Michael struggled to lift the massive shoulder plate of the Phalanx armor off the floor of the tent. The thing had to weigh almost as much as he himself did…around two-hundred and fifty pounds if his guess was right. Well, now that Michael was back at full strength, or as good as anyway, he needed to put his muscles back to work. Helping thirty-seven put his armor on would be a good way to get ‘em to ache.

Lance had gotten Michael a pair of burlap trousers for him to wear earlier that morning, something he had taken from her gratefully. Michael knew that he had a penchant for being overconfident, though that confidence didn’t make him want to walk around in the nude like Hoplite did. The pants were itchy though, real itchy, and the sweat now caking his legs only served to make it chafe.

Helping Hoplite put on his armor had proved to be a more excruciating process than he thought. Especially since Michael couldn’t very well scratch his itchy legs while his hands were occupied with holding hundreds of pounds worth of metal in place. As soon as Michael finished helping Hoplite gear back up, then he’d be able to put his own, less itchy, standard issue marine plate. That was something Michael felt real comfortable in. Nothing boosted confidence quite like knowing that you were covered in an ultra-light tungsteel alloy from head to toe.

But even tungsteel was nothing compared to Adium, from what Michael had heard. He finally managed to slide the heavy plate onto Hoplite’s shoulder, the super-soldier sitting with his armored legs crossed over one another. Hoplite turned his mostly-bald head, grabbing the plate from Michael with one hand and holding it in place. This was the last piece besides the helmet that needed to be fastened. Apparently when Hoplite was on his own, it took him hours to do this by himself… with Michael here to help him out, that greatly sped up the process, but it still took over an hour of constant back-breaking work.

“Alright,” Hoplite said “I’ll hold it like we did with the other side, you wiggle it until it clicks into the groove.”

“Yes sir.” Michael replied, gripping the sides of the wide-plate and wiggling it until he heard that oh so satisfying click of metal on metal.

Hoplites stood to his full height then, moving his arms and lifting his legs in sequence to ensure that the Phalanx suit had been assembled properly. After a few seconds of opening and closing his hands, Hoplite nodded and turned to stare into Michael’s eyes with those golden orbs of his. How did his eyes get like that? Sure, there were cosmetics that let people change their eye color, and there were some mutations that might change folks eyes to gold but this was a friggin’ Hoplite. Hoplites didn’t do cosmetics or have mutations, they were the pinnacle of natural humanity.

His eyes have to just be like that… right?

“Thank you, private.” Hoplite told him, gathering his smooth helmet from the ground and sliding it over his head with a click of metal.

“Don’t mention it sir” Michael replied “So… Sorry I’m sorta confused, what’s the mission right now?” He asked after a small pause.

“There are multiple objectives private.” Hoplite told him “Currently, we need to return to the Bastion, Lance will need permission from the Harkhall in order to accompany us.”

Michael scrunched his face in thought “You wanna bring her along to find the crew sir?” He asked “I ain’t really against it, but why?”

“She’s a local.” Hoplite said simply, leaning down again to scoop up that monster of a shotgun next to his bedroll “I believe we can trust her to help us find our way around the planet.”

Michael took a moment to admire the shotgun in Hoplite’s hands. Far too oversized for a normal man to wield true, but despite that, Michael found himself desiring to feel the kick of that beast… It wasn’t everyday you saw a Magnus close up like this. Michael knew that the gun was based off of an old design from the pre-Jyn era of Earth, but despite the ancient origins of the model, It looked far from archaic.

Once Michael was done admiring the Magnus, he turned his attention back to Hoplite “Alright, so she’ll be our guide.” Michael said with a nod “I dig it. Didn’t ya say earlier we’d be going into the Fiendwood to look for pods?”

“Affirmative.” Hoplite replied “I believe more shuttles crashed to the east of our current location. I was unconscious for a long time before I managed to make it planet-side. The crew of the Sparrow must have landed toward the other end of the planet, based on the world’s rotation at the time of evacuation.”

