Maiden Battle

Brim inspected Gin’s wounds, or lack of them in this case. All that remained were scars that gave Gin a battle-hardened look. It wasn’t long before Michal, Sam and even Jake had a look, annoying Gin in the process.

‘Can you stop?’ Gin demanded.

‘But this regeneration is amazing,’ Brim replied, with the others nodding in agreement. Gin raised an eyebrow in response.

‘Is that what’s so interesting?’

‘It is. Even most S ranks don’t regen this quickly.’

‘Is that so? Thank my father for that.’

‘Huh? Father? What’s that?’

Gin gave Brim a puzzled look. The others also gave curious gazes, as if he had said something completely alien to them. Were fathers not a thing for them? Were mothers a thing? Did mages even have parents? It was such a strange notion that Gin wanted to find out more, but the sudden sound of wind roaring above them diverted his attention.

‘What was that?’

‘Don’t tell me…’ Brim said before he jumped out of the caravan.

The others followed, with Gin coming out last. He noticed they were staring at the sky and another blast of wind made Gin look up too. Up above were low-flying birds. They had long necks, fangs that protruded out of their beaks and sleek black feathers all of their body. They were massive, twice the size of Gin or four times if you measured from wing tip to wing tip. Only one thing entered Gin’s mind as they flew: That chick grows into that? He shuddered at the thought of an adult version wanting his blood.

‘Guess the reports are true,’ Michal said out loud.

‘What’s wrong?’ Gin asked.

‘The mage-eaters are heading in the same direction as us,’ Brim commented.

‘Mage-eaters?’ Gin queried, alarmed by name given to them. ‘Don’t tell me they’re going to attack us.’

‘No,’ Brim reassured. ‘They’re scavengers that prey on dead corpses. They have no interest in the living.’

‘Then that means-’

‘A large number of people have died ahead, yeah.’

‘Don’t say that out loud!’ Gin whispered in a shouting manner.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Jake interrupted. ‘Everyone knows what’s happened the moment they saw the mage-eaters.’

‘Wait,’ Gin said, suddenly realising something. ‘Is Syndra and the others alright? Aren’t they meant to be ahead of us?’

‘She should be a kilometre in front,’ Brim explained. ‘The mage-eaters aren’t stopping there, so I think they’re fine.’

‘Then the AAA have made contact with Rob’s battalion.’

‘It would seem so.’

‘Can we find out how far away?’

‘None of us can. That’s Syndra’s battalion’s speciality.’

‘We probably have time if they’re that far away that we can’t find out. Guess we need to meet up with Syndra and make sure we’re in position first,’ Gin ordered.

‘Understood. I’ll relay the information.’

It wasn’t long before the squadron resumed their journey. What had been an uneventful trek across the desert (bar Rob’s mutiny) was finally coming to a close. After so much travel, it felt satisfying to reach the final destination, even it was going to be the place where blood will be shed. Nothing special had happened during these final stages, so the plans to utilise the remaining thirteen-hundred members were almost set in stone.

The earlier feeling of awe died down as more mage-eaters flew over them. It didn’t stop Gin noticing glimpses of fear from the mages, however, as they flinched with each passing. When you’re no longer top of the food chain, you fear those above you, Gin thought. It was amazing how man had changed from the way they were described as fearless in books of the past.

Half a kilometre later, Gin could see tinoos flying in a circular shape ahead of him. Below them were the remaining squadron members. Most of them were sitting down, waiting anxiously.

One of the exceptions was Syndra who noticed the squadron first. She began storming towards them, meeting Gin’s battalion halfway. Her expression created a serious aura around her.

‘You’ve heard what I am, right?’ Gin said sternly, as he prepared to meet Syndra head on. He told the other leaders to let him handle it beforehand and to stay in the caravan. She probably wouldn’t listen to anyone but the man who caused the mess in the first place.

‘I don’t care. What’s our chances of winning?’ She snapped, her mood indicating that a decision was going to be made based on Gin’s response. It also surprised Gin at how quickly his question was brushed aside.

‘We have thirteen-hundred combatants. I’d say we dropped from a ninety percent to seventy percent chance of winning,’ Gin lied. In reality, it was fifty-fifty at full strength. It was significantly lower now and was dependant on a lot of factors.

Syndra sighed a sigh of relief. ‘Good,’ she said. It was as if Gin being a manush wasn’t a factor in her decision making.

A brief moment of silence prompted Gin to do his duty as leader, and get an information report from Syndra. ‘How is the other group doing?’

