Mhaieiyu

Arc 2, Chapter 29

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The smell of gore stunk with a miasma of death. All around, abounding the feet upon which soldiers tried to stand, the remnants of the Syndies and Crawlers littered. Live casualties could finally be tended to only after the ceaseless onslaught waned, which it had, to such a point where the constant growls and snarls and the other hideous noises those beasts made along with the outcries of those tasked with fending them off came to a disturbing quietness. The dead made no noise, but theirs were the most painful to hear. A soldier stood atop a mountain of corpses, the sludge and grime squelching wickedly by her boots as she examined the surrounds. The building had suffered many scratches and bumps on its walls; at their feet were strewn the lesser fortunate folk, either sitting or lying silently or mangled beyond recognition.

The shrapnel projectiles launched by Conquest had made ruination of the marches that stood just a few hours ago. The visor of the woman popped open as she resisted her sick, finally catching a glimpse of the first rows of human and Cryptid kind that had been destroyed by the sideways hail of wood chips, stone fragments and metal shavings. To say there was anything left of the front line would be an exaggeration alone.

By the time the battle had subsided, and all intention was directed toward the interior, Emris had already scrambled off to find who he really wanted to protect.

The sounds of his heavy footsteps rang like falling rocks as he shot his way through the Facility’s long corridors and rooms, making himself faster by zipping forth in rapid succession. It wasn’t long before he was made to smack down on the loose Crawler or two, but with a bat of his hand or a swat against his conjury, the few monsters that found him practically rolled off him like the hood of a speeding car.

As he ran, Emris took the time to check out his hand. The bites he had suffered stung harshly, but he knew that the more he endured, the less it would hurt for him. The poisonous sludge that these creatures were rich in was the most severe toxin for a Celestial such as him, but he knew that he in particular had built a strong immunity against that kind of agony by now. Though it wasn’t good news, he was becoming acclimated and tolerant to the effects of mixing the blood of the Illuminative with that of the Obscure. It may as well be corrosive acid to your average heaven-sent.

Still, he pressed on.

Making a sudden turn to the left, he saw an assembly of the lesser variant Crawlers stalking a short hall with a dead end and a door connecting to it. Emris knew this was the most convenient route to the vault, and with no time to waste, he stepped forth with the presence of a rhinoceros. The other Crawlers, some of which had slinked past the door’s frame, turned to face the Guardian and hissed like snakes.

He was having none of it.

Taking the pistol he had forgotten to entrust to Holly out of his back pocket, he barely had to take aim before turning one of their heads into a confetti of viscous juices. They all lunged toward him, and as they galloped, Em took four more to the gates of hell before putting his hands forward and making a flat surface of crystallised mana, which they all smashed against like the mindless dregs they were.

Letting the shield vanish, he ripped one of the dropped Crawlers closer and crushed its fragile neck with his hand, taking the rest of its body and lobbing it toward the first to recover from their daze. The following three were knocked out of commission with a single blow, the impact reducing the affected areas into a paste. The last that threw itself his way was backhanded so hard that its skull deformed. Whining like a fox, the creature couldn’t resist as the brute took its body, hoisted it in the air and ripped it in two like cardboard, dropping the two halves by his sides. His clothes were so torn that he was surprised running didn’t make him nuder than a gazelle. Just in case, he took the thin chain-and-locket from his jacket’s inside pocket and held it tightly in a fist.

Continuing toward the doorway, he soon noticed it was devoid of an actual door; it had been knocked down right off its hinges.

Once he passed the threshold, the first thing he saw was the ruined body of someone whose armour had been ripped open like a can of tuna — a sight that made Em avert his eyes and cringe, figuring he was likely from the escort team and had fallen in the effort to protect folk, and so wishing the soldier a peaceful afterlife before restarting his sprint. He managed to find a monster with a muzzle full of blood. The Brig made sure the family of the dead officer was avenged.

