Salazaar, Screwtongue and Trench sat inside a cramped dissimulation tent. It was a small shelter that could be quickly erected and used to camouflage the wounded, to keep them out of sight and sound of any hostile forces.

Salazaar held the intelor pad that Moloch had given him, holding up the stream from his helmet feed, so that Trench could watch it as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Screwtongue sat in the corner of the tent and rocked back and forth from his toes to his heels, while hugging his knees. They could all hear the voice of Den Master Tzreek, as he spoke to Haru. Salazaar was utterly fixated on every word.

“Well firstly, no more raids on the Drydellian Palace. Remember when you attacked the palace? That little stunt you pulled really angered them. We also pretend to smuggle employees out of Drydellia, but we just turn them over to the supervisors for cryo, and should they want to make an example of one they will put them on trial, but most of the time, boom, zoom! Straight to the ice!”

Salazaar lowered the pad and clenched his fist. “Those devils!” He said with quiet rage. “She was set up this whole time, by you and your kind!”

Then he turned his gaze towards Screwtongue. It did not take a psychological savant to understand what was on his mind.

“Mercy, great one! Screwtongue is naught but a miserable rat! I had nothing to do with anything! It is all the Drydellians doing!”

Salazaar picked up a twisted segment of pipe that was in a scrap pile that they erected the dissimulation tent over. He hefted it in his hand, and advanced on Screwtongue with a murderous light in his eyes. Then he stopped and put down the pipe.

“Taking out my anger on you, wouldn’t be any better than what the Drydellians did to Myleia.”

“Oh, thank you Constable! Your mercy is boundless!” Screwtongue said bowing repeatedly and touching his forehead to the ground before him.

Trench coughed and opened one eye.

“The Rat probably had nothing to do with it, Constable.” He spoke. “Trust that the Centurions will get to the bottom of things, for once they catch wind of misconduct, and if half of what we just heard is true, the Drydellians will have much to answer for.”

A series of soft caws, pecking and scrabbling drifted down from overhead. Salazaar flipped off the intelor pad and put his finger to his lips. He opened a small viewing port that was manufactured into the wall of the tent.

“Trench we’ve got company. There is a large group of crow-men that just flew into the floor above the Centuri.”

“Oh, those are the Nightwings. Very Nasty creatures. The Den-master made their dose well. I was supposed to be one.” Screwtongue lamented.

“Use the pad Moloch gave you. Warn them.” Trench rasped, ignoring Screwtongue’s commentary.

Salazaar looked down at the pad and tried to make a few entries. We just lost connectivity; I can’t open a line to them.”

“The crow-men might have activated a home brewed sequence-jammer if they saw any evidence of the legion.”

Trench coughed as quietly as he could and spit some blood into the trash pile that the dissimulation tent was setup over. He wiped it from his lips with the back of his hand.

“Help me up Salazaar, it is my duty to warn them. I won’t let my brothers be ambushed, you stay here and mind Screwtongue.”

Trench tried to stand up, but he was unable to get up, and fell back coughing.

“No Legionnaire, you stay and rest, it should be me that warns them. However, I shouldn’t leave you like this, especially with Screwtongue here.”

Screwtongue looked uncomfortable, his eyes furtively scanning the room.

“Oh, great one, I shall do my very best to look after Master Trenches wellbeing, you can count on me.”

“Even if the wretch tries to betray me, it is of no consequence. You must warn them. You must not let them be ambushed.” Trench managed to get out before he began another long coughing fit.

Salazaar considered it, and then began to crouch walk out of the dissimulation tent.

“Before you go constable, take this.” Trench held out the unignited handle of his void gladius.

Salazaar turned around and crept back.

“Flip the breaker and hold the trigger to activate the blade. The blade will neatly elongate, and the point and edges will burn as hot as the sun. Emitters are a fine weapon, but nothing beats a void blade in tight spaces. Trust me, it will cut through whatever you swing it at.”

Salazaar nodded and took the blade from Trenches outstretched hand.

“You rest easy Trench; I’ll warn them and be back in a tick. Hang tight here.”

Trench said nothing. His eyes had closed, and it seemed as if he had passed out.