‘The second group is almost ready. We just need to hold out until then. It should take a day or so.’

‘And do you have news of Rob?’

‘My scouts have just returned. His battalion got wiped out, with no trace of Rob himself. The enemy suffered a few losses, but I wouldn’t put our hopes into that fact. You’ve seen the mage-eaters, right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘They stopped thirty kilometres from here. The enemy and Rob fought there. I couldn’t reach them in time, unfortunately,’ Syndra said, feelings of regret could be seen on her face. ‘I sent my familiar to keep track of the enemy. When she returns, we need to be ready.’

‘I see,’ Gin said, followed by another moment of awkward silence.

‘You’re not going to give a lecture on how we shouldn’t have a manush leader?’ Gin asked jokingly, though regretting raising the topic instantly.

‘I don’t have the liberty to start an argument at this point. It won’t do anyone any good. I’m running the moment things go against us though.’

‘Fair enough,’ Gin said. He could accept that response. He chuffed at the thought of how differently people reacted, despite being taught under the same system.

‘Hmm?’ Syndra queried.

‘It’s nothing,’ Gin waved away. ‘We should fill you in with our current plans. Join me in the caravan and we’ll discuss it with the other leaders.’

Syndra relayed the information to her battalion. Gin and the others went over them once more with theirs and with everyone filled in on the battle strategy, squadron W began their preparations.

The non-combatants and caravans were placed at the very back of the formation, away from any potential harm. The only thing they could hope to do was make sure the others had a good meal before they fought.

A couple hundred metres ahead of them was the artillery group, with the offence group at the forefront of it all. Each group was further divided into six by sixteen blocks. Dotted in between each block was a member from Syndra’s battalion, acting as messengers for everyone.

The formation was makeshift; the difference in ability, from one mage to their neighbour, was vast; the feelings towards their manush leader varied. The only thing that was uniform was that sense of unease. No one was confident. Was their training enough? Did they pick the right battle tactics? It was going to be decided within the next twenty-four hours.

Eyes were either looking ahead, or above at the tinoos the circled above them. It was a sign of comfort as it meant the enemy wasn’t close yet. But it also signalled the inevitable clash as the minutes turned into hours. The sky reddened as the sun began to set. It was only a matter of time.

Gin felt anxious. He knew how nervous everyone was, yet he was unable to anything. His lack of battle experience, combined with his status as a manush, prevented any morale-boosting techniques using mere words.

He also felt alone. The other leaders were in the other battalions behind him, and Sam was not even in the same block as him. He could feel the glares of those around him, as if he was an alien under examination. They expected him to do something, whether it was for good or for bad.

To calm himself down, Gin had a glance of his surroundings. In front of him was sand that sloped upwards, just like the emulated rooms back in the squadron’s Rezah. Either side of him were walls, over a hundred metres in height. They ran across the edges of The Path as far as the eyes could see. Their purpose was unknown to him. Gin made sure to make a mental note to find out once the battle was over (if he survives, that is).

Gin already had the blades and shields activated in preparation. Inside the blades were a capsule of oil, courtesy of Brim, which Gin was eager to try out. He had already created a mental command for the Xernim to react to. But, if it didn’t work, he could fall back on his normal blades.

Without warning, the atmosphere got tenser than usual. Eyes were locked onto a single tinoo that flew towards them. It gave a piercing screech before it joined the other tinoos. When it did, the tinoos changed their flying formation from a circle to an ellipse. It meant only one thing.

‘Enemies approaching!’

Gin tensed up. The call amplified his nervousness. He didn’t show it though. Even if he wasn’t trusted, he was still everyone’s battalion leader. Putting up a brave face was the bare minimum of the role. He needed to be fearless on the outside, even if his artificial heart jumped about in his chest, like a rabbit on caffeine. It wasn’t quite fear. It wasn’t quite excitement. It was a mixture of several emotions that blended into an unknown feeling.

Gin began to make out figures in the distance. The gentle slope of the land stopped him spotting them earlier, but now there was no mistaking it. The enemy was here. He wasn’t the only one who noticed as he could hear everyone’s whispers.

‘Concentrate!’ Gin commanded. The silence of one caused his neighbour to fall quiet, eventually silencing everyone in a ripple-like effect.

As the enemy got closer, Gin noticed they all had dark skin. Combined with the patterns on their skin, Gin had a good hunch on their classification. Whether they were ranged or melee was yet to be figured out, but Gin was cautious that no other type of mage was to be found. Was the AAA planning on fighting with just fire elementals?

