Chapter 10

The Vengeful Blood of Ios

ARIEI

The thunderous sound of swift movement and grinding steel emits as soon as Liet raises her hand. An entire civilization arms itself in that brief moment. Everybody stands at the ready, suspended in a timeless second, waiting for the exact moment where another gesture will allow for further action. The emberstrand in the surrounding formation jump into combat. I level my coremag rifle and allow the cylinder to grind into place, aiming at a Centralian near the back of the phalanx, an anxious attempt to lower numbers before the melee brawl gets too ugly. Their numbers are low enough. If we can kill them now, there’ll be extra time to evacuate as many as we can before their reinforcements arrive.

Ten coremag shots ring out alongside mine. Even with the combined firepower of all of our riflemen, only two of the Centralians drop to the ground. The others are either lightly wounded or protected by their armor. Liet, being the closest to the Archion, takes a long step forward, her sword drawn. She’s extended it to its widest form in an attempt to defend herself from the Archion’s bizarre weapon. She levels it now, moving closer in random increments to throw the phalanx off balance. She dashes forward suddenly, bearing down on the formation. Her blade strikes the soldier at the front, slightly cracking the front of his armor from the impact. Small amounts of blood drip from the cracks, the fragmented metal piercing into the body. The man still stands, though the pain has caused his focus to falter.

As she levels her blade once more the Centralians in the back of the formation swarm out, heading directly for Gierant’s crew. My father rushes, keys in hand, and quickly starts to unlock their cuffs. The few that are freed by the time the attackers arrive draw their weapons against their former brethren. This betrayal is strong enough to return the bloodshed, even against their own society. I can’t help but respect that.

Gierant’s eidelion is still chained to his corpse. Nobody attempts to free it until one of Gierant’s men, using the current chaos to his advantage, rushes to his corpse, kneels for a moment as if in prayer, and then swings his curved blade at his former commander’s arm, severing the hand and freeing the chained beast. He removes the creature’s muzzle. Almost immediately the golden-haired beast leaps into the fray. It runs right to the front line, alongside Liet, and- after narrowly avoiding a swift attack- tackles a soldier at the front to the ground. Even their advanced armor can’t prevent four hundred pounds of muscle from bearing down on them. It clutches the man’s forearm in its sharp-toothed jaws, taking only a second to remove it entirely. The man emits a muffled scream from behind the helmet before a glowing claw tears through the armor of the neck and silences him entirely.

The soldiers start to circle in towards us. After freeing the remaining captives my father readies his rookclaws and steps to the front alongside Gierant’s men. I wouldn’t have thought to see this, but in crisis an ally of any form will do. As four Centralians move I start to aim again, timing the shot in my cylinder as I try to find an opening without wounding any emberstrand. I manage it, my bullet denting one of their helmets as he groans in pain. It changes his focus. He centers his gaze on me, moving forward. Shit. I don’t have enough time to prepare another shot- he must have thought the same. I don’t want to, but I start to reach from Braham’s blade. It’s hidden for a reason- it’s my last resort if things get too ugly, a final weapon only I know of. Luckily, Sism dodges forward, sweeping his blade at the soldier’s legs to catch him off balance before he can attack me. After he stumbles Sism attempts to slice along the opening on the armor’s midsection. His weapon is caught by the Centralian’s blade curve, and he swings it up and over to lock the blade towards the ground. Sism stumbles, but I take the opportunity to launch myself at the soldier, grabbing him by the arm and delivering swift punches under the helmet. The pain is intense as I hammer my fists against the underside of his steel head, but it’s enough of a distraction for Sism to grab his sword and thrust it through the armor’s opening just above the waist. The main gurgles under the helmet before falling to the ground.

As I regain my balance I turn to come face-to-face with another soldier. I dodge under his attack as another rifleman takes a shot, the fragments hitting him in the back. Our rounds are surprisingly effective against them as the random spray of shrapnel manages to land in between the moving armor pieces. I take a glance towards the lift as I dash into the center of the brawl in an attempt to make more of a distance between myself and the aggressor. Liet is struggling, dealing with three trained swordsmen at once. The Archion and his son turn towards the lift in the chaos. Liet attempts to catch him, but a soldier slashes her across the back while she’s distracted. It appears surface-level from the current distance, but it pauses her momentarily all the same. They manage to board the lift, the doors slowly closing as the ascent begins.

Shit.

I feel a tightening around my shoulder- then pain- as I am thrown to the ground. I land face-down and turn. I head a thunderous clang of metal-on-metal to my right. My father has beaten down my aggressor. He repeatedly beats the man’s chest in until the blades pierce through him. It takes me a moment to regain my composure from the shock of the swift occurrence. He looks at me, blood dotting his face.

“I thought I taught you not to daydream in the field.”

Despite the grimness of the current situation I manage a slight smile. He turns to the front of the battle.

“LIET! FALL BACK!”

She tries to get a few more swings in as she considers my father’s words, but she eventually decides to go along with it. As she turns and runs it takes a moment for the Centralians to give chase, but as she moves in with the formation we start moving as a unit. The eidelion follows suit. It’s either viewing us as companions to Gierant or as protectors to itself. We make it a few paces further, gaining enough distance, before Liet raises her hand once more, signaling to the snipers at the front line.

The sound is ear-splitting. The crack of thirty coremag rifles firing at once echoes throughout the cave, the volume rising exponentially as the fragments strike armor and rock at high velocity. With enough spread there’s no way Centralian armor can block every fragment. Every single remaining Centralian in the area besides two passes in that moment. The two that still stand are heavily wounded. It takes them a few moments before they fall to the ground. One is whining in pain. The other is silent.I get ready to take aim, but my father places a hand on my rifle, lowering it.

“They’re not a threat, Ariei. They have a chance for medical attention. If they do get it, they still won’t be able to fight.”

I don’t trust him, but I let the rifle fall regardless. Liet calls out.

“Has anybody been injured in the crossfire?”

Out of an entire civilization not a single person has been shot. It’s a miracle- we’d been terrified of injuring somebody in the initial fire. It’s difficult to get the exact measurements needed to avoid injuries with so many factors present. Unfortunately that relief turns to sorrow as I see the casualties on our side. We’ve lost seven emberstrand in the initial melee. The Centralians bit back hard. If there’s been this many casualties already then my worst assumption is already nearly inevitable- the civilians will have to fight. We all stare at the bodies.

We take a few more moments, standing solitary in the result of just a few minutes of fighting, before turning back towards the crowd. We can’t identify all of them- at least not yet. We have to tend to the unarmed first. They’re already moving, making their way into the sewage facility in an organized manner while they have a few moments of peace. The fear is palpable in the air as everybody processes the oncoming waves of dread in different ways. I move towards Liet.

“Commander. Where should I be?”

Before she can respond a middle-aged machinist approaches her. He holds a massive wrench in his right hand- clearly a weapon he’s more familiar with.