If good ole’ Nasty Nate managed to get off the Sparrow, he’d definitely be to the east then, based on what Hoplite was saying. Michael hoped more than anything that Nathan survived both the assault on the Sparrow and the chaotic evac. He was a really good guy… Nate didn’t deserve to die yet.

Michael nodded again “Cool… that means that there’s gonna be some aliens in need of a blastin’ too.” Michael said with a small smirk “They definitely got the hell off the Dragon after it got cut in half.” He finished, looking at the bundle of freshly cleaned black armor laying next to his own bedroll.

Hoplite nodded his helmet as he moved to leave the tent “Affirmative. So we’ll need to be on our toes. Suit up, I’ll wait for you outside.”

The rounded open-faced black helmet gleamed in the sunlight when Hoplite opened the flap, glorious rays of light flowing in to illuminate every corner of the tent. Michael froze with sudden fear for a second when the flap closed behind Hoplite, but he steadied himself. It was dim in the tent, not pitch-black. He’d be in a lot darker places in the future… as long as he could see what was around him, Michael would manage.

He had to.

He did well last night with those fireflies… it was too bad the little guys couldn’t come with them, but Michael hadn’t felt like keeping them trapped in the jar when he awoke that morning. That jar now sat empty just outside the tent, Michael having released the little fellas so they could do… whatever it was fireflies did. No point in keeping 'em trapped in there till they died.

He took a deep shaky breath as he removed the itchy burlap pants, sliding on the slick black Kelvinite underlay for his armor before fastening on the bulky plates. Compared to heaving those slabs of Adium around, the tungsteel felt like it weighed nothing. The familiar heft of the armor sat comfortably on his frame and Michael smiled, rapping a fist on his helmet to produce a clang.

Good old fashioned tungsteel; it could stop practically anything unless it was hit with plasma. Well, even then tungsteel only slagged a little bit, usually the wearer died from the heat of the plasma well before the armor was destroyed. He was pretty sure that the locals wouldn’t have anything capable of punching straight through this armor, unless maybe they had an old fifty cal. lying around. Hoplite had said to be cautious despite that of course, and if thirty-seven said to be careful then Michael was damn sure going to follow that advice.

The super-soldier had still been on about what he called ‘anomalous abilities’ and now that Michael was completely back to tip top shape… he had remembered that someone had… glowed on him. It had been a pleasantly warm glow that had made him feel all kinds of right. But as Michael recalled… it was just the hand that glowed, not some kinda fancy shmancy tech. An anomalous ability like Hoplite claimed?

Or how the locals called it: magic?

Hoplite had been talking to Michael for the duration of suiting up, and from what thirty-seven thinks, the reason these people speak Jynesian is because a Ternan ended up here far in the world’s past. Assuming that really was what happened… who had it been? Who taught these folks Jynesian? It had apparently been the common language on this planet since the First Age, all the way up to the tenth age: Decuma, which was the age that was currently ongoing. Apparently it had been goin’ strong for about two-thousand n’ three years now though…

Michael didn’t think the timeline added up right.

If Decuma was two-thousand years, how long were the other ages before it? Jynesian only became standard around two-thousand years ago…

Oh wait!

What if Ahkoolis years were longer than Ternan standard solar years? Three-hundred n’ sixty-five days in twenty-four hour cycles? The days seemed to follow standard earth rotation though… maybe it was a matter of more days in a year? He’d ask Lance about it later but he was pretty sure he was onto something.

Michael moved to leave the tent but paused, eyeing the wonderful bag of guns between he and Hoplite’s bedroll. It simply wouldn’t do to go outside without carrying a little slag with him would it? Michael grinned as he began arming himself, holstering a black standard issue pistol and grabbing up the semi-automatic scout rifle. Michael loved the precision of the scout rifle, the tracking scope able to lead his eye to any nearby skull that was in need of a good misting.