The doors to the vault came into view, and in front of it were two guards, and further was one fallen officer, presumably dead, and an array of monstrous corpses. To see the vault hadn’t been so much as scratched was a forgiving sight. Emris exhaled in relief, coming closer, stepping around the Crawlers’ remains to the best of his ability, though his boots couldn’t avoid being filthied regardless. Spotting the skull of a Bulkhead, he even fell to the temptation of mashing his heel into the thickest portion, pushing as hard as his muscles would allow just to hear that satisfying crunch. Probably just the jaw, but it was enough for him.

“Third Brigadier Emris, sir!” one of the two soldiers chanted, relieved as well to see a high ranking official had endured. Moreso, they were glad the Guardian hadn’t been captured.

“Aye. At ease, men, the fight’s pretty much over with, but don’t kick yer feet up just yet,” Emris said, wiping his face of grime before stepping past them. When he came between the two, he stopped and put his hand on one of their shoulders. “Did ye see my girl run through ‘ere?”

“The VIP and a group of children arrived a fair while ago, sir.”

Emris smiled at that, patting his shoulder amicably. “Good job. I’ll see that ye’re promoted, or somethin’.”

The guard stuttered his subservient appreciation, but Emris wouldn’t get to hear it as he walked past the gates and into the maw of the cellar. No fine wines in here; only coworkers, fellow soldiers, the injured, Zwaarst refugees… And to his relief, though already lived previously, the assurance that Holly had survived. When he came to meet the crowd of survivors, the sea of people split like a river’s course, and soon enough, he found two Lypins talking to one another; one on his knees tending to a seemingly unconscious Tokken, and the other…

“Buttercup,” Emris said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, spun and slammed him right in the nose, getting a pained howl from the Guardian, but she hid the fact she’d been startled with a confident smile.

"Agch," Emris grunted, cupping the damaged part and feeling it snap back into place under his skin. "Yer paws're covered in gunk. Must've been busy, aye."

"If you don't give a girl weapons, she uses her own," Holly said, hands on her hips yet unable to hide her smile.

"Keep it up, too. 'Least this way ye'll make it."

"Yep yep, I'm alive. Breathe it in."

“Alivest girlie I’ve ever seen, no kiddin’,” Mumble commented, only to feel his jaw drop when he recognised who had arrived. With a puffed up chest, Mumble came closer and jabbed two fingers into Emris’ sternum. “Hah! Guess ya’re still pumpin’ blood! Thank shit, I was thinkin’ that chick had ya for brunch!”

Emris raised his brow at the boy, racking his brain to find the memory of this kid’s face. “Shite, my brain’s mush right now. Ain’t ye some Urchin feller?”

Holly chimed in. “Good point. How the heck did this come to be?”

Chloe shook her head and got between them and the boy. “He’s a bit troubled, but we have faith in him. He risked himself to keep those pups— children safe, so please, don’t get reckless.”

Holly blinked, squatted down and pat her head. “Don’t worry fluff, even if he was a brat, Em isn’t the kind to let people punish kiddies.” She turned to face the Guardian and shot daggers through her eye. “For anything.”

“Oi, I’ve heard enough complaints for a goddamned politician. At least let me do my job when I do it, shite…”

Mumble would have tried to shank her as thanks for the comment, but with how tired he was, he could only fold his arms and click his tongue.

Chloe giggled some at their dynamic, keeping an eye on Tokken as the rabbit doctor removed himself from the teen.

When Emris saw William turn to face him, the Brig felt a sharpness in his gut at the sight of his daughter’s face on the Lypin’s. Despite it, he offered his hand for a shake that turned into a barbaric, squeezing hug that the doctor surely didn’t enjoy.

“Glad ye’re still with us, midlet,” Emris teased, scruffing his head fur a bit.

“Agh, your ways of showing satisfaction bewilder me!” William complained between chuckles.

Holly took a step back, admiring the scene of her two fathers hugging it out. When she heard the Lypin’s ribs creak under the pressure, she rolled her eyes and yanked the two apart. “Alright, alright. No need to ruin this with excitement, you gaylords.”

“What did you just——?!”

“Vicks, Holls...”

Whereas William looked embarrassed and disgusted, Emris simply looked disappointed. Turning to face his adoptive again, he gave her a quick lookover.

Holly snapped her fingers. “Oi, stop.”

