Mhaieiyu

Arc 1, Chapter 7

Four Frontiers

"Shite!" Emris shouted, his mouth foaming in frustration. The rejected proposal to the Queen of the Dwellers stung his old soul to the core, doing nothing but reassert his psychological detriment. His comrades—both wing-blessed—could only stare at each other in awkward silence as the taller veteran kicked earth and stone, outraged.

The frustration would have been inevitable, even with the Dwellers' full cooperation. The severity of their situation, which did naught but worsen by the days as several factions charged head-first toward their homestead, was weakening the morale of even the acclaimed highest in command among the questionably moral Syndicate. Along with his incessant tantrums, his face twisted in turmoil, breaking into a scrambling mess as he solely staggered his mind to find a solution to their undeniably calamitous situation.

Dealing with the northeastern inhabitants of Yanksee would be a mess, no doubt. While the country was noticeably less developed, the combined efforts of their vengeful selves and their higher numbers gave them much to strive for. The country was far from impoverished, too; sporting enough cannons, guns and munitions to serve a bloodbath — all commandeered by a robust and hateful figurehead. Of course, their aggressivity was mostly the Syndicate's to blame. For years, the poor country had been subjected to the advanced technologies born within the facility and likely seized this opportunity for a chance at Yanksee’s survival. While he couldn't blame their strategic approach, Emris still loathed their awful timing.

Urchins and Dwellers were yet another threat; especially the latter. Their savage, ruthlessly proactive behaviour towards citizens or the Syndicate's ranks were a challenge to behold, and if ever they were to stir a riot it could spell trouble for several, much-needed individuals. The threat was far superior when dealing with the forest-inhabiting assassins, as their approach was not brash like that of the Urchins — opting instead for silent slaughter. Like a leech that slowly sucks its target dry, the soundless killers could debilitate the lifeblood of the Syndicate's reign without prior notice. With the Urchins distracting masses of individuals through their own activity, the Dwellers could close in too fast for resistance to be effective.

And finally, the truest threat of them all: the Crimsoneers. A mass of ruthless death, unrelentingly fulfilling their existence's purpose in their God's image. Their strength immeasurable, their numbers uncountable. A truly terrifying force. Worse still, were the four Harbingers of the Apocalypse that led them, each a uniquely severe threat of their own.

Like a war on four fronts, the Syndicate's threat seemed unmatched, and with hope hanging off a thread, Emris' mental state would only degrade as the days counted down. They were now undeniably alone in facing this horde, and those around them only dragged their feet. Emris would never admit it, but he was scared. He knew who the target was.

"Hey, boss?" Erica spoke up, trying to garner his attention. "I know you're pissed, but do you mind if we just drop this for now?"

"Drop... this?" Emris growled, his teeth grinding together at her nonchalant suggestion.

Facing his eyes with a raised brow, she replied: "Yeah. Look, there's no point worrying about something we can't change, right?" Erica tried to convince, showing courage to her superior. "Let's hit the bar for a bit so we can all cool off."

"I agree. While I'm not too fond of losing sleep, it could serve us all a bit of peace." Corvus nodded.

"...You two are hopeless, enablin' me like that," Emris sighed, rubbing his face.

Shrugging, Erica smiled. "We're all hopeless to some extent, right? Try to relax."

"Hearing a fellow Celestial say that is somewhat disheartening," Corvus sheepishly chuckled.

"Hey, honesty's where it's at. We're all sapient in the end, and equally messed up too."

Hearing this, Emris snorted. "Nay, not all of us."

"Nah, I'm confident about it. We all grow up in different environments, is all. Takes us differently," Erica retorted, her grin broadening. "We're all using different boats, but the same sail, y'know?"

Chuckling, Emris shook his head. "Philosophical way of lookin' at it."