“My team has finished preparing the bombs around the tunnel. When do we set them off?”

Liet pauses for a moment. “As soon as you see more than five Centralians move close to the entrance. If you and the positioned emberstrand can’t hold them off, then. Even if it’s the last thing you do.”

The man nods. “Understood.” He returns to his engineering team a short distance away. From this distance I can tell that they’re the same bombs used in mining excavations for the city’s expansion- strong enough to do a fair amount of damage.I turn as the armed civilians are ordered to spread out and move up, filling in the empty space we left when we were moving Gierant and his men. I ask Liet a question that has been turning in my head since it originally appeared.

“Liet. The Archion mentioned Husks. Do you think he was referring to us? Or are those the intelligent eidelion?” The implications are haunting my mind.

She suddenly locks eyes with me, finally giving me her full focus, if even for just a moment.

“Ariei. We must not pollute our thoughts with questions about the nature of this war. We simply have to fight it. We’re going to be fine. I promise. I won’t let our people down, and that includes you.” She regains her composure. “I need you to go with the unarmed civilians and ensure they’re going through the passage uninterrupted. After all, besides me, you are the only one with knowledge of it. They are our first priority. Understood?”

She’s right. I shouldn’t let any other question permeate the current direness of our situation. I nod in response.

“Where are you going to be?”

She looks around. “I’m going to try and make these people into hunters.”

It takes me only a few moments to reach the area around the decline. A mass of people is moving through the tight space. Everybody is entirely focused on moving forward, and those that look back or consider stopping are forced forward by the tide. Children cry out of fear and confusion. I can’t imagine processing all of this at such a young age. Their entire lives have been turned upside down, and everything they know is being thrown out the window.

Certain civilians have been given small packages containing minute amounts of medical supplies, and even fewer- consisting of our few medical professionals and engineers- have been given the same masks we use to resist the Maw’s influence. They’re to be given out at their discretion, though there’s hardly enough for all of us. Everybody will have to work together to understand and subvert the conditions facing us.

I start to make my way through the crowd. There are a few emberstrand at the entrance of the decline, standing alongside the machinists in control of the bombs. Most let me through as they see my uniform, though it’s still a struggle. Eventually I move with the crowd as they slowly crawl forth.

“Bet you never expected to see a crowd this big waiting in line for the shitheater.”

I look around before my eyes find Sekra a few people to my side. As a few realize we recognize each other they move aside, letting us get closer. I wrap my arms around him.

“Sekra!”

He laughs, returning the hug. As we release he adjusts the bag slung across his shoulders.

“Cain’s pissed, you know. He kept complaining about how we were packing the medicine into the bags, so we obliged and made a box instead. He carried it for ten minutes before his opinion miraculously changed.”

I smirk. “Well, what if the bottles get blemished?”

He laughs before that welcoming glow dissipates slightly. “So it seems your theory about a hidden passage was true.”

“Yeah. It was. Liet and I found it last night.”

He turns to me as we keep moving down. “You’re bleeding.”

I look towards my right shoulder. My attacker must have been gripping me hard enough to cut.. Their gauntlets were fairly sharp. A fair amount of blood stains the fabric of my cloak.

“It’s fine-”

He ignores me and opens the bag, unrolling some of the valuable bandage material, tearing it.

“It’s going to get infected.”

He looks to me for approval. I sigh.

“Go ahead.”

I slip my right arm out of the cloak and pull the collar of my tunic aside, revealing four small flesh wounds. He pours a small amount of medicine into the wound before softly wrapping it. He ties it off, the blood seeping into the white bandages. He places the bandaged and medicine back into the back and closes it. I fix my uniform.

“...You know they’re going to search you for missing supplies if it runs out too swiftly.”

He shrugs. “It still went towards something important.”

He turns to me.

“...Are we going to be okay?”

I want to give him the same encouragement Liet tried to give me. I refuse to lie to Sekra, even if he needs it right now. He deserves to know the truth.

“I don’t know.”

He nods solemnly, placing the supplies back in the bag as the line moves forward.

We continue on for a short while, our forward momentum jostled awkwardly by the moving crowd. I decide to break the awkward silence between us.

“Have you seen Aaro?”

“She came to get me during the initial attack. I haven’t seen her since. I’m assuming she was with her family before they came down here. Her father is fighting.”

It’s no surprise- Aaro’s father may be an academic, but he still pitfights at night, even at his older age. I’ve always thought it a strange hobby; though I suppose it works to keep you in form as the years move on.

“Hopefully we can find her and regroup once everybody’s out.”

“Ariei…”

“Everybody is going to get out.”

We reach the point where the ground levels out, the opening to the facility revealing the large machinery around us. They’ve followed Liet’s instructions- the panel is already open, and a ladder has been erected to allow citizens through. We move forward in the line as another few start making their way up. I understand fully that I am refusing to follow Braham’s orders. I am a hypocrite to the core- refusing to let others know the contents of the letter while ignoring his wishes in ways that benefit others. My consciousness can’t be ignored- if I do that, then I'm no better than my father at his worst inclinations, no better than the Archion himself. I cannot let anyone else lose their lives to the forces beyond. The seven emberstrand we lost are a reminder of the failure I was a part of. I must stamp it out.

I watch as the first group crawls in. Lanterns full of esperstone are given to each party, the friction-generating base sparking the blue light that guides them upwards to safety. We wait for an acknowledgement of some sort of handhold or ladder. Eventually they respond: apparently the tunnel moves forward for quite a distance, before a small disguised lift exits the city and leads into the vast unknown. They return back down the tunnel, and after a few moments more climb in. The lines move swifter than we’d thought, as new parties momentarily embark on the lift. One mask goes with each group of fourteen. It’s assumed that the mask will be passed around in short intervals. This will helpfully preserve some semblance of protection, at least until enough groups can find makeshift shelter in the wilderness.

Suddenly, the groups stop moving.

The earth shakes unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, heaving in great gasps as dust flits into the air.

The lift hasn’t returned.

EDOM

When the first rumbling whines from the descending pods worm their way into my mind I am already partially shed of the weakness of my humanity. I’ve shed this skin before, and I must shed it again. The facade already fell partially when I agreed to send Xiren into combat in a bloodthirsty hunger for vengeance. I’ve expressed my regrets to Ariei. I intended to correct those regrets- to live in a state of personal awareness where I can protect instead of use.

I have already contradicted myself for what I perceive to be survival. I am nothing if not a hypocrite masquerading under the concept of the greater good, of worthy sacrifices. Countless people die instantly around me as dozens of pods fall from the cracked earth above us, raining down like the judgemental fires of the ever-watching Imperi and Iferit themselves. I wonder what reflects in the eyes of those cosmic twins as they witness us now. Do they acknowledge? Or are they those same masses of extraplanetary rock we always knew them as?

No. This is the reality I have concocted for myself. This is the reality that I have thrust the people of Ios into. I have created a realm of eternal punishment for myself, and now I have drug everybody around me into its depths. The Centralians can take my hell. They will not take my people.