The other rabbit stepped up next to the considerably taller ‘human’. “Relax, I checked her from head to toe. She seems well. Thank you.”

William’s appreciation was met by a grumble. “Doin’ my job.” Turning his eyes toward Tokken, who had been laid down with his back leaning against a wall, he asked, “What about the teen?”

“He’s well as well, beyond a nasty bruise. I’ll say, you’ve fine-tuned Holly’s capacity for restraint to a staggering degree. She hit him just hard enough,” William explained, making Emris’ eye twitch without realising it.

Emris turned to Holly. “The hell…?”

Chloe piped up, lifting her forepaw. “He lost control, so she took the… admittedly drastic option of letting him, ah, sleep, as it were.”

“Sleep?” Mumble scoffed. “Yer bunny went and played the maracas with his fuckin’ brains.”

“Ugh, it wasn’t that bad,” Holly grunted. “The kid lost himself for a sec, and I was already fed up with trouble.”

Emris eyed the Lypin as she crossed her arms, giving a disapproving shake of his head, but not containing his amused cackles. “That’s my girl.”

William looked away at that statement, clearing his throat. “Ah, well, he’s not entirely fainted, luckily. Just dazed. He’ll recuperate shortly. I’m more surprised you came so soon; did you get a chance to rid us of Sagittar?”

Emris felt himself wind up again at that name, flinching a bit. His thoughts and memories finally realigned, the relief of seeing Holly safe washing away his more cumbersome processes. He recalled seeing Bruttus coming all too close to performing a guillotine action upon the sworn enemy of the Fifty-Seventh Guardian, only to fail miserably after the distraction.

Emris and, especially, Tokken.

The Brig remembered seeing the teen sprint like a lunatic toward where Sagittar was. Surely, a boy such as him would know better not to rush towards such severe danger. But worse still, the desperation, the inhuman speed and way he carried himself… It made clear a far more sinister motive.

“Is everything alright…?” William asked.

Emris felt his neck creak as he locked eyes back onto the befuddled teen, and then his eyeballs grind like concrete as they dropped upon the exposed dagger that stayed right where it always did on his belt; folded and stained.

The Tsuki Jewel — the Drainer had been used.

“A moment of your time, please,” said a loud, crackling voice.

The lot, together with the rest of the mumbling crowd all turned their heads toward the announcement podium prepared for this very bunker. Upon it stood three men and two women.

Once the curious mutters died down, the elderly man in the middle took the microphone and cleared his throat. “This was a… a mighty blow, I’ll say,” Willow started, “Caught us on our worst and made a fuckin’ paste of us…” he tried to keep speaking, but his dried mouth nearly made him choke.

The woman of similar age snapped the mic from his grasp, and with a clear and demanding disposition, said, “All of you left standing, before we begin, I would like you all to show where your loyalties lie.”

More mutters and mumbles. Even the least acquainted, like the children and Mumble—the children—showed their confusion. After a few seconds of nothing, a thump, followed by a collection of hard thumps took place as a singular roar of applause. When Chloe and the kids looked about, they watched as every last Syndie, including doctors, cooks and cleaners, had pounded the space above their hearts and held out their right or remaining arm in an L-shape; four of their digits pointed to the ceiling and their thumbs tucked into their palms. Their second arm stayed folded behind their backs.

Mumble tilted his head like a curious dog, eyeing Chloe for answers she could only shrug at. ‘Shrug’ being a generous term. She stood on four legs.

At the sight of the Syndies’ salute, those on the podium also offered their respects with the same gesture.

“Thank you. May our dead sleep soundly in Victus’ arms.” Merean lowered her arms and sharpened her sight of the gathered. “Now, let us proceed. As you are all keenly aware, the Crimson attack held against us just now was orchestrated during a time of great weakness among our ranks. Many of us were lost due to exhaustion before the battle even began. It’s safe to say, our soldiers were in shambles, and are likely worse now.” She took a swig of water and wiped her lips. “And though you are all likely spent, I have the misfortune to communicate to those of you who are unaware, that the Syndicate’s battle is far from over.”