Their numbers also felt off. In the briefing, he was told to expect the AAA to send close to five-thousand, but it looked like only half of that turned up. Gin was confident his estimation, so what was he missing? Did Rob’s battalion deal enough damage to reduce their numbers by this many? Gin could only hope that was the case.

The enemy stopped just under a kilometre away. The setting sun created a glistening effect on their arms. That changed when, in unison, they lit their arms ablaze. Each and every one of them pulled their hands back and let go.

The sky became filled with an orangey-yellow colour. Thousands of fireballs arced across it, heading towards squadron W. The distance they covered shocked Gin as he braced for impact. Was this the power of the higher ranked?

The artillery group sent fireballs of their own, along with waterballs to counter the enemy’s attack. However, it was futile. The enemy fire was too numerous. For every projectile squadron W sent, the amount they received was tenfold.

Gin covered his head with his shields. The barrage of fireballs crashed into his armour and shields. He couldn’t let up, else he risked receiving a fireball to the face. He had to grimace and hold on. The groans of his allies meant that they were doing the same.

But then they let up. The fireballs had stopped for a brief moment, allowing Gin to survey the situation. The enemy no longer had flaming limbs. The battlefield was now covered in blobs of flaming oil, that slowly died out. His allies weren’t hit - their armour prevented any major damage. But, even if their bodies weren’t damaged, they had a defeatist mentality. There wasn’t anything Gin could say to change that.

The artillery group stopped attacking themselves, putting everyone in a stalemate. The pause felt out of place. Gin knew the squadron couldn’t take initiative, but why did the AAA stop? The only thing Gin could think of was that the enemy was replenishing their oil reserves.

But Gin still couldn’t help feeling uneasy. His gut feeling denied that notion. He stared at the flames in front of him, searching for inspiration, revelations or divination. Anything will do! He searched the battlefield for anything out of the ordinary, getting nothing in return. Why couldn’t he see what the enemy was planning? Or was he just overthinking things?

Then it hit him. The flames were the answer. It was the reason the enemy had stopped attacking, or at least their fire elementals did. The truth was more alarming. They never stopped attacking. They were just making sure no one realised sooner.

Gin turned to the messenger in his block and gave a single order. ‘Tell everyone to stay where they are.’

The offence group was too scared of the situation to move anyway. However, Gin wanted to make sure no one followed. He wanted everyone to see. A rogue member would draw the attention of both the squadron and the AAA. If words wouldn’t work, then he would have to boost everyone’s morale through his actions.

Oil.

Gin outstretched his right arm, his Xernim entering the second chamber of his blade’s INS. The base of the INS spewed a clear liquid all over the blades with excess dripping to the floor.

Ignite.

The Xernims entered the third chamber and activated its mechanism. The blade burst into flames, using the liquid as fuel.

‘Thought so,’ Gin muttered to himself as he had a look ahead of him.

Gin ignited his other blade and got into his battle stance. He took a few steps to the side. His concentration was at its peak. He then threw a hurtling jab. Everyone thought Gin had gone mad. There was nothing in front him!

But it was as if time had stopped. Gin’s punch into the nothingness connected. What he pierced was still to be figured out, but it definitely connected.

Blood gushed onto his blades, like a river over a waterfall. It painted Gin’s Xernims and armour red, causing Gin to smile manically. His expression was directed slightly above him, as he drove the blade further into the wound he created. A body began to materialise around it, starting with the torso which soon formed into a fully visible human being.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Were you meant to be hidden?’ Gin taunted.

The enemy didn’t respond. He was already dead, either from the shock of being attacked, or from the wound itself.

Gin kicked his victim off the blade. The body collapsed to the ground, almost comically, like a ragdoll. Without looking back, within sight of both ally and enemy, Gin bellowed a single command.

‘They have stealth bestials! Look for the shadows and attack accordingly!’

Gin couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason he knew there were stealth bestials. It was a feeling of familiarity, as if he knew fire was a counter to them. Maybe it was also because the enemy stopped throwing fireballs their way. It didn’t matter in the end. It didn’t matter that Gin was a manush. It didn’t even matter that he was a Xernim user. What he had done was the undeniable fact that he had gotten first blood for the offence group; for squadron W; for Eurasia.

A sense of vigour emanated from the squadron. It wasn’t enough to dispel the nerves of the mages, but it was enough to give everyone a sense of belief. Their leader started it, and it was up to them to finish it. It was time for squadron W to show their worth.