I crush a man’s arm in my grip, the bone snapping as he screams. There is an arranged collection of armored bodies around me.

I am unaware of when the initial assault started and where my fight began.

The questions fade as I am slashed across the back, the curved sword digging slightly into my flesh before a rifleman’s fire leaves him a dead weight. I tug the handle and slide it out, the steel clattering to the ground. The stone below my feet has been stained with the blood of demons and innocents alike. The combined steam coming from each descended pod fills the ceiling above us, creating a palpable smog that stains every breath we take. There are so many Centralians; so many more than we could have possibly predicted.

But we could have, couldn’t we?

A loud crash draws my attention to Nis’s tavern. The ancient building has toppled over after a pod had been launched haphazardly through the center. The foundation has finally given out. Four snipers nestled on top have fallen in with the roof. It’s unlikely that they will survive. It will take only a short moment for the soldiers within to arrive.

I survey my immediate surroundings. There is a mass of foot soldiers in the near vicinity. There are numerous brawls breaking out between them and our civilians. A few emberstrand are rapidly approaching, rushing between buildings towards me in the center square.

“Edom!”

I start moving towards them. One of them spots the results of the carnage I’ve caused first.

“By the gods..”

The other ignores his shock, her eyes locked with mine.

“Edom. We don’t have much time to plan for this. We need to move and talk.”

It takes me a few moments to formulate words.

“Aesis. What was the spread?”

“What?”

“What was the spread of the pods? Do we know?”

She sighs.

“Everywhere, Edom. They must’ve memorized the layout of this place or used their technology or something. They’ve sent soldiers everywhere. The residential area, headquarters, the city. They aren’t just targeting where the battle occurred- they want the civilians too.”

We hear shouts as Centralians move out from the ruined side tavern to our left, dust and debris reducing the shine of their armor. I move ahead of the two emberstrand, sharpening my blades against my gauntlet as I move. I roar, rushing forward as I draw my fist back. I swing hard, catching the leader off-guard. I’m so fast that they don’t even react as the rookclaw pierces their throat, aimed in between panels of armor. One other reacts by taking a guarding stance and readying himself, while his ally swings horizontally at my less-protected side. I wrap my hand around the blade, catching it mid- swing, before delivering a punch to the guarded soldier. Of course he dodges the blow, leaving me stumbling towards the ground. As I fall I manage to rip the weapon free from the aggressor, allowing my comrades to tackle him to the ground. It’s awkward, messy as they fight against the moving armor, but eventually Aesis manages to gut him. The remaining squad member swings at me. In defense I guard with my rookclaw as I regain my balance. He feints below instead and manages to slash Midan, the male emberstrand, across the leg. He screams before returning the favor with a forward thrust, catching the defender’s armor off-guard and piercing him dead.

I kneel down over the boy. He is a recent recruit, earning his first expedition not much earlier than Ariei. He looks at me with a false confidence.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

I tear the fabric from his leg, revealing a deep gash. Blood gushes from the wound. The blade had been roughly raked across the flesh, widening and stretching it in the process. I inspect it further. I can see bone. He’s showing a shocking amount of stoicism, even with the pain he must be in.

“Please. Let me stand.”

I nod, moving behind him. Aesis and I help him to get to his feet. He winces, gritting his teeth as he moves.

“Fuck!”

He stumbles. I catch him before he falls. Sweat drips down his pale face.

“It’s okay, Midan. You don’t have to continue fighting.”

He turns his head, his smile fading.

“I have to.”

“No, you don’t. Calamity has already struck us. There’s no need to get yourself killed when what we need are survivors. Look around you. You’re one of the lucky ones. We’ll continue the fight in your stead.”

He opens his mouth to respond but eventually gives in. I take a small roll of field bandages from my belt and wrap the wound. We move him next to an uncollapsed building, hiding the wounded boy under a makeshift camouflage of rubble and ash.

“If anybody comes near, you close your eyes and pretend. Understood?”

He nods. “Thank you, Edom.”

I fake a smirk. “We’ll take their lives before they take ours. I promise you.”

I turn away, moving forward towards the lift’s location.

Aesis catches up to me.

“Edom. He’ll be fine, right?”

I start to notice the reduced rate of coremag rifle fire.

“Edom?”

“He needed medicine.”

“...Understood.”

I sigh.

“He needed medicine, and we sent it away.”

She seems perplexed, her stance shifting slightly.

“Why are you focusing on that aspect? We knew the risks going into this. We sent the medicine with the civilians. They’re leaving first, and that means that they need it more.”

“Because, Aesis, we made that decision. Liet and I. His death was our doing. Everything around us- every bit of this catastrophe is our doing. We knew the risks going in. We took them.”

She crosses her arms.

“And? You made an important decision. I stand behind it- Midan did as well. We’re willing to die for that cause. What’s changed on your end?”

I keep walking, keeping myself alert.

“That’s the thing. Nothing can change. No matter what we do, where we explore, what we fortify. The preparations we make. The people we form connections with. We’ve tried to take leaps forward- we always have. Now it’s all being torn down, even with the risks we’ve taken. In the end, we will always be running.”

She moves with me, silently at first. Then she speaks, breaking through the sounds of war around us.

“Sure, Edom. Maybe we will always be running. Perhaps we’ll always be the prey to something larger. But you seem to be forgetting one important aspect of that.”

I turn to her. She smiles.

“The cornered beast will always bite back, even as death approaches.”

ARIEI

A loud thud comes from the tunnel, championed on by faraway chants in a foreign language. Screams emanate from the tunnel as scattershot footsteps thunder closer and closer then grow silent. It takes barely a second for panic to set into the room. Some start moving back up the incline, while others linger in tension. A few of those that stay look into the abyss of the tunnel, their curiosity unrewarded. The reward comes when a flash fills the room, a question answered as a man falls out of the tunnel, blood streaming from the entrance like a leaky pipe.

He is severed at the waist.

Panic strikes everyone. After a short moment only roughly a dozen remain, all grabbing makeshift weapons in the room like replacement pipes and small tools. I rush to the front, taking my rifle in hand and leveling it. I hold my breath. Sekra stands behind me. He refuses to ascend like the others.

I allow my focus to slip and turn to him.

“Sekra, go!”

He shakes his head, gripping a thick metal tool that hangs on the wall.

I look at him, then turn back to the tunnel. I hold my breath once more.

A monster emerges from the tunnel. It’s larger than any man should be- eight feet tall at least. The arms come first, thick and muscular, clad in thick steel armor with golden indented decoration that swirls and twists in ivy-like grace and sit amongst decorative gold panels. Similar to Geirant’s uniform, two pauldrons sit atop the shoulders with small flag-like decorations bearing the golden sigil of Centralis draping beneath them. The hand is completely covered and fully accentuated. The edges of the tunnel bend as it grips the sturdy frame, gaining leverage to bend. As the head emerges I can identify that it’s almost entirely featureless. The helmet is all-encompassing. Thick panels of armor accentuate the face, going from the neck and chin up to the eyes, where two slots allow for sight.