Merean turned her attention behind her, to a large map outline that had been arranged just now, featuring the territories within the Hub’s unified domain. With two fingers, she pointed toward the major cluster in the core of the country.

“As we speak, the commercial and residential districts have been overrun by these beasts. Simultaneously, during this onslaught, our communications centre within the Facility has been torn to shreds, and with personnel so sparse, we barely have the manpower to investigate the matter. By all intents and purposes, we are effectively in the dark.”

Troubled murmurs spread about, quickly shushed as Merean continued.

“Regardless of our circumstances, we must send reinforcements before the southwestern block is reached; that is our promise to the citizens. But we cannot do this in our current conditions. The strategic team has dwindled to a mere handful of thinkers, and none are competent enough to declare themselves leaders — nor am I.” Merean turned her head towards Willow briefly, and they both exchanged nods. “This being said, our Head of Men is, tragically, unable to perform his duties for the foreseeable future by Sir Fely’s confirmation, and the rest of the administration is showing cracks in their service. It is for this reason that we of temporary management have unanimously decided…”

Emris felt the whites of his eyes grow when he heard what followed.

“...that we will be electing a new Head of Men to lead our charge to victory, even in times of desparation.”

“What?” a voice from the audience called out so boldly. A Felyn. “You can’t do that! Alpha’s still breathin’, we just gotta wait a lil’——”

“Nah, we’re sittin’ ducks if we wait up on the auld sod," said a Wylven with an eyepatch.

“Oi! Don’t speak of Alpha like that, ye blinded turd!”

"Say that again, pussy?!"

So the cacophony of discourse would ensue, growing in intensity all too quickly before being swiftly quietened once again by a strike of Merean’s cane against the floorboards.

Merean spoke again. “The matter of replacing our leader was not made in earnest. Our circumstances are far from ideal, and to preserve that which has stood for hundreds of years, we must ensure this place stands. We are, truly, the one bastion that stands between the Reds and civilization itself. The risk of a second incursion occurring soon is too great; and too likely, too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” another voice yelled.

“Boss’d know what to do!”

“Why’re we gettin’ speeches from you?! Where’re the Heads?!”

Merean stood unflinchingly at her post. Pointing her cane firmly towards the questioners, she answered, “Both deserters.”

“Deserters…?”

Emris seethed, to William’s trepidation. “What…?!”

“Indeed,” Merean went on, “it was sudden, but our Head of Medicine, Fely, broke under the pressure. It was distressing to see, but even those of us who saw his downfall sympathise with him. We feel differently towards the Head of Arms, who left us without merit nor reason; having promised to do so if Alpha was ever decommissioned. Even the suggestion had him leaving us.”

The Guardian felt his clothes stretch and squeeze as his frame widened in anger.

“Damn… Pussies,” Mumble said under his breath, earning a swat from Chloe as he had said that too close to children.

“Truly, on behalf of us standing before you today, we are sorry,” Merean confessed, a strange sentimentality unlike her showing through the frown on her lips and the lamenting wrinkles on her face. Nevertheless, she prevailed. As always. “With not a soul at our pinnacle, we haven’t a choice. If we wish to maintain stability, hope, loyalty and even function, we must forgo our previous leader and vouch for a new one.”

More noises filled the room again. The agitated ways of the people dampened into a more internalised conflict, all troubled with what the future held. After a minute of back and forth between the hundreds of people, the microphone was opened yet again.

“We have a shining ray of hope, however. Only if you will take it, of course,” Merean explained, robbing the attention of many one more time. “Just as we divulged our future course of action, we of the strategic team were interrupted by quite the meddlesome fellow. Though his identity, we thought, was of little merit, it turns out his goals and ideals matched in awe to his lineage.” The lady allowed room in the centre of the podium for the younger man, possibly in his thirties at most, in a full suit of Nynx apparel. “If you would,” she consented, earning an appreciative nod and smile from the man who stepped forth.

A few mutters weren’t enough to silence his echoing voice.

“Greetings, my likeness. Allow me to give my name to you all.”