Seeing his superior smile once again, Corvus couldn't help but sigh contentedly. Shifting their attention on the journey ahead, the three grew silent as they parted through the last few shrubs belonging to the dense vegetation cupping the area, exposing the vast, glowing city a fair distance ahead. Corvus felt his wings loosen at the spectacle, signalling Emris with a nudge.

"So, feeling up to it?" Corvus asked.

"Me? Never," Emris jested.

As the veteran walked ahead with misplaced comfort, Erica caught up to Corvus to whisper: "Think he'll be okay?"

"I wouldn’t bet on it if I don't keep an eye on him. You should return to base, get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be busy," Corvus ushered, looking up at the starry skies in thought. "We have a rough few days ahead."

With a pat against the taller Celestial's back, Erica beamed. "C'mon, don't look so low, Corvee. We'll figure it out somehow — we always do."

"Good Goddess will you please stop calling me that!" he complained. Giving her a reassuring nod, the winged man looked ahead. "I’ll try to be optimistic. Leave us. We'll be fine from here."

"Uh, what?" Erica intervened, clutching his shoulder. "First of all, I'm your higher," she stated, giving him a playful look. "Secondly, I'm coming with you, bud. I want a drink too."

Taken aback by her decision, as well as her profound boldness, Corvus cringed as he watched her skìp off so excitedly towards the booze-yearning veteran. With a quick prayer and a shake of his head, the angel finally subsided, continuing on with the three as they made their way towards the devil's quarters in the black of night.

It felt almost exclusive to walk so openly under the night's blurred moon, especially in a place like this. Casting glares at the passing scoundrels and worrisome glances at the nervous wrecks that hurriedly skittered through the streets, the three soon found themselves in front of the sinful establishment, looking up at the bar's title plastered upon an old sign overhead. A place where the miserable go to abandon themselves, or where the charismatic went to try their luck with the locals. If they had the gal to step in here at this hour, the lasses were likely too much for them to handle.

As the trio of militaries barged in, the crummy environment unravelled, revealing a lower-class interior topped with rickety stools, small splintering tables and—of course—a long desk that formed the bar itself. The perverse space was already teaming with customers, all of which were either drunk or in the process of becoming so. No more than one or two humans counted for the list; the majority of the seats taken by beastly beings of mostly large or muscular characteristics. If they didn’t look imposing enough, they might just miss their kidney tomorrow.

Slinking up to the desk, the winged female who should be busy worshipping a Goddess shamelessly placed her order with a toothed grin, earning a disappointed glare from her equally guilty comrades.

“Oy… this place’s dodgy. Keep ‘em peeled,” Emris muttered under his breath.

“I’m not blind, you old bastard,” Corvus replied, eyeing his surroundings.

With a click of his teeth, the veteran dropped down by the counter, signalling his order as if understanding some kind of universal bar code, to which the bartender nodded, sliding him a shot of whiskey. The size of the cup made Emris grumble in annoyance—it being too small to sate his needs—before downing it with impunity.

Corvus sat down next to the man, watching the female angel waste away so tastelessly.

“It’s almost scary…” Corvus sighed, ordering a brand of common beer.

“Heh, aye. Lassies seem to handle it better when they fancy it,” Emris replied, humoured.

With the irking feeling that something was awry about this half-witted environment, Corvus resigned himself to temptation before partaking in the drinking scheme. As the three became less sober by the hour, the ambience seemed to gradually shift as several eyes started watching the drunken fools toy away at their strength.

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

“Thanks for the info, Alpha. Or should I call you something else?” Tokken said, offering the robust man a handshake.

While almost tearing off his arm, the kingly man cackled. “Aye, don’t fret on formalities. They’re a trinket of business, nothing more,” he nodded, offering a prideful smile. “And my pleasure. I’d best be off now, lest my subordinates think less of me.”

Smiling sheepishly, Tokken couldn’t help but challenge his words. “Looking like that? I doubt it.”

