(CW: Mental Trauma, at least in the beginning…)

“Dine eternal…”

“I will crush that Light of yours…”

“We are so much alike~”

“Get out. Run. RUN NOW!”

“Darling~”

“You can’t get enough of me…~”

“So precious Inside…~”

[-]

A cold and rigid hand grasped the Doctor-Commander’s shoulder amidst his drownings upon the grueling cascade. He could never forget her voice, her touch, her tongue… her… Blade.

Izo lopped from his torpor heaving his breath as heat crunched into him giving a swift right hook.

“Master?” H.E.N.R.I. uninflected vocalizations of his speaker mouth questioned him. Upon his obstinate Metal Frame, the robot stood taller to him. Unmoving, unceasing, all stillingly, not even eschewing the fact that he just received a wide swing to his head by his very own owner.

“F-F-aah!” Cold Iron groaned his clefted wrist. His breath breaking upon realizing what he just done to not only himself but his own property.

“Master, it has seemed that you have inflicted upon yourself a... Galeazzian Fracture. Please allow me to administer appropriate treatment.” The Mechanical Manservant gently held his hand caringly. With a bandage and a small metal rod, he wrapped them together above his injured hand into a splint. “Anti-Inflammatory ointments should be provided by Myrmidon outside.”

“H.E.N.R.I oh, H.E.N.R.I. what would I ever do with you…”Izo pitched himself closely on to the chassis-chest of his faithful companion. He still took heed keeping his injured hand still less he aggravates his mistake further.

“A curious little Golem he is? Not even when you strike your hand against him, he still continues to obey you without question.” Arazni annotated.

“Shut up Angel.” He whispered to his dweller.

“What was that?” H.E.N.R.I. pardoned.

“Nothing…” Izo breathed a sigh of a relief.

“Can you stand upright?” the Robot Question.

“Yes.”

“What of the one you call ‘Lysithea’?”

“She managed to get away… but we won… we won. Vellumis is ours.”

“And Mama Sopas and the Leshies?”

“They were…” Izo hesitated to answer. He barely had the teeth left in him right now to fully say it. “She is over there… amidst all of that… H.E.N.R.I.” his voice faltered.

The Robot did not need to turn his gaze upon the sheaf of wasted biennial flesh to gauge the aggravation of his master’s indelible well-being.

“That means she cannot produce the Medicine you will need for your current ailment?” H.E.N.R.I. pressed. His machine learning already starting to reroute his equations of the next course of action, until he remembered a detail from the late Druidess. “Master, I have recalled a detail that after Mama Sopas had prescribed Captop Pearls to you. The Witch had told me of one such place where we can find such materials for your medicine.”

“Where?” Izo’s eyes glowed with hope.

“Underneath a location known only as the Mind Spin Mountains, there lives one known as ‘Aza’ who lives with the ‘Iron-Fangs’. An Old Friend as the Witch described them to me. Her home sits atop of an area where Captop Mushrooms are known to grow upon.” H.E.N.R.I explained.

“That one? Mama Sopas did told me she would be curious about you…” Izo cracked a smirk on his lips.

“We must rendezvous with Myrmidon outside of the Keep Master, he wishes to debrief you upon what we shall do with our spoils.” H.E.N.R.I pulled him upwards.

They left the ransacked Dining Hall out to the keep. Remnants of the Whispering Way’s prescence are being slowly snuffed out. The Doctor-Commander and his Robotic Minions would not put into merit of their adversary’s stubbornness inspite of Myrmidon’s calculative wagers for cessation of their hostilities. Rather fight to the last man (Living or Undead not withstanding) than yield.

“Secretary Baird, I am here for your debriefing of the situation.” One of Myrmidon’s bodies saluted him. “Two-hundred and two casualties amongst our opfor whilst we suffered 19 unit incapacitations of our M.U.S.C.L.E. Units. We will require repairs and requisition new materials if we are to regain our strength. Fortunately for us, I have detected several faint DARPA Distress Signals within a fifty-mile radius of our current location.”

“Meaning?” the Doctor-Commander puffed his voice to limn a bearing of his title as ‘Secretary of Defense’.

“We will have to as soon as we can clear off this newly secured territory set up a Signal Beacon so I can better locate missing Myrmidon Shipments that was supposed to be delivered to Fort Bragg. They are overdue one million-eight hundred- eighty-nine hours ago.” Myrmidon explained. “We have several Signaling Beacons back at HQ in the event of such a continge---”

“Please help him! Help us!” a voice cried forth behind the Robot.