“If anything happens to him Screwtongue, I’ll be back for your head.”

“I shall guard him with my life, Constable!” Screwtongue said, unconsciously bringing his hands up to cover his neck.

Salazaar tucked the handle of the blade into his belt, and left the dissimulation tent, keeping to the shadows and quietly moving through the same door that the legionnaires had cut through.

Salazaar crept up into the habitation hive, stepping over the corpse of the bear hybrid on the floor.

Several crow-men flitted about overhead. Sure enough, they had spotted the Republic Legionnaires lying in wait on the floor above, about to ambush the pack. Salazaar could see one of the crow hybrids had already hopped up and out of an open window, and had gilded silently out into the darkness, to use some alternative path to warn the den master of the legionnaires presence.

“Their comms must not work either, because of the sequence-jammer. By the light, I must warn them.” Salazaar murmured to himself, as he ducked behind a column. If the crow-men caught him, he knew he would be finished.

He drew his old emitter and kissed the barrel, he would run up the stairs as fast as he could and hopefully he could reach them intime before the murder of crow-men descended down upon him, and rent his flesh to shreds. A small voice inside his mind told him there was no way he would make it.

“I have to try anyway.” He told himself.

He counted down silently to himself.

“One, Two…” Before he could react, a blue hand appeared and put a finger to a pair of smirking lips that materialized just behind the finger. A glowing blue face appeared with a mischievous smile.

“Howdy dude. I appreciate what you are trying to do for the lads up there, but let me warn them. Self sacrifice is a rare quality in people these days, and I’d hate to see you join me if its avoidable.”

“Who are you?!” Salazaar, said in a desperate hoarse whisper.

“I’m Nassim the enlivened standard spirit, I live in the standard that the legionnaires carry with them.”

“You’re a ghost that lives in a pole?” Salazaar said.

“That is a really crude simplification of my existence, but whatever works for you bro. But I look out for them, particularly in situations such as these. I’ll let them know about the dirty old crow-men. But having peered into several possible convergent outcomes from my side of things, they could probably use your help in the next few minutes.” Nassim said.

“You can look into the future?” Salazaar said a bit overwhelmed.

“Again, another oversimplification, but a spirit like myself can peer into converging near immediate outcomes as they spiral down to the physical plane. Then we can inform the inhabitants of the physical plane to try and tug on the strings of fate to manifest the best outcome possible for the time and place. But that gets tricky, because there is like a whole hierarchy of super powerful beings with their own agendas, and then there is a whole balancing thing, and if you mess that up, oh lordy lookout! Cause when a whirlwind of destruction sets the inner desert on fire and starts moving your way, brother believe me you want to steer clear of that, so I just try and do my best see what's falling into this plane, and inform them side step here, duck there, spin twirl and hop you know?

“You what?” Salazaar said, totally perplexed by what he was hearing and seeing.

“Look bro, keep your pistol at the ready, you’ll know by all the shrieks and hollers when its a good time to hustle up those stairs and crank em a good one. Yah feel me?”

“Yes, you can count on me ghost!” Salazaar said, with a small salute.

“Again, not a ghost, I’m an enlivened spirit, but you know, we’ll talk about this later, we don’t really have the time to get into all the nitty gritty, at the moment.”

Then Nassim vanished, and Salazaar pushed his hat back and scratched his head.

“What in the blue blazes just happened?”

Then there was a blood curdling scream, followed by roars, caws, howls, and several small explosions. Immediately every crow-man that was hiding in the rafters descended, flying through windows and crashing into the midst of the legionnaires on the floor above him. A swirling tide of dust swept down the staircase.

“The ghost was right. I guess that’s my cue.”

He pulled Trenches void gladius, it was a weapon that had seen some service. It was dented, welded and patched back together in several places. He ignited it as he was instructed and gave it a few cautionary swings, acquainting himself with how it moved through the air. It was an impressive weapon that would swiftly bring death.

“Myleia.” He said, quietly to himself.

Then Salazaar flipped down his nightshades, and moved out of cover howling at the top of his lungs and charging up the staircase, voidblade held high above his head and pistol in his off hand.