“Ahah! You would be most surprised by the ferocity of our diligent soldiers, but I do offer my gratitude. What a fine man you’ve grown into… Good eve, sprouts,” Alpha wished. With pounding footsteps, the leader of one of the most powerful organizations in the world walked out of sight, with an almost ironic humbleness to him. Surely, the hulking man had committed great atrocities in the name of his work—that much he had gathered from the blathering doctor—and likely felt just as much guilt for it as any common man would.

And yet, there was a feeling of slight fatherhood emanating from the Head of Men. One could easily warm up to and begin admiring him, especially in such blissful ignorance of his truest, darkest endeavours. Perhaps that was the core machination of his leadership? Surely some trickery had to take place for somebody to assume such an overwhelming title.

While Alpha had certainly given many much-appreciated descriptions, the boy could tell just how vague he was truly being. That, coupled with the sudden lack of time the kingly leader was so confident of a mere moment ago, gave the opaque-haired teen a reason to theorise.

Are those Crimsoneers really linked to my family…?

“Tokken?”

It seems outlandish. Completely impossible, and yet…

“Tokken.”

A cold sweat formed on the teen’s forehead as he thought.

...Are they really as evil as they say——?

“Tokken!” Chloe shouted.

Jumping from the sudden loud voice, Tokken looked down at the small Howler next to him, finally emptying his mind as he focused on the lonely creature he had sworn protection to. With a shake of his head, he crouched down to face her.

“Sorry, sorry. Had my head stuck,” he apologised, offering her a pat.

Relieved, Chloe pushed back into his touch. “I thought I lost you there for a second.”

Tokken stood up once more, stretching his limbs. “We should hit the hay, don’t you think?” he offered, his eyes growing heavier as his body—now no longer distracted—started demanding rest.

With a shake of her fur, the Howler nodded. “If you insist. I’ll have to readjust my sleep schedule, I think.”

“Your sleep schedule?” Tokken asked, leaving the room with her.

“Well, yes. We usually sleep pretty late; it gives us the best time to hunt and gather the more vulnerable creatures.”

Slightly disturbed by her straightforwardness, Tokken chuckled nervously, clearing his throat.

Shrugging his shoulders, he mumbled: “You’re really hard to read… One moment you’re all shy and cute, and the next you’re telling me about exploiting weaknesses to eat prey.”

Her eyes widening as she quickly turned to the human, she worriedly spoke. “I—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend…?” Chloe tried to apologise, soon trailing off as she noticed the teen snigger to himself.

“It’s good to know we’re both easy to tease. Should make our friendship fairer,” Tokken joked.

Huffing, Chloe retorted. “But that makes us both easy pickings for the nasties!”

Laughing hysterically, Tokken held his palm to his face as he struggled to walk with his stiff leg.

“A hungry, sadistic wolf. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, right?”

“Hey! I’m not sadistic! And I’m not a wolf! What if I called you a simple ape?” she pouted.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry,” Tokken excused, wiping a tear from his eye.

A sudden silence settled in as the pair made their way to their assigned bedroom; the soft footsteps against the enormous, carpeted hallways being their only respite from the morbidly quiet facility. If he had to guess, Tokken assumed the majority of the staff were soldiers, having long since taken off to their quarters for rest. He couldn’t guarantee it, but if this place was as strict and coordinated as he imagined, he’d assume sleeping on time was more of an obligation than a chore.

Before they could quite reach their room, they had the misfortune to witness a rather unpleasant sight. Destroying the monotony of the space, a wheeled stretcher dashed past the pair with several medical workers in tow, a man laying silently atop the contraption. Neither of the two younglings were spared enough time to witness the injured soldier’s state, but judging by the IV bag resting nearby along with the fanatical dash of the medic team, Tokken could easily assume the worst.

