
The assassin stopped in her tracks, recalling how Farah kept Morn alive, how she risked her neck for a stranger.
“I made a promise, too,” Milos said, tightening his fists. “I don’t want any more people to die if I can help it.”
Lesh lingered in silence, stunned by her tyro’s ability to evoke a surge of guilt. The boy was right - faltering on her word was never in the cards, and so the choice was m
ade.
“Gather your supplies and go speak to Morn. You may soon come to regret this decision, child.”
Put me back in my solitary heaven. This man refuses to allow one melody to pass uninterrupted.
Dendrid’s head rested upon the bars of his cell, enduring a torture of unacquainted origin. Endless monologue was rattled off by a curious and informed cellmate, sectioned just five feet away in his own rectangular prison.
“Oh, what a terrible way to end the legacy of the Mentis Shade,” a man with one blinded eye said with genuine disgust. “It appears this quake will lead you to a reunion with your seared parents and sightless brother, while I meet my sexually-charged father once more.”
“Slash at him, Dendrid. Slash at him until he can’t stand it any longer!” a woman shouted from within. “How will you and your brother one day strike down the shadows if you can’t even break flesh? Slash at him until his blood runs dry!”
The Mentis Shade laughed at the man’s hopeless dream of afterlife. “My family is nothing but dried bones. I made sure of that,” he replied, after days of silence on the topic. He then slowly turned his head in between the alloy bars to face the intrusive man.
Scraggily gray hair danced in front of the guy’s face as the tremors beneath them intensified. “Whatever we’ve endured, however we’ve reacted, that time has passed. We will now bow down to the Almighty. Whatever His will is, we will submit!”
Ignoring the nonsense, Dendrid closed his eyes and let the vibrations run through him. Vexing screams of fear from beyond his prison left a tranquil smile to creep up his face.
The cries are symphonic, so beautifully sung with this melody supreme. Don’t interrupt me, you blabbering fool. Give me this moment of pleasure.
Dendrid opened his eyes to the shouts reverberating in his head at an octave higher, now prominent within his gilded penitentiary. Must you ruin everything? His smile instantly fell to a frown when the cries of his erratic neighbor fell out of tune.