I aim for those slots and fire, trying not to scream and throw my accuracy off.

The scatter misses, each fragment bouncing off of the mask without a dent. The beast gazes.

The others in the room move forward in a vain assault, bravely swinging their tools.

It’s no use. The reinforced armor absorbs every single attack, the beast steady without care. It simply swings its arm, breaking the few in the immediate area. The others turn and run up the incline.

I trigger the cylinder, letting it roll into place slowly. I try to get my feet to work. It reaches one of its hands out of the tunnel. A strange mechanism is bound to the outer wrist, a labyrinthine tangle of machinery and tubing that whine and hisses as the hand moves. There are three barrels at the end- two longer barrels and a short, wide one in the center.

I manage to move, ducking just as it fires off. Three bolts fire out. Somehow they manage to pierce into the metal of the wall behind me. I hear a short whine, before an explosion throws me forward and deafens me. The blast is small but effective. A piece of shrapnel is in my back. It stings, though it seems small and shallow. One of the tubes of the treatment device has burst, sending hot steam into the room.

Sekra.

I look behind me, searching for him. He’s on the ground, trying to push himself up with his right arm. I can tell that he’s screaming.

His left arm is missing.

I stumble to my feet. My entire body is aching. The beast moves its arm behind its back, waits for a moment, and levels it back out. I run as fast as I can, shielding Sekra. I level my rifle. I can’t miss this time.

I don’t.

One of the fragments manages to pierce through the helmet, blood bubbling down from the slit. I get my arm under Sekra and move him to his feet. He’s trying to open the medical bag. I unclasp it for him. He points to a small injector in a deep pocket. I grab it, opening it with my thumb just as I watched him do the day prior, and jab it into the stump as the blood runs warm over my gloved hand. He doesn’t even wince- this is nothing compared to the damage. He’s trying to say something. I manage to make it out by reading his lips.

Run.

I turn around. The beast clad in armor is moving again, clearly recovering from the blinded eye. I move with Sekra, slowly ascending the hill. I remember the engineers. I shout, shout as loud as I can.

Don’t trigger the bombs. We’re still down here.

I can feel the rumble of mechanized feet behind us. I can feel the heat from the steam start to dissipate. I can see the others. A few emberstrand have started running down in an attempt to see what the commotion is. I scream at them to turn back. They see us. One of them dashes ahead and helps me move Sekra. I still can’t hear them. It feels like this passageway is endless. Finally. I can see the city’s lights guiding us.

There is fighting above. The sounds of futile combat fill the air as my ears slowly start to recover. We reach the opening, revealing the full scope of the battle to us. Just as the original few pods left a few small holes in the city’s ceiling, the current bombardment has reduced the security and protection from weather it presented to nothing. Rubble has crushed many of the buildings, replacing them with the firm metal cables the pods arrived on. The fight is raging in the city just ahead of us, and now the unarmed civilians- men, women and children- are exposed in the open. The lift is there, our only escape, lost behind a wall of troops and surveillance above. If the fight spills over towards us, every single one of them will die. I lead Sekra to a civilian medic. The emberstrand ready their weapons, clearly having heard the sounds coming from below. I run to the decline.

“Get out, now! We have to run!”

The man closest to me speaks while aiming into the darkness below.

“What is it?!”

I ignore him.

“We have to trigger the bombs. Now.”

They look at each other before rushing away. I move with them, the civilians following suit. Sekra is trying to keep up as he’s supported by the medic. One of the engineers remotely triggers the bombs. I can see the crest of a helmet peek out of the darkness. The bloodied eye taunts me before the bombs trigger, defeaning me again and collapsing the entrance to the decline on top of it.

Everyone is momentarily distracted by the extreme volume of the detonation. I try to take deep breaths but my anxiety prevents me from doing so. All of my senses are firing in one extended moment of panic. Everybody is frozen in place. If everything that has happened so far was a chaotic yet structured plan of defense, what happened now is a destruction of any semblance of that plan. Everybody is trapped here. I had already implanted the idea that I may die, but the sacrificial element of it has faded. Every last one of us will die.

I can’t let it happen.

I realize now, in this moment, that Braham was only partially right. I followed the steps he gave me, for the most part. He knew enough. But he didn’t know everything- not exactly. I’d thought the calamity would come five days after reading that damned letter.

He’d said within.

It’s here.

I raise my voice, trying to make an impact amongst the chaotic soundscape surrounding us.

“Who amongst you has anything that can be used as a weapon?”

The majority of them ignore me, arguing or worrying amongst themselves. A handful- including the emberstrand- hear me. Some start searching themselves, others begin to fabricate makeshift weaponry. At the end of the initial process I have thirty with the most basic of combat tools- a few knives, some blunt objects, sharp jewelry. The male emberstrand nods, and starts to move through the crowd, asking the same question more directly. The other moves closer.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

I nod sternly.

“It’s the last chance for them.”

I hear screaming coming from a short distance away. It’s Sekra.

EDOM

Blood stains my uniform, fresh droplets running down my armor as a Centralian is killed from behind by a civilian rifleman. I throw the freshly dead body to the side, inching forward as I move slowly towards the lift. The fight has coalesced into a bloody mass. I can no longer tell where any order can be made. Everything is pain and chaos and death. The only constant is that we are losing. That is all I truly know. I hear an explosion from the north side of the city. Something has burst.

A third fall of pods has crashed through the ceiling. They land in destructive impacts like thick raindrops on soft earth. They are indiscerning in their destination. They settle where they can, just outside of the brawl, replacing the innermost buildings of the city circle. The last of our snipers are lost- at least, those who decided to remain above. Many have fled downwards in the chaos, taking part in the same mass of violence everyone else is trapped in.

Aesis thrusts her fragmentation dagger repeatedly into a Centralian soldier’s stomach, the thin metal spikes left behind poisoned with berries from the surface. She pushes him down. If he isn’t dead already he will be soon. She drags the weapon across the belt slung over her shoulder, new magnetic spikes affixing themselves to the knife. She turns, squeezing past a civilian to slit the throat of a Centralian not checking his back. I hear the soft crackle of fire: our vastinroot harvesting station has been lit ablaze. I turn to see a new squad, freshly emerging from their pods, carrying torches. They have started with our food supply, and now they move towards our vines and flowers, hoping to cut off our medicine as well. As the smoke starts to fill the space they appear emotionless, stoic, the flames illuminating them as though they were creatures pulled hazily from the memories of an old children’s tale.

The sound of swift steel alerts me. I turn to see Liet shove Aesis to the side, saving her from an unseen assailant before catching his neck in the separation between her blade and closing it. The head falls to the round, becoming another piece of the chaotic terrain that forms beneath our feet. It clears the inner circle for us. She claps me on the shoulder.