A gathering of destituted riffraff, rounded up from the hostages that Myrmidon had managed to rescue from their plights amongst the Whispering Way’s now emancipated living thralls. Weak, feeble, and fearful amongst the cold stoicism of their iron-skinned saviors or perhaps even new masters. They meekly awaited their fate, whatever it maybe. Many of they had arduous injuries amongst their bodies ranging from trivial bruises, unnerving scars, but worst of all grievous punctures and lacerations abound profusely on their flesh.

“These non-combatants… counting fifty-two Civilians were being used as… sureties when we were storming Vellumis Secretary Baird. I had observed that several of them were being bounded to the enemy ramparts via ropes or nails.” Myrmidon informed him.

“Master, I regret to inform you that we do not have enough Medical Supplies at hand to provide adequate First-Aid amongst them. We had lacked the foresight to expect our enemy use hostages.” H.E.N.R.I. bluntly yet regretfully apprised

Izo face glowered as he lowered himself to the injured men, women, and children. These folks suffered so much against such disgusting tyrants. His grimace, his sorrow, a light of empathy amidst this shadow of callous indentation. It did not matter if these humans were greens skinned, furred or of the familiar pigment of pinkish-dirt skin. These people, their eyes looked to him for succor.

And he cannot provide it… No matter how much he wanted… NEEDED to.

“No…” he whispered his voice not to betray his helplessness.

“Izo… Izo!” Arazni snapped into his ears. “You cannot do it, yes… but I can.” The Angel’s eleemosynary spirit restlessly stirred.

“What can you… do?”

“What WE can do.” Arazni answered. “Disrobe your gloves hands and listen closely to what I am going to teach you.”

“Oh-Okay.” Izo followed. Taking off his gloves to see his soaked and shrunken fingers from exhaustive battle. In fact, when was the last time he took of his gloves since he even arrived into Golarion?

“Now what we are about to do is breathe new life into these wounded souls now.” Arazni begins to explain.

“More of your religious hocus-pocus? Is this going to work?” Izo scrupled.

“Just listen to me. Trust in me.” Arazni exhorted her host. “I want you to now imagine… these people here… like Candles whose embers upon their wicks are slowly fading away. Yet you hold a torch that can rekindle their flames. Please, imagine yourself now… holding your torch. Feel it’s heat as you clasped it on your hands.”

The Doctor-Commander imagines just as the Crimson Crusader said. Already his hand bones were relinquished to the Angel as a heat gradually builds upon his palms. He can see himself now, a lone Gaffer whose patrolling the streets alighting candles as he passes by. He can listen to the candles that he imagines emplace of those injured folks. He knew what was like to feel helpless and alone. But now he will be there… their knight in shining steel armor.

As his mind conjured of all of the candles he needed to rekindle, more of this eldritch heat began to build up into his body. Reverberating ---- bombarding his fragile body with its might. His heart galloped as more and more of this fire he imagined himself grasping on his hands. Just as he is about to fully accede from all this vigorous might, the eldritch energies burst out of his hands like a jet of rushing water as it bathed like snow falling led by gravity down upon the wilting freed slaves.

Once fading away with their smoldering glow now reinvigorated with new light! Bruises whitened, wounds closed and bones reinvigorated as the injured rejoiced.

“How did you!?” astonished, Izo looked onto his hands. Although they were numb for a mere moment he slowly regained a miniscule articulation around his index and thumbs once again shortly after.

“What we did is I had used my Angelic powers as conduit to access the Plane of Positive Energy or what you may call the Forge of Creation. I needed to pluck enough energy from the Fire that burnt inside the Forge. I then used your body as a diffuser of the energy to be able to spread that energy amongst these people.” Arazni explained.

“Positive Energy? Like Protons?” Izo questioned.

“If that is what is the grandiloquences from your world call of Healing Magic… then yes, we have given them ‘Protons’.” Arazni thumped around Izo.

“No, I… I mea---” Izo swallowed his throat to explain what were Protons really were to Arazni.

“Kind sir, who are you taking to?” one of the recuperated hostages, a young boy asked Izo, interrupting his train of thought. His little twinkling eyes were thankful as he tugged the cloth of his pants.

“Uh… Uhm… a ‘Friend’ of mine? Eh… you can’t see her. Like in… only… I can see her.” The Doctor-Commander awkwardly explained.

