Christian had enlisted into the army not even five months ago and he had the honor to join the prestigious Warhounds as their newest recruit. The elite squadron had lost its scout some time ago and were looking for someone with an acceptable gift. After some examinations, Christian was chosen. There weren’t many with the ability to teleport, but if there were, they were the best messengers and scouts that anyone would ask for.

They were camping on enemy territory and it was his duty to do the watching out for the team. The Empire had fought the Dynasty ever since the war started. The Federation chose neutrality, and the Kaiser’s men along with the Republic had no interest outside their own continent. That only left the Dynasty and the United Empire fighting for the free land, intensely. Being from the north, Christian didn’t understand the charm of this hot place filled to the brim with overly large critters.

He took a sip from his canteen and decided to patrol the area. His teleportation, unlike many, would not move his body but create a new one where he wanted to be at and as a side-effect the old one would shatter not unlike glass, damaging anyone around him when the teleportation occurred. That also meant he could keep it up endlessly, no overuse fatigue and most of all, no limit to numbers if only he had the stamina. The distance, however, was limited to fifty feet. Any more than that, he had the feeling he wouldn’t be there in one piece. Consecutive teleportation was more fool-proof and dependable. Except, it was more like running the distance. His molecules moving at hyper speed or something like that. The details were shady.

There was a ruffle, ever so quiet, but still present. Christian hid atop the tree had been standing on. Surely enough, there was someone. It was a scout, shrouded in shadows. It was obvious this one was a stealth-type, mostly scouts but some were in charge of assassinations. Christian clutched his dagger, and breathed several times. He knelt down to examine a glass trail he Christian had laid, to mislead and most importantly distract any enemy.

*CRACK!*

The scout’s head snapped to the treetop where the other scout had been hiding at, but a hand grabbed onto his mouth and a knife slid through his neck. Christian appeared atop the trees again. The smoke surrounding the figure dispersed slowly, revealing a feminine figure with glass filling her costume, a steady stream of blood leaving her throat to create a pool beneath her. It was a woman.

Christian didn’t like to kill woman. A pang of nausea hit him, but he held up. He couldn’t leave any trace of himself lest they track him back. The glass was a unique case, as it was generated by a gift and thus other gifts couldn’t get a read on it. He hated killing women, but she was from the Dynasty. He could justify his actions. Justification was enough to keep a person from hating himself on a battlefield.

The camp was about two hundred yards away. After four consecutive teleports, Christian appeared back at camp, in the captain’s tent no less. She was supposedly sleeping, slouched on her chair with crossed hands and the hat closing her eyes. But as soon as he appeared in the room, she fixed her posture and put the hat back on her head where it was supposed to be at.

“Report.” She said.

“Yes, ma’am. An enemy scout was found at the outskirts of the forest. There might be an enemy camp close by.” Christian said.

“Scout ahead. Find their base and report back.” The captain said.

“Yes, ma’am.” Christian said, and stood up to leave. He couldn’t just explode in the tent with his captain in it.

The camp consisted of four tents, each tent except the captain’s containing five soldiers. There were only twenty one soldiers in the special brigade, as that was enough to deal with and its number in non-gifted troops equaled 2000. Also this was one of the three gifted units that kept the war tipping to the Empire’s favor. The Warhounds were in charge of infiltration, employing hit and run tactics more than anything else.

As he walked to the outside of the camp and out of the forest clearing, Christian heard a get up command being given. He had little sleep, yes, but he had the honor to become vice-captain in such a short time and that knowledge alone revitalized him from a sleepy morning more than a few times already. Training and will beats instinct, that’s what he learned back at training camp.

He turned back the way he came, and travelled five times in mid-air to finally appear outside the forest. It was dark. Christian’s eye had to be readjusted to the dark after coming in contact with light inside the captain’s tent. The silence was suffocating. In the far distance, a trail of smoke could be seen. A trap? That couldn’t be. They didn’t know that the Warhounds were here.

If there was one thing dangerous about the Dynasty, it was their border guard. The border was too far to their land for them to do anything. Everything would suggest they were getting an easy pass to make contact with the ruler of this place, or at least a chieftain if they were primitive. They couldn’t be that primitive.