Once he had reached the limelight, taking the spotlight both figuratively and literally, Emris felt himself grow tense at the sight he bore. Though it was faint, the Brigadier recognised this soldier from not too long ago. The one man who had confessed to watching Kev’s death, and the one who had admitted to being an ex-Yanksie.

“My name is Elior, and while we are alike in goal, we are unequal in blood and home. It may sound brash, but my intentions are not all vain, I assure you. And if you would humour me, I hereby present my Manifesto.”

The structure above them all rumbled for a second, and dust fell from the ceiling. Gasps followed, but none moved away. Merean came close to Willow's ear and whispered, "The Magician's hard at work."

"And we're here," Willow sighed.

Elior didn't falter in his speech. “Reality can be poisonous at times, I know. Cruel are our circumstances. We stand here, worn down to scraps, and yet, the Crimsoneers are far from being done testing us. I will speak honestly to you all. If we continue this battle, as right we should, we will become beyond devastated. The Syndicate will perish.”

Hollers refused to concede.

“Nonsense!”

“I gave my honour!”

“The Syndie reign is immortal!”

Elior closed his eyes at their protests, a faint grin on his face, even as pieces of litter were thrown his way. The woman in Nynx armour that hadn’t said a word behind her visor didn’t hesitate for even a second to aim to the ceiling and fire, silencing all and dropping an insect that had been punched through by the bullet.

Elior opened his eyes again to speak. “Thus were the same cries of the Tempars of Gorka Magna, I’m sure. But, immortal as they were, they were laid to waste by forces outside of them.”

“Like twelve thousand years ago!” one cried. “We were built through union! The Syndicate shall not die!”

A simultaneous cheer soon followed, and though they hollered, the crowd didn’t need to be silenced as they alone came to quietness. Doubt had unravelled itself without provocation.

“Don’t be so forlorn. To survive,” Elior said, “the Syndicate built a singular, unified body of nations, you are absolutely right.”

“So——!”

“But there was an exception, wasn’t there? A nation that neighbours, so large it almost rivals our own. The last crux. Hyretix’s spawn: Yanksee.”

“Negligeable threats they are, we’ll soon have them trumped,” a person said.

Elior turned his back to the crowd, feeling his core drive with adrenaline; his thoughts full. “You’re not mistaken. If we replaced the Head of Arms with one more productive, it would be a year or two at most before our allied forces took over their land.” He turned around again to face the woman who spoke. “But doing so would mean further sacrifice. Doing so would breed hatred further. Their people would not want to cooperate, and might even stage a revolution.”

“Against us…?” Willow said with scepticism.

“Of course. Lenning came too close to being reestablished.”

The Sixth Brigadier furrowed a brow and held his tongue on the matter. Their near loss thirty years ago against the independentist colony, lead by the Mercater family, weighed heavily on Willow, who served as the primary driving force throughout the operation. That piercing look that Elior knowingly or inadvertently gave the senior officer was, surprisingly, intimidating enough to keep him from rebutting.

Spreading his arms wide for all to see, Elior said, “It is clear that violence isn’t the answer, but with their forces regularly winding us to test our strength, we will not stand forever.”

“What solution do you propose, then?” William asked with a raised hand, earning a look from Emris, Holly and the rest of the children.

Holly grabbed her father's arm. “Dad, don’t——!”

“Well,” Elior began with a smile that spoke volumes of his excitement, “I’m glad you asked. Ladies and gentlemen, it may sound absurd, but what I propose is a unification between our countries. Let us become one, truly.”

Once more, the room became flooded with suspicion, confusion and disagreement.

“Now, how do you exactly intend on doing that?” another said.

“We just ripped them to shreds!” a soldier argued.

“Indeed, we have. Under Ducasse’s firm grip, this could never be,” Elior acquiesced with a slow nod.

Willow peered at Elior carefully. “Are ye suggesting we off him? Pardon the lack of trust, but what ye’re asking for involves a lot more work than’s already on our shoulders.”

Elior didn’t turn his head to eye the Brigadier, returning his attention to the people. “Don’t be silly, Brigadier,” he spoke loudly, “we have no need. My good friend already took care of that.”