Michael put his eye to the scope after clicking it on, to make sure that it was still operational. When he saw the little digital red box floating around the retical looking for vitals to lock onto, he smiled. Even without the help Michael had always been a crack shot at the range, before the Final Kind sent the Sparrow on the run he had been about to begin proper sniper training, but sadly that had never come to be.

He loaded a few spare magazines and stuffed them into one of his tac pouches, the full sacks bouncing against his waist as he strutted outside the tent with a smirk. Hoplite stood next to a tall tree, looming over Lance like a skyscraper as she spoke up to him, a suffering expression on her face.

“It will be faster.” Hoplite told her “Michael can ride on my back.”

Michael scrunched his brow as he stared at thirty-seven. Ride on his back? What the hell was he talking about? Michael briefly considered if he had misheard Hoplite, but then Lance spoke.

“My gut can not take such a trip…” She said with her shoulders slumping “I will die.”

“Negative.” Hoplite told her “You will experience nausea but that will not kill you.”

“I know it won’t kill me!” Lance snapped, crossing her arms beneath her breasts “It will just set me on the path to death.”

“You are overreacting.” Hoplite told her flatly.

Michael winced at hearing that. Out of all the things to say to a girl that was certainly not one of them. Michael had once said those very words to one of his older sisters and his head had practically got bitten off. Thankfully, Lance didn’t kill Hoplite instantly with her next words.

“My gut will overreact, if we’re going to do this can we at least go at a horses pace?” Lance asked him in a pleading tone.

“Uh,” Michael began wisely “Sir? What’s she talkin’ about?”

“We need to return to the Bastion as quickly as possible.” Hoplite explained, tilting his helmet toward Michael “I will carry Lance, and you will ride on my back.”

Michael frowned “Sir I don’t really know if that’s a good idea… Not that I’m saying no of course,” Michael explained quickly “It's just that… well, I gotta carry the tent and guns probably, right?” He asked "If I'm on your back, won’t you runnin’ make all that bounce around?”

“We will secure our equipment by tying it to my free arm.” Hoplite replied immediately.

Michael nodded with a sigh “Yes sir…”

Lance groaned but moved to begin packing up the tent. Michael followed after her, and the two of them worked to pull down the huge tent as Hoplite kept watch. Michael was actually glad Hoplite didn’t insist on helping them take down the tent, what if those huge metal hands bent one of the poles keeping this thing upright? Thankfully he and Lance took little time in deconstructing it, it hadn’t been nearly as hard as setting it up had been.

Once it was done and the tent was all nice and packed away, Lance took the big canvas bundle over to Hoplite and she and Michael began tying it down to thirty-seven’s left arm, bunching it up under the shoulder plate to make room for the bag of guns to be tied down as well.

Michael checked to make sure that the mouth of the gun bag was secure and that the ropes holding it in place wouldn’t allow it to bounce around. It would be just Michael’s luck for a gun to tear through the bag from the speed of Hoplite’s sprint. Back when he was seven years old, Michael might have killed to get a piggy-back ride from thirty-seven. Now as the opportunity presented itself to Michael, the thought of holding on for dear life to Hoplite’s back as the fridge-suit set off at full-speed through dense wilderness… Well, it made him a bit nervous.

Nineteen was a suitable age to die at, right? Michael supposed he’d find out if Hoplite accidentally clipped a tree on the way back to this ‘Bastion’.

“Lance,” Hoplite began “See if you can tie some rope around Michael so he doesn’t have to struggle to keep a grip.”

Michael then let out a sigh of relief, why hadn’t he thought of that? Now that he was covered in tungsteel he wouldn’t get rope burn either, he’d just look like a toddler riding on a metal gorilla’s back. Maybe speeding through the forest while riding on the back of a legend would turn out to be pretty sick. Assuming they didn’t crash of course.