“Vicks… they really work to the bone here…” Chloe muttered. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“I sure hope so… poor sod,” Tokken mumbled. Paranoia being his natural ‘strength’, the youngster’s thoughts started going haywire as he imagined the possibilities. Surely, it was just a street thing, right? But then, who in the world did that soldier face that was strong enough to want to attack a member of the Syndicate? Surely if they were so infamous, no low-rate criminal would ever wish to stir the pot with them, right? But if that was the case, how did this happen? His thoughts continued to stir at the possibilities, a finger naturally finding its way to his lips as he contemplated.

The pair finally arrived at their dorm, blocking the worries of the world with a loud yet reassuring slam of the metal door. Kicking off his shoes and sliding into bed wordlessly, Tokken offered to fold half of the blanket over the canine’s body.

“What should we do tomorrow?” Chloe asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.

“Whatever we want, I think. We might as well explore for a bit, now that we have such a rare opportunity,” Tokken replied, smiling to himself.

Giggling, Chloe muttered: “Do you think they have gardens?”

“I’m pretty sure they do. Oh! We should try to see the soldiers training!”

“Alright, but be careful. I don’t want to be coerced into training too. My legs would get stiff…” Chloe jested, her weary eyes closing as she slowly drifted asleep.

“Heh, don’t worry, I won’t let them,” the boy reassured, lying on his side. Seeing that the pup didn’t react to his playful tone, Tokken too closed his eyes.

“I just hope… It’s not too hectic…” he mumbled, finally embracing rest.

As the pair slept through the night, the switchblade that had been carefully set down by his bedside table began to glow pulsatility, contorting the lad’s face as he softly whimpered in his sleep.

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

“So, Syndies, eh?” a regular at the bar uttered, watching the three contemptuously.

“Seems so. Looks like they’ve really grown a pair if they’re screwing around in here,” another lowly replied.

“Do you think they’re trying to assert themselves or something?”

“Maybe, but they seem to be having fun doing it.”

With a careful look, the two butt heads as they whispered.

“Should we do something about it?” one of them suggested.

“Nah man, there’s Celestials in there. Real trouble,” the second denied.

“Fucking Syndie pigs…” another drinker murmured, hatefully.

“Terrorists, right?” the regular replied.

“Worse,”—he started—“Tyrants. Who the fuck do they think they are?” the drinker spat, standing up to approach the intrusive lot, earning a few concerned yet amused words from the two. Such were the mumblings of common folk toward their ranks; and with good reason. As noble as they might seem from a professional standpoint, they seemed more akin to a ruthless militia hired by some rich sod to prevent his precious reputation from being sullied. They claimed to strive towards replacing the old judicial system with a fairer new one, vowing to protect the innocent from the most devilish of sinners. In the end? They seemed no better than those they held such feverish disdain for, and only stepped in when their reputation was soiled, or an external force threatened to tarnish their cornucopia.

Watching the television as they drank, Erica stumbled to point towards the screen.

“Ay, boss… You gotta—hic—pay the girl a visit sometime, ya know?” the drunken girl babbled, indicating the singing rabbit that flawlessly performed upon the great stage she worked on, to the viewing pleasure of countless spectators.

“She’s right, ‘sure she misses ya,” Corvus complemented, his graceful tone all but gone, being just about as hammered as the lass. Groaning at their idiocy, Emris ground his teeth.

“Ye fools. Handlin’ yer drinkin’ like… like dog shite,” he stammered, shaking his head as if to find the words he was looking for. “And nay. She don’t uh… she don’t want to see me, ye know…?”

“Ay! She might not be your—hic—daughter no more, but——" Erica hiccuped as she tried to explain, before being cut off as a hand touched her shoulder.

Turning around with a ridiculous smile, she could barely exhale a syllable before a fist smashed into her head, slamming her against the bar table as the ruthless drinker shook his hand in pain from the inexperienced blow.

“Son of a…” Corvus muttered, trying to stand up to help her before feeling a hand stop him.

With a stupefied laugh, Emris pat his back as he ushered him down. “Let her go wild… she needs to—hic—loosen up anyhow.”