Intrigued, and suspicious enough to not let the others check on it before him, Christian travelled once more. This time he did nine times, running out of breath. Each jump was the same as him jogging for ten minutes. After fourteen, meaning two hours and twenty minutes, even his soldier body ran out of breath for a while. The origin wasn’t too far, another two jumps could cover the distance. However, Christian wouldn’t do that. Running into enemy territory out of breath wasn’t a good tactic.

So he walked the distance, wary of any crawlies getting a jump on him. He’d heard that Kaiser’s place was even worse than this, with even more creepy crawlies. Last time Christian had fallen on one. It scared him. He wasn’t fond of those things, especially if they were overgrown and was anything other than black and had hair.

The sound of music was heard from the origin. It was alien to Christian. He had never heard of this tune, but enjoyed it. The instrument sounded to be something like drums. Slowly, but steadily he walked forward. Light permeated from below the ground, from where the music and smoke came from. There was a large bonfire, cooking what appeared to be a four-legged animal. Over two dozen people sat around, all Dynasty scums. They wore there in their foul red armor. The people of the land, black in skin, were forced to dance and play music.

It disgusted him. He went all the distance in one fell swoop, 16 times. He was exhausted. His lungs stung. It didn’t matter more than getting news of this back to the Warhounds. Christian appeared not too far away from camp where everyone was. Noticing his breathing, the captain’s brows furrowed.

“Report.” She said. One word, but it meant so much: concern, fear, anger and a hint of disappointment.

“There’s a camp some ways over there. Approximately 800 feet. The natives are being held captive by Dynasty troops. From the uniform, they appear not to be a special unit. Confirmed gifted: 1 deceased.” Said Christian. There seemed to be a nod of approval and Damian got to his feet.

“We’ll be launching an attack. Not far away. No confirmed gifted. Let’s show them the empire’s made of steel and blood!” The captain shouted, the brigade following after her.

At the front was Bruno. He was the heavy hitter of the group, and was most likely thinking of hogging all the spotlight himself. Christian wouldn’t allow that. He’d prove his worth to the captain. He had to. The next draft was coming up in two weeks and Christian didn’t want to get kicked out. He had to be a Warhound.

They arrived at the camp not even ten minutes after he appeared back at the camp. He had gotten his breath back and ready to fight. Of course they’d have to warn them first, that was the Warhounds’ honorary code. Never ambush an enemy, for they wouldn’t be able to do anything if they had indeed chosen to pick a fight with the said group. It would incite fear, and it would bring glory to the empire.

The captain grabbed a loudspeaker from the hand of one of the hounds and spoke into it.

“You are on empire grounds at the moment. Please leave, or we’ll be obliged to use force.” Said the captain. “In 10, 9, 8,” The Dynasty soldiers scrambled to their feet, pulling out their weapons. “7, 6, 5, 4,” Then they pointed their bows up at the upper platform, at the captain. An incomprehensible set of words escaped their mouths, likely the fire command. That wouldn’t happen so easily.

Christian jumped down at the arrows’ path, exploding into a glass rain in mid-air and appearing behind the soldiers. His daggers slit their throats one by one. No arrow hit him, only resulting in a glass shower befalling all who had the misfortune of being near him. He didn’t let the natives get injured. If Bruno had attacked, they’d be dead, soldier and native. And for glory, for acknowledgment.

As he slit the neck of the last soldier, Christian looked up at the Warhounds. Their eyes glowed a steady red eerily in the dark. He hadn’t proven himself enough. He had to do more. More accomplishments. More work. He had to try harder.

Cheers escaped their mouths, and they raised their hands. A man in his prime years walked forward and looked at Christian with suspicious eyes.

“Who are you people?” He asked. His accent was strong, but his words could be understood.

“We are from the United Empire, here to offer salvation.” Said the captain from behind, dropping to the hole. “Are there any leaders in your land?” She asked.

“Yes. We escaped Chigaru. He is king in the south.” Said the native. His speech wasn’t sophisticated, likely the case of not always speaking the language. It sounded artificial, as if they were learning it just for such an occasion. “We seek shelter in the empire.”