“Edom.”

I’m distracted. A massive gash lines the right side of her face. Her left eye is swollen shut. Blood stains her cape.

“Edom!”

I snap out of it.

“Liet.”

Her eyes narrow.

“The lift. We need to make our way to the lift, Edom.”

I can’t seriously consider the value of the maneuver. It’s a suicide rush. We’d be moving right into the line of fire of the loftfort- or, more likely, multiple. After all, there wouldn’t have been enough room for the masses of soldiers and transport pods on one.

“No. Do you know how many people will die?! We’re throwing our people into the grinder to get there, and we’ll be throwing more in when we reach the surface. It’s foolish.”

She glares at me.

“Edom. The explosion. That was the escape tunnel.”

My breath catches in my throat.

“What?”

“Nobody left. Those that tried were killed before they ascended. Yirem informed me.”

I try to move closer, but am locked stationary in the scuffle.

“ARIEI. Is she safe?”

“Get a grip, Edom. I don’t know- do you think we had time to discuss?”

We’re being jostled by the chaos around us. She pauses to deliver one last command.

“The lift. We have to fight to the lift. It’s the last chance.”

I know what she means.

This is the last chance.

Not for us. But for any of us.

Ariei

As the unarmed civilians prepare themselves I move to the back of the group, searching for the medic taking care of Sekra. She’s set him on the ground, placed onto a stretcher. I kneel over him.

“How is he?”

“He’s passed out. The medicine stabilized him, but the blood loss was heavy. We don’t have time.I had to give him some slag and cauterize the wound.”

I look at the stump. It’s been roughly attended to, stained bandages roughly bound over the wound. She’s placing the still-hot torch back into her bag. Sekra is covered in sweat, his face twitching as he lies motionless. The nurse sighs.

“Look, I know I'm not in charge of things here. But I am a professional. If we’re moving forward with your plan we might have to leave him behind.”

I jump to my feet.

“What?!”

“I’m saying, if you intend to throw us towards the lift in a bid to get out, then we can’t have two of us carrying somebody on a stretcher. We need everyone on their feet and ready to fight. It’ll be dangerous, not just for those carrying him, but for everyone around him.”

In a brief instant I am angry. No. I must save that rage for others.

I kneel down. I take my cape off and start shredding it, using a utility knife to cut it into lengthy strips. I run them around the stretcher, firmly fastening Sekra in place. I loop one last strip around the top end of the stretcher, which I tie to the weapon holster wound around my shoulders.

“What are you doing-”

“I’ll carry him.”

She grabs my shoulder before I can move.

“You’re going to lead the charge while carrying him at the same time?”

I nod. She waits, before snatching the handle out of my hands with a sigh.

“You have a more important job to do. Just make sure you make this count.”

It takes me a moment to reach full appreciation for what just happened. This person- whom I’ve never met- has directly weighed the risks of taking on such a duty to me, and, in response to my dedication, had decided to put herself in danger. She’s taking my burden for me.

I stop her.

“What’s your name?”

She displays a half-smirk.

“Sirheyne.”

I respond, though the words are shaky.

“Thank you, Sirheyne.”

Edom

We move on in an unstoppable stampede shortly after ensuring those enemies trapped in our center are dead. We have become one, displaying our fury in a bloody wave as we collide with the first troop in our path. It’s awkward- being funneled down the central main street in this way gifts those at the front with an increased level of importance, with those in the center reaching for any level of effectiveness and leaving those in the rear to rest and anxiously anticipate the coming battle.

The brawl grows chaotic as one of the centralians is taken hold of, the crowd swallowing him and sending him directly into our stomach. As he enters we begin hacking away, both emberstrand and civilian, before the last few blows leave him either unconscious or dead. The other enemy soldiers hold their ground, gathering in number. A few civilians in the front are cut down. We push, hoping that, missing one, their line can simply be trampled.

Success.

We rush over them, our legs pinning them down, our fists and blades and rifles slowly, slowly wearing them away even as they cut us down.

We move on.

ARIEI

Sirheyne notices first, her head turning halfway, her eyes growing wide.

“They see us.”

I turn to look in her direction.

A squad of centralian soldiers is shouting amongst each other in the commontongue, pointing towards our location. I move towards the front of the gathering. I turn to the crowd, but cannot think of any inspirational declaration to make. I settle for instructions.

“We will take the front line. Any with bladed weapons, move to the front, with me.”

I wait for them to move themselves. A majority of those meeting my criteria follow my command. A few hide behind. It is understandable.

The centralians move closer.

“Any with objects to use, move behind them.”

Again, I wait. People are getting the message. The last citizens fall behind in this bizarre formation I have created. My fellow emberstrand do not object.

“We will get through this. I assure all of you. Just follow each other, follow us, and keep the home, the people, the lives they are taking from you in mind. This is your chance to survive what they plan for you. This is your escape.”

I hear mutterings that turn to speech that turn to shouts from the crowd.

I turn.

I run.

I forgo the rifle. It only has one shell left. I reach down to my belt, unhook the clasp, and retrieve the gift Braham has given me. I extend the blade. I feel its heat sing to me. As the segments build themselves onto the weapon I feel each minute impact, hear each screech of steel. I hear thundering footsteps behind me, the mud getting kicked up with each person I'm responsible for. I rush forward, duck under a swinging blade, and slice at the knees of my assailant.

The blade bursts with energy upon the impact, slicing through a portion of the armor- not all of it, but most of the panel. The brief segment that is unprotected by the moving machinery starts to bleed profusely, the leftover skin visible through the mesh underarmor blistering from the burn the attack has created.

The man gasps, then yelps in pain, the sound muffled by the helmet. Although it was just a small cut, heat always has more of an effect. My lower attack has left me open. The man knees me in the chest with his other leg, the steel armor presenting enough force to knock me to the ground. I shuffle away as he winds another attack, before the female emberstrand runs forward and releases an entire shell into his neck. The armor has no way to effectively protect everything, allowing a fragment to pierce his neck.

It’s not enough.

Though this soldier falls, she has neglected the presence of another to her right.

She tried to protect me.

He thrusts his blade through her stomach. She stands, held aloft by it, blood dribbling from her mouth, before he pulls it back. Reinforcements come, some bearing torches. I try to clamber to my feet. I want to run over to her, to console her, to apologize for what I've done to her.

I cannot. She is dying in the dirt.

Instead I dash towards the nearest centralian and start swinging wildly. The first swipe makes a firm indent into his chest armor. The second misses as he moves aside. A few civilians are moving forward now. A man swings a butcher knife at him, aiding me in my foolish duel. He seems to have practice- he is far more gentle, graceful in this battle. I swing again, cutting deeper into the soldier’s chest. He moves back. The man with the knife watches as the armor shifts from my blow, opening up the stomach. He thrusts the knife through the small chink, pushing the man to the ground. The outreaching hands of the crowd pull the stabbed centralian closer, hoping to prevent his return.