Willow and Merean were taken aback. The lady stepped closer, a hand on her chest. “Do you mean to tell us that…?!”

Elior didn’t remove his sight from the crowd. “All of you, human and Cryptid kind, hear me. General Ducasse of the Yanksie Military has been defeated by Lord Ace Arturius!”

Gasps and mumbles soon turned into a victorious laughter from the many, crying out for glory. Elior was content to see this, though he knew of the mockery that was taking place.

“Friendly fire?! Bwahaha!”

“They shot their own!”

“Killed his own dad!”

Elior lowered his head, soaking in the noise. To his right stood the two elders, both baffled and somewhat horrified of the implications. Once the crowd began to settle once more, Elior continued.

“Yes, bask, but don’t be so foolish as to decry the Ace. He did this for today’s very purpose. Arturius risked the love of his people towards him for the sake of doing away with Ducasse’s horrid views on the world. May the bastard burn in hell.”

“Burn in hell!” a man returned, drunk off his joy.

“Shame we didn’t get him!”

Elior tuned his ears into a quiet conversation among them that made him smile even wider. A brief talk of Alpha’s incompetence as a ruler and a combatant.

“My earthly fellows, I am sorry. I am sorry that it took so much for us to arrive at any kind of compromise,” Elior said, “but you see, I, the man who stands before you, am no Syndie of long time. In truth, my service to you all is still young, and that may not make me a suitable candidate. This, I understand.”

Everyone hushed.

“But, you see, I have a goal. A goal that may never be possible again. It is my wish for the Syndicate to stake claim over this entire continent, I promise you. I am no ordinary man. Both my goals, my ambition, and my position in this world are matched. You see…”

There was a brief pause, and all breaths were frozen. Emris felt his mind become weary. His arms dangled by his sides, feeling a strange sense of betrayal, and yet…

“All of you, I hope that you will understand this request of me especially, for I am not a Hubbite. By my skin alone, I don’t have to tell you I was no Sylvvean. Not a Zwaarst either, and I was not born in the extremes of the Badlands. That’s right,” Elior put his hands together and clasped them firmly to each other. “My name is Elior. I was born and exiled from Yanksee. My blood? Descendant of King Elizor.”

More than ever before, the audience tore peace from the world in an uproarious explosion of voices. People left and right either held their breaths or shouted out their feelings. Many shunned him, but surprisingly, some showed little more than innocent amazement. Those that did were either knowledgable of the recent acts of the Yanksee kingdom or had figured out the horrid implications of his outcasting. To tread alone through the hateful and unforgiving No Man’s Land, wandering through a desert that stretched for miles in mere fabric clothing or none at all was downright tortorous. Doubtless, his legs should be covered in scars from flying dust stabbing at his skin. The soles of his feet, if bare, would have disfigured in the heat of the black sand. His entering the Outskirts unguarded would mean he had likely been pursued by hungry animals and savage Cryptids. With no resources or name of acclaim, he would be gutted by Urchins in the Hub’s vile cities. A true nightmare to go through, and at such young age. All this, and still, his destination was here. His goals were to become one with the country that abandoned him. If this wasn’t charity, nothing was.

Those that mercilessly called out his existence just for being born with certain blood earned the ire of the more aware.

“I have a question,” a broken voice that lived for long croaked above the chatter. A senior gentleman stepped forth so as to be seen, his long greyed beard stopping before his shoulders. His eyes could only just about open. With a gentleness close to a whisper, he reached his aged wrist toward Elior and said, “If I chose your majesty as our next, when might we be allowed to give farewell to our fallen?”

“Oh,” Elior almost cooed in delight, taking the sir’s hand and holding it steadily between both of his. “We will celebrate their memory no later than tomorrow. Worry your heart not.”

The beaming smile the elder was given, soft and radiant in promise-speak, was so pure that it convinced even the wisest among them. Such a tender sweetness from the most controversial face. A Yanksie prince, offering his condolences to a Syndie without prejudice. It was enough to reignite his dried tear ducts.

Emris, however, thought of the man with the greatsword and stumbled to his knees. He couldn’t believe the old man was being replaced.