“Then the empire welcomes you with open arms.” Said the captain, and turned to look at the hounds. They knew the truth as much as Christian did. A hundred years ago after the cold war started, the empire was quite prone to kicking out all people of color, to both the Giftocracy and the free lands.

Louise I was a fool. She was convinced that all non-noble bloods were a blight upon Imperial grounds and banished them. It was quite possible that these people were the descendants of them. Louse III, however, was a rather smart queen and suggested the assimilation of the free lands into the empire.

She then turned back to the native and nodded her head.

“You can move out at noon tomorrow. It’s a day and a half’s distance away from here. You can make it in one if you hurry, but you don’t look to be able to. Tell them Captain Quinn sent you. The border will let you in.” She said, and scaled the three meter hole with one jump. Christian followed, getting behind cover before appearing above ground. He was out of breath, again. One would think he’d get used to it by now, but it was exhausting all the same after eighteen years of having it.

“We’ll camp here for the night. Move it.” The captain said, the brigade followed orders.

Christian had did his share, now it was a break time for him. Bruno – Christian’s rival – sat on the edge, looking at Christian by making an U-shape with his neck. After a moment’s thought he decided to talk to him. By far, he was the strongest of the Warhounds, he had to admit. At least in firepower. However, there were a few loose screws in his head when it came to socialization and teamwork. He was a new recruit, just like Christian. That meant they’d be fighting in the draft to find who’ll leave the hounds. Christian couldn’t lose that. Not after coming this far.

“What is it?” Christian asked, unbuttoning his military jacket. It was black, for camouflage.

“About the draft. What do you think about it?” He asked back. Bruno was around Christian’s age, but with tan skin and blonde hair, stark contrasts of bright and dark colors. They were different groups back at training camp but more or less heard of each other’s achievements.

“Don’t know. They say we’ll fight.” Said Christian. Bruno voiced out his very thoughts.

“Are you? Don’t get me wrong, but I’m sure I’ll be losing that. Utility is far better than firepower in single combat. How about we both decline?” Bruno asked. There was a slight quivering in his voice, and at that moment, Christian realized how alike they were. Both of them were fresh recruits who managed to get accepted into the Warhounds, and both strived to stay. “Honestly, I don’t even know if we’ll be fighting. It’s hard to find a scout like you, and well, big guns like me are lying all around the empire.”

“That’s not true. Not just any big gun enters the Warhounds. Guns…” Christian said, his voice fading at the end.

“Those Pre-Dawn weapons?” Bruno asked.

“Yes. Think about it. What would our lives be if guns were there? We could die at a moment’s notice, or before we even know it. Isn’t that scary? Our intelligence and brutality?” Christian said.

“There was probably a reason it was invented, maybe aliens came, or something. It’s better to have something to defend ourselves with than sit there like chickens and get slaughtered.” Bruno said.

“Yes, sure, but isn’t it terrifying. We’re so afraid of Tinker-tech but those guns are several leagues more horrifying than them. It’s just strange… How did we fight before? From a distance? Further than a bow’s reach?” Christian asked. There were these lucid moments he turned into a philosopher much like this, and he was always melancholic in such a state.

“I suppose. The Immortal said that we fought two wars with guns, not a feud between nations like the Empire and the Dynasty, but a world war. Almost every nation fought. That’s before the empire was founded and the nations were scattered, more than several dozen of them. The death count was in the tens of millions. Our battle sounds like a joke compared to that, doesn’t it?” Bruno said, and chuckled. “Oh, sorry. My father was a historian and he was sure to drill it into my head. Especially since I was guaranteed to join the army. My studies were a little…”

“Isn’t everyone’s?” Christian said. He could relate to him if he tried. Maybe that scowl he constantly had on his face wasn’t intentional. Bruno was also a human. He could be reasoned with unlike the laws.

“I guess. A few geniuses are born and they’re all Tinkers, gifted.” Bruno said, and looked down at the rejoicing natives and a sigh escaped his mouth. “Poor things. Too bad the first queen was a tyrant.”

“Yeah.” Christian nodded his head.