The man pulls another knife out of his coat. He keeps moving forward. I have lost track of the other emberstrand. He is either dead, or has coalesced into the crowd. Some of those in the front have gained the confidence to step forward themselves. Men and women, ranging from late teens to early fifties, move together with whatever they have. Some have basic machinery, others statues and keepsakes, cutlery, tools. One man simply hobbles along, having wrapped his cane with a handkerchief and igniting it to create a makeshift torch.

The rest of the squad draws near.

EDOM

More fall. It happens in the front. We keep stepping over their corpses. Which side they belong to, we do not know. We are moving in a constant flow. We cannot stop now.

More move to the front. The numbers are endless. How many squads has it been? Three? Four?

It doesn’t matter.

The lift.

It’s so close.

ARIEI

The clash in the center of us is unlike anything I could have predicted. It’s entirely unlike yesterday. The intelligent beasts were able to coordinate, yes, but they were still animals. They could be distracted. They could be predicted. This is something else.

The centralians take their stance, move in their defensive positions they so often do. The others are the exact opposite. There is no order- how could they be?

They aren’t fighting.

They are consuming.

This is the face of our rage. This is the result of what the centralians have done.

I start to panic. My breathing is fast. I feel faint. I can’t take any more of this- any more of what’s happened in these few days. Braham has misled me. He didn’t have the answer. There was no escape route. We won’t leave safely. The only thing he has left me is this cruel weapon.

No.

The time for fear and doubt has passed.

My people are animals.

I must become one myself.

I shorten the blade a few segments, leaving four in the blade’s length.

I need the extra space to move faster.

I grip the blade.

I become a bullet.

I gain momentum, first sprinting, then throwing myself forward. I bull-charge an already distracted centralian and knock him off balance. I thrust and swing, slicing dents into his armor, into his body, into him. He chokes on his own blood as I cut and cut and cu-

Pain stripes up my back. A new pain. I do not care. I haven’t even removed the shrapnel from my back yet. I turn, bringing my sword around in a forceful motion. The attacker blocks, but just barely. His sword has been partially cut through. He’s lost grip of his blade, but quickly grabs it in his other hand.

Too late.

I slice up towards his chin. The heat slices through the base of his helmet, slicing his lower jaw in half. I hear a gurgling scream. It attracts an ally, who is quickly tackled by three civilians. I finish the job, my blade stabbing its way through his head vertically.

I understand what my father feels.

I am still here

My side. Screaming.

It’s just pain.

I deliver the same.

They still move. Their forward momentum is unending. My fellow people understand me. We speak in the same rhythm, in the same space of time.

EDOM

The space of time feels unending. We are almost there.

Even if there are only a few of us remaining, we are almost there.

My rookclaws are dented and broken.

I still kill all the same.

I am one with my people.

ARIEI

I am one with them.

The battle has become chaotic. I search for gleaming armor and, momentarily, am disappointed. I soon realize that it is still there- my fellow Iosians are simply in front of them.

I join, thrusting forward around them. Another falls.

Then another.

It feels as though we are winning. It is only one squad, yet it feels unending. Or is it two? I feel somebody grab my shoulder.

I turn, swinging.

The foe catches my han-

“Ariei.”

I pull back, regaining grip, before starting to bring it back dow-

I stop.

“Ariei! It’s done!”

It takes me a moment to regain a semblance of sense. My hands are covered in cuts, coated in blood- mine and the enemy's. My uniform is disgusting, covered in dust and mud and viscera, cut and ruined. The heat from the blade fills the immediate area. I have to let my eyes stop darting around, to let them focus on the soft face in front of me.

“Aaro.”

She’s crying, the tears leaving strange markings where they wash the dirt away. I hadn’t even noticed her in the crowd. I try to read the expression on her face.

She’s afraid. Of me.

EDOM

The lift is so close.

I see them. The leftover civilians, just past the end of the central street.

There are barely any left.

There, in the front. Ariei.

They’re safe.

Just a few more ahead.

Just a few more.

ARIEI

She embraces me. I hug back. She’s sobbing. I grip her tightly. As I do so, I take time to survey my surroundings.

With all of our efforts combined, we have managed to kill the squad. I can count around twenty centralian bodies in the immediate area, though there are more strewn about in the near distance.

The pain in my back is getting unbearable now that the adrenaline has worn off. It runs from my shoulder down past the horizontal cut just under my upper torso. It burns, then pulses in slow, agonizing waves. I breathe in heavy gasps, my clothes sopping wet with blood and sweat.

There are barely any of us still here. The majority went down in the brawl. There are maybe fifty of us left, all in similar states of mental confusion and dazed comprehension. The ground is wet with blood and viscera. The city has become a cemetery. It has left nobody behind- men, women, children. All victims of this senseless act.

I momentarily forget that Aaro is safe. I release her, looking into her eyes.

“Where were you?”

She wipes her eyes, smearing dust in the same motion.

“I was looking for my father. He- he’d promised me he wouldn’t fight, that he would stay with me. I had to learn from Sekra that he’d decided to volunteer. Ariei, h- he might be d-”

I pull her back into my embrace, leaving the blood of many behind.

“No, Aaro. No. He’ll be okay. We’ll all be okay…”

I hear screams a short distance away. I parse the visual between the rubble and crumbling constructions.

The last of our warriors.

They’re almost here.

EDOM

The last few are always the strongest. The struggle for survival emboldens those of the pride left to fend for themselves. This is no different for humanity.

I rush to the front of the tiny group, shoving those in front aside. I deliver a final blow to the center-facing Centralian, my broken blades finally shattering with the impact. One remains in the centralian’s helmet as he drops dead, the others flying in random directions and landing, dull and damaged, on the stone ground.

One to my left bashes my face with the hilt of his sword. It catches me off guard, breaking my nose and allowing the other remaining centralian to ready a thrust.

It works.

I can’t move in time.

The hooked blade stabs through my stomach, coming out the other end. I scream. It hurts, even with shock dulling the blow.

It’s frustrating. This was such a simple mistake.

I will have to make up for it.

Aesis has come to the rescue. She’s rapidly stabbing the centralian, trying to get past the moving armor as the man dodges and weaves her attacks. Eventually he gets too close to the edge of the mass. Arms grip him tightly, allowing her to deliver her own thrust to the stomach.

I try to contend with the final enemy. It’s simple this time.

He turns and runs towards the lift.

There are more here. That’s obvious.

But they are far away enough to make an attempt.

We can leave.

I will not make it.

But I can help Ariei live. That’s all I can do for her now.

ARIEI

They’re here.

A collection of damaged, worn people, held together by the will to survive.

More of the same.

They move towards the lift, some running, some walking.

Somebody calls out.

“We can leave! They made it!”

I start to move before I can even think. Aaro clumsily starts to follow along.