“Ho! An Oracle? Only one blessed by the Mysteries of Life can manage to conjure such Magic to heal us. Praiseth be the Gods!” a man gave gratitude.

“Yeah, I guess you can say that.” Izo smiled. Ultimately, he now realized he had done a benevolent act. The alleviation of suffering. A dream he had just made come true now. He, a proud Pioneer did see him as visionary for the Future after all. An ‘Oracle’ of a world reborn anew.

“Master, you are beginning to over-exert yourself.” H.E.N.R.I. approached behind him as he provided a thick poncho liner fondly called a ‘Woobie’ for Izo to nestle his body in its warm embrace. Sweet relief of a warm rest complimented by the accomplishment of a heroic deed: The Doctor-Commander shall rest swimmingly tonight for the first time on his arrival in Golarion.

“That is one potential problem solved rather… instantaneously. Will record this for study…” Myrmidon blinked. His machine-learned mind processing what had just transpired. “But I still require orders on what is our next course of action.”

As H.E.N.R.I. cracked upon a freeze-dried Meal-Ready-to-Eat Package. Including in the plastic packet was a piece spork utensil that the Mechanical Manservant diligently use to spoon-fed its contents to him. For the moment after his exhaustive battle, a warm vacuum sealed metal packet of enriched Texan-Mexican Adobo rice with bits of synthetic chicken was a relieving sight to behold. An entrée for the triumphant.

As he chewed and swallowed several spoonsful. His mind regained a modicum of clarity.

“Let’s us for now divide our standing forces into two. Take one half to haul just the broken-down M.U.S.C.L.E Units back to Fort Bragg. For these folks? I can’t have these civilians here just enter the Base not whilst we are still in the process of excavating the rest of the Complex. That’s where the second half of our forces will be delegated to do… Have your Units guard these Civvies in Vellumis whilst we wait here for the Beacon. Oh, and Golgar you stay here with me.” Izo ordered. “Once we have the Beacon we can have it set up … I guess on top of the Keep’s Rooftops perhaps? Once we can trace those DARPA Signals and hopefully get some additional bodies to work with and hopefully some stuff to repair your Bodies with.”

“Acknowledged.” Myrmidon obeyed him, his eyes fluttered into computative action. Now he shall translate it too physical.

“You outghta tell mi-fwends o’er to come’re an’ help ty’u!” Golgar added.

“Yes… yes…” the Doctor-Commander nodded.

“That… smell… why does it feel so… familiar… somehow…” Arazni muttered.

“You were stuck inside a Jar for who knows how long.” Izo rolled his eyes as his jaw reached out another mouthful of the Adobo Rice into his belly. “Wait… Angels… can eat?” he unevenly strode to a nearby tree to rest before biting his lips upon Arazni’s little slip of her tongue.

He gripped the hands together as he emptied the lungs from his weary heart.

[-]

Eight radial candles melt upon their oily bodies were the only source of light that illuminated the salt-lined circle that the candles surrounded them. In the middle of the salt circle lay, one a silver bowl made of the purest of what untainted water was left amongst Golarion. It lay only to mirror a pair of glowing amber eyes who deeply proliferated the depths of the water.

It is easy to mistake such a collected space to be nothing more but some monastic meditation for the one who seek its solemn sanctuary. But instead, this chamber did not delve into the thoughts of the owner of the amber eyes, but instead it delves outward. A acute hand reaching outwards from the sanctuary tuned in search of veins lost to the sea of darkness above. Yet amidst the lifeless wasteland, as the Eyes searched…

The water billowed.

The Meditator broke the silence. Before wistfully smiling. “There you are…”

The Monastic Scryer arose from their circle and turned around, holding on their hand reddened blade at hand sporting a rose shape hilt.

“Where are you going Ione?” a scarred yet knightly woman approached the Scryer and called out her name. Her dark armor bear thorns around her thickened form.

“Gather your Knights Clarethe. Those you know of whom we can trust.” She answered, her adamant eyes pierced through Clarethe. “Blood has been spilt. And was must act in haste.” She cryptically ordered.

Clarethe held her breath for one moment before recomposing herself and nodded. Placing her great helm, adorned with demoniac horns she carries her purple-bladed Bastard Sword at hand as she sets off. Both women knew, that this is Augur foreseen was to portentous of an opportunity to ignore.

“To where shall I tell them?” Clarethe asked.

“Fangwood Forest.” Ione answered. “Pray be our wrathful hooves are swift before… THEY do. We must Reclaim what is ours.”