With a slow nod, the angel watched his Celestial brethren crack her neck as she stood up, stumbling in place but still full of fighting spirit. Her alcohol-hazed assailant was caught too busy yelling back at the small booing audience that shunned his unfair move. By the time he could turn around to witness what he presumed to be a conked out female angel, he found a leg, reduced to a blur, travelling at alarming speeds towards his shoulder.

Of course, the hit was intended for his head, but the shoulder would work fine considering the woman’s state. Even as the man was thrown to the ground so violently from sheer impact, all she did was laugh triumphantly as a few of the bar-goers cheered for her. As if splintering his brachium wasn’t enough, the energetic soldier whose wings fluttered awkwardly with her excited expressions continued her needless attack, feeling compelled by the group that encouraged the beat-down. Before the man could drag himself to his feet, the angel jumped atop him, producing from him an ‘oomph!’ sound as she clambered onto his back, drilling his exposed scalp with a flurry of mindless poundings which would send his head ricocheting off the floorboards.

The bar, becoming divided in their opinions over the Syndicate lass’s victory, started a makeshift brawl in their own right, throwing chairs and empty glasses at each other. The bartender seemed unnaturally despondent to the event, even as the space around him rumbled in a way comparable to an earthquake. The poor man had likely seen this much too often in his career and contemplated the comfort his bed would provide a few hours later. There was no point getting involved with the drunken fools’ mayhem anyhow; not that it would do him any good. He was specifically told not to get involved in such violence—especially when Cryptids were involved—due to how suicidal the ordeal would be.

And quite frankly, that’s a lot of expensive paperwork.

Seeing his co-worker crushing the poor fool unchecked, the soberer Emris decided now was a good time to intervene and withdraw. Tapping Corvus so as to signal his moves, Emris and the surprisingly responsive Celestial grabbed the crazed female by the shoulders, dragging her away from her pummelled victim as she thrashed about for more.

“Aight, aight! Ay, relax!” Emris shouted, struggling to remove Erica from the chaos-filled establishment. Fumbling the pair of Celestials to stand on their own, the man came close enough to slapping his own skin off in frustration as he watched them bob in place. At the very least, it wasn’t entirely his fault. Sort of.

“Let’s see you morons by the Facility. Split!” Emris ordered, earning little more than babbled incoherence from the soldiers as their symptoms seemed to worsen. Of course, they didn’t exactly heed his command. When Erica suddenly bent over to puke, the Brigadier knew he had enough.

“That’s it,” the tipsy man growled, approaching the pair with full intent on knocking them out then and there. At least they would be more manageable unconscious than otherwise.

The impact would never come. The feeling of a set of eyes watching him just a few feet away drove the man to look back, only to meet the smug visage of a suspiciously hooded figure, making itself visible as it clung to a wall nearby. A feat most impressive, considering the smoothness of its surface. Despite the fact, the intruder was hanging unnaturally off its surface, leaving much to question in regards to this person’s capability to appeal to the laws of physics.

“…Ye know, I ain’t blind,” Emris snorted, turning away from the idiots to face the newest tresspasser of his personal space.

A mischievous, mature and feminine voice tittered softly at his words, toying with his sense of security as she cooed. “Is that right? Judging from your friends’ state, I’d say you’re at least somewhat blind."

Unknowing of her intentions, while already guessing her alignment just from her clothing, Emris chuffed as he raised his firearm to the sky, shooting a loud blank with impunity, much to the vocalised discomfort of the drunk angels.

“Ay, don’t know if ye got the memo? We hunt Dwellers. Full authority to shoot on sight.”

“Ooh...? But we both know you wouldn’t just shoot a damsel for no reason, right officer?” the sniggering woman shot back, her dark skin blending her appearance with the night.

“I don’t know what kind of impression I’m givin’...” Emris sighed, waving his gun around as he pondered. “Wonder if I’m lookin’ weak these days? If I’d guess, I’d say ye’re tryin’ to get a quick kill, right? For yer grades or somethin'?”