EDOM

The centralian runs as fast as he can towards the lift. They intend to trap us here. I look for any rifleman with us. None have any rounds left.

He falls to the ground after a loud crack. We keep moving as I look for who did it.

Xiren is shaking. She’s covered in wounds and dirt. Ciern’s tavern lies in ruins to the left. How has she survived this long?

She triggers the drum and fires another round into the man’s corpse. She’s sobbing. She falls to the ground, her energy spent.

As we move past somebody splits off from the group to check on her. We keep moving.

Liet grabs my shoulder.

“Edom, you need to stop. You’re going to die.”

I smile and respond with a gruff laugh that sends pain shooting through my body.

“I’m dying anyways, Liet.”

Her expression softens. My friend.

“Fine, Edom. Do what you always do- play tough. There’s no need to do it in pain. Slow down. We can give you medicine.”

I ignore her.

It’s so close. The construction is still beautiful, despite the new coremag fragment holes presenting their own unique blemishes. This will be the first time a majority of these people will be on the surface.

I turn to the civilians. To Ariei. They’re on their way. There’s enough of us to survive. Almost the entirety of our civilization is either dead or trapped somewhere under rubble. But this? We can rebuild with what we have. We can do i-

The lift starts moving. None of us have touched the lever.

Somebody above has.

They know.

I scream. I beat the lift doors and scream.

ARIEI

The lift is moving.

More are coming down.

I turn, looking in every direction for some sort of alternative action.

There is nowhere to go.

The escape route is destroyed. The vastinroot gardens are burning. The city is decimated. Going back towards the guild’s base or the council grounds is a dead end.

I hear that dreaded fucking whine. The same one that haunted us in the chamber of council just two days ago. It is a signal crafted by death himself.

The ceiling starts to shake. It’s a cruel joke at this point.

Four collisions. Four larger pods.

The few of us left remaining huddle together.. I get Aaro behind me and back her into the center of the crowd. We start inching our way towards the armed civilians.

The pods squeal and open.

Inside are massive, hulking beasts of steel, identical to the one that destroyed our escape tunnel.

Four of them on the outside.

More soldiers coming down the lift.

The initial assault was an attempt to thin us down.

This is the killing blow.

They have circled us.

EDOM

I turn in horror to see what they have delivered us.

They can’t be human.

Their scale is mind-boggling. Hulking masses of muscle bound in an exoskeleton of steel. They draw closer. They’re penning us in. The lift starts its slow descent now.

We move away from it. We need as much room as we can get. We reach the others as the massive centralians draw closer, their weapons aimed.

ARIEI

When I see my father I can barely form a thought. He’s been run through, the blade still jutting through his front, blood pouring slowly from the wound. He’s pale. His confidence has wavered.

He sees me and smiles, his eyes distant.

“Ariei. My child.”

I move close to him, tears forming in my eyes. He looks around. He sees Aaro. He sees Sekra, tied to a board, unconscious. He sees the condition I'm in. How he still views me as myself, I don’t know.

Everybody here has started to accept what’s to come. Some are breaking down, sobbing. Some are terrified. Others are calm, or are laughing to spite the world around them. I think my father just seems to be happy that we lasted this long.

The doors open.

There is a full squad of twelve centralians gathered there. They step out, weapons pointed, and start moving towards the group. Along with them, standing together calmly at the back of the lift, is the Archion and his son. They disembark, moving slowly in their regal wear.

A few citizens try to run in a last chance for assault- or in a manner of suicide. Which is which, I cannot tell. They fall to the ground immediately. The crowd is thunderous. A man moves towards the closest centralian soldier and spits on him, cursing the ground he walks on. Liet remains steady. I look into her eyes. They dart the area ahead rapidly. She’s looking for an opening.

My father smiles. He grabs my hand.

“I’m sorry, Ariei.”

“F-for what?”

“For all of the hell I have brought you.”

I tense up.

“Don’t apologize. I forgive you, for everything. I’ve already forgiven you.”

He smirks and shakes his head.

“It’s alright, Ariei. Your forgiveness won’t make me free from what I’ve done. I will make things alright.”

He starts walking forward. I grab his cloak.

“FATHER, WAIT-”

He turns, giving me a soft, genuine smile.

“I love you. I have always loved you. Just as I did Elias, and Silia. I’m sorry I never showed you enough.”

He moves, wounded, bleeding towards the Archion.

My feet are frozen in place. It’s suicide. I can’t let this happen.

I run towards him. Aaro tries to grab my arm, but I slip past. Liet breaks from her focus and follows.

As he gets closer the centralians gather around the Archion, weapons pointed. He speaks.

“Stand down. There’s nothing to gain from foolishness now. That should be obvious.”

He points to my father’s wound.

“The sands of time are running out. You have- at most- an hour to live. Spend that time. It’s all you have left.”

My father laughs, somehow soft and ragged at once, as his heavy footfalls draw him closer.

The Archion remains uncaring, cold.

“This is your last warning, hunter. You will die.”

I move behind my last family.

“NO!”

The Archion looks at my father, ignoring my plea.

“So be it. A duel then. What is your name?”

My father doesn’t hear it. He has become a hungry animal.

The Archion steps past his soldiers.

“I need your name if you wish for a duel. It’s to honor your bravery in death.”

My father’s gauntlets are open, the fingers twitching. There are no blades left. Blood seeps through the cracks as bloodied knuckles weep.

Liet tries to get through to him.

“EDO-”

I interrupt, bashing myself against the nearest soldier in the ring.

“NOO!”

The Archion nods to him.

“To the ground.”

He removes a knife from behind his armor and moves towards me. I swing my fists, but they have little impact anymore. They are numb, my arms aching. He easily shoves me to the ground. My blade clatters across the ground, just out of reach. I try to fight back, I try everything, but I have grown weaker from exhaustion. His grip is iron, holding me down. My father is gone. He has lost his mind.

If everything will be lost, then he will end the life of the man that took everything from him.

The soldier calls to his leader.

“Shall I end it, my Archion?”

He shakes his head.

“No. I have sympathy for her. Her father is strong. He stands. He does not fear his death. This family does not fall prey to the Great Burden. She will be spared.”

“But they are Husks-”

“Not them.”

The strange words mean nothing to me now. I struggle, fight as best as I can.

The soldiers form a ring, their blades still held at the ready. The Archion moves forward, his bizarre blade drawn, steam rising from the strange weapon. The links in the metal move softly, twitching in anticipation. He levels it forward.

“I am Meilios Sarhvan, Archion of Centralis, of the Seven Pillars of Cistria. I will give you one last chance to name yourself.”

My father’s face contorts into a mad smile.

He takes several steps forward.

“NO! NO!”

I struggle under the man’s grasp.

I swing my elbow up, colliding with his helmet. It gives him pause, the weight over me budging slightly. It’s not enough. He groans, immediately slamming my face into the ground.

It doesn’t hurt. It simply gives me more strength.