“Alright, but before we leave I wanted to let you know that Twindil and the rest of them are going to be heading into the Fiendwood soon.” Lance began “I know that we will be going through there as well to look for your friends, so Twindil said that they would wait to go in with us. In such a cursed land as that, you will need as many people to guard your back as you have hairs on your head.”

Michael didn’t bring up the fact that Hoplite was still practically bald, but hey, in his opinion if the Fiendwood really was that awful, he wouldn’t be opposed to having more folks along for the ride. What would thirty-seven think though? As far as Michael was concerned, the big man was in charge. There was also the fact that Hoplite outranked Michael by about a billion times over, but even if Michael had been an admiral he still woulda jumped when Hoplite said to.

“What is their objective?” Hoplite asked her.

Lance actually seemed to turn a bit pale before she answered “They seek to burn the Rotting Ilum, and to slay Kazon, Lord of Hatred.”

“Oh they wanna kill the guy who crashed my pod?” Michael asked before slamming a fist into an open palm “I’m game.”

Yeah, this Kazon chump pulled his shuttle out of the atmosphere and all, but with thirty-seven around it wouldn’t be that hard to put Kazon six feet under. Hoplite did not seem to share in Michael’s enthusiasm, as he merely stood there silently, waiting for Lance to continue.

After a moment, she did so, taking in a deep shuddering breath “Kazon is the one who tainted the old Faewood in an attempt to ascend to the Pillars, turning it into the Fiendwood we know today… that was when Decuma was still young.” She resumed, her tone still maintaining that serious edge “He is powerful, none who have tried to end him have ever returned… though in truth, no one knows if those adventurers even reached Kazon before the dangers of the Fiendwood claimed their lives.” She said with a despairing sigh “I fear that Twindil and her friends are trying to bite off more than they can chew… With our quest at least, I am more confident in our success.” She said with a bit more certainty “To be truthful… I would not accompany you into the Fiendwood if I thought we would perish. I believe we’ll find your comrades, and if they have weapons like yours, I’m sure they still live.” Lance finished with a nod, though her face still retained that nervous paleness.

Hoplite remained silent for a moment before speaking “Kazon is not our objective.” He said “If you don’t want to go into the Fiendwood, you do not have to.” Hoplite told her.

Michael had expected Hoplite to say something along the lines of: ‘Affirmative, I will just shoot him in the face’ or somethin’ like that. Actually that sounded more like something Michael himself would say. It was too bad that Hoplite wasn’t interested in brutalizing Kazon, but finding their comrades was admittedly the more important objective…

And once they linked back up with some more troops, Michael would wanna make a pit stop to put a bullet between Kazon’s stupid yellow eyes. It was Kazon’s fault all those people died… Kazon’s fault that Michael had been stuck in the rotting dark for days…

He hated Kazon.

Lance however, looked terribly nervous, her face still pale with fear.

“It's alright Lance,” Michael told her with a grin “If I see this Kazon chump, I’ll pop him in the face with this baby.” He finished, patting his rifle with a smile “And hey, like the big guy said, you don’t gotta go with us, we can handle it from here if you’re scared.”

He couldn’t wait to try it out on Kazon… if they even ran into him.

“I appreciate it… both of you.” Lance said with a grateful nod “But my mind is set, I will be going with you into the Fiendwood.”

“Affirmative.” Hoplite replied “Now… Please, help tie Michael onto my back.”

Lance smirked before giving a small giggle. Michael goggled at Hoplite. What the hell? Did he actually just say ‘please?’ Lance must be one scary lady to be able to get thirty-seven actin’ polite.

Lance then gave Michael a look of sympathy before saying “I hope your guts are as strong as your words boy, if they aren’t, we’ll have to spend hours cleaning them off Hoplite’s armor.”

Michael wouldn’t puke on Hoplite… right? He couldn’t bear the thought of it. As Michael approached Hoplite’s back… he spotted something hanging from the super-soldiers waist. It was the pouch he had received from Gali… the medal.

…Hoplite had not gotten rid of it.