With a sultry, disarming laugh, the hooded woman dropped to the floor with a quiet thud, raising to her feet as she approached the three. “Do I look that young...? Thank you. Even if I was, let’s just say Zylith wouldn’t be too happy if I stole her kills.”

Raising a brow, Emris took a cautious step back. “...Ye’re an outcast, eh?”

“Mmhm. One of the really naughty ones. I pose a threat to the throne, after all,” she teased, dragging her words on seductively, keeping herself collected and civil as she defied his stiffened stance. Despite appearing entirely vulnerable, the air around her made her seem like a force to be reckoned with. With his instincts flaring up, even Emris couldn’t keep from becoming unnerved.

“’Least Enzel’s easy to read…” Emris commented, aiming the barrel of his gun to her head. “Back it up, fox.”

Stopping in her tracks, the hooded figure looked up, revealing a portion of her playful gaze.

“Oh? Can’t a girl talk to strangers now?”

“Ye don’t appeal to that norm. Ye’re a foreigner, and a troublesome one at that. I’m not easy game, ye should know—“

“Then you should stop talking so much, no?” the woman interjected, springing to the left so as to avoid the destructive force of the reflexively fired weapon before pinning the veteran in a rapid swerving hold. In his alcohol-addled state, Emris barely had time to register the attack, and ceased all movements as four iron claws as long as rifles were hoisted inches from his face. The quick move had thrown the hoodie off her head, revealing her earthy eyes and long, flowing hazelnut hair.

“Sorry, pup. This is game over, isn’t it?” she toyed, the joke feeling mildly out of place in such a situation. Groaning as the protruding blades inched closer to his eyes, Emris realised his arms had been pinned out of reach. Whatever technique she was using, it was perfected to a point.

“Ngh… try skewerin’ me, bitch. I’ll surprise ye…!” Emris tried to threaten, feeling sweat form on his forehead as he awaited her move. To his utter surprise, he suddenly felt his weight bring him to the floor with a harsh thump, leaving him speechless as he gazed up at the playful lass standing above him.

“That’s a mean thing to call me, don’t you think? You should be warier than that. Not the type to swallow your pride, I’d imagine?” the woman lectured, raising her armed hand so as to allow the metal rods to retract back into the hefty gauntlet.

“Mph… nay, don’t seem so…” the veteran muttered, taking a blow to his self-esteem after being dropped so easily. He’ll blame it on the alcohol later. “I thought you liked displeasin’ the mistress?”

“Oh, please don’t call her that. She’s hardly worth her weight in dirt. But I don’t need a lecture after killing one of her most trustworthy accomplices,” the woman explained, smiling impishly.

“Oy… ye really are a deserter, huh?” Emris wiped the dust from his jacket as he stood up to face the lass.

“More like they deserted me, I think,” she said with a shrug.

“What happened to ‘swallowin’ pride’?” Emris challenged, a smug grin forming on his face.

“You’re right, what a bad teacher I am,” she reproached to herself, sarcastically. Walking over to the fallen drunkards, she swiftly raised Erica onto her shoulders before looking back up at the veteran. “My name’s Eclipse. I’ll be disappointed if you haven’t heard of me at least once, pup.”

“Th’ fuck do ye mean, ‘pup’?" he spat, before scowling at his allies. "These goddess-damned lackey bastards…” Emris grumbled, easing Corvus onto his back. “Maybe. I ain’t usually sober, so I forget a lot of names.”

“Oh? So you might’ve? I’m flattered. You’re welcome, by the by,” she teased, sticking her tongue out.

“For what?”

“Reminding you of my name, of course,” Eclipse hummed, gesturing to the fallen soldier nestled all-too-comfortably on her back.

Realising what she was referring to, Emris couldn’t help but chuckle and wheeze.

“Fuckin’ flattered…”