I watch as my father, the gap decreasing between him and his foe, leans his head back. He spits blood into the ground, the thick drop mixing with the rest of the red ocean. The Archion readies himself.

He is not ready enough.

My father has become an animal.

He growls, lunging at the man. The Archion swings his blade and allows it to curve slightly, aiming for the left wrist. My father raises his gauntlet, letting it wrap around. The serrated blade moves in opposite directions across the thin membrane, grinding away at the gauntlet as though the edges were indestructible. My father screams as it starts to grind to the skin before he grips the sword with his other gauntleted hand and begins to tear down. He screams, tugging again and again, before a few segments start to break and fall off in their freshly made indentation, dulling their edges. Those that are wrapped around the glove have bent slightly. My father removes the left gauntlet as the Archion pulls his blade back, snapping everything back into place.

My father takes the opportunity to barrel into the Archion, swinging at his face with the remaining gauntlet. He moves his head to the left, dodging the blow, returning with a strike to the side with his right arm. It collides with my father, knocking him off-stance. The Archion raises his weapon, ready to swing it down, when my father retorts by focusing his weight to the falling direction and swinging heavily in a colossal, risky blow.

It lands.

The Archion is hit in the stomach with a swift fistful of steel. He coughs, groans, as my father manages to regain his footing, using the punch as leverage. He delivers another blow- one to the face- leaving small cuts in the face as it collides with the nose, a geyser of blood pouring from the now-crooked detail.

He’s stunned. The normally stoic presentation has faded to become a strange mixture of shock and joyous determination. He smiles, the crimson still falling from his sharp features as he levels his blade.

“You should be honored. It’s no small feat to land more than one blow on me, let alone with a blade through your abdomen.”

My father pays the comment no mind. He’s sweating, his clothing stained with his own blood. He’s getting paler by the second. I scream, scream at him to stop, that it’s pointless. He will not listen. This is all that he wants now.

I can see something change in him after he shudders momentarily. Whether it’s from pain or anxiety I cannot tell. Any expression falls from his face.

He barrels ahead, head low.

The Archion swings the blade to the side.

My father doesn’t care.

It hits him, landing in my father’s side, cutting between ribs. My father’s breath grows random, strange, strained.

I scream. I struggle and fight and scream.

I succeed.

I manage to knock a hand aside, giving me leverage to beat the assailant off of me. I manage to roll over, leaning over him as I deliver blow after blow to his helmet, my hands bruising as my knuckles start to peel. I manage to knock the panels aside enough to make a larger eye opening. I jam my thumb into the right eye, applying pressure as the guard screams. Two of the other guards manage to knock me off. I start to get up again before one of them draws a knife, steps on my left arm, and jams the knife through my hand. The heated blade slowly slides through the ground, pinning me there.

I don’t care about the pain. It’s agonizing, of course. I can smell burning flesh, and can hear the shock of the few people around me. I don’t care.

My eyes are locked on the result of the duel.

My father can’t breathe. He falls to his knees, then tries to get up, before his strength fails him. I scream to him. I scream his name.

The Archion nods.

“Thank you for the duel. Truly. You fought bravely. Your people fought bravely.”

He smiles softly, almost kindly.

“Your people, their strength, their sacrifice. It will be remembered.”

He turns. His son is still there, behind the ring of guards, watching silently. He appears distressed. And yet, he still stands.

Watching.

He does not deserve to feel distress. My life is over. My people are dead. My father is dying in a mad thirst for venegance against somebody he can never truly gain vengeance upon. We have been rendered a footnote in this world. Nothing is left for me or any of these people.

I have seen the true face of the world around me.

It is madness.

It is pointless.

He does not deserve to share this view with the life he has lived.

He deserves the fate of every single person his father has killed.

The boy moves towards his father. The Archion leans over to his son, whispering something with intense focus. The boy shakes his head.

“I can’t.”

The archion grabs his shoulder.

“You have to.”

The boy stands, shaking, for a brief moment of time.

He takes his father’s sword.

I panic. I try to pull the knife out of the earth. I’m not sure how they activate the heating mechanism. There are no buttons on the blade, no knobs to twist or sliders to manipulate.

When an animal is trapped, it, realistically, has several options. It can simply remain there, living its last pitiful hours as it withers away. It can call for help, though that help is often in vain- after all, if this one is trapped, what chance does it have for its brethren to know better? The third is the most drastic, and is often a last resort- though it does have the highest chance of success. Though it also, usually, results in death, it offers a chance to either survive, or, in the worst case scenario, gifts the beast with a few important moments alive to finish whatever task it set out to do.

I choose the latter.

I move slowly, carefully, manipulating my trapped body into a position where I have a change to grab my blade. It gets just within grasp. I take a deep breath and stretch as far as I can, widening the wound in my hand as I scream. I know I don’t have the strength- or time- to simply saw the hand down the middle. I manage to take the end of the hilt, dragging the short sword close enough to grasp fully. I lift it clumsily with one hand. I ball up a strip of my cloak and bite down hard.

I breathe.

Thwack.

The first swing sends agony ripping through my entire body. The heavy steel makes a deep initial cut into the wrist. The searing, heated blade helps me cut through. Tears fall from my eyes as I scream into the rag. I lift again.

Thwack.

I sever the nerve. My ears ring from the raging pain. The scream that rips through my throat is inhuman.

Thwack.

By the time I cut through my wrist my father’s head has fallen to the ground. I can’t scream anymore. I struggle to my feet, crimson draining to the ground, and drag myself into the ring. The Archion assumes that I am coming for him.

No. I know I don’t have the skill. If my father fell to him then I surely will as well.

I head for the boy.

He meekly tries to raise the sword. He’s sweating, I can see it.

He’s afraid.

Good.

I lift the sword with my right arm and prepare to swing.

I hear an exclamation from the Archion.

A blade strikes me through the chest,

Despite my best efforts I drop my weapon. I try to take a breath.

I can’t.

Time seems to stop there as my body begins to feel heavy- too heavy to keep myself upright.

I fall to the ground. My vision is getting blurry. I can’t lift my head. I hear muffled screams from all around. A barked order. The people behind me. Panic. Soldiers move from the circle, weapons drawn.

My eyelids feel heavy.

I have let my father die.

I have broken Sekra.

I have abandoned Aaro.

I have always let things happen as they are.

I have always stood by.

This pain.

It was endless, everywhere, always.

It’s over.

It’s finally, finally over.

END OF PROLOGUE

There exists a burrow

Far underground

Where the prey of this world

Live without bound

And though the world lies

In shadow and fear

The creatures that hid here

Were safe, even through tears

But oh! Fear So!

For over the land

Was the pack of wolves with no hunt at hand

And so it was sown

Through blood and bone

A tapestry of death, of hatred and grief

A flock of beasts born of vengeance to reap

-Song of the Stormcrow, told by Adriss the Chronicler, Layer 43- Cooros